The Fairy Hill

Eric MacKay

1941

It was mid summer 1941. We, two boys from the Dundee family, were on holiday at Loch Fyne with Uncle Kenneth, Aunt Margaret and their two boys and a girl. In those days the sun seemed to shine for days on end. Our Uncle who had been a doctor for ten years in the Amazon basin in Peru was now a GP in Maryhill Glasgow. For a holiday he did a month's locum in Strachur. The four boys slept in two tents on the front lawn of the doctor's house. Midges, there were, but I only remember them as annoying when hiding on a roof or in a tree during hide and seek. We had the run of the steading in Letters Farm and on a wet day would cavort on the wool bales in the barn. On many an evening we joined in a game of cricket with a group of teachers on a field beside the farm, dodging cow-pats.

The day I remember as special, was a trek to the 'Fairy Hill', possibly Cruach nan Capull. It was war-time. There was little traffic as we walked down the loch-side road towards Newton. As we turned into the glen the cone of our hill became visible with a small circle of scree and crowned with green turf. I've no doubt that we moaned during the climb. It was hot. Once out of tree shade we would get thirsty. As the summit became visible it became a race for the top. What a view. Loch Fyne lay below us. Across the Loch were the quarries of Furnace. Further north was Inverary and the 'Campbell's watchtower'. What I most vividly recall was the grass. Close cropped by sheep it was short and springy and a delight to relax on. There were no midges and just a gentle breeze. It was heaven... and we were hungry! So food and drink were unpacked. What with the view, the company, the sense of achievement ... and the speedily grasped proposition, that the more we ate, the less needed to be carried back, we did the meal proud. Mid-afternoon, the breeze lessened, it was time to descend. My uncle's family were red-haired. I was blond. Only my brother Don did not burn a bit. We became aware of pangs of hunger. The party stretched out in a race for base ... . and food. I was at the rear with my aunt. To my surprise she turned into the farm. Why divert when more urgent business called? She came out of the house carrying a huge, steaming, 'cloottie dumpling'. We just had to sample a few crumbs on the road to the house. The meal was memorable. It ranks as one of only a few occasions when one ate to a standstill. There were Loch Fyne herring fried in oatmeal. I ate two. They were immense. What with mounds of potatoes, skirly and then the dumpling, we were truly stuffed! We lay on the grass beside the tents. My cousin Willie summed it up well . Hands clasped over a distended tummy, he could only murmur, 'Yum, Yum!'