Rhanna at War by Christine Marion Fraser

Author:Christine Marion Fraser [Fraser, Christine Marion]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2013-02-27T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The Rev. John Gray had never in all his years on Rhanna felt quite so fulfilled or so important as he had done since the captured Germans were delivered into his care. He had always felt uncomfortably out of his depth when carrying out his pastoral duties among a people who sensed his lack of confidence and also his slightly superior attitude towards them. He had always given them the impression that he regarded them as heathens whose only salvation lay in a conscientious kirk attendance coupled with a selfless devotion to ‘The Book’ and its teachings. But his methods of trying to bring God to the people were hopelessly out of keeping with the simple faith of the Hebridean people. His theological sermons were away above the heads of the majority of parishioners and matters weren’t helped by his stern refusal to learn the Gaelic which was the only language that many of the older inhabitants understood. He had of course picked up the odd Gaelic word, and an intelligent man such as he could easily have learned it all. But he felt to do so would be to encourage the easygoing islanders to take a step back in time. What he had failed to see was a proud little community of Gaels struggling to hold on to a culture that was their inheritance. In the name of progress too much had already been taken away but no one could rob them of their individuality. They had met the so-called civilized world half-way, but had no intention of stepping over the border to be swallowed into anonymity for ever more. And so the Rev. Gray laboured on under his delusions and the barriers between him and the people of Rhanna remained firmly erect.

Hannah Gray was a much less overpowering personality than her overbearing husband. Her years with him had taught her that silence was the best form of defence against his forceful outlook on life.

When her husband had first suggested a ceilidh for the Germans the idea at first dumbfounded her, but the more she thought about it the more excited she became. She had often longed to throw a ceilidh in keeping with tradition, but her husband wouldn’t hear of it, telling her sternly that such events were only excuses for uninhibited drinking bouts and an invitation to the Devil to wreak havoc in drink-weakened minds. Over the years Mrs Gray made do with giving strupaks; but her visitors were stiffly formal and always looked poised ready for flight. By contrast, whenever she dropped into a neighbour’s croft, a strupak was a gaily informal affair. She had never ceilidhed in the long, dark nights of winter, and when passing a cottage gay with laughter and song, she had often longed to join the merrymakers but knew that her presence would only embarrass them. But now she would have a ceilidh of her very own! The very thought sped her steps to the kitchen which was soon fragrant with the smell of baking.

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