44 Scotland Street: Ardnamurchan - Features - Scotsman.com Volume 67 Episode 9 Ardnamurchan That evening, in the soft light of summer, William Hunter's beige and brown private coach conveyed twenty seven members of Bertie's cub-scout pack across the high wastes of Rannoch Moor and down towards Glencoe. To their left, Buachaille Etive Mòr, the great shepherd at the mouth of Glen Etive, towered watchfully; to their right, beyond the Kings House Hotel, the slopes of mountains that were now, at their peak, topped by a wraith of wispy cloud. "Now, boys and girls," announced Rosemary Gold, Akela of the pack, "we are about to enter Glencoe, which is a very important historical place." She paused, wondering how to explain to the children one of the most notorious dinner parties in Scottish history. It witnessed a very sad event, I'm sorry to say. "I know all about that," volunteered Tofu. The Campbells fell upon the Macdonalds and cut their throats. Just after they'd had their tea together. There was blood all over the place. Olive turned and stared at Tofu in disgust. You'd better watch out, Tofu. The Campbells will get you one day. There were titters of laughter. "That's not very helpful, Olive," said Akela. We must put such things behind us. "Then why are we having a referendum?" asked Ranald Braveheart Macpherson. "The referendum has nothing to do with Glencoe," said Akela. Nothing at all, as far as I can see. The discussion moved on to less fraught terrain. Akela pointed out the sweeping fields of boulders, remnants of the passage of glaciers, and drew attention to the gullies carved into the mountainsides by the action of water. Then, as the road levelled out and they left Glencoe village behind them, they saw their first sea loch, Loch Leven, spanned, in the distance, by the Ballachulish Bridge. An hour or so later, having negotiated the crossing of Loch Linnhe on the Corran ferry, the coach drew up at the field near Glenborrodale upon which they were to pitch their tents. Several helpers had come with the children, and they supervised the erection of rows of small green tents, each pitched carefully on a waterproof rectangular ground-sheet. Bertie found himself sharing a tent with Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, while Tofu and Larch shared next door. Beyond that, pitched as far away from Tofu and Larch as they could manage, was the tent occupied by Olive and Pansy - a tent that was very soon enhanced by the addition of several cushions that Pansy had brought with her, along with a scented candle, and a box of McVittie's finest Edinburgh shortbread. The tents erected, an evening meal was served around a large cooking fire made by the adults - sausages, baked beans, and large squares of fried bread. Bertie sat on the ground with Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, his paper plate of food before him, his heart filled with pleasure at the prospect of the two days of camping ahead. Ranald had already checked their GPS position, marked it on the map, and had taken a compass bearing on the tower of Glenborrodale Castle, tucked away in the trees behind them. "This is very good fun, Ranald," said Bertie. Ranald nodded, but Bertie could tell that he was anxious about something. "Do you think it gets really dark here?" he asked. Bertie shrugged. "Same as Edinburgh, or maybe not quite so dark," he said. My Dad told me that in places this far north it's often quite light even at midnight. Ranald looked relieved. Because we haven't got any lights in our tent, Bertie. "No," said Bertie. But we won't need them, Ranald. We'll be quite safe. Ranald Braveheart Macpherson looked unconvinced. "What about Campbells?" he whispered. What if there are some Campbells round here? He looked in the direction of a clump of bushes at the edge of the field - perfectly adequate cover for Campbells. Bertie sought to reassure him. "They won't bother us," he said. Campbells stay in at night - most of the time. After supper, there was a quick game of rounders before it was time for everybody to go to bed. Bertie and Ranald Braveheart Macpherson slipped into their sleeping bags and lay down on the groundsheet that formed the floor of their tent. Bertie said goodnight to Ranald and lay quite still, his eyes closed, waiting for sleep to come. But he soon became aware of a chattering sound from Ranald's side of the tent. "Is that noise your teeth?" he asked in the semi-darkness. "I think so," said Ranald, his voice small and nervous. They're making a funny sound. "Are you frightened?" asked Bertie. There was a short silence before Ranald replied. "A little bit," he said. The Campbells ... "You shouldn't be frightened of Campbells," said Bertie. You really shouldn't, Ranald. "I know," stuttered Ranald. But my teeth seem to be frightened. Do your teeth get frightened sometimes, Bertie? Bertie said that he was not sure. Then he said, "Roll over to this side of the tent, Ranald," he said. You'll be safe over here. Gratefully, Ranald rolled in his sleeping bag so that he was lying just a few inches away from Bertie. Bertie reached out and placed a protective arm over his friend's shoulder. Slowly, the sound of chattering teeth became fainter, and then stopped altogether. "Better now?" asked Bertie. "Yes," whispered Ranald. I'm sorry that I'm not all that brave, Bertie. I'm really sorry. "You don't have to say you're sorry," said Bertie. Everyone gets frightened now and then. You don't have to be ashamed, Ranald. Bertie closed his eyes. Underneath his arm, he felt the slow up and down movement of Ranald's chest as he breathed in and out. He would leave his arm where it was until Ranald was safely asleep, and then he would move it. It gave him a warm feeling to be protecting his friend from whatever it was that frightened him - whether it was Campbells, or the dark, or things that had no name. And it was not surprising, perhaps, that he should feel it - this little boy who felt things so deeply; for we all feel that about our friends; we all feel that about those around whom we might put an arm. We all feel that about the darkness into which we go with others and about the very understandable fears that can be so easily dispelled, put to flight, by a simple gesture of the human arm, at once so easy and yet so hard to make.