Unless You Are Silly

By Roger Weatherly

Two young cousins discover they have jointly inherited a remote Scottish cottage with an intriguing history. They quickly learn what life was like there over a hundred years ago but they discover even more about themselves, their families and the mysterious disappearance of both their fathers. As they explore and share their own thoughts and emotions they realise their environment and the people in it have unexpected things to share with them.
Roger Weatherly has spent the last forty years as an educator, often letting the outdoors do its own education. He lives in west Cornwall.
Roger says This adventure story has the momentum, excitement and pace which many young readers relish, but it also offers food for thought for readers of any age who recognise the impact a wilderness can have on young lives. Amidst the turmoil and humour, some of the big questions of life begin to surface. And what does Unless you are silly mean?
C. Roger Weatherly 2012.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477235478

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© 2012 by Roger Weatherly. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/12/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3546-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3547-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

CHAPTER 1 The Bequest

CHAPTER 2 Mr MacIvor

CHAPTER 3 Finding Matthew

CHAPTER 4 The Cousins Connect

CHAPTER 5 The Old Croft Cottage

CHAPTER 6 A Surprise in the Night

CHAPTER 7 Night Visions

CHAPTER 8 The Night Meets the Day

CHAPTER 9 Thinking Things Through

CHAPTER 10 Family and Friends

CHAPTER 11 A Jigsaw Reassembled

CHAPTER 12 The Wave

Acknowledgement

The photograph on the book covers shows the Motor Yacht Chico, and is reproduced with the kind permission of Angus Geddes and Peter Cumberlidge. Chico’s history can be viewed at

www.motoryachtchico.co.uk

For Rosanna

and

in fond memory

of

Sue Taylor

and

Len Weatherly

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CHAPTER 1

The Bequest

Rosanna was in the grip of her favourite – and very challenging – computer game. She sat comfortably at the kitchen table, untroubled by the piles of papers, laundry and washing up which threatened to engulf her. Concentrating hard, and lost in a world of her own, she had failed to notice the thump of some mail coming through the letterbox in the front door at the opposite end of the house. And as for the responsibility of finding her school uniform, which she would need to be wearing in a few minutes, she seemed unbothered. In fact at that moment Rosanna’s main concern was her blonde hair, which kept falling over her forehead, preventing her from seeing the screen displaying her precious game.

Her mother called down to her for the third time. The pitch of her Mum’s voice was so shrill and angry that Rosanna felt a tinge of regret. It seemed she had wound her Mum up more than she had intended, and their mutual irritation was becoming confrontational. Above everything she wanted to avoid that. So, opening the kitchen door which led to the bottom of the staircase, she shouted back, rather unhelpfully, I heard you Mum. But what did you want? Rosanna listened to her mother’s footsteps on the stairs; she also heard, as her mother entered the kitchen, an audible intake of what Rosanna called Motherbreath, followed by equally sharp words: Rosanna, you haven’t listened to a word I said.

The tone of her mother’s voice activated warning bells inside her ten year old daughter’s brain; she guessed there might be trouble ahead. Rosanna reluctantly turned off her game, glanced sideways at her parent, and had her worst fears confirmed. Her mother was teetering on the edge of level 4 on the Nelson Mad Parent Scale. This was really alarming, for as anyone in charge of their mother or father knows, at level 3 parents can become unstable, and at level 4 there is the risk of a major explosion. Rosanna knew she needed to act quickly if she wasn’t to lose control altogether.

So she spoke soothingly, and with a much softer voice. With relief she found she had taken action just in time, for her mother’s MPS level was clearly leaving the critical zone as Rosanna’s diverting tactics took effect. But her Mum’s behaviour was still bizarre. So, to distract her further she asked Mum, why are you waving your fingers at me? Her mother breathlessly responded, holding up in turn each of four fingers to emphasise what she was saying. One – you have ten minutes before the school bus arrives; Two – it’s your turn to feed the fish; Three – you need to eat your breakfast; Four – there is a letter for you.

Rosanna discarded the first three fingers in favour of the fourth. A letter was unusual, even a rarity. Computer generated mail flew in and out of the household almost hourly, but not letters. Perhaps it was a late birthday card she wondered, but she couldn’t think of anyone who had forgotten last Saturday’s celebrations. Rosanna tore open the envelope. There was no card inside, but there was a birthday letter offering Rosanna a life-changing opportunity:

For the attention of Miss Rosanna Nelson

Dear Rosanna,

I have pleasure in informing you that under the instructions of my client, a Mr D O Nelson has bequeathed jointly to you and to your cousin Matthew Nelson, the property known as The Old Croft Cottage, Isle of Inver, Argyllshire, this bequest to be effective from your tenth birthdays. Your benefactor has added a number of conditions to his bequest, and he has asked me to discuss these with you. Please can you let me know if you want to hear more about a most unusual opportunity. I can then make arrangements to visit you.

Yours sincerely,

Brian MacIvor, Solicitor

There were three minutes left before the school bus would leave; Rosanna had no time to think. Shocked, she abandoned her soothing mode. Hurriedly, having located her uniform she fed the fish with one hand and poked some cereal into her mouth with the other, before dragging herself down the narrow gravelled drive from her house towards the waiting bus.

Rosanna normally enjoyed school, but throughout that day, in a daze, she found herself completely disconnected with what she was supposed to be learning. In one lesson her teacher asked her if she was unwell. It’s unusual for you to be in such a flat spin said another sympathetically. Spinning – thought Rosanna – that was how it was. Her brain had been loaded into a spin drier. Even her class teacher couldn’t gain her attention, as her mind kept returning to that extra-ordinary letter. Her head gyrated wildly, a fantasy-cottage and the letter sometimes visible and sometimes obscured, as her whole life whirled around.

It seemed to her that several millennia, not one day, had passed before the bus dropped her at the bottom of her drive and she could run for home, kicking up the dust from the road chippings. Rosanna’s mother was still in the kitchen, but the room was in chaos. It seemed as if all the cupboards had been randomly emptied and every centimetre of the work surfaces covered with pots, pans, crockery, cutlery or food. Without thinking Rosanna crash landed. Hi Mum she chirped, greeting her as usual with a hug, but it seemed her mother was not in a light hearted mood. This kitchen is best described as frantic Rosanna continued unwisely, as if nothing was amiss, but her cheerfulness was interrupted by a torrent of anguish. I, not the kitchen, am frantic said her Mum. A whole day has passed since you opened that letter, but only one of us has been able to read it. For a whole day I have been worrying and wondering – experiences you seem unable to comprehend.

Rosanna took the trouble to think more carefully before she spoke again. The reality is that I know nothing her mother continued, huge Motherbreaths slowing her speech. Though furious at not seeing the letter from Mr McIvor, she had correctly concluded it contained an important, maybe worrying, piece of news. It must have been shocking she reiterated, thoughtfully, for only something traumatic would make you tip your cereal into the fish tank. And then, with heavy irony, and to Rosanna’s great irritation, she finished her tirade: Incidentally, did you enjoy the fish food for your breakfast?

Then, in the split second as the conversation paused, Rosanna, saw an opportunity, and grabbed it. Mum, she said, speaking more slowly, you could have read the letter – I left it on my bedside table. This was nearly too much for Rosanna’s mother. With the possibility that another level 4 MPS reaction was seconds away, Rosanna rushed upstairs, found the letter and brought it down to the kitchen for her Mum to read. Curiously, the moment Rosanna held the letter the strange spinning sensation returned, and this time it was her turn to feel compelled to ask a stream of questions which no conscious effort could restrain: Mum, what does bequeathed mean? And who is this Mr Nelson, and where is the Isle of Inver, and what can I hope to do with half a cottage? Oh, and who is this cousin Matthew?

There was a long pause while Rosanna’s Mum completed reading the letter, and then a further silence while she sat down at the kitchen table and read it again. Rosanna very nearly screamed. So many questions, she thought – yet so few answers. But eventually, though looking sad and vulnerable, her Mum began to speak, softly and with difficulty.

There are things you ought to know, Rosanna – things you ought to have been told last Saturday, on your tenth birthday. It was what your father wanted; for several generations children on his side of the family have been told when they are ten. Told what, Mum? coaxed Rosanna, finding unexpected inner calm. If I need to know, tell me now."

Most of the information you need is in the ditty box said her mother, walking across to the part of the kitchen where she kept her desk, which as usual was covered with hundreds of papers. Ignoring this ready-to-slide pile, she bent down and removed from the bottom drawer a small green metal box, which Rosanna had never seen before. It was old, rusty, a little dented, and the figure 1 and the letters DON were painted on one side. She guessed it had once it had been buried in the ground; surely it was far too grubby to be indoors, especially in a kitchen. And ditty was a weird word. Whatever ditty was, she thought, that’ll be the contents. The container would always