Bruach Blend by Lillian Beckwith Read Free Book Online Page A

development. Foreseeably the rate of growth had been slow and even after more than ten years it was still no more than a slender sapling and no taller than myself. But despite the ferocity of the storms which had already trained the few stunted sallows to permanent obeisance the rowan had grown straight and proud; a slim soldier of a tree battling grimly against the harshness of the seasons; the storms of winter; the spring droughts, and most cruel of all the treacherous summer gales which stripped it prematurely of its foliage and left it looking so wearied by its combat that I wondered how much longer it would be before it succumbed to the mastery of the seasons. There was a single rowan tree on my croft; a tall and sturdy tree which every autumn was briefly caparisoned with rich red berries that the gluttonous starlings had usually harvested before I realized the berries were ripe. I had never seen a berry on the lonely little rowan; only wind-shredded foliage, but it continued to survive and in time it became for me not just a landmark but a symbol of courage and tenacity and I never passed it without sliding my hands caressingly down its slender trunk.
    I detected Bonny, with Crumley in close attendance, just outside the boundary fence and in the hope that she might temporarily desert him and come to me I climbed on the gate and holding out the potach in my hand began to call. As soon as she heard my voice she looked up and started a few eager paces towards me, but then, seeing Crumley was not following her, she coyly lowered her head and resumed grazing.
    â€˜Bonny!’ I called again and again, trying to infuse both cajolery and command into my call, for though by now I was a seasoned enough crofter to accept the presence of a bull on the moors during the summer months I had never quite succeeded in overcoming my fear of bulls, particularly when, as tonight, there was no other human being within screaming distance. My plan was to coax Bonny to come to the gate when I could, with the aid of the potach, persuade her to come through so that I could shut the bull safely on the other side. Once milking was finished all I would have to do would be to let her through the gate where she could rejoin her lover. But tonight Bonny was thrawn. It was uphill to the gate from where she was standing and she was either too tired or too loth to leave Crumley to be persuaded either by my presence or by the offer of the potach. Since I knew the battle of wills could continue for some time, I gave in and, still keeping the fence between us, I walked down the slope towards her. Both Bonny and Crumley watched my approach, Bonny eagerly but Crumley with only moderate interest. However, when I tried to bolster my own courage by scolding Bonny for not coming when I called her his interest increased. I thought he began to look a little menacing and recalled his reputation for being cross. For a few moments I stood chiding myself on my fear and reminding myself that Tearlaich had said the bull would be too ‘shagged out’ to be aggressive. I tried again to coax Bonny to come closer to the fence with the idea that I might just wriggle through between the wires and, in the case of attack, wriggle quickly back again, and eventually she condescended to detach herself from Crumley and come within about fifty yards of the fence. But she would come no closer. Taking a deep breath and keeping my eyes fixed on the bull, I wriggled cautiously through the barbed wire and moved towards her. Breaking a piece off the potach, I fed it to her and after reassuring myself that the bull was showing no particular interest in me crouched beside her and started to milk. She began to cud contentedly and, lulled by the fact that Bonny’s great belly was now screening me from the bull, the tension within me relaxed a little and resting my head against her warm flank I allowed the worst of my fears to be soothed away by the sound of the milk spurting