The Sons of Silas Mccracken

By Dudley James Podbury

Silas McCracken was a hard man, hard but fair according to his own reckoning, yet he knew that few would agree with him. He came from tough, highland Scots ancestory where a Scottish pound was always a full twenty shillings, never a penny more, never a penny less. His wife Mary was of gentler stock .

From this unmatched parentage, three sons were born. The two older boys would enjoy the favour of their hard, determined father, whereas the youngest son would bear his closefisted resentment.

And so, as is often the case, the course of ones life is set from the earliest years.

As the boys grow and develop into manhood, from the quiet confines of Kinross in their native Scotland, their destinies take them along separate paths. From the moneyed towers of the London financial district, to the backstreets of Soho, and the less savoury areas of Marseilles, the McCracken influence would travel through the Mafia stronghold of Sicily, post war Germany and on to the halls of power in New York and Washington. Only the youngest son would remain true to his roots in his native land.

By different standards each son would succeed; it is for others to discern how success and failure is judged in the balance, and where the scale shall fall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491786994

Dudley James Podbury

Dudley James Podbury is a retired Optometrist and active Rotarian, and he received his Bachelor of Science from Melbourne University. Devoted to his wife Veronica and children, he lives in Melbourne Australia and enjoys writing, golf and snow skiing. Author of These Tumultuous Years

Book preview

Prologue

Silas McCracken was a hard man—hard but fair by his own reckoning—yet he knew that few would agree with him. His father had been the same before him, and no doubt his grandfather also, for they were all of tough Highland Scots extraction, where a pound had always represented fully twenty shillings, never a penny more and never a penny less. He was a short, stocky man, his bent shoulders and long, gangling arms giving him a slightly gorilla-like appearance, while his broad, hair-matted chest gave promise of comparable strength. His chiselled features were not unhandsome, and although the rough stubble of greying beard about his craggy jaw lent him an untidy appearance, the steely glint in the glacier-blue eyes that unblinkingly gazed out upon his world told of an iron resolve and an indomitable will. In short, he was not a man to be taken lightly.

His wife, Mary, was of gentler stock. She had met the young Silas some ten years earlier, when he was a youth of twenty-two and she a maid of eighteen. She had rapidly been swept off her feet by the attention of the resourceful and determined Silas, who was actively seeking a wife. After a short whirlwind romance, he had asked for her hand and it had willingly been given. Then followed a short, tempestuous love life. Mary bore him three sons in the early years of happy marriage, during which time he acted as a model husband, mindful and caring in every detail. Thereafter, he progressively lost interest in his young wife, who was relegated to caring for his needs other than sexual, for his boys became his total obsession.

The elder two were twins, although not identical; and after some thought, during which Mary was not consulted, their father christened them Harold and Robert. Harold was named for his paternal grandfather. He was a strong, robust lad, extroverted in nature, yet even from a young age he showed little need for affection from either of his doting parents. He was a thoughtful boy, ever given to considering all facets of a situation before acting.

The other twin, named Robert after his paternal great-grandfather, bore most of the physical characteristics of his older, by one hour, sibling. Bodily they were almost indistinguishable, yet their facial features were markedly different. Although physically alike, it was here that all similarity ceased. Robert was quiet, yet prone to act impetuously and consider the consequences of his actions later. He was also gentler and much more affectionate by nature and so was emotionally much closer to his mother than was his twin.

The third son, a full year younger, was sickly from birth. For a time, it was doubtful whether he would survive, and during the early few months of his young life, his father developed an indifference towards him that was to persist for the rest of his days, for Silas McCracken had no use for sickly sons. If his wife bore him a weak child, it was better that the child should die, for she could always bear him another son more suitable to the hard life of the Scottish Highlands.

The young child, however, refused to oblige the wishes of his indifferent father, perversely resisting death and clinging to what little life he possessed by the merest of threads. Owing entirely to the tender love and care of his concerned mother and his own contrary nature, the little mite gradually gained ground and the crisis passed. The youngest of the three boys would live, although it was doubtful whether he would ever be a strong child. Grudgingly admitting defeat, his father named him Angus after his maternal grandfather. This was the only concession Silas made to the existence of his wife’s family, and it was significant, for it instituted and maintained a barrier that was to remain between him and his unwanted youngest son for the rest of his life.

And so, as is often the case, the course of the lad’s life was set from the earliest years. The two older boys would enjoy the favour of their hard, determined father, whereas Angus would bear his closefisted resentment. These three young lives would develop along separate paths, influenced and abetted by the attitudes of their very different parents. Their ultimate happiness, and that of those who bore them, would hang in the balance.

This, then, is a tale of relative success, for by different standards each son would succeed. It is for the reader to discern how success and failure are judged in the balance and where the scale shall fall. For as with beauty, the eye of the beholder can be influenced by preconceived ideas, and its judgement also can be flawed. A whited sepulchre is always a tomb, however well adorned; a rough, uncut diamond remains a diamond still.

Chapter 1

They’re two fine, strong lads, Mr. McCracken, Dean Jonas, the headmaster, observed. I’m sure they will work hard at their studies and succeed in the broad curriculum of games the school provides. St. Giles College is very selective in its students, but I’m sure we can find places for the likes of Robert and Harry. There is now the small matter of the school fees to be considered. The best does not come cheap, as we all know well, but I’m sure you and your good wife have considered that a fine education in such a grand school is a shrewd investment and the fees are well and truly justified. Accounts are payable in advance, and on the receipt of same, the boys’ names shall be added to the school’s roles. Now, are there any other concerns that require clarification before you commence your journey home?

Here the ruddy-faced, overweight headmaster leaned back in his leather-upholstered chair, beaming his well-rehearsed plastic smile at the parents sitting before his desk while he attempted to concentrate his bored mind on the matter at hand.

I’m na a wealthy man, Mr. Jonas, Silas McCracken answered. The fees are indeed very steep, but with hard work and canny saving, the money will be found. It is my wish that the twins be given the best start in life that I can afford, and I’m advised Giles College can provide that start. You keep your part of the agreement, and I’ll keep mine. But I canna have my boys wasting their time and my money without results. It’s results I’ll be wantin’ Mr. Jonas; all the rest is nothing but humbug to me. Do I make myself clear to your understanding, Mr. Jonas? Silas’s whole compact body leaned forward in his chair as if to give extra impetus to his words. I’ll be having no truck with failure in any form. Fixing the hapless master with a glacial stare, he folded his arms and rested back in his chair, as if awaiting some form of guarantee from the fat figure before him.

Dean Jonas was somewhat perplexed. He was not accustomed to being spoken to in this uncivil manner, particularly by an upcountry farmer he deemed very much his inferior. His instinctive reaction was to rise to his feet and order this upstart before him from his office, thus terminating the unpleasant interview. With difficulty, however, he controlled his temper and allowed a supercilious smile to crease the fat folds of his florid face.

I feel sure that St. Giles shall not disappoint you in that regard, my good sir, he commented through pursed lips, the false smile masking the hostile thoughts abounding behind the facade of his set features. As I have mentioned before, we pride ourselves on excellence in all things, and we shall make no exceptions with your boys. He now rose ponderously from his chair, extending his limp, flabby hand to indicate the termination of the interview, managing at the same time to glance rather pointedly at his ornate watch to convey the impression that his valuable time was being wasted.

We shall expect the boys to arrive by two in the afternoon on the day before the commencement of term. The bursar shall allot them a room, and a senior boy shall assist them to settle in.

With these words, he ushered the McCrackens from his study and closed the door. Only then did he allow the false smile to fade from his features, to be replaced by a grimace of distaste.

Common people, he thought to himself as he strode thoughtfully to the window that overlooked the quadrangle. From here he could watch the McCrackens’ departure from the school grounds.

At another time I would have thrown that miserable creature from my office, together with his mouse of a wife, he mused, whilst his thoughts reverted to the meeting he had attended that morning with the school governors.

We have a rather pressing financial problem at the moment, Jonas, the chairman of governors had explained. For a short time, we will be obliged to accept all who apply and can afford the fees, regardless of their social status. Now be a good fellow and swallow your pride for the good of the school, eh?

God, it will be hard with trash like those, he thought as he watched the McCrackens pass down the school drive.

For the good of the school, he repeated to himself.

He left the window and made his way to a panel on his sideboard, behind which was concealed a decanter of sherry. Pouring himself an excessively large glass, he sat once more behind his desk. He then raised his glass to toast the portrait of the founder of St. Giles that occupied the side wall.

For the good of the school, he repeated again. And after downing the strong sherry in a single gulp, he poured himself another generous glass, which rapidly followed the first.

***

I dinna like the man, Mary, Silas commented to his wife, neither expecting nor receiving any answer. A trumped-up buffoon with a few letters to his name and a wee sodden brain in his head. That’s me estimation of the fool, and I’m rarely known to be wrong. I’ll stomach the likes o’ him as long as it suits me fancy, or so long as it takes the boys to get the best from the school—whichever is the sooner. Then I’ll have me reckoning with the stuck-up bastard, and we’ll see who’s the better man then; you mark me words.

As he left the school grounds, he spat contemptuously to convey his scorn for the establishment and all it stood for. Yet he grudgingly admitted that his twins must climb the social ladder if they were to achieve the success in life that he had planned for them, and St. Giles was an important rung on the way.

For this, he could swallow his pride for a time, but he would keep the score. Silas McCracken was not a man to forgive a slight easily; nor was he a man to readily forget. He would use St. Giles for his own purposes; the future would take care of itself.

For her own part, Mary was not unimpressed by the grandeur of the school or by the pompous bearing of its representative. She was happy that her two older sons would attend there, and she hoped her youngest would join them in time. She knew, however, that Silas’s intentions were otherwise; she would watch and wait for her opportunities over the next year.

***

The train ride home was uneventful. Silas was rarely given to idle chat, and this occasion was no exception. Mary busied herself with her knitting and made several unsuccessful attempts at conversation, but her husband, as ever, was moody and disinclined to speak. So, as no answers were forthcoming, she soon ceased her futile attempts, and the long journey continued in silence.

Lost in his own thoughts and plans for the future of his older sons, Silas stared fixedly at the fast-passing countryside, seeing nothing as the train click-clacked its way north across the miles of tracks.

Aye, he thought to himself. His twins would rise above the likes of Jonas and his crew—the whole muckraking lot of them. He would guide, steer, and push them to the top. His sons would be successful gentlemen, whatever the cost to his sweat or his pride. He would not quibble so long as the desired result was achieved.

The renewed sound of his wife’s voice and the mention of his youngest son’s name interrupted his reverie, for Mary had chosen this moment to attempt to establish Angus’s right to the same schooling as his brothers.

Angus also shall attend the school when old enough? she queried of her husband, knowing full well his likely response yet wishing to broach the point nonetheless.

Turning to face his insipid wife, he fixed her with a gaze of contempt.

Dinna fash me, woman, he exploded in a sudden fit of temper. A hard enough thing it is to raise the money for Rob and Harry. There’ll na be a penny left for the likes of the wee Angus, he spat out with invective. The lad’s a brainless weakling. I canna make a man to be proud of from the likes of him. He shall attend the council school—if he goes to school at all, and that be a waste o’ time too. He be better off workin’ for a living, not aspiring to things o’ which he’s na capable. There’ll be na more talk o’ highfalutin’ schoolin’ for Angus. Do you think I be made o’ money, woman?

As Mary raised her head in a futile attempt at protest, he rose to his feet to better stare down at the timid woman beneath him.

There’ll be na more useless talk o’ Angus and school, he shouted at her. And that’s the finish o’ the matter. And he sat once more and stared at the fleeting landscape, thoroughly put out at this unwelcome interruption of his thoughts.

Mary held her tongue and resumed her knitting, her heart beating fast in trepidation and her face flushed from the unpleasant encounter. From past experience, she well knew the folly of persisting in an argument with her stubborn, headstrong husband. Yet she had made her point. She knew that it would fall to her to protect the interests of her youngest son, for Silas had no affection for the child. But protect him she would, whatever the cost to her comfort or her purse, for Angus was a loving and loyal son to both his mother and his hard-hearted father. He deserved better, and if she could provide, he would be the equal of his older brothers. And so the matter rested for the time being.

***

She had been sleeping. The hiss of the train’s brakes and the loud clanking of the resisting carriages woke her. Peering through the frosted windows, she cleared the condensation with her fingers to better determine her location. It was dark outside, but the familiar appearance of the station was unmistakable. They were home, and as she struggled to her feet in order to disembark, she was suddenly forced back roughly into her seat by the bulk of her husband, who was reaching over and above her, seeking for their sparse luggage in the rack above. He was clearly still in a sour mood. Making no pretence of apology, he lifted their meagre belongings and left the carriage, leaving his still drowsy wife to follow as best she could.

It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but the hand of winter was on the land, and nightfall had already come. Even rugged up as she was, the air was still chilling, for a heavy mantle of frost covered the frozen ground. Dense clouds of moisture from her breath formed in the air as she pushed through the jostling crowd, making her way towards the relative comfort and warmth of the station waiting room. A feeling of impending excitement overcame her as her eyes scanned back and forth, searching the waiting crowd. There was no sign of that which she was seeking, and for a moment disappointment overwhelmed her, to be instantly replaced by sudden immense joy as the familiar homely face of Mrs. Heffernan, her neighbour, came into view, and at her side the children: Rob, Harry, and Angus.

With a cry of happiness, Mary bent low and opened her arms as the children rushed to her embrace. The two older boys, being stronger, reached her first, for Angus was too little to push through the crowd of adults milling around the station. Seeing his mother already engulfed, the small, slight boy stopped for a moment. Then, noticing his father, he ran instead in his direction, holding out his tiny arms in welcome. As his youngest son pushed towards him, Silas set down the luggage he was carrying and turned instead in the direction of his older sons, prising them from their mother’s grasp and tossing them affectionately into the air.

Ah, my fine boys, he laughed happily, his recent sour mood completely dissipated at the appearance of his favourites.

And soon to a fine school it will be for you. Your da has spent the last days securing a grand future for his darling boys.

Then, lowering the two boys to the ground, he grasped each firmly by the hand, spinning them around him as unwelcome tears welled in the eyes of his rejected youngest son.

It was for his mother to fold the little boy to her and stem the deep sobs that welled within him, for although Silas had no time for Angus, the little boy worshipped his father and craved his affection, and so his rejection was keenly felt.

That night, after a heavy meal of beef and potatoes, liberally washed down with steaming cups of hot tea, the two older boys sat before their father, eager to hear of the wonders of their new school. A comforting fire crackled and spluttered in the stone hearth as Silas, seated in his favourite chair before the wide-eyed boys, recounted the events of the previous days.

It’s a bonny place, he commenced with enthusiasm. There are fine, strong stone buildings surrounded by gardens and playing fields, and many more masters than at the local schools. You are to pay attention to the masters, and you will be taught well. It’s important nowdays for boys to know things—much more important than when your da was a boy. You will leave school knowin’ things that will make your da proud. My boys will go a long way in life and be successful businessmen, not like the likes of others about here. You are to work hard, boys, he enthused to his wide-eyed audience.

One day you will live in a big city, and your da can come and live with you. You will be wealthy, powerful men, and grand folks passing by will tip their caps at you and whisper about the success that Silas McCracken has made of his fine boys.

And as these pleasurable thoughts passed vividly through his mind, Silas rocked back and forth in his chair, puffing contentedly at his briar pipe. His active imagination conjured up visions of the future that he saw so clearly down the path of the years.

And will Angus come too when he’s growd? asked Harold of his father, for Harold was fond of his younger brother and enjoyed his company in his games.

The unexpected question broke Silas’s thoughts, and an agitated expression clouded his stubbled features.

Do you na ken all I be sayin’ to you Harry? he gently chastised his son. I be talkin’ o’ grand things for you boys—grand things that will cost your da all his savings. There’ll be na cash left for wee Angus. I na be completely made o’ money. Angus can go to the local school; he’ll do well enough there for the likes o’ him. Besides, he’s too weak to travel and live in a big school. You’ll na miss wee Angus while you are away, and in the holidays you can tell him all about the fine things you be learnin’.

With these contrived reassuring words he shooed his sons out to the kitchen into the care of their mother and so off to bed. He listened for a time to the bedtime sounds in the adjoining room while he continued to rock contentedly in the comfort of his chair. Finally, under the influence of the fire’s warmth, he became drowsy as he continued to dream. Sleep gradually overcame him while the rocking slowly ceased. He slumped in his chair, a smile of satisfaction softening the roughness of his coarse features, as ambitious plans continued to form in his subconscious to the benefit of his chosen sons.

There was no interfering image of the wee Angus to disrupt his pleasant dreams.

That night, in the warmth of their common bed, the restless twins shared with their younger brother the exciting plans their father had divulged to them. As they snuggled deeply into the comfort of the thick blankets and drifted into a peaceful sleep, they could not hear the sobbing of their smaller sibling lying by their side. Angus was pleased for his brothers, yet he was apprehensive as well, for he knew that his playmates would soon travel far away and he would miss them greatly. He was also equally sure, even at his present young age, that no grand school would await him as he grew older.

As for Harry and Rob, they had already been transported in their dreams to the grandeur of their new school and the excitement that awaited them there.

***

The weeks passed quickly. There was much to do, including an exciting trip to Edinburgh in company with their mother to buy new clothes and things for school. Nothing the brothers could have conjured up in their fevered dreams could possibly have prepared them for this event, for the thrill of the journey far outweighed anything they could have imagined. None of the boys had ever been to the big city before, and their mother had only been twice. They strolled the wide streets hand in hand, gazing in awe at the multitude of the shops and the richness and variety of the goods they contained, while ever wondering where the endless crowds of people came from. The sidewalks seemingly teemed with people in an ever-passing parade of humanity, the likes and numbers of which they would not have seen in a month in their home village.

And then there was the wonder of the castle on the hill overlooking the main street. It was Angus who first saw it perched forbiddingly on the hillside, dominating the landscape. His mother had told him of the existence of Edinburgh Castle and some of the little history she knew of it, but the ominous appearance of the old stones and ramparted walls created an impression that even his childish imagination could not have constructed. As he gazed in wonder at the castle walls and daydreamed of the wondrous and gory events he imagined had occurred there, a cloud of smoke erupted from one of the ramparts, followed almost instantly by the loud roar of cannon fire. The small boy gripped his mother’s hand tightly in fright and sheltered behind her skirts, sure that something dreadful was about to happen. He waited, expecting to see people running for their lives, surprised that his mother had not moved. Instead all around him was calm. Indeed, most eyes did look towards the source of the disturbance, but no one ran; instead several gentlemen, seemingly on cue, removed their fob watches and simultaneously checked the time.

Midday cannon a wee bit late today according to my reckoning, observed one old gentleman to his friend by his side. My old ticker never known to be wrong. Old Maclarren up there on the hill better raise from bed a wee bit earlier, else the whole country be as late as he be.

Laughing together at their own wit, the two old gentlemen closed their watches and returned them to their pockets, continuing on their way as they did so. In their wake, they left one small, chastened boy still standing in the shadow of his mother’s skirts, coping as best he could with the wreckage of his romantic dreams. To a small, impressionable boy, the fantasy and mystery engulfing an ancient castle would not allow for the use of one of its threatening cannons as a timepiece.

The day was long and tiring yet full of excitement as, piece by piece, the school uniforms, books, and other requirements were selected and purchased. Always in the back of Mary’s mind was the parting admonition from her parsimonious husband: Mind you watch the prices, Mary. Those thieves in the city will na care that our money is hard earned. Rob you blind, they will, if you do na ken their thieving ways. Query every price at least twice so they ken you be watchin’, for the hard brass you be spendin’ has been earned by the sweat of my brow and the bendin’ of my back. Get the twins all they be needin’, mind you, but waste na of my money on the wee Angus; his clothes are good enough for the local school.

She had been as canny in her buying as best she could, yet she could not resist buying a small toy that Angus had seen prominently displayed in a shop window. She had noticed her youngest son watching the nodding head of the miniature plastic horse. He was entirely mesmerised by the movement as he stood, his hands and nose flattened against the window, oblivious to all about him except the tiny toy. At first Mary had ignored his obvious fascination, grasping her son by the hand and dragging him from the window as she attempted to move on. Yet the small boy resisted, his eyes glued to the window as his weary mother pulled him away. She turned in exasperation to scold the child, but the forlorn, longing appearance on the child’s face touched a sympathetic chord in her gentle heart.

Poor child, she thought to herself. His father denies his brothers nothing, yet he is so mean to this little one. On a sudden impulse, hugging the small child close to her body, she entered the store.

The horse was removed from the window and placed in Angus’s hands while his mother counted out the few coins needed for its purchase. The little boy was so captivated by the toy that he was oblivious of his mother’s actions. As she held his hand once more, preparatory to leaving the store, he gave a small sigh and returned the toy to the counter, thanking the shop assistant for allowing him to handle it for the short time. A wondrous look of joy and amazement filled his pinched features as the longed-for toy was forced back into his tiny hands.

The wee toy is yours to keep, his mother smilingly informed him. But it will na please your father to have it under his feet. So make sure you keep it out of his sight, my bonnie wee son. That way we shall have a healthy wee horsey and a happy wee child. Grasping his unoccupied hand firmly in her own, she left the enchantment of the shop, and the pair proceeded on their way.

The day was now far advanced, and the children were hungry. Mary knew that her husband would wish them to immediately return home, for he would not wish to waste money in the food shops of the city. Yet it had been such a pleasant day she was loath to end it. She had spied a small coffee shop across the side street, inside which she could discern a welcoming fire and inviting, twinkling lights. An appetising array of freshly baked sweet sticky cakes was displayed in the window, and the beckoning aroma emanating from the premises was irresistible. Releasing the boy’s hands for a moment, she opened her purse and studied the few coins left within. She concluded there was just enough for a small treat for herself and her boys, so threading their way through the traffic, the small brood crossed the street and entered the shop. As the door opened, a brass bell attached above it tinkled a cheery welcome, while a warm blanket of delicious smells that both taunted and tempted the senses instantly replaced the cold of the outside air.

A fat, jolly man ushered the family to a cosy table by the blazing fire. He was clad in a long, heavy sweater that hung low over the tartan of his kilt, beneath which, seemingly suspended, protruded a pair of stockinged legs that appeared inadequate to support his considerable bulk. His sleeves were rolled above the elbows of his brawny arms, and the clean but tight-fitting apron that stretched inadequately over his ample middle lent him an altogether comical appearance.

’Tis indeed a fine wee family you have to bless your hearth, he commented in a rich, strong brogue.

And ’tis to the best establishment in the whole of Edinburgh City you have come, he continued modestly as he wiped the table and set the menu before them.

Will you be eatin’ a full meal or just havin’ some of the tastiest cakes in all o’ Scotland, cooked by the loving hands of the proprietor’s wife herself? he asked, all the while standing in anticipation before Mary, a quizzical expression on his impish face and his pen poised expectantly above his order pad.

As Mary scanned the menu, the man, who proved to be the proprietor, continuously moved his considerable bulk from one leg to the other while winking at the boys and exchanging comical facial expressions with each in turn. The boys were entirely taken with the jolly fat man, and even Angus was distracted for a short time from his recent acquisition. Mary was delighted at the cheerful time they were all enjoying, and once she had placed her order, the little band warmed themselves appreciatively by the fire while awaiting the serving of their unexpected treat.

Soon the proprietor returned bearing a heavy tray laden with mugs of steaming tea and plates heaped with muffins and cakes. Mary was initially alarmed that there were many more cakes than she had requested, for she had funds just sufficient for what she had ordered and nothing more. Before she could query the order, however, her mind was put to rest by the impish man. Setting the heavy tray laboriously on the table, he gave a mock sigh of exhaustion whilst pretending to mop sweat from his brow from the exertion of carrying the heavy tray.

’Tis a good thing you came at this time of day, missus, he commented to Mary. The lady herself was about to take all these extra cakes home for me to eat this night. If she did, my doctor would have a fit, so I snaffled them for your wee lads. Never saw a boy yet who couldn’t eat at least twice what his mother provided. Seeing the slightly alarmed expression on her face and guessing the cause, the kind man faced his palms towards her in a gesture of dismissal. There’s no extra charge, missus, he stated, anticipating her query. The boys will be doin’ an old man a big favour spoffin’ that lot—and possibly extendin’ his life a wee bit too. And removing the now empty tray from the laden table, he returned to the kitchen, leaving the wide-eyed boys and their mother to partake of the considerable feast he had so generously provided.

As the feasting family spread liberal amounts of creamy butter and home-made jam on the fare before them, they were unaware of two pairs of sparkling eyes watching them through a small opening from the kitchen. The happy proprietor chuckled to himself, his arm around his equally proportioned wife. They both watched the cakes and tea rapidly disappear. The proprietor had noticed the paucity of money in Mary’s purse and had taken it into his own hands to provide a small feast for the woman and her hungry band.

Well, Martha, he commented, turning towards his wife, a broad smile creasing his chubby face, I’d rather feed the likes o’ them for nothin’ than the likes o’ some we see for all the brass in the Bank o’ Scotland. He patted his homely wife on her ample bottom, and the two retired to the depth of their kitchen, leaving the happy family to their feast.

The initial exuberance of the three boys for their unexpected treat had passed, as the pressure on their now well-laden small stomachs had increased. There were now only two sticky buns left on the previously stacked plate, and each of the boys was mentally debating the difficulty of the mathematical equation before them, for even Angus was aware that three divided into two with the utmost inconvenience. The dilemma was resolved, however, by the reappearance of their impish host, who came barging through the swinging doors of the kitchen carrying another bun on a plate held extended at arm’s length before him.

I will not eat it, Martha, he called over his shoulder in a voice filled with feigned exasperation directed towards his unseen wife in the kitchen. It will be the death of me, he shouted. Then, fixing the twinkling eyes in his chubby face on Angus, who was seated at the table before him, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone and continued. Would you do a fat old man a wee favour, laddie? he requested, glancing furtively all the while towards the swinging doors of the kitchen as if he feared his wife would appear at any moment to force him to eat the bun. Can ye na find a wee cranny in your tummy for one more bun? Otherwise I will be forced to eat it meself, with desperate danger to me health an’ all, he stated, placing the plate before the wide eyes of Mary’s youngest, who was completely enchanted with the harmless pantomime being performed by the kindly man.

Angus had no desire to be the cause of harm to his impish benefactor. He reached out for the bun, thereby solving the previously unsolvable dilemma. Instantly two other small hands reached out as if in unison. Thirty seconds later, there were no buns to be seen, and none of the boys had noticed the surreptitious wink or the nod that passed between the pastry maker and their smiling, delighted mother.

Feeling sleepy and exhausted, the now well-fed happy family left the shop and made its way out into the dark and cold of the wintry street, leaving the well-rounded forms of the shopkeeper and his wife waving from the warmth of their doorway. Their joyous day was nearly over. Mary glanced at the cheap watch she wore to ensure she had adequate time to reach the station. Then, dragging her tired, resisting little family laden with their purchases of the day behind her, she ultimately climbed aboard the train and commenced the long journey homeward. Soon her little ones were fast asleep, wee Angus snuggled beneath her arm against her breast, the small plastic horse that meant so much to him clasped firmly in one tiny hand while his steady, shallow breaths condensed in the cold air of the rocking carriage. She watched her sleeping son for some moments, her maternal instincts overcome by the innocence of the child she held close to her body. She had given life to this beautiful child, and her love radiated out towards him like a palpable force. What could she do to make Silas aware of the wonder of this child? She doubted she could do anything, as the hard heart of her stubborn husband was set against his youngest son. Her intuition told her there would be much unhappiness for them both, but she was determined that she would protect her youngest with all her strength. She loved all her boys equally, but for Harry and Robert she had no fears. Their destiny would be protected by the zeal of their father; it would be for her to guide the path of Angus, and looking down at the curls of her sleeping child, she made a silent vow. She would devote herself to assuring that Angus would receive all the opportunity that her selfless love could provide, just as his brothers would be blessed by the favour of their father.

Little did she realise that in this decision she had commenced an action that would cause reactions throughout all their lives. Her two older sons would be greatly influenced by their strong-willed, grasping father, whereas Angus would be left to learn his values from his gentle but generous mother.

Time would tell which was the greater force—the love of a gentle woman’s heart or the relentless drive of an ambitious man. Their products would differ, and the measure of their success would be weighed in a separate balance. But weighed they would be; it would remain to be seen whether each would be satisfied that full measure had been received for what had been contributed.

Chapter 2

Look lively, boys; it’s off to a grand school you’ll be goin’ this day, and proud it’ll be you’ll be makin’ your father.

It was not yet light. The frost of the Scottish winter’s morning covered everything outside the house in a thick blanket of white, seemingly a palpable thing barely kept from entering the chilly confines of the rooms by the moist stone walls mounted against it.

Silas was in a rare jovial mood. Ever an early riser, he stamped through the house, raising his reluctant sons from the warmth of their beds for the coming day. Bustling about, he was preparing a fire in the kitchen hearth, attempting to create some comfort and cheer in the otherwise frugally furnished cottage. He was dressed in the rough, heavy tweed that was worn almost as a uniform by the workers of the small town. This was in no way in deference to the quality or cut but rather in appreciation of the ability of the coarse, greasy wool to ward off the ever-pervading cold. Soon a roaring fire was alight, and he crouched for a few moments to savour its warmth. Rising to turn his back to the fire, he became conscious that his earlier exhortations had elicited little response. His earlier mood darkened somewhat as he called once more.

If ya will na raise ya lazy bodies when asked in a civil manner, your da will see if his thick stick will speed ya movements. With these words he reached for his heavy staff, which he always kept ready by the side of the hearth. There was a clatter of noise from the boys’ room as three pairs of small feet hit the floor running, and three small bodies, clad in their thick nightshirts, crowded around the water basin. There the boys splashed the sleep from their childish faces in the icy water. Then back to the room they went to dress for the day—Rob and Harry in the fresh clothes purchased for their new school, and wee Angus in the oversized trews and ill-fitting shirt that were his customary clothing, for Silas had decreed there was to be no waste in the house. We canna buy special clothes for Angus, Mary, he had stated on many an occasion. It’s good trainin’ for the boy to learn to live frugally. He can wear the cast-downs from his older brothers. I’ll na see good clothes cast away an’ wasted. Nothing Mary could say would change his fixed mind.

They may be a wee bit large for a short time, but if the laddie works hard and builds up his wee frame, he’ll soon fill them out. Say no more to me, woman, for my mind is made up. There’ll be na waste in this house, as I’ve told you many times past; do you think I be made of money? And here the matter rested, as any further entreaties on her behalf would likely provoke him to violence, to the detriment of the small boy.

And so Angus became the brunt of many cruel remarks and jokes in the small village because of his ill-fitting clothes. In this regard he was not alone, as there were other fathers in the district with attitudes similar to that of Silas.

It was Angus’s task in the mornings to assist his mother in serving the breakfast meal. His mother, of course, required no assistance, but Silas insisted, declaring in his dogmatic way that the child must be useful. Initially Mary had resented this decree, for she would have preferred Angus to sleep a little later so she could bestow on him extra mothering and affection. But the little boy was ever willing to please his mean-minded father. He willingly rose early and waited on the table, always taking his breakfast last, his grudging father never aware that Mary always kept a little extra, or part of the choicest portion, for her good-natured youngest son.

Mary had not been well for the past few days, and the little boy had insisted she rest on this day while he attended to the morning meal. He had been so intense and so determined to help that she allowed him to do so, after ensuring the night before that all was prepared and in readiness.

I can do it, Ma; I know I can. I will bring you a hot cup of tea and some bread so you can rest, the little boy had insisted, and to this purpose he was first out of bed this day, first to the water basin, and first—after his father—into the kitchen. Hastily he served his father, and then his brothers; then, with mounting pride, he poured the steaming mug of tea and cut a thick slice of coarse bread for his mother. Holding the plate containing the bread in one hand and the steaming mug in the other, he made his way towards his mother’s bedroom with tentative steps, determined to spill not a single drop. Mary had been waiting for him, and the ready smile of appreciation that lit her pinched face rewarded him for his effort many times over.

What would your ma do without you, Angus? She smiled, tousling his untidy curls. and me feeling poorly on this dreadful day. Come and give your ma a big cuddle and warm her cold bones for a few minutes."

And the little boy snuggled close against her body, enjoying the wonderful softness, warmth and comfort that all good women radiate so naturally and unconsciously towards those they love dearly.

Its to the station we’ll soon be goin, Silas called from the kitchen.

"Are yer too week or too lazy to see yer fine boys off to school for their first day, or would yer rather lie in bed till the end o’ term?, Silas called again.

With a heavy sigh Mary threw back the bed clothes and shushing her youngest from her bedroom, she painstakingly prepared to dress.

In the cold and dark of the early morning drizzle, the small family was soon once more assembled at the local rail station. There was an air of excitement pervading each of them except for Mary, who was sadly awaiting the arrival of the train that was to take her two eldest far from home to boarding school.

Now that the long-anticipated moment had arrived, both Robert and Harry were experiencing unexpected concerns at the imminent separation from all they had known since childhood. As their father busily fussed about, checking and rechecking their tickets and meagre luggage, each boy was aware of differing concerns. Robert was apprehensive as to how he would cope with his unknown peers at the new school. He was aware that most were from comfortable families, and although only a young boy, he was already conscious of his own humble background. He knew there would be friction, yet he also knew he was bigger and more powerful than most boys of his age, and this knowledge bred confidence in his physical ability to hold his own. Harry’s fears were of a different nature. Although much the same size as his more robust brother, he was not fond of personal physical violence. He also knew there would be friction, and his mind vaguely contemplated what alliances he would need to negotiate to ward off his perceived threats. He was a schemer by nature; he would cope with his new school using his brain rather than his brawn, yet he already knew there was a cost with alliances, and he wondered what the price would be.

Both boys however, had a common concern in leaving their mother and younger brother, yet later they would be unable to recall similar concerns in reference to their father.

Watching intently into the far, darkened length of the converging tracks, Mary was the first to discern a pinpoint of light rapidly enlarging as the distant muted scream of the train’s whistle warned of its imminent arrival. Tears welled to her eyes as she held her two boys close in a parting embrace, now pushing them from her as she pulled their coat collars higher around their necks and adjusted their tweed caps to better ward off the ever-pervading cold threatening to penetrate to their bones. Wiping her eyes, she bent to kiss each boy in turn.

Be good boys now, she enjoined them. Remember your prayers each night and the good Lord that made you. I love you dearly, my precious boys, she whispered, holding the small, cold faces close to her own. And now she commenced to weep in earnest as the moment of separation rapidly approached.

Angus had never really fully understood what going to boarding school entailed, and as the realisation of the imminent loss of his brothers dawned, he too burst into tears as he threw his small arms around the playmates he was so soon to lose.

Come home soon, Robbie and Harry, he entreated through his sobs. Then we can play all our games again.

Silas had had enough of what he considered to be women’s weakness. Roughly separating Mary and Angus from the twins, he grasped each boy firmly by the shoulder.

Stop yer snivelling now, boys, he commanded.

Wipe those tears from yer eyes and stand up as the bra’ young men that yer da has made of you. On the train yer go now, lads. Show that school what it is to be a McCracken, an’ make yer da proud.

With these separate parting injunctions from each of their parents ringing in their ears, the two now somewhat frightened boys picked up their bags and boarded the train. Robert squared his shoulders in an attempt at bravado, while Harry turned his head away so neither his father nor his mother could see the tears that refused to cease coming. Had he the opportunity, he would happily have left the train and returned to his home.

The shrill screech of the train’s whistle pierced the air; a loud hiss of compressed steam emanated from its massive pistons, and slowly the heavy train ponderously commenced to move. An ever-widening space gradually developed, separating the boys waving from the carriage window and the small group on the station waving back. Accompanied by the deafening sounds of the carriage buffers clanking and the metallic clicking of the wheels on the rails, the departing train rapidly picked up speed and was soon lost to sight in the dense clouds of smoke billowing from its stack.

Robert and Harry sat back in the relative comfort of the carriage, lost in their own private thoughts as each contemplated his unknown future. They had left the small village of their birth and had commenced their journey to a new school and a new life.

The die had been cast; it was for the future to show what the mould would produce from the unworked clay of each of the small boys. The long pilgrimage into their separate futures had started; time alone would judge the success or failure of the journey.

Chapter 3

Harold McCracken, you will stay after school and write five hundred times, ‘I am a dull and stupid boy who shall never amount to anything in life,’ and you shall present these lines to me in my study before prayers this evening. Do I make myself clear, boy? With these words, Mr. Thomas, the English teacher, stared threateningly at the sullen boy before him as the rest of the class applauded his action with approving smiles and smirks. Then, turning quickly, he regarded Robert with an unpleasant scowl as the young boy stared back in defiance at the public humiliation of his brother. And you, sir, shall present yourself immediately to the headmaster and request the thrashing you deserve for the insolence that you harbour towards me, your teacher. Go from my sight immediately, and consider yourself lucky you do not have the same amount of lines to present as well.

Robert rose to his feet, closing his exercise book as he did so. His hot blood flushed his normally pallid features. He left the class and reluctantly made his way towards the study of the hated Dean Jonas, who had already administered more than one thrashing apiece to each of the two brothers.

They had been at St. Giles for six months now—six long and miserable months, over which time they had developed a hatred for the school system equalled only by the enmity Mr. Thomas and Dean Jonas apparently had for them. Since the boys had arrived at the school, each of these men had seemed to consider it his duty to make their young lives as miserable as possible. They prided themselves that they had succeeded, but had they been aware of the deep, sullen hatred and resentment they had inspired, they may not have felt as confident and comfortable in their success. The brothers despised both men and were determined to have their revenge one day. What that revenge would be, and when it would be exacted, neither of the boys as yet knew, but they were each resolved to have their day.

Come in, called the voice of the headmaster in response to the tentative knock on the study door, and as the door opened to admit the defiant figure of Robert McCracken, the master rose from his chair. What brings you to my office at this hour? he queried of the boy standing before him. I see by the time of day that you are absent from your class, so I can only assume that you have misbehaved once more. Am I right boy? he asked as he strode purposefully to the upstanding empty brass cannon shell that stood behind his ornate desk, containing a selection of well-used canes. Answer me, boy, he demanded again as he made a show of selecting the appropriate cane, swishing a number of them alternately through the air with the assumed grace of a connoisseur judging the weight and balance.

Throughout this cruel pantomime, Robert remained silent. He had considered protesting his innocence, but on observing the eager expression of the master’s face, he judged the exercise to be futile. Thrasher Jonas, as he was called by the boys, enjoyed administering punishment. He was a bully at heart, and any appeal to justice or mercy was known to only increase his pleasure, so Robert decided to deny him the satisfaction. With sullen resignation, he bent over the form used for such purposes and said nothing as the ruddy-faced, overweight master bent to the task and administered six of the best.

Later, lying in the dormitory, feigning sleep, and attempting to find a comfortable position for his bruised buttocks, Robert’s mind turned to thoughts of revenge. His battered body would heal, but the bruises to his fiery spirit would not. The embittered boy vowed to himself that he would have his vengeance. He would not always be as powerless as he was this night. He could bide his time; his turn would come. He was a determined, stubborn boy who had learned to bear a grudge, and unlike many boys who had harboured similar thoughts over the years only to forget them as the heat of their anger passed, he would not let his grudge go.

Had Dean Jonas realised the developing fibre of the boy he had bullied, he would not have slept as soundly as he did. Yet bullies are often fools, and in this case he was a fool indeed, for he had badly misjudged the mettle of the boy he had thrashed this day.

Robert would not forget.

***

Harry once more pulled his eyes and his attention away from the window through which he could see the football pitch and the school teams at training. With great difficulty he raised his pen once more and returned to the task of the five hundred stupid lines still less than half completed. Dusk was gathering outside in the wintry air, and the boys could be heard leaving the sodden fields and returning to the changing rooms to clean up prior to the evening meal. This was one of the few things that Harry enjoyed at St. Giles. He had discovered that he was competent, if not gifted, at the round-ball game, and the three nights training weekly helped to compensate for the long hours in school that both he and Robby had come to detest.

It was not so much that they were bad scholars; both boys were quite good at their studies and had an eagerness to learn. It was rather that they were conscious of discrimination from many of their teachers. Most of the boys came from monied families—many from old money—and there was a rigid class structure existing in the school that was insisted upon by the more wealthy parents and sanctioned by the social climbers of the new money. This system was not only tolerated by the school hierarchy; it was also actively fostered by them, for the governors of the school were determined that the place of St. Giles was with the aristocracy. As a result, snobbery thrived throughout the school system and was found in great strength amongst the masters, particularly amongst those of humbler backgrounds.

It was only because of the pressing financial state that presently existed that the McCracken brothers had been accepted at all. The governors resented that they needed the money; the boys had been grudgingly admitted, but Dean Jonas particularly was determined that they should know their place, and he had fixed that place at the bottom of the social scale. Consequently, like the small-minded man he was, he belittled them as much as he was able, and his lead was followed by those of like persuasion.

Harry counted the lines once more. He had been daydreaming too much. There was still nearly half the task to be completed. He glanced up to the clock that dominated the front wall of the study hall; the large black hands pointing towards the ornate roman numerals told him it was near five thirty. He was ravenously hungry, but he now realised he would miss dinner, for his lines must be completed before evening prayers. For a fleeting moment, he considered appealing to Mr. Clancy, the junior master in charge of the study. Clancy was a good sort; his sympathy would be with the struggling student. But no sooner had the idea entered Harry’s mind than he dismissed it. Clancy would never risk the anger of the more senior masters; he had been with the school only since the beginning of term, and his own position was fragile. With a deep sigh of resentment, Harry once more bent to his task and copied more of the stupid lines, vowing to himself that he would settle one day with that bastard Thomas, no matter how long it took. Seething with suppressed anger, he resigned himself to the loss of his dinner and continued with the lines, each stupid word reinforcing his determination for vengeance.

At seven fifteen precisely, he presented the completed lines to the hated master in his study. He watched with hooded eyes as the smug master made a pretence of studying the lines for any indication of carelessness or slovenly work, purposely keeping the tired and hungry boy standing before his desk as he slowly perused each page. Then, displaying a grudging expression on his pasty face, as if he were barely satisfied, he placed the sheets of paper on his desk as he leaned back in his chair to better regard the discomfort of the boy before him.

Harry immediately judged from the expression of the master’s face that he was intent on enjoying the moment to the full.

So be it, Harry thought. The bastard can gloat as much as he likes, but he shall have no satisfaction from me. Fixing his eyes on the wall behind the master and adopting an expressionless face, he waited for Mr. Thomas to speak.

I presume you have learned your lesson well, he commenced pompously. You are too big entirely for your own boots. It is necessary that you learn your place in life, my young sir, and that place is not to confront your betters. Now remove your sullen hide from my sight and do not cross me again, else it shall be very much the worse for you. With an imperious wave of his flaccid hand, he dismissed Harry from his office.

The boy turned and purposefully made his way towards the door, keeping his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself. As Harry closed the door behind him, Thomas placed his heels on his desk and his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair to smugly regard the ceiling.

I’ve got the measure of that young upstart, he quietly thought to himself. I’ll keep him well and truly under my thumb; that way I’ll have no further trouble with him.

Had he been able to observe the expression on the boy’s face as he left the room, or to fathom his thoughts, he may not have felt so comfortable with his assumed triumph. He had made a lasting enemy this day, for Harry also would not forget.

It is a strange fact that regardless of the harsh treatment the brothers had received, neither of them wished to leave the school. Each perceived it as a challenge to be overcome and a trial to be borne rather than something from which to run. In some vague manner, they were aware the school could provide the means to an exit from the stultified environment from which they had come. In the few short months already passed, through observing the other boys and their monied parents, they had glimpsed a way of life with which they were totally unfamiliar and which excited and tempted them greatly. Although very young, they had already determined they would succeed in this new strange world and have the life and possessions they saw about them. Consequently, few of their school difficulties were mentioned in their infrequent letters home, and neither Silas nor Mary had any idea of the true nature of the education that their twins were receiving, or of its effect upon them and their developing ambitions.

Their young minds were being moulded in an entirely unexpected manner. They