dinner date, thank Jehovah, but to help out with the guitar group again.
I gladly agreed. It was another fundraiser, but this time the kids wouldn’t be playing their guitars. The parents had signed the contracts – Global Imperial were paying the guitar group big money for the kids as ‘supporting artistes’ in a big scene they were shooting and Jan had asked me to chaperone the girls.
The film company had already tried to recruit from the school but the headmistress had had to refuse on health and safety grounds. It seemed that although Global Imperial had plenty of supporting artistes, they were short on oldies and children. They were now specifically seeking vulnerable types and had sent scoutsround the village picking off anyone who was limbless, toothless or glaikit-looking. Jenny teased Walter remorselessly about being targeted until the scout came for her. She saw him off with her broom and literally swept the guy out the shop. I was surprised that Walter was up for it; he was becoming increasingly anti-G.I., but he said he wanted to see at first hand ‘what the sneaky bodachs were up to now’.
I expected we would be taken up to the lochan and ruined village but the bus stopped at the bottom of the hill. Parked on both sides, creating a dark narrow canyon, were the mammoth production vehicles we had become so used to seeing around the village. Beyond, the road was single track, so the film company had set up base camp here, ferrying crew and equipment up and down in one vehicle. Although it was now nearly midnight and as dark as it was likely to get, the crew moved around at an industrious mid-morning pace, working like profit-share bees. Even the air was busy with the smell of hot electrical cables, fried food and hairspray.
Jan took the boys and I took the girls as we were quickly hustled into ‘wardrobe’.
Inside there were heavy rails of elaborate period ball gowns, lush silks and velvets in every flavour of pink and green. Sadly, on this shoot everyone was to be dressed in nightclothes, so we were issued with uniformly drab, long collarless shirts.
Jan bounded off the gents’ costume bus to meet us with a big smile on his face. He wasn’t in a grubby nightshirt like the rest of us; he was in an old-fashioned top coat, knee-length boots and breeches. The breeches didn’t have a fly fastening, they buttoned down either side. Which kept drawing my eye to between the buttoned area. It could have been worse; it could have been a codpiece.
‘He’s playing one of the factor’s henchmen,’ explained Walter, ‘the dirty traitor.’
The kids laughed at Walter’s get-up too: a long goonie and a night cap. They taunted him by singing ‘Wee Willie Winkie’, which he took in good part, turning quickly towards them to scare themand make them giggle. Walter, with his skinny blue-veined legs, looked like something out of Dickens. We all did.
‘What factor?’ I asked.
‘Patrick Sellar,’ said Walter, ‘the Duke of Sutherland’s factor for the most brutal of the Highland Clearances. Wait and see what happens here tonight,’ he said portentously, ‘just you wait.’
Chapter 23
The Claymores were next to emerge. Most of them were in dark-shirted uniforms, like soldiers, but Danny and Will were in the same grubby nightshirts as me and the kids.
We were sorted into groups, our nighshirt group being led up to the lochan by a guy with a clipboard. It had been raining on and off for days and the bracken was soaked. I had to keep a close eye on the kids. One of them, Rachel, wandered off the path and nearly lost a welly in the bog. As we breasted the hill and caught sight of the village there was a collective gasp.
The village was completely restored, the houses rebuilt. Blackhouses, with thick stone walls and thatched roofs, now covered the ruins. Highland cattle were tethered outside. G.I. had even planted vegetable gardens in front of the houses, but when we got closer we saw the reality.
The dry
I gladly agreed. It was another fundraiser, but this time the kids wouldn’t be playing their guitars. The parents had signed the contracts – Global Imperial were paying the guitar group big money for the kids as ‘supporting artistes’ in a big scene they were shooting and Jan had asked me to chaperone the girls.
The film company had already tried to recruit from the school but the headmistress had had to refuse on health and safety grounds. It seemed that although Global Imperial had plenty of supporting artistes, they were short on oldies and children. They were now specifically seeking vulnerable types and had sent scoutsround the village picking off anyone who was limbless, toothless or glaikit-looking. Jenny teased Walter remorselessly about being targeted until the scout came for her. She saw him off with her broom and literally swept the guy out the shop. I was surprised that Walter was up for it; he was becoming increasingly anti-G.I., but he said he wanted to see at first hand ‘what the sneaky bodachs were up to now’.
I expected we would be taken up to the lochan and ruined village but the bus stopped at the bottom of the hill. Parked on both sides, creating a dark narrow canyon, were the mammoth production vehicles we had become so used to seeing around the village. Beyond, the road was single track, so the film company had set up base camp here, ferrying crew and equipment up and down in one vehicle. Although it was now nearly midnight and as dark as it was likely to get, the crew moved around at an industrious mid-morning pace, working like profit-share bees. Even the air was busy with the smell of hot electrical cables, fried food and hairspray.
Jan took the boys and I took the girls as we were quickly hustled into ‘wardrobe’.
Inside there were heavy rails of elaborate period ball gowns, lush silks and velvets in every flavour of pink and green. Sadly, on this shoot everyone was to be dressed in nightclothes, so we were issued with uniformly drab, long collarless shirts.
Jan bounded off the gents’ costume bus to meet us with a big smile on his face. He wasn’t in a grubby nightshirt like the rest of us; he was in an old-fashioned top coat, knee-length boots and breeches. The breeches didn’t have a fly fastening, they buttoned down either side. Which kept drawing my eye to between the buttoned area. It could have been worse; it could have been a codpiece.
‘He’s playing one of the factor’s henchmen,’ explained Walter, ‘the dirty traitor.’
The kids laughed at Walter’s get-up too: a long goonie and a night cap. They taunted him by singing ‘Wee Willie Winkie’, which he took in good part, turning quickly towards them to scare themand make them giggle. Walter, with his skinny blue-veined legs, looked like something out of Dickens. We all did.
‘What factor?’ I asked.
‘Patrick Sellar,’ said Walter, ‘the Duke of Sutherland’s factor for the most brutal of the Highland Clearances. Wait and see what happens here tonight,’ he said portentously, ‘just you wait.’
Chapter 23
The Claymores were next to emerge. Most of them were in dark-shirted uniforms, like soldiers, but Danny and Will were in the same grubby nightshirts as me and the kids.
We were sorted into groups, our nighshirt group being led up to the lochan by a guy with a clipboard. It had been raining on and off for days and the bracken was soaked. I had to keep a close eye on the kids. One of them, Rachel, wandered off the path and nearly lost a welly in the bog. As we breasted the hill and caught sight of the village there was a collective gasp.
The village was completely restored, the houses rebuilt. Blackhouses, with thick stone walls and thatched roofs, now covered the ruins. Highland cattle were tethered outside. G.I. had even planted vegetable gardens in front of the houses, but when we got closer we saw the reality.
The dry
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