‘Right, ladies, are we clear? Each child is to be given a bowl of soup, and then once they’ve finished that you two will be serving the mince and tatties. One large spoonful of each, in the bowls they’ve used for their soup. Margaret, you can bring round the cups of milk and the bread and butter. Only one slice each, remember, or we’ll run out. Marjorie and Jean, you’ll be handing out the Red Cross parcels to the host parents. Here’s the list: two tins of milk, one of those tins of corned beef, one bar of chocolate and two packets of biscuits per child. That should help see them through until we can sort out their ration books. I’ll be at the table by the door, directing operations and making sure the right families end up with the right children. Girls’ – she beckoned to Flora, Mairi and Bridie – ‘you come and stand beside me. No doubt it will be chaos when they arrive and I’ll need you as my runners. You can help wash their hands and faces, too. Heaven only knows what sort of a state they’ll have been sent to us in.’
The flow of commands was interrupted suddenly by a loud crash from outside the hall.
‘What on earth . . . ?’ Mrs Carmichael bustled out of the door, followed by the rest of the Rural ladies.
At the back of the hall, a troop of soldiers were unloading sheets of corrugated iron from the back of a lorry.
‘Sergeant, what do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know we’re expecting a busload of children to arrive any minute?’
‘Sorry, ma’am, just following orders.’ The sergeant grinned cheerily at Mrs Carmichael, not the slightest bit cowed.
‘Well, why are you dumping all this metal here? You have a whole camp along at Mellon Charles. Don’t you have better places to store it there?’
‘It’s not being stored, ma’am. It’s for the new extension. To the hall.’
‘Extension? I haven’t been told anything about an extension! Who gave you these orders?’
‘The camp commander, ma’am. Her Majesty’s navy has designated this ’ere ’arbour Port A. For the Fleet. Assembly point and what not.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the loch, where the number of ships had continued to increase on a daily basis.
‘Well, honestly! Someone might have said. We’re about to house thirty children from Clydeside and now Loch Ewe will become just as much of a target for enemy bombs. You can’t just go designating places as ports willy-nilly. People live here, you know.’
‘I understand that, ma’am. But you’ll have to take it up with Mr Churchill. He’s the one what’s done the designating.’
There was silence for a moment as Moira Carmichael thought carefully about taking on the First Lord of the Admiralty.
She sighed heavily. ‘Very well then, what must be must be. We’ll just have to make the best of it, I suppose. After all, there is a war on.’
The sergeant saluted and turned back to his men. ‘Right, lads, look sharp. Let’s get these materials unloaded before the kiddies arrive.’
Mrs Carmichael turned on her heel and flapped her hands to usher the ladies of the Rural back inside. But she relented enough to say to Flora, Mairi and Bridie, ‘While we’re waiting for the bus, you might as well make a tray of tea and take it out to them. I expect they’d appreciate a cup once they’ve finished the job.’
As Bridie set tin mugs out on a tray, she speculated about the extension to the hall. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? There’ll be lots more soldiers and sailors. There might be dances. Imagine!’
‘Bridie Macdonald!’ Bridie jumped, clattering the cups, as the strident tones boomed across the hall. ‘A little less imagining and a lot more concentrating would do you no harm,’ Mrs Carmichael declared from her station at the door.
‘Golly, you were right, Flora,’ Bridie whispered. ‘She really does have the hearing of a wildcat!’
The bus pulled up in front of the village hall two hours later, disgorging its weary, travel-sick cargo. The winding roads had taken their toll. The driver and the women who’d volunteered to accompany the children to their destination clambered out first, taking thankful breaths of the fresh West Coast air. It had been a long day, involving an early start followed by seemingly unending hours spent incarcerated in the wet-wool-and-vomit-tinged reek that was the inevitable consequence of transporting thirty children, already on edge with nerves and excitement, over the hills and around the sea lochs fringing the jagged coastline.