Graeme Burnet: His Bloody Project

At the gathering following my uncle’s funeral, my father approached my mother to offer his condolences. She looked so forlorn that he told her he would gladly take her brother’s place in the coffin. These were the first words he had ever addressed to her. My mother replied that she was glad it was he who had survived, and that she had prayed forgiveness for her wicked thoughts. They were married three months later.

My sister Jetta was born within a year of my parents’ marriage and I followed from my mother’s womb as swiftly as nature allows. This proximity in years bred a closeness between my sister and I which could scarcely have been greater had we been bona fide twins. Yet in outward appearance we could hardly have been more different. Jetta had my mother’s long slender face and broad mouth. Her eyes, like my mother’s, were blue and oval and her hair as yellow as sand. When my sister reached womanhood, folk were wont to comment that when she looked at Jetta, my mother must think she was gazing upon her fetch. For my part, I inherited my father’s heavy brow, thick black hair and small dark eyes. We are, moreover, similar in build, being of shorter than average stature, and barrel-chested with wide shoulders.

Likewise in temperament we mirrored our parents, Jetta being quite gay and gregarious, while I was said to be a taciturn and gloomy boy. In addition to her likeness to my mother in appearance and character, Jetta shared with her a great sensitivity to the Other World. Whether she had been born with this gift or had learned it from some secret teachings of my mother I cannot say, but both were prone to visions and were greatly concerned with omens and charms. On the morning of her brother’s death, my mother saw an empty place on the bench where he should have been sitting at his breakfast. Fearing that his porridge would grow cold, she went outside and called him. When he did not answer, she went back inside and saw him at his place at the table, shrouded in a pale grey winding sheet. When she asked where he had been he replied that he had been nowhere other than the bench. She begged him not to go to sea that day, but he laughed at her suggestion and, knowing that providence could not be bargained with, she said nothing more about it. Mother often told us this story, but only outwith my father’s hearing as he did not believe in such uncanny happenings and did not approve of her speaking of such things.

My mother’s daily life was governed by rituals and charms intended to ward off ill fortune and unchancy beings. The doorways and windows of our house were festooned with sprigs of rowan and juniper, and concealed within her hair, so that my father could not see it, she wore a plait of coloured yarns.

During the black months, from the age of eight or so, I attended school at Camusterrach. I walked there each morning hand in hand with Jetta. Our first teacher was Miss Galbraith, who was the daughter of the minister. She was young and slender and wore long skirts and a white chemise with a ruff at her neck, secured at the throat by a brooch depicting a woman’s profile. She wore an apron tied around her waist, which she used to clean her hands after she had been writing on the blackboard. Her neck was very long and when she was thinking she would cast her eyes upwards and tip her head to the side so that it made a curve like the handle of a cas chrom. She wore her hair secured on top of her head with pins. While we were at our lessons, she would let her hair down and hold the pins in her mouth while she fastened it back up. She did this three or four times a day and I took pleasure in secretly observing her. Miss Galbraith was kind and spoke in a soft voice. When the older boys did not behave, she had great trouble quietening them and only succeeded in doing so by threatening to fetch her father.

Jetta and I were quite inseparable. Miss Galbraith often commented that I would climb inside the pocket of my sister’s apron if I could. For the first few years I spoke very infrequently. If Miss Galbraith or one of my classmates addressed me, Jetta would answer on my behalf. What was remarkable was the accuracy with which she expressed my thoughts. Miss Galbraith indulged this habit and would often ask Jetta, ‘Does Roddy know the answer?’ This closeness between us isolated us from our peers. I cannot speak for Jetta, but I felt no desire to befriend any of the other children and they showed no desire to befriend me.

Sometimes our classmates would gather round us in the playground and chant:

Here stand the Black Macraes, the dirty Black Macraes.

Here stand the Black Macraes, the filthy Black Macraes.

The ‘Black Macraes’ was the nickname given to my father’s family, on account, he claimed, of their swarthy colouring. Father greatly disliked this designation and refused to answer if someone addressed him in this way. Nevertheless, he was known to everyone as the Black Macrae and it was a source of amusement in the village that, given my mother’s flaxen hair, she came to be known as Una Black.

I too disliked this name and felt it to be a particular injustice that it was attached to my sister. If our classmates’ chants were not interrupted by the end of the break, I would strike out at whoever was in front of me, an act which only served to increase the glee of our tormentors. I would be pushed to the ground and accept the kicks and blows of the other boys, happy to have diverted attention from Jetta.

Roddy Black, Roddy Black, the imbecile is on his back!

Strangely, it pleased me to be the centre of attention in this way. I understood that I was different from my peers and I cultivated the very characteristics which set me apart from them. During breaks, in order to free Jetta from the taunts, I detached myself from her and stood or crouched in a corner of the playground. I observed the other boys, buzzing round like flies, chasing balls or fighting with each other. The girls too engaged in games, but these seemed less violent and stupid than those of the boys. Neither did they have such a mania to commence them as soon as they spilled onto the playground or continue after Miss Galbraith rang the bell to end the break. At times, the girls were quite calm and gathered in a sheltered corner to do nothing more than converse in hushed voices. Sometimes, I sought out their company, but was invariably shunned. In the classroom I inwardly mocked my fellows as they thrust their arms into the air to provide the teacher with the answer to the most obvious questions or struggled to read the simplest sentences. As we grew older, my knowledge began to surpass that of my sister. One day, during a lesson in geography, Miss Galbraith asked if anyone could tell her the name for the two halves of the earth. When nobody answered, she turned to Jetta: ‘Perhaps Roddy knows the answer.’ Jetta looked at me and then replied, ‘I’m sorry. Roddy does not know and nor do I.’ Miss Galbraith looked disappointed and turned to write the word on the board. Without thinking I stood up from my chair and shouted, ‘Hemisphere!’ to the laughter of my classmates. Miss Galbraith turned round and I repeated the word as I resumed my seat. The teacher nodded and complimented me on my answer. From that day Jetta ceased to speak for me, and being reluctant to do so for myself, I became quite cut off.

Miss Galbraith married a man who had come to Lord Middleton’s estate for the shooting, and left Camusterrach to live in Edinburgh. I liked Miss Galbraith a great deal and was sorry when she left. After that came Mr Gillies. He was a young man, tall and thin, with wispy, fair hair. He was not at all like the men from these parts, who are mostly short and stocky with thick black hair. He was clean-shaven and wore oval spectacles. Mr Gillies was a very educated man, who had studied in the city of Glasgow. As well as reading, writing and calculation, he gave us lessons in science and history, and sometimes in the afternoon, he would tell us stories about the monsters and gods of Greek mythology. Each of the gods had a name and some were married and had children who were also gods. One day I asked Mr Gillies how there could be more than one God and he said that the Greek gods were not gods like our God. They were just immortal beings. Mythology was a word which meant that something was not really true; they were just stories to be enjoyed.