Angus was the earl’s senior ghillie, in charge of all the equipment for stag hunting, fishing and shooting, as well as being in charge of the dog kennels. An elderly, gruff old fellow, he’d been with the earl for countless years.
‘As it happens, Angus is in a terrible state as we had a break-in at the castle yesterday!’
‘A break-in?’ Ally and Ross asked in unison.
‘Was anything taken?’ Ally continued.
‘Just a rifle. They broke into the gun cabinet, andAngus is most cut up about it. That’s the reason he’s not here today – he has the police to deal with.’
‘Poor Angus!’
‘Yes, and no doubt he’s disappointed because he was always very fond of his niece. I remember the girl well – Patti, she calls herself now,’ the earl continued. He looked around. ‘I’d best be going – got things to see to! See you both later!’ With a wave, he made his way back to the hospitality tent.
Many of the same contestants who had taken part in the tug of war were also about to take part in the hammer throwing and the caber tossing. Another popular contestant was Ivan, known as Ivan the Terrible, since no one could pronounce his surname. He was the Lithuanian barman at the Craigmonie Hotel who, when he wasn’t imbibing vast amounts of whisky, spent his time bodybuilding. And there was Forby McKinnon, son of Finlay, the local fisherman, who didn’t believe in giving himself a silly name.
The ‘hammer’ was actually a metal ball attached with a steel wire to the ‘grip’, which weighed around sixteen pounds and was basically a test of who could throw the thing furthest. There was a red flag stuck in the ground to show the current record.
The earl’s foregone conclusion was correct – Archie Armstrong’s hammer was the only one which sailed past the red flag.
‘What a farce!’ Ross muttered. ‘The local lads didn’t stand a chance.’
The earl reappeared to present Archie Armstrong with a medal, the tourists providing most of the applause. Archie had accepted the medal and returned to the sidelines with a swagger, looking at his rivals with undisguised disdain.
The other contestants had by now also retreated to the sidelines, preparing for the caber tossing, which was the event that really got the crowds interest.
But first it was time for the Highland dancing competition.
When the so-called Atlantic Warrior had arrived at Ally’s guest house, he came accompanied not only by his glamorous wife Patti but also his two pretty daughters, Julie and Janey. They were tall, slim girls with green eyes; attractive enough except that, every time Ally had set eyes on them, they were always chewing gum, and with their mouths open, which wasn’t a good look. With them was Archie’s sister Wendy and her husband Greg Watson, on their first visit to Scotland.
The pipe band marched on again and played ‘Oh, Campbeltown Loch, I Wish You Were Whisky’, followed by the music for the Highland dance competition. First there was the sword dance, then the Highland fling, all performed with arms aloft, kilts and plaids swirling, toes tapping.
‘Aw, that was grand!’ said Morag, gazing at their granddaughter with pride. ‘Our Katy’s done right well!’
After a moment while the judges conferred, Hamish stepped up to the microphone again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he boomed. ‘We can now announce the three winners for the Highland dancing.’ He paused to let this sink in. Then: ‘In third place, we have Miss Katy McConnachie!’
Much applause followed, particularly from the proud grandparents, Murdo cheering loudly, although Morag was muttering under her breath, ‘She should’ve beenfirst!’
Janey Armstrong was the winner, Julie Armstrong the runner-up.
Ally heard both Morag and Murdo groan. The Armstrongs provided most of the applause, as the two girls went up to collect medals from the earl. Then, after shaking their hands, and probably aware of some disgruntlement amongst the spectators, the earl headed swiftly back to the hospitality tent.
‘That’s not fair,’ moaned Morag. ‘Not fair at all.’
‘Well, I suppose a little competition is no bad thing?’ Ally suggested.
‘A little competition! Are you serious? They’ll take all the bloody prizes!’
At last it was time for the caber tossing. A long, tapered pole, usually cut from a larch tree and between sixteen and twenty feet long, the caber usually weighed somewhere around a hundred and fifty pounds. To execute it perfectly, the competitor had to balance the caber upright, tapered end pointing downwards, supported by stewards while it was placed in position. They were then meant to crouch, slide their interlocked hands down the caber and under the base, then lift it in their cupped hands – not an easy feat with the heavier end at the top. They then had to walk or run a few paces forward to gain momentum, and flip the tapered end upwards so that the large end hit the ground first, falling directly away from them.
The first contestant was Ivan the Terrible. He got into position, cupping his hands to receive the narrower end of the caber. It was a very wobbly business, and Ivan tottered a few paces to gain momentum, before tossing the caber with all of his might, plainly hoping it would fall with the large end hitting the ground first, end over, the ultimate aim.
Unfortunately, it fell sideways, as so many did. He had two further attempts. One fell sideways again, and the other successfully did land, end over, to much applause from everyone. Ivan was popular.
He was followed by Muscles McConnachie, who didn’t do so well, only managing three sideways falls. Nevertheless, this had Morag and Murdo jumping up and down, still cheering wildly, along with the rest of Locharran.
Braveheart Bobby, Muscles’s brother, was next. He had great style, but, according to Murdo’s reaction, he hadn’t done too well either. ‘I dinna understand it,’ he said gloomily. ‘He’s been practisin’ and practisin’…’
‘He’ll be awful disappointed with that,’ Morag said sadly.
