Giovanna’S Instrument

By John Carroll

In the summer of 1930, the last few dozen inhabitants of the lonely island of St. Kilda are evacuated. The government finds most of the islanders forestry jobs on the Scottish mainland. However, one of the leaders of the evacuation offers a young woman named Jenny a job on an industrialist's estate in South Wales. While living on the estate Jenny learns that the wealthy man's plans for her were fashioned by his mysterious mistress, a woman named Giovanna. Jenny proves to be too forceful a peronality to control, and she begins to discover the secrets of Giovanna's past and the woman's hold on her former lover.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481711463

John Carroll

John Carroll is currently Director, Geostorage Processing Engineering for Gas Liquids Engineering, Ltd. in Calgary. With more than 20 years of experience, he supports other engineers with software problems and provides information involving fluid properties, hydrates and phase equilibria. Prior to that, he has worked for Honeywell, University of Alberta as a seasonal lecturer, and Amoco Canada as a Petroleum Engineer. John has published a couple of books, sits on three editorial advisory boards, and he has authored/co-authored more than 60 papers. He has trained many engineers on natural gas throughout the world, and is a member of several associations including SPE, AIChE, and GPAC. John earned a Bachelor of Science (with Distinction) and a Doctorate of Philosophy, both in Chemical Engineering from the University of Alberta. He is a registered professional engineer in the province of Alberta and New Brunswick, Canada.

Book preview

1

Andrew told his friends he was Lawford’s guide, and that is what Lawford wrote on the official paper, but anyone with sense could see this was not so. Lawford needed a boat to go the island, and Andrew’s father could provide one that suited, and Lawford agreed that it might be best if young Andrew came along. Lawford never said what Andrew was to do or why he was needed, and Andrew’s father had nothing in mind either, except to say several times that his son had better do what he was told. Lawford, an Englishman, was one of those chosen to oversee the evacuation of Hirta, the main island of the St. Kilda group, which lie a good thirty miles west of Hebrides. The evacuation of the islanders was planned for the end of August, 1930. Lawford wanted to be on the island a few days before and after, and Andrew with him, for no one wants to stay alone on a deserted island, with nothing but ghosts and memories living there, and the sea all to willing to delay a boat for a week.

Lawford knew everything about the island. He knew its history, the reasons for its decline, its birds and when they came and went, how it played host to tourists in the nineteenth century and Norse invaders in the ninth. He had folders and books concerning the island with him, and plenty of willingness to let Andrew see them, though his helper’s interest seemed to surprise him. He tried to guide Andrew’s interest towards the gannets, puffins, and fulmars that nested by the tens of thousands on the islands and stacs.

Lawford and Andrew arrived on the afternoon of the 28th. The journalists and sightseers were mostly gone, and they were given a house to stay in. There were plenty of empty houses on Hirta, since there were far fewer islanders than even ten years past, and though some were crumbling with their walls falling down and without roofs, theirs was clean and had a few pieces of furniture. All the cows and the sheep that were to be taken off were already gone, so the islanders were left to packing. Less than forty St. Kildans remained, more women than men, and all of them wanting to go.

The islanders were shy. A word came to Lawford or Andrew only with a good pull. Not strange, as the islanders were leaving the only place they knew, but strange to Andrew that Lawford didn’t seem to mind the silence. Andrew knew one of his duties was translator, especially as most of the older islanders had only a little English. Some of the men had a disagreement about how to pack their belongings, but Lawford didn’t ask Andrew to translate the discussion from Gaelic to English, or offer advice to the islanders when Andrew gave him a picture of what was going on.

Lawford did take an interest in fulmars, however. As the islander’s discussion was finishing up, he asked about some of the best crags for observing the birds. Now normally at this time the islanders would be catching birds to salt for winter, but there was no sense in it now, so they looked surprised when Andrew translated Lawford’s request. But one of them told Lawford about a place facing the island called Soay, and offered him some rope.

I’m off to the cliffs in a few minutes, Lawford said to Andrew, But I don’t need you to come along. Be good enough to fetch the yellow notebook now.

Yes Mr. Lawford, Andrew replied, Perhaps the islanders can use my help in packing?

What? Perhaps they . . . . Well, yes then see about that later. he said with his yellow eyebrows going down towards his gray eyes. But I want my notebook first.

After Lawford left, Andrew went down to the dock where they were loading. Now while the men did their share of the packing, it was the women who were left to carry the cases and trunks on their backs. The women would not have Andrews help. Later, a man said Andrew could help pack the man’s house, but the things Andrew thought should be taken away were the things the man thought should be left behind. A bit of awkwardness and smiles that were not smiles, and Andrew slipped out.

He felt useless. Plenty of work to be done, but no task for him. Andrew had nothing against being alone, but to feel alone with plenty of people around, and with plenty to do, was miserable indeed. Everything was ending. The Gaelic dialect with its remnants of Norse would die out in a few years. The few boats the islanders had would soon be unfit for the sea, never to be repaired again. At least 1500 years of civilization on these islands was coming to an end.

Only Lawford seemed happy. Things were going smoothly, Lawford would say. Later, though, things went a bit off plan, and Andrew got to play a part.

A young woman named Jenny disagreed with her father. All the dogs on the island were to be drowned that afternoon, with the men doing the killing. Jenny knew the dogs could not be taken off St. Kilda, but did not want her favorite dog killed by the men. She and her father argued until the man could think of nothing else to say. In the doorway of their house, with Andrew and some others looking on, the two stared at each other. She didn’t look away, and this surprised him. He looked away and saw a large stick lying in the path outside the house and picked it up. His knuckles shone white and pink. He shouted at Jenny, If you and that dog are both alive in the morning I’ll bring this down on each of your heads. Go from here now!

Jenny set off from the village with her dog. Andrew followed, catching up as the hill behind the village began to rise. Andrew wanted to introduce himself properly, but could only think to ask the dog’s name. She said it, but nothing else. But for Andrew, that seemed enough and he followed her up the hill.

Andrew had first seen Jenny shortly after he arrived, but she seemed a little less pretty as they walked up the hill. She seemed to stoop a little, perhaps from carrying the heavy loads along with the rest of the women. Even through the heavy clothes, Andrew could see she was very strong. She had a heavy brown dress on, and wore the plain black headdress all the unmarried women wore, hiding all her hair except two dark plaits on her shoulders and some on her brow. Her eyes were black like her hair, so that when Andrew looked he could not see to find the pupils. Her skin was like the rest of her eyes, white and beautiful.

Andrew continued following Jenny up the hill, walking away from the village, towards the west. If one wanted to walk somewhere on the island, one never had to walk far, but Andrew could feel the hills in the back of his legs. Jenny slowed for him.

I won’t have him drowned in the sea and suffer, Jenny said. I don’t want him to die that way. That would be terrible, Andrew said. Jenny said nothing, but stared at him closely. Feeling uneasy, Andrew asked if the same fate awaited the island’s cats.

Oh, them! she cried with a laugh. They can catch mice well enough without us. But the dogs would starve, and some of the new sheep may have trouble, too. Our Soay sheep have a special coat for winter, but not the new ones. We haven’t been able to find all the new ones. All the sheep here are too wild to herd, and we have no pens for them. That is why my dog has no teeth. We take out the long teeth with a chisel, and file the others that are too sharp, so that he can catch the sheep and hold it without killing, until one of us comes. She paused for a moment and said, is there thirst with you?

Yes, Jenny, Andrew said.

And so you have my name. Everyone knows you are Andrew. I have a thirst too. She added, let’s stop by the well.

It was nothing Andrew would call a well, but a part of a stream where water built up behind some stone slabs before flowing over them. There were other stone slabs next to the little dam. Jenny told Andrew that before the islanders would drink from that well, they would leave something to pay for the water on the altar like slabs next to the well, even if it was nothing more than a piece of shell, or even if would be blown away. Jenny took a bit of cloth from the inside of her dress and put it on the stone. When she saw Andrew had nothing in mind her eyes became serious, then hard. She walked over to him and tore a button from his shirt. He felt the material drawn tight against his back until the threads broke. It was too sudden, and Andrew too much a stranger, for him to protest. She put the button on the slab and bent to drink. She looked up and saw that he was a bit stunned and felt a laugh coming up. She kept it down by splashing cold water on her face and saying, that button was well sewn, with just a bit of a smile. After that he smiled too and drank a little.

Andrew noticed that dogs didn’t have to leave anything behind to drink, even ugly ones with no teeth and half a tail.

After drinking they made for the cliffs on the western side of Hirta. On the island what seem like a few rising hills abruptly end, with the cliffs edge going straight down well over a thousand feet to the Atlantic. When they got about fifty yards from the edge Jenny stopped, looked at Andrew and said, Wait, you. Then she continued towards the cliff. He followed for a few yards and reached for her hand. Jenny turned and said, slow, Are you deaf, then? I said wait.

Jenny, he said.

Go from me now, she shouted. With that her hands clenched and her dog barked. Andrew backed away. Jenny and the dog walked till they were about twenty yards from the edge. She glanced at Andrew to make sure he wasn’t coming closer.

She sat down and calmed her dog, which was soon lying down next to her. She glanced over at Andrew once or twice but kept looking out to the sea or at her dog. She picked up a stone a little larger than her hand. The dog saw what she did but took no notice. Suddenly she brought the stone down twice, as hard as she could, to break the spine at the neck, but she hit so hard that some bone in the dog’s head broke and splintered, so that blood and red foam spurted from its mouth. She had to move her dress to escape the flow. After a few minutes she stood up, put her headdress right, and smoothed her dress. She picked up her dog by the back legs and walked over to the edge of the cliff. She threw the animal’s body over, so that when it came to the sea it was in pieces.

Come, she said. Andrew walked over to where Jenny stood, just a few feet from the edge. Thirteen hundred feet down. The ocean, the sky . . . . there is beautiful, isn’t it. And I could walk and see it any day, and my father, and his father before too. Never again for anyone though. No, someone like Lawford or a tourist will see this, sure. But not someone like me, who lives here and comes when they choose, noon or night, and can see how it changes through the day and the season. I want to go from this place, far away. Then, after a time, perhaps I can see it again in my mind without feeling this way.

Andrew wanted to say something to Jenny to reassure her, but could think of nothing. She read his expression, tried to smile, and took his hand. Come, she said, we will walk back together. Andrew held her hand on the way back until he thought it might be awkward, but Jenny’s expression did not change when he released his hold. They said nothing. After they had returned to the village and parted, Andrew looked at his right hand. Somehow a little brownish streak of dried blood had smeared on the fleshy part of his palm.

The next morning the steamer took the islanders away. The houses would soon be empty, except for a Bible and a pile of oats left in each.

Andrew saw Jenny once more before she left. The two of them were alone in her house for a few minutes, as her father was already on the ship. They spoke for a few minutes, and again she took his hand. Jenny looked out the window to see if anyone could see them, then kissed Andrew on the mouth, and long enough for him to not only know he was being kissed, but time for him to take in the sensation full. Then she stepped back and kissed him again, this time on the cheek, placing two buttons in the palm of his hand.

She went down to the steamer to join her father and all the other islanders. It is said the islanders were without tears until they lost sight of their home.

Except for Andrew, Lawford, and the crew of the boat, the island was deserted. Cats prowled about aimlessly.

Lawford grew more cheerful with the islanders gone. He talked about the birds constantly, spoke of hopeful signs regarding the puffin population, and filled up his notebook. He cooked dinner, placing tins in a peat fire. He liked to talk if there was one or two in his audience.

What do you say to catching a few fulmars to eat later, he said, I never could stand much of this tinned muck.

We could try. Did you ask one of the fowlers the best place to go before they all left?

I know where to go. And they had enough on their plates already. I’m not speaking of anything that means risks anyway. He paused, moving the food around his plate with his spoon, then using the spoon to point at the stew. This would put anyone off his food. You don’t seem to be eating much either.

I’m not really hungry, Andrew said. Not much of an occasion to eat, either, with the islanders having to leave everything that was theirs.

What are you on about then? Don’t be sentimental.

"You are the one who said the islanders have been here for a thousand years. They’ll never again be able to live the way they did. What’s the good in that?

Plenty of good in it. If you were not such a fool you would notice. You are finishing university this year, so I thought you could see the obvious easily enough. Lawford paused, waiting to see some sign of anger on Andrew’s face. The wait was short. He continued, And that girl Jenny, did she let you kiss her?

Andrew said nothing.

Well, let’s have it.

Shut up, Andrew said.

You need to know something about this Island if you didn’t notice it already. You saw how there are more women than men here, right?

Yes.

And you kissed her, didn’t you?

Yes.

"Well, that never would have happened years ago. That girl is nineteen or twenty, and would have been married and had children already had there been any future here. No one has married on this island for years because it has been obvious that there is no future here. Many families and single men have left since the war. If the island had been doing well, there would have been no one to kiss, and if there had been someone to kiss, it would have been with a proper courtship and plenty of waiting. But I met Jenny a couple of years ago, on one of my previous trips. I’ll tell you more about her and why it is good she left later. I’m still hungry, it will stay light till at least ten, and you are going to help me catch fulmars.’’

He said the last when he was already up and walking, and Andrew followed.

How long have you known Jenny? Andrew asked?

Later, I said. We need some good rope and a couple of fowling hooks. Two baskets would be helpful too. They were easy enough to find in the village. An orange cat, a hazel cat, and a gray cat watched our progress from open doorways, licking their paws.

Now an islander can catch dozens of fulmars in an hour, but Andrew and Lawford only managed ten all afternoon. They had to be satisfied with catching the birds just below the face of the cliffs, in places where there were wide ledges, for though they had rope with them, they lacked the skill to put the rope to its proper use. An islander would often approach the birds from below, where it was easier to catch the birds unawares. Now fulmars have a rust colored oil with them, which they will squirt on anything that disturbs their nests. If they run out of oil vomit will follow. Now an islander might have oil squirted on him now and then, but never vomit. To have more than a little oil was bad, because the oil was valuable as medicine, for lighting lamps, and cooking, as a spread for food.

Soon both their shirts were sights, with enough oil and mess on them to make the feathers stick. Lawford was angry, and Andrew frightened on the height and Lawford’ s anger somehow coming back to him. But the sight of each other soon brought laughter to each, and they paused to catch their breath. Soon they worked out a better approach, with one signaling to the one on the ledge what to do, and they began to catch birds. They were not as quick as the islanders, who could catch a bird before the creature thrust its wings forward to squirt. Sometimes the islanders would catch a bird before it could squirt, wring the neck quick, and put the beak in their mouths for all they oil they felt like.

After collecting their birds, they walked back to the village to change and prepare supper. Andrew made a fire, while Lawford collected a battered pot from one of the houses and produced some utensils from his knapsack. They were both hungry enough to keep silent while they ate fulmar and potatoes, with Andrew eating mostly the second.

When they were finished Lawford brought up Jenny again.

We don’t have to talk about her, Andrew said.

"I was going to talk, not you. You need to listen. Now earlier I was saying I met Jenny some time ago. The only good thing to happen to her on this island in years is the good teacher they brought from Skye. Jenny knows how to read and write in English and Gaelic, something few on the island can master, and knows her figures and some science as well. She could get a job easier than many of the other islanders, though some have already been promised government jobs in the forestry. And one or two others may be needed to help others or me when studies are conducted on St. Kilda from time to time. In fact, I’m working on something she may be interested in, though it’s not set yet. She’d have to leave Scotland, though.

He lit a cigarette, and gazed up a sky that had been multicoloured a few minutes ago, but whose reds and pinks were fading to magentas. "But the main thing I want you to understand is that this island has been past saving for a decade at least. That is why no one marries here. That is why they didn’t even have any crops planted this year, even though it might have meant starvation. Remember, they didn’t know they were being pulled of till a few weeks ago.

We like to think that when we find some isolated civilization or culture, then show them all the works of civilization, well then they would be amazed and happy to use what labor saving devices could be of use to them. St. Kilda isn’t exactly like that, as everyone has known about these islands for centuries, but it had been more or less forgotten about. Put in a folder, filed away, to see how thick the dust would be. But primitive people don’t see the wonders of our civilization, if they were wonders. Instead they see their own failings. They wonder why didn’t they invent airplanes and wireless sets and the like. Now there isn’t much sense in that, but there it is. A large society may try to fight this new civilized world directly, or absorb some of the new inventions to grow and be a rival in the future. But a small place like this, or the Blaskets, is doomed. The islanders wanted to leave. Can you see that?

Yes, Andrew replied.

"For myself, I would rather the islanders stayed. This place could support fifty families at least. But that became impossible long ago. These islands have become an embarrassment to the King. The richest nation on earth and people starving off the coast of Scotland! You know, the islanders didn’t even care if they were settled together or not. They just wanted to leave. Well, the Crown may help them a little, at least. They don’t need to be treated as specimens for anthropologists, especially amateur anthropologists. But from now, to be concerned with this island is to be concerned about the puffin population.

By the way, did you know that the last great auk ever seen was observed on this island. The great auk was a huge bird, much like a penguin but weighing at least five stone and more than four feet tall. The islanders thought the bird was a witch, and killed it. They were defenseless and killed of by men in other places years before the last one was seen here a couple of generations ago.

These islands seems like the last place of many things. Andrew said.

You are right, I’m sure. I would like to go to the other main islands, Soay and Boreray. But we don’t have the time and are not equipped. Landing on them is much more dangerous as they don’t have anything like a beach. Maybe next year . . . . Lawford tailed off.

The next morning Andrew walked by himself up towards the well Jenny had shown him. The wind was up, and it whipped the hair around the edges of his cap. He could feel little pieces of sand in it, and it made his eyes narrow and water. He could smell the sea strongly, and could taste it on his tongue. It would take a lot of self-confidence to live in a place such as this and think it right and ordered, if one knew of other places. Less and less was needed in the modern world, though life in the highlands and larger islands of Scotland was still not easy. It was easier to expect things from others, and to complain to some authority if things went wrong. Andrew could see that attitude in many at university, and knew it was the way more and more expected their world to be.

Andrew went over to the well. There was no thirst with him, but he wanted the grit off his face and mouth, and the taste of the sea from his tongue. For a moment he was going to put one of the put one of the buttons Jenny had given him on the slab, but he put a halfpenny there instead. He knelt down. After washing his face and eyes, he drank first to spit and then to take the water down, then looked up towards the cliffs. Framed by the slab at the bottom of his view and a half clouded sky above, there stood a single white sheep in the distance, surrounded by grass that sometimes altered its green when the wind turned it one way and then back again.

Andrew had seen a number of sheep already, and most were either a shade of brown or dirty white. This sheep was white as a breakers’ foam, or as if from some bath. He tried to approach the animal, but the beast would not have him within ten yards. He continued slowly walking towards the sheep till it disappeared over the edge. When Andrew reached the precipice, or as near to it as he would willingly go, the animal was nowhere to be seen. Andrew edged a bit closer and saw some ledges the sheep could have used as a path to escape down the face and out of view. Indeed that was probably the case, because Andrew noticed angry fulmars noisily flying around an outcropping fifty yards to the right and half as many down. A sheep could move quick if needs be.

Andrew then slowly made for the village. The church and the little cemetery were on the edge of the village. The sun was down, and it was half-dark. The moon was already out though. The stones in the cemetery glowed and gleamed with gray-blue light. It was now a happy place. Few tears would be shed there again. The place was as full as it ever would be. No one would put a chisel to stone for this place. Andrew began to feel better about the islanders being gone as he looked at the moonlight reflecting off the grass at the base of the gravestones, and over the waves in the distance.

2

Letters

October 15

Dear Wilson:

Sorry I have not written sooner, but it could not be helped. So wonderful for you to take up my offer! I expect our young lady will soon be with you. A lass from the North will be a good addition to your help. You already have enough Italians!

I think Jenny will do, and do nicely. She is physically strong and sharp witted too, though she is of course unfamiliar with a great many things. But she saw something of the modern world in her first weeks away from St. Kilda, and the islanders were not as ignorant as their ancestors were in the last few centuries. She may bear a bit of watching at first, but that’s a pleasant affair. Her father says she has a stubborn streak too, and I saw some of it before I left for London.

The islanders are now mostly scattered but we were able to secure jobs for most of them in forestry. When Jenny saw how her father would be alright and that there was little she could do for herself there, she wrote to me and took us up on our offer. She speaks perfect Gaelic and English, though of course the first will be of little use in Wales. She will probably pick up Welsh easily enough if she wants to, and maybe some Italian from Alfredo and the other one (is it Gina?). Have Alfredo take her for a ride in the automobile-she’s never been in one and only saw her first a few weeks ago. But I’m sure you will know what to do. Of course you know better than me what her duties should be.

My health is excellent as usual. I am really enjoying all the restaurants I have missed these months. Still working on the avian papers but I have already given two talks. It can be trying but there are always people with money who come to the seminars, and that is what we need to continue. Of course most of my work is still tidying up the evacuation. The paperwork is horrid and I keep imagining it costing more than the operation itself. I probably won’t be able to go back when I planned. I wanted to take my helper back with me but I shall have to disappoint him as well. He is a bit of a fool but well meaning and dependable. More on him another time.

Tell me more of your Italians! That last story was quite amusing!

I’ll close here with regards to your children, and hopes for a prosperous and healthy season (you must be quite busy now!)

-Lawford

November 17

My dear Lawford::

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, you damned agnostic! I know I should have penned a letter to you sooner, but the fault lies elsewhere!

The weather was simply beastly in Merionethshire. Autumn is usually bad but this was much worse than I expected. I was wet and cold nearly all the time, except when they put me in some room with such a roaring fire that I had trouble breathing. I really should have been up sooner. The quarry and the tenants expected me in early October.

The figures look good, if prices hold steady. We may even be able to improve the school.

But all this is probably not of much interest to you. You want to know how Jenny is working out, am I right? Let me assure you that all is well, and that she is quite welcome here. We have had our troubles of course. Hallways and corridors for one. She kept getting lost the first few days, popping into the wrong room, even catching me with my clothes off once (poor woman!). I expect this is the largest house she’s ever been in, with two stories, and most of the rooms named. She knows the arrangement now, and asks if she doesn’t know to which room I’m referring. I don’t know why we call the morning room the morning room anyway, since I don’t use it that way. I have given her the small room upstairs facing the garden, since she’s not exactly a servant.

You are right, she certainly is quite intelligent. She is filing my correspondence and documents quite properly and with considerable speed. Her greatest difficulty was in learning how the folders and file cabinets worked, the filing system (such as it is-it really is a bit of a muddle) she grasped quickly. I shan’t have to wait for that fool Watkins who comes every fortnight to put things in order, and instead makes me lose things. She has also taken to our water dog, Sherry. Alfredo or I usually take him for his walks, but I wanted her to learn where we usually take her in case Alfredo and I have to leave for a few days. Gina is getting older and the cold is setting in. Well, Jenny hadn’t the foggiest on how to attach the lead to the collar. It was rather amusing and she was embarrassed. As I may have said, it’s the simplest things she has trouble with. The damn door chimes kept ringing her second day here (it was someone collecting the rates) and I called out loudly to her three or four times to see who it was, as the other staff was busy, and I found her nervously fiddling with the telephone!

Where was I . . . . oh yes, Sherry. Jenny is quite fond of the Portuguese. At first she wanted to know what the dog did here. I expect she has no experience of dogs as pets. I showed her that she would sometimes have to put Sherry’s lead on in the village, and how she would sometimes have to help Sherry negotiate a stile (she didn’t know what they were either). I can tell she would rather be with Sherry in the hills instead of with me in the house. But I like the sight of her. It makes me feel good to have a sharp and pretty woman about the place. And when she learns how to do something correctly, she does it well and without nonsense.

Not like Alfredo. Alfredo is a good driver and knows how to make a car work properly, but there’s no enthusiasm in his duties. He polishes the automobile when called on but without any dedication. He isn’t exactly a slacker, though, and things could be worse. Perhaps he misses his home.

Gina is quite happy as usual. With Mass in the morning and a priest any time one’s wanted, she feels quite at home. She is quite formal with me, even after three years, as she is a true domestic. I should try to cultivate a better understanding of Gina. However, I feel happy to be able to have helped her family out. She sends three quarters of her salary home each month. She has taken Jenny under her wing, which is a good thing.

This is getting a bit long isn’t it? But the fault lies with you! You should visit more often. And not for just a few days like last time.

Your Friend,

John Wilson

22-11-30

Miss Jenny:

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize in advance if it is too forward, or even not welcomed. But I so enjoyed meeting at you on St. Kilda. Mr. Lawford gave me your address and told me you were working for Mr. Wilson in South Wales. I should have asked your father’s permission, but had no way of easily reaching him. So again, I apologize.

I am here at the University in Glasgow, where I am in the last year of my studies. I work with my father and two of my brothers for at least part of each summer. I have been studying the classics, literature and philosophy. My father would have preferred I study maths and the sciences but those are not my strengths. Perhaps I will study the Law later, but I am not certain. I live in a house dormitory close to the University, where I take my meals as well. It is comfortable, at least for students who have been here for two years. I also work in a bookstore nearby.

Tell me of yourself if you like. Mr. Lawford only said you were working for a Mr. Wilson, and that he didn’t think you would consider a letter an intrusion, and gave me your address. He was here to speak with some of the biologists about sea birds. What is your work? How is the weather in Wales? Do you have word of the other islanders? Is your family well?

Sincerely,

Andrew MacKay

28 November, 1930

Dear Wilson:

Before I say anything else, let me apologize for this. I think I may have been hasty in giving Andrew MacKay young Jenny’s address (your address). He means to write her and may have done already. I should have asked you and Jenny’s father for permission first. His father helped us a good deal in the evacuation a few months ago, and Andrew came along to St. Kilda with me. He met Jenny and her father, and got on quite well with her. Since her father had no objection to them spending some time together on the island, I don’t think he would mind her getting a letter from him, but still, I should have let you know. If she doesn’t welcome the letter, you can blame me.

I think I wrote I was going to tell you a bit about him in my last correspondence. He’s in University up in Glasgow, in his fourth year of studies. He is studying Latin, Greek and Philosophy. He reads history and historical novels for amusement as well as study. He is a bit of a romantic as well. He seems happy, though his father once told me he would rather have Andrew concentrate on the sciences. Perhaps he will go into the Law, or even go into teaching in the colonies. He’s a hard worker in his schooling and a good sort, so I doubt he would offend Jenny.

I hope to be back at St. Kilda next year. The bird life is quite amazing. There are tens and hundreds of thousands of nesting pairs of several species. I would not be surprised if a fifth or even a larger share of the sea birds in the North Atlantic nest on those three islands and the stacs. The islanders probably never seriously impacted the population of the birds, especially over the last generation as the human population dwindled.

Glasgow hotels and restaurants are improving. There is also greater variety. One can find continental cuisine with little difficulty-Italian, French and even a little Greek establishment. It is easy to find a hotel with hot and cold running water, electric light, and even a private bath. And the prices are less dear than one would suppose. Of course the lesser sort of houses are still more common, but I would rather have to pay a shilling or two more for a comfortable stay, especially when coming off a rough field study.

I’m relaxing in London at the moment, though there are still St Kilda reports to be finished. I’ll be doing some lecturing at the College for the spring term but I shall try to come to Wales before then or during one of the breaks.

Yours,

Lawford

6-12-30

My Dear Lawford:

I am glad that Glasgow has improved. When I was a child an old friend of my father’s said they used to simply empty their chamber pots out the windows of the flats in the Scottish towns. I imagine walking the pavements in those days was like crossing a mine field! The hotel comforts sound welcoming too! North Wales is much more primitive, though it is clean. Mains electricity is only found in the larger towns, as are indoor facilities. But I don’t share your enthusiasm for restaurants. One can never be sure how clean the kitchen is, or how fresh the food is, or if they used cream in the pudding rather than milk with a pinch of flour and sugar to thicken it. Whatever I eat here is fresh from our farms or our streams or those I know or from the ocean a few miles away. I do like Italian food though. Was it authentic?

No need to worry about Andrew’s letter. I called Jenny into my study and gave it to her. She read it in the chair in front of me quite calmly and without much apparent emotion, though she may have smiled slightly. She even offered the letter to me after explaining whom it was from, but I declined. I told her that her correspondence was private unless she needed advice on a pressing matter, and she folded the letter back into the envelope.

Jenny has finished filing a good portion of my records, and even had a suggestion on how to arrange some of them. She is a gifted and swift learner. Just the other day I noticed that she was listening to two of the workmen speak in Welsh. It was plain she understood much of what they were saying, not just the gist of it. And she has only been here about six weeks! I know Welsh and Gaelic are Celtic languages, but they are quite different from one another.

She seems quite comfortable here, and is adapting swiftly to modern ways. I remember her first day, when I caught her switching her room’s light off and on for a full two minutes. The expression on her face was remarkable. Now she goes to the cinema every week with Gina, if the weather allows for it. She doesn’t much care for the radio though, perhaps too much of a disembodied voice. I hope will still like the cinema in the future, when they begin talking pictures. They already have them in the large cities and major towns, so we won’t be far behind. I take her with me on errands, and also send her with the cook when we need provisions. I want her to take as much in as she can. She accompanies me to Mass on Sundays, and even goes with Gina during the week. Alfredo is not much of a churchgoer, so you have something in common with him. I thought she would be prejudiced against Roman ways, but I take it the minister on St. Kilda was more open-minded than one would suppose. She even uses one of my extra missals!

But she is especially fond of Sherry. At first she was unfamiliar with idea of a pet, of a dog that had no duties and no reason to be except to please her master and love those who loved him. Jenny asked which flock Sherry tended, and when I told her none she wanted to know what work the dog did. When I told her Sherry kept my feet warm at night she thought it was a grand joke. But quickly enough she took to the idea of a dog as a companion. She takes Sherry on long walks, disappearing for a good two hours after I begin my afternoon nap. Sherry enjoys the way Jenny scratches the back of her head and smoothes her coat. A few nights ago I awoke to go to the toilet in the middle of the night, as I no longer have the ability to hold my water till morning. I found my feet cold and Sherry missing. I walked down the hall looking for the dog, and saw Jenny’s door half open. Sherry was comfortably asleep on the bed next to Jenny. Sherry is a gallant and loyal canine however. She doesn’t want me to know she loves someone else, so each night she starts sleeping with me, but in the morning she’s on Jenny’s counterpane. At my age I can be envious of the dog, but not jealous.

I’ll write again soon!

Regards,

Wilson

10 December

Dear Mr. Andrew;

I was happy to receive you letter. I am glad your studies are going fine. I have not known what has happened to all our people, but father says his friends are well and most are working. That man Lawford helped. Some of the people want to go back and visit their homes. I do not want that.

The work Mr. Wilson gives me is good. At the beginning I had trouble with what he wanted myself to do, but now it comes easy. I have a good knowledge of maths and names and accounts, and made things fit into order. He is a kind man and has been everywhere on a map. He tells myself of cities like Paris and Rome after we eat in the evenings. He has a school in another part of Wales. He has friends in a church here and I have lessons with them after church. It is the Mass and is Roman Catholic, which I never knew before. I stay and learn from a minister there three days a week, about Catholics and about English and other subjects. It is easier to speak in English than to write in English. So like you I am going to school also.

Many people here speak Welsh. There are some words the same as our language, but most are different. I go shopping for things with Gina or talk to the workers and soon I am speaking Welsh with them a little.

Mr. Wilson has come in the room. Soon he will show myself how to address and franc the letter. It is my first real letter and harder than the writing they had us make in school, which were essays we wrote after a pattern the teacher gave us, because now I am not getting a mark for it, but it is for you instead.

Jenny

3

Have you separated out all the school documents? Those to do with teachers, other staff, pupils, repairs, complaints and any other category you can think of?

Yes, Mr. Wilson, Jenny said.

Did you find any in Welsh, you know, with ysgol, athro, dosbarth, dosbathiadau, et cetera?

What is et cetera? said Jenny, her head tilting and her eyebrows pulling down a bit. I know the other words.

It means something similar, something like what was just said. Here I’m talking about letters in Welsh.

There some, yes. I put them down separate. She pointed to a small stack next to at the end of several larger ones. I put them in date order, just like the others. I know the Welsh months."

Good. We don’t get too many letters in Welsh. Even if the parents or tradesmen don’t speak or write English well, they usually go through the trouble of finding someone who can write in English. But a few parents write in Welsh only. Can you understand the Welsh letters? Wilson asked.

I think I know what they say, but I do not have all the words yet.

Well that’s alright. That’s good enough. I probably could grasp the gist of things myself. That’s the end for this afternoon, anyway. Why don’t you make sure Sherry’s been fed. Then you can take her out.

Jenny’s face brightened. She went left the room and went down the hall. The fourth door on the left was her room. She entered a small chamber with blue patterned wallpaper. There was a single bed with a blue counterpane and an old decorative pillow of Persian wool below the headboard. A small bedside table was next to the bed, complete with an electric light. There was also a bulb in an opaque globe in the center of the room’s ceiling, with a switch plate with two round buttons mounted just inside the door. One button only always protruded. One pressed whichever button was protruding to change the light’s condition, and the button one pressed would stay down while its mate would rise from the plate. Jenny spent a good quarter of an hour turning the light off and on her first day at the house. Alfredo had noticed this when he when he passed Jenny’s room to make a report on automobile repairs to Mr. Wilson in his study. Alfredo came by the next day while Mr. Wilson was out and showed Jenny how it worked, removing the plate’s screws to reveal its workings and the wires that carried current to the device.

An oak chest of drawers was to the left of the door, along with a simple dark wooden chair. Another chair of the same pattern was next to a two-door wardrobe along the west wall of the room. A worn oriental rug, about four by six feet, lay between the bed and wardrobe. The room was decorated with two paintings, one above the dresser, and the other, larger one on the wall opposite the wardrobe. Both were original, both Italian in origin and setting, and modestly framed. The larger small one’s subject was the Roman Forum, and it was not very distinguished. The smaller one was of a dark haired woman of middle age. She was sitting in a chair by an open window looking into the distance. The woman held a chess piece in her right hand between the thumb and forefinger. The piece held was a bishop, though Jenny did not know the piece and did not know what chess was until she saw a board in Wilson’s study and asked him about it some weeks later.

Jenny put on her olive sweater and took her dark blue coat in her hands. She went downstairs to the kitchen and found Sherry in the kitchen finishing her meal. The cook, a large stout man with short light hair, greeted her.

Good afternoon, Mr. Ivor, said Jenny.

A good afternoon for a walk, isn’t it? Ivor said. It’s cool but there’s little wind, and no rain for a few days.

Yes, I think so too, Jenny responded.

They both looked at Sherry for a few moments. The silence prompted the dog to look up at them. Sherry wagged her tail, and then returned to the serious business of finishing her meal. Jenny went to the hall to get the lead and change into her boots, which were left in one of the entrance hall closets. She only used the lead if they went to the village in case she wanted to go into a shop, or if some unfamiliar dogs were present, but she liked to have it with her on every walk in case the need arose. When she returned in her boots she saw that the cook was cook busy at his work, and that Sherry had finished with her meal and was busy wiping her muzzle on the worn upholstery of the arm of the chair the cook like to relax in. Sherry wagged her tail at the sight of Jenny with the lead in her hand and let out a short bark.

Go enjoy yourselves, you dark haired beauties, the cook said, without turning around.

They exited the building using the kitchen door, then walked around the side of the house. The house was itself far from modest but not the sort of dwelling one associated with an important title or major industrialist. It had two stories with a central structure and two wings, each about seventy five feet long. It was too new and too well kept to belong to minor landed gentry. Rather, it spoke of more recent money or of a well-managed estate. In Wilson’s case, both of the latter applied.

Sherry led the way out the gate and up the road that led into the hills east of the house.

Three quarters of an hour later they were two miles from the house and well above it. Neither was winded but Jenny’s legs were tired and the watch Wilson had given her told her they had gone far enough. From here in the hills Jenny could see the village with its two main streets and lanes that worked away from them. One could not see the village from Wilson’s house because of the way the land was laid, though it was little more than a mile away. She could also see the village chapel and the two small churches.

She sat on a stile and laid her coat on a rail. She wanted to cool down a bit before putting it back on. Sherry came over and put her muzzle in Jenny’s lap, waited for a scratch, then bounded away after she got it. She loved running in the fields, chasing rabbits or squirrels. She had liked chasing sheep, but had been at least partly cured of the habit. She would run towards them but stop before she got too close, knowing that if she got too close and made them scatter she would get a scolding. Sherry didn’t mind getting into a fight with a sheep dog or shepherd, but didn’t want Jenny angry with her. Sometimes Sherry would find a lone sheep, but they were stupid and didn’t want to play. Sheep just ate grass or scattered pellets, warily waiting for the dog to come and bring them down from the pasture.

If a shepherd and dogs were working sheep, Jenny was eager to watch. It was so different from the island. Here was room for a sheep to get lost or even run over by a automobile or lorry on a road. Where could a sheep go on Hirta, Soay, or Boreray? And the animals here had to be inspected or seen by a vet if something was wrong or there was a disease carried from somewhere. Last week she saw a shepherd near the same stile she sat on and asked him questions about what he was doing but the shepherd was all formal and gave only his name, which she had since forgotten, and an excuse for getting back to his work. She had seen another shepherd a couple of days later, but he was to far to talk to or even shout to. But she saw him look her way.

Jenny was starting to get cold so she put her coat back on, and started back to the house. There was no need to call Sherry, because no matter what the dog was doing, the dog would stop once or twice a minute and check for Jenny. Sherry soon caught her up. The walk back was easy. It was downhill, and Sherry was special careful to test the scent of every post or shrub she had marked on the way up, adding more liquid if it was required, then testing again.

Before they had gotten half the way back, Jenny saw two rams by the side of the road. Ragged and thin they were, looking for the few green bits of grass that remained this late in the year. It would take more than that to put some weight on their bones. Sherry found