I'm tired of talking about the weather. It's just the same this morning: cold/?check, miserable?/check, could be better?/check. The only good thing is that it can only get better. Nothing is happening today and we'll enjoy sitting with the heating on, reading our books.
I've decided to post Loch Ness today, the only one of my stories to be published, albeit it in the Annual Magazine of the Launceston School for Seniors. Hey, you take your chances when they arise!
LOCH NESS
‘Loch Ness! What romantic images it engenders: moonlight quavering across the dark water, warm summer air and the gentle sound of wavelets breaking against the shore.’
Well, that’s what the tour brochure promised, with the added benefit of a potential sighting of the Loch Ness monster.
It was autumn and our tour bus was only half full. It was no wonder that tourists don’t flock here at this time of the year; the evening air was icy and snow was still lying on the ground after the heavy fall the previous night. I huddled into my heavy coat and pulled my scarf up around my nose and mouth.
I could hear the excited chatter of the other passengers from farther along the shore, most of them anxiously looking for signs of the elusive monster which everyone was hoping would make an appearance to give a lift to what had been a rather dull and predictable tour. Wonders of Scotland, it was called and promised an insight to this ‘dark and mysterious land’.
I had arrived in Glasgow a few days before, excited by the thought of my new job at the University there. I wasn’t expected to start until the following week so the bursar suggested I might like to take a bus trip around the highlands and ‘get a feel’ for my new home. When I agreed, he rang a friend in the business and I found myself joining about twenty others on the bus.
I know I’m cynical and maybe I was expecting too much but you can soon get over porridge for every breakfast, kilts and bagpipes, surly, undecipherable Scottish accents and tartan everywhere. I expected more from Inverness, and Culloden was just a featureless stretch of Scottish moorland. The highlight so far had been the Whisky Tasting at Speyside but a side trip to the small town of Carrbridge was interesting. It seemed the World Porridge-Making Championship was being held, and there were afficionados from all over the world there to join in the fun.
I had enjoyed talking to the other passengers, most of them couples from America, but I was intrigued by one passenger in particular: a young Japanese woman who was travelling on her own. She was very shy but still happily joined in all the activities. As she and I were the only two members of the group travelling alone, we tended to seek each other out and often ate together when we stopped for a meal. Her English was excellent.
Loch Ness was almost the last place listed on our tour and was clearly regarded as something of a highlight. The driver, who was also the tour guide told us some of the stories of the famous monster and how he thought it had managed to survive in the loch for centuries. To hear him, you would think he was convinced that the creature really existed but we had learned over the past few days that Scotland’s whole reputation relied on myths and legends with very little truth behind them.
As we stood there, Kumi and I became aware of a ghostly green light appearing in the sky.
“It’s the Northern Lights,” said the driver. “We’re lucky to see them this far south so early in the year. Farther north, they call them the Mirrie Lights. It’s an omen. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Nessie as well. I’ll just go back and talk to the other passengers.”
As he hurried away, Kumi and I watched the glorious sight in the heavens: the waves of green and magenta glimmering lights filling the sky, and I remembered a song my mother, Aberdeen-born, used to sing,
“.. we called them the Heavenly Dancers, merry dancers in the sky …” And I knew, at last, what she meant.
As Kumi and I stood there, in that magic moment, I felt her small hand slide into mine and, as we glanced at the loch, we both saw a movement in the dark water, as if a large pre-historic creature was waking from a deep sleep and turning over in his bed.
We didn’t tell the other passengers what we had seen; some things are not to be shared.
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