Bruar's Rest

straining ears they listened to Sergeant Wilson, who had opened a black leather satchel and was handing round its contents, telling the men how wonderful were the brave Scottish lads who had volunteered for the army.
    Megan needed to hear more, so crept from under the back of the tent and slipped around so that the men were unable to see her but she could clearly view them. Rachel tried to stop her, but only managed to pull off a hairband in her attempt
    Whatever it was that Sergeant Wilson held in his hands, it certainly had the men wide-eyed and eager-faced.
    No matter how hard she wormed herself nearer, Megan could not get a proper look at what held their interest. Rachel hissed at her to get back inside the tent, but Megan refused. With the ‘eagle omen’ still fresh in her mind, she rose to her feet and hurried amongst the men. ‘I’m sorry, husband,’ she apologised. ‘I know that us women have to stay inside when a stranger calls, but the policeman seems to be a bringer of good news, the way you lot are beaming. Here, let me see what it is that pleases you.’ She pulled the paper from Wilson and laughed when she saw it was a picture of big Rory.
    ‘Oh my, would you take a look at this—someone has painted my father-in-law’s face?’
    ‘Lassie, this isn’t a painting of me, this is the King’s representative, Kitchener!’
    Hands firmly held on hips, she tossed back her head and shouted, ‘King of where?’
    Up till then the mild-mannered man of the law was an impassive visitor, only doing his duty. He’d brought the men of the campsite news of the progress of the war. He told them of a drive for volunteers, for men to enlist and protect their country, but at this fiery lassie’s total lack of respect for His Majesty, his cloak of composure collapsed. ‘Listen here, young Stewart, you bring a switch over this she-devil’s hindquarters! If she was mine I’d whip her for sure!’
    ‘She’s a fine wife, I’m sorry but never have I heard her speak in such a manner. Megan, hush your tongue.’
    ‘Don’t you dare speak like that to me! I know why this flat-footer has come with his squirming and pussy words. Sure, he wants you all to wear some bloody stranger’s uniform, to take up arms and fight in some faraway place and what for? I’ll tell you—to save a land that would rather tinkers drowned in spate-rivers, or got thrown over precipices, just so long as we didn’t exist! Chase him from our fire, I say. And you, Doctor, what kind of friend are you to help take away our men?’ With every disapproving eye on her she turned, lifted her skirt and exposed her bare buttocks. ‘See that, Wilson?’ she said, slapping her bare flesh, ‘you can lick it!’
    ‘Megan, for God sake, lassie!’
    Engulfed by fear and anguish, and the note of disgust in Bruar’s voice, she ran from the site. Their talk for months had been of nothing else but war, and now it had come among them. She was going to lose her man and that was unthinkable.
    Rachel, who’d heard snippets of the argument, came to her sister’s defence, appearing from her tent with a wooden mallet tightly clenched in her hand. Jimmy grabbed it off her just in time, before it landed heavily on Sergeant Wilson’s skull. Rory called for calm. ‘Now, stop this at once, the good doctor has not visited us to see a fight. Wilson has come with a request, so sit you down and hear him out.’ Bruar, however, more concerned for Megan, made his excuses and left.
    Rachel, sobbing, went back to her son. Now, with a quieter group round the campfire, Jimmy sat on a makeshift wooden bench next to his father and asked his visitor to tell them what it was Kitchener wanted from the tinkers.
    Doctor Mackenzie spoke first. He popped those familiar thin-rimmed spectacles onto the point of his nose, took the paper from the Sergeant and said: ‘Now, you all know that I have no time for this bloody war, and bless me, I’d say forget Kitchener and Sergeant Wilson’s fancy words, but if the enemy gets this land you will see a lot less of freedom and a lot more of evil. That’s what sickens me—choice is not an option.’ He shook his head as he read from the crumpled paper: ‘Britain is now at war. It is every man and woman’s duty as citizens of this glorious land to take up arms and fight for your country! Your country needs you!”
    The good doctor sat back in his chair, rolled up the poster, and watched the reaction of the tinker men. Rachel, unable