This story is a work of fiction. Like all works of fiction it has to have some basis in reality, even if it is only that its protagonists speak the same language as the reader, but it does NOT contain any actual people. If you think you've spotted yourself, or somebody you know in here -- you haven't. Every person in this story (and dog) is my own creation. There may also be a mention of characters created by another author. Jacob Lion, in America, has kindly permitted me to include his characters in my stories. It has been impossible to avoid some mention of real places, and some organisations. The story is a story and in no way suggests that those organisations would act in the way that they do in the story. Although several of the characters in this story are gay, that is their sexual orientation and in no way suggests promiscuity. If you are looking for pornography of any sort, I can save you some time -- look elsewhere. If you wish to read a story of love in its finest form, I hope you enjoy it.
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Scotland the Brave Chapter 7 By Jonah
With Friday morning came Geordie -- again.
Fergus said that he had rung and asked permission to come up on the train, so Janet had given him a shopping list. We were just finishing our porridge when a familiar grin, surmounted by a disheveled mop of dark brown hair, appeared round the kitchen door.
"Morning!" he said cheerily. "It's a beautiful day. The snow's melting fast on the railway. D'ye want Simon and me to finish digging out the Landrover?"
"Aye would ye son," said Fergus. "That'd be grand."
"I've brought the shopping Missus McAndrew, "he said, depositing two large bags on the draining board.
"Ye're a good wee lad," said Janet. "How much do I owe you?"
"It doesnae matter, Mrs. McAndrew. I'm not fussed about that," replied the boy.
"Well you'd better get fussed about it quick-smart, or ye can go home now," said Janet. "How much?"
"Och it'd better be a tenner then," he replied. "I'm trying not to collect change."
"Well -- if ye're sure," said Janet doubtfully, handing the boy a ten-pound note.
"Does your mother not mind ye being up here all this time?" Fergus inquired.
"Och no!" replied the boy. " It gives her more time for her boyfriend. In fact, since Simon goes home tomorrow, she says can I stay again tonight."
"Well ye can for me," said Fergus, "so long as it's alright with Luke, but I think I would like to speak to your mother just the same."
"It's fine. Howard can stay down here with me," Luke told him.
"Wait a minute," I interposed. "What do you mean, `if it's alright with Luke?' What if I have an objection?"
"Do ye?" Fergus asked.
"No, I guess not," I replied. "Will they still be shuttling from Perth tomorrow, Geordie?"
"Yes, they can't clear the line above here before tomorrow night. They've a snow-blower on the far North line that's going to try to clear from Inverness back to Slochd tomorrow. If it can get back as far as Slochd they're going to try to dig the ploughs out tomorrow night."
"Ah well, you two can see if you can dig that Landrover out today."
Fergus equipped them with snow shovels, and they set to.
Since they seemed to have everything under control I took two dogs and two small boys up to the railway and walked with them over the bridge and up to the concrete girder over the Badengorm Burn. Snow was melting up in the hills and the Burn was racing. It was a long way short of how it must have been that day in 1914 - there were no large boulders or uprooted trees for a start - but it wasn't a waterway I'd have fancied paddling in, even if it hadn't been freezing. It certainly didn't look like the burn that we'd all walked down at Easter. To the North the compacted snow was piled high on either side, and it wouldn't have been wise to go further, but the line itself was clear for as far as we could see.
A two-tone horn told us that a train was approaching. That was something that we hadn't reckoned on. I pulled both boys toward the end of the concrete girder and told them to keep the dogs close. Then, checking that we were all clear, I turned and acknowledged the driver's whistle. The class 37 gave an abrupt toot in acknowledgement. I presumed it was the one that had been working from Aviemore. It certainly had miniature ploughs attached below its buffer beam. It stopped on the bridge and our friend, the foreman platelayer, got off.
"I'm sorry," I told him. "I didn't know you'd be coming up here."
"You didn't know we wouldn't either," he remarked. "You might have thought you did but, as you can see, you didn't. It's a good job the sun's shining. If it had been dull, or had started to snow, we could have killed the lot of you without knowing we'd done it."
"I'm sorry."
"Yes well, if we can get those dogs on board, you'd better get on. It's not safe for you down here. You were lucky I spotted you on the way up. You mightn't be so lucky when we come back. Now how many of us is it going to take to lift that?"
Well it took three of us to get Lady up into the cab -- four if you count the driver, who held her lead at the top. Howard was easy by comparison.
"Are you going to try to get through with this?" I asked.
"No chance," replied the foreman. "We've just got to get up to the ice-face at Slochd to make sure the line is passable. If the snowblower can get through to the ploughs from Inverness, and If that 66 will start, and If it has enough fuel left, it will follow the snowblower back to Inverness. If it can't do that, it will have to clear the line behind it and come back to Aviemore. In that case we wouldn't want to find out the hard way that the ice had reformed on the rails on the Dulnain Bridge, or somewhere else up here. They've sent us up to check.
We were slowing now for the ice-face. Unlike our previous journeys, we had a perfect view from the front cab.
"Well, so far so good," said the driver as he braked us to a standstill using his direct airbrake. Quickly he applied the train airbrake and released the direct, then he pulled his reverser back to "off" and got out of his seat. On the back wall of the cab he flipped down the AWS changeover and opened the engine room door.
"You boys had better come through to the other end with us," he said. "It's very noisy in there so you won't be able to talk, and its cramped, but just follow us and don't touch anything. You'll need to stay here with the dogs, sir. I'll drop you on Carrbridge platform. We haven't time to lift them down at the bridge. They want us through Carrbridge and back in the loop at Aviemore before the next passenger comes up. "
They left - the foreman slamming the door closed behind him. It was quiet in the cab as soon as the door closed. I sat in the seat that the driver had vacated, and Howard sat at my side. Lady lay down on the floor. After a while I was able to watch the air brake pressure build up on the gauge. Once it got there, there was a click and the brake cylinder pressure, on the adjacent gauge, dropped back to zero and we began moving backwards. We moved slowly, but through the windscreen I could see the ice-face moving away, and the brake cylinder gauge showed me that the driver was periodically applying and releasing his direct air brake. As we crossed the river bridge he made one gentle application which he allowed to rub. The needle shot up once we entered the platform and we came gently to a stand.
I got up and taking hold of both dogs leads I opened the cab door and climbed down onto the platform.
The boys joined me as I lifted the dogs down. I slammed the door shut and waved to the two men who were looking back from the other cab. "Bee-Bah" shouted the locomotive, and the steady whistling of its diesel engine rose in pitch, then changed to a rough growl that intensified as the driver pulled his controller wide open and the 37 roared out of the platform .
"That should shake the snow off of a few rooves," I thought as the big locomotive's two electric tail lamps disappeared in the flurry of snow she was kicking up.
We arrived back at the cottage as lunchtime was being declared. The traditions of "Fishy Friday" only apply to England, of course, and Janet was serving up home-made Scotch Broth, with great wodges of crusty bread. We were more than happy to do justice to it.
After lunch we relaxed by the fire for a bit, until Fergus suggested we liven up the afternoon.
He did that with HMS Pinafore, or at least the sung parts thereto. There isn't anything really difficult in Pinafore, so we made a decent job of it. It passed a pleasant hour anyway, and Janet had two small helpers to assist in preparing dinner while Fergus was on the telephone with Geordie's mother.
Well it was roast beef and roasties with cabbage and carrots and onion and lots of thick gravy followed by jam roly-poly and custard. It was all washed down with lively conversation, though I noticed that Fergus was quiet. Janet had clearly intended that our last dinner in the highlands was to be a momentous one.
Simon and Geordie saw to the washing up while Janet was settled in her chair with a cup of tea (did I mention that I can make tea?).
Friday Night is, of course, Music Night, so we listened to the radio. At last it was bedtime and Luke, having undressed, came and settled himself on the sofa. Howard climbed up beside him.
Fergus, seeing the boy settled picked up his bottle of Glenlivet and nodded towards the kitchen.
We repaired in there and, seated at the kitchen table, we supped our whisky from the breakfast mugs.
"So, Fergus, "I said. "Spill!"
He shook his head wearily.
"You think you've lived long enough to have seen it all, "he said. "All I can say is I'm glad Geordie is gay."
"Now why would you be glad of that?"
"Because if he were straight, he'd be likely to take after one or the other of his parents -- either his feckless and homophobic father, or his unpleasant, manipulative and scheming mother. "
In a high pitched, voice he mimicked,
"Oh, he can stay with you as often as he likes -- you can keep him for all I care."
"Seriously?"
""Do I look as if I jest? She used the boy to get rid of her husband knowing that, left to his own devices, he'd give her an excuse to divorce him. As soon as the alimony starts coming in, her boyfriend comes out from under the bed and Geordie can go hang."
"She can't do that."
"She has. I reminded her that she has a legal obligation to provide for Geordie for the next three years. She laughed. I'm sure that if Geordie is still with her when he's eighteen , he won't be for a moment longer."
"So, what's to be done?"
"Nothing. He'll go back to her on the train with you in the morning. It's not ideal, but it's in his interest. I've already told him that he's welcome here anytime, but you know that we can offer him nothing. Eli should have contested that alimony order. He doesn't have visiting rights and I'm sure he doesn't want them, but he's paying for them."
"So where did she find the boyfriend?"
"Gary MacDougal -- small time crook and the education system's biggest inditement. If he can write his name, it's all he can write. He can't use a milk bottle because he can't read the bit on the bottom that says, "open other end"."
"So, she'll be using him as well?"
"Must be. She knows it's only a matter of time before he goes back inside. She's not looking for a long-term entanglement."
"I wish there was some way we could help the kid. "
"Well one thing's for certain, Jonah. If Geordie has any good qualities, the credit is entirely his. He owes nothing to either of his parents."
"Indeed not. Goodnight Fergus."
I tiptoed upstairs and crept into my room expecting to find Peter there. I was surprised to find Geordie Wallace lying on the far side of the bed, facing the wall.
"Did you not want to sleep with Simon then?" I said quietly on the off chance of his being awake.
"We didn't think you'd trust us enough," he replied without turning.
"And you trust me?" I queried.
"You can have anything you want," was the reply.
Given what Fergus had just told me, the low self-esteem didn't come as a surprise. I was not about to encourage it.
"I reached over and turned him sufficiently to allow me to plant a light kiss on his forehead.
"Go to sleep Geordie," I told him.
TO BE CONTINUED