Date: Sun, 5 Jul 2020 21:16:10 +0000
From: Jonah
Subject: A Highland Fling    Chapter 1

This is a work of fiction. It is a sequel to the other stories, beginning
with "A Letter from America" that have appeared in adult/youth, young pals,
and no sex.  Not one single character is , or is based on, a real person.
I have borrowed the names of places, and even of some buildings and
institutions in those places, but their personnel remain fictitious.  They
do not represent real people. I hope you enjoy this story.

I'm grateful to Nifty for publishing it.  Nifty makes no charge, neither
for me to publish, nor for you to read these stories, but it does cost
money to publish them.  If you enjoy the stories, please consider making a
donation to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html so that he can
continue to bring these stories to you.

A Highland Fling               Chapter 1
By Jonah

In 2018 PC Vijay Khan, of the Metropolitan Police was knifed to death by a
terrorist who was trying to gain access to the American Embassy.  He left
two children, and earned - posthumously - the Queen's Police Medal for
Gallantry.  Vijay had been a good friend at school in St John's Wood, but I
never saw him after that until the day my parents threw me out.  Imagine my
surprise when I discovered that he had named me as legal guardian for his
two boys.

Vijay had known why I never married, and why I never would, but I gradually
came to realise why he thought I would make a good parent for Simon and
Peter.

The boys weren't entirely without living relatives.  They had no memory of
their mother, who had died in childbirth, but her parents still lived in
the remote Scottish town of Carrbridge.  Maddie Khan had been Scottish, but
her sons had inherited the dusky complexion of their father.

Fergus McAndrew was a retired headmaster who lived with his wife Janet in a
small cottage outside the village, though the term "outside" is nearly as
inappropriate as the term "village".  Many of the habitations in the place
are "outside" it, but the village itself was a thriving one.

  Fergus and Janet had not been surprised when they were not asked to care
for Simon and Peter when their father was killed.  Vijay had made sure that
his sons kept in touch with their grandparents but, being a practical man,
had no delusions that a couple in their late seventies could bring up two
boys.  His own parents had predeceased him by a good five years.

When PC Drage told me that Vijay had provided for his sons' welfare by
naming me as guardian, my first thought was that he must have been mad.
The second thought, hard on the heels of that one, was one of trepidation,
but was quickly replaced by the resolve to provide for these two boys as
Vijay deserved and, more to the point, as they deserved.  From then on, it
was good, but difficult.  Difficult, that is until a visit from an American
family, that first Christmas, showed me HOW good it was.

In the meantime, I continued to do what Vijay had done - ensured that the
boys wrote regularly to Fergus and Janet.

Another Christmas came and went before I recieved a missive from Fergus.  I
was somewhat surprised, since he or Janet often wrote to the boys but
neither had ever written to me before.



Dear Mr. Cummings 21 March 2020

I have been remiss in not writing to you before, to thank you for taking
care of Madeleine's two boys.  From the letters that Janet and I recieve
from them, we can tell that you are looking after them well.  We are only
sad that our daughter did not live long enough to bring them up herself.

Vijay did speak with us when he was making provision for the boys in case
anything happened to him, and I had to agree with him that, although Janet
and I are their only living relatives, it would be folly to expect the boys
to live with us.  It would be grossly unfair on them and we could not
physically cope.

You'll be thinking that I've not written to you in all this while, and then
only do so because of an ulterior motive.  Mea Culpa.

I'm sorry to have to tell you that Janet's health has taken a turn for the
worse and, although I am hale and hearty, I have to face the fact that both
of us must be nearing the end of our lives.  I could pretend that I'm only
thinking of Janet but, in point of fact, both of us would really like to
see our grandchildren while we are still in this world.

We wondered if you would like to visit us at Easter for a few days, if that
would fit in with any plans you might have.

Our cottage is small, but we have room for four of you (yes I know about
Luke - and I admire the sacrifice you made in taking him on).

Our Highland countryside is not what you or your boys are used to, but I
think you'll like it.

Please do say yes.

Yours in anticipation

Fergus McAndrew

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my pocket.  This needed
thinking about and, once the boys found out they would insist on taking
over any thinking that was to be done.

"Jonah!" This from the thunderbolt that was crashing down the stairs.

"Peter!" I said once he had ground to a halt.  He flourished a letter.

"Grandpa says he's going to write and ask you if we can go to see him at
Easter."

So much for thinking about it.

"Did he write and ask Simon the same thing?"

"Don't know.  Are we going?"

"Would you like to see your grandparents?"

"Would we go on the train?"

I should have expected that.  Fine!  Skip the thinking stage. Apparently
we're going.

"Jonah!"

"Yes, Simon, I know.  I'll write to your grandfather tonight."

Dear Mr. McAndrew 24 March 2020

Thank you for your letter of the 21st (and thank you for copying it to the
boys so that I couldn't say "no").  I am saddened to learn that
Mrs. McAndrew is not well, and hope that she will soon feel better.  If
seeing her grandchildren will make her feel better, I'm only too happy to
arrange it.

Many thanks for your kind invitation.  I would like the boys to get to know
their grandparents and, I need hardly say, they are both excited.  I'm
quite sure that you both will love all three boys as I do.

We can arrange to be with you on Maundy Thursday, if that is convenient,
and provided that it is not too much of an imposition, we can stay for six
days (i.e. until Tuesday).  I suppose I'd better not pretend, because you'd
soon find me out - I'm as excited as the boys are. Looking forward to
seeing you soon.

Jonah Cummings

Well that should keep them happy.

Three days later there was another letter from Fergus.  I do wish this man
would use the telephone.

Dear Mr. Cummings 26 March 2020

I cannot say how pleased both Janet and I are that we will be seeing you at
Easter.  We are both excited and thoroughly looking forward to it.  Now we
will not hear of you paying for four railway tickets to get here.  Janet
and I are not badly off, and we wish to order the tickets for you and have
them sent to you. I presume you'll be catching the Scotchman from King's
Cross, and then coming via Perth. I have some things to collect from Perth
so I'll wait there and travel the last leg with you.  See you in a
fortnight.

Yours

Fergus McAndrew

Thus it was that all four of us, with a suitcase each, were at King's Cross
to catch the 1000hrs. Azuma service to Edinburgh.  The Azumas are posh new
trrains manufactured by Hitachi, and employing the latest Japanese
technology.  Years ago, the 10:00am departure for Edinburgh was known as
"The Flying Scotsman", but it isn't usual to name train services now
(Fergus, apparently, either doesn't know that, or doesn't care).  Still the
absence of a headboard on the front (which we wouldn't have seen anyway)
didn't dampen the boys' enthusiasm one jot.  Luke and Peter had notebooks
at the ready, and Simon and I were gazing out of the window as King's Cross
station began to slide backwards.

It occurred to me to wonder whether Simon was remembering watching this
station do the same thing a year last Christmas.  Or was he simply looking
forward.  So far as I knew, neither boy had ever met their only remaining
grandparents.  Peter, had never even met his mother, and Simon was barely
four when she died.  I don't know if Simon has ever worked out that she
died in childbirth.  If he has, he obviously thought, as I did, that there
was no reason for Peter to know that.

Finsbury Park was flying by and Peter was positioning himself for Bounds
Green Traction Maintenance Depot.  The way this thing was accelerating, I
wished him luck with that.  Various Hertfordshire stations flashed past and
the train sped towards Cambridgeshire.  Peterborough brought only a slight
reduction in speed, but it was enough for Peter and Luke to pick up a few
freight locos near Eastfield Yard.  Then we were climbing Stoke Bank.  In
1938 the steam locomotive "Mallard" had achieved a world speed record of
126mph running down this bank.  Our electric train was not doing much less
than that running up it.

Grantham, Newark and Retford flashed past and we slowed, only slightly, for
Doncaster.  Again Peter got a few locomotives on the works, but we were
still going too fast for him to get everything.

We flashed past what remains of the Aire Valley power stations (mostly
Drax) and were soon slowing for our stop at York.  The boys had seen this
impressive station before and were eager to see if anything was parked
outside the railway museum.  Sure enough, as we drew out of the station,
the V2 locomotiove "Green Arrow, and a Deltic were parked outside the
museum, together with a diminutive diesel shunter.  We were soon flying
along again through North Yorkshire and into County Durham.  Darlington was
our next stop and the boys could not believe that this had once been a
famous railway town, with a locomotive works to rival Doncater. It
certainly didn't look like one now.

We sped away from Darlington ,with Simon remarking on how much of the North
East of England seems to be lower than the railway.  Almost every sizeable
town is crossed on a viaduct, and here is Durham, flashing by beneath us,
the cathedral looking beautiful on the far side of the river valley.  And
so to Newcastle, where we pick our way cautiously over the famous bridges
across the Tyne, and round the tortuous curves into Central Station.

After a brief stop we start picking our way out through suburban Newcastle,
and up through wildest Northumberland.  We decided to obtain sandwiches and
sausage rolls from the buffet at this point, since we wouldn't have time to
eat in Edinburgh.  At Alnmouth we are close to the coast and we keep
getting glimpses of the sea for the rest of the way.  Luke is captivated by
the pretty town of Berwick upon Tweed, and his sketch-block is in evidence
as the train stops there.  Then it is on round the South East Scottish
coastline as the North Sea gives way to the Firth of the Forth.  As soon as
I spotted Bass Rock, off the coast of North Berwick I knew that we were
running alongside estuarial waters.  I told the boys that Edinburgh was
getting close.

They were excited as we ran into Waverley Station (so what else is new).
We were right time at 1421 and , since our train for Perth left at 1437 it
was imperative that we find that.

A class 156 "Sprinter" type multiple unit was waiting to take us on our
journey to Perth (the gateway to the Highlands) and we quickly boarded it.
As we set off through the tunnels and cuttings through Princes St. Gardens,
the old castle towered over us, on top of its rock. We passed what used to
be Haymarket shed and stopped briefly at both Haymarket and the new
Edinburgh Gateway.  Before long the boys were excited again as we mounted
the vast Forth Bridge.  This bridge is impressive.  Alright, the Forth Road
Bridge, next-door, isn't bad, but this thing is history.  This thing is
"The Thirty-nine Steps", people became famous just for painting it.  Terry
Cuneo only painted it once.  Others painted it forever, until Network Rail
put a stop to that.  Far, far below, the tiny island of Inchgarvie supports
the middle pier of the cantilever.  No wonder the boys are excited.  Of
course, I'm quite blase' about it - yeah right.  Soon we are stopped at
Inverkeithing, then again at Kirkaldy.  We're in Fife now - heading for
Macbeth country.  Markinch is next, then Ladybank, where we rumbled off
onto the single line that brings us alongside the Firth of the Tay.  At
Hilton Junction we join the main line from Glasgow and soon we are at a
stand in Perth.

As we clambour off, struggling with our suitcases a tall man in a tweed
jacket and homburg takes Peter and Luke's suitcases.  His grey hair and
beard tell of advanced years, but surely not nearly eighty of them.

"Welcome!  welcome!" he trumpeted.  "I don't need tae ask if you're
Mr. Cummings, and you're Simon.  Ye'll be Peter and you, ma wee laddie,
will be Luke."



TO BE CONTINUED