Mungo McSween said to Lara, “Dinna let it bother ye, lassie. A Scotsman wi’ start a fight in an empty house.”
It was a poem by Sir Walter Scott that set Lara’s imagination on fire:
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west:
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none;
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.
So faith in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
And the glorious poem went on to tell how Lochinvar risked his life to rescue his beloved, who was being forced to marry another man.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Someday, Lara thought, a handsome Lochinvar will come and rescue me.
One day Lara was working in the kitchen when she came across an advertisement in a magazine, and her breath caught in her throat. It showed a tall, handsome man, blond, elegantly dressed in tails and white tie. He had blue eyes and a warm smile, and he looked every inch a prince. That’s what my Lochinvar will look like, Lara thought. He’s out there somewhere, looking for me. He’ll come and rescue me from here. I’ll be at the sink washing dishes, and he’ll come up behind me, put his arms around me, and whisper, “Can I help you?” And I’ll turn and look into his eyes. And I’ll say, “Do you dry dishes?”
Bertha’s voice said, “Do I what?”
Lara whirled around. Bertha was standing behind her. Lara had not realized she had spoken aloud.
“Nothing.” Lara blushed.
To Lara, the most fascinating dinner conversations revolved around the stories of the notorious Highland clearances. She had heard them told over and over but could never get enough of it.
“Tell me again,” she would ask. And Mungo McSween was eager to oblige…
“Weel, it began in the year 1792, and it went on for more than sixty years. At first they called it Bliadhna nan Co-arach—The Year of the Sheep. The landowners in the Highlands had decided that their land would be more profitable with sheep than with tenant farmers, so they brought flocks of sheep into the Highlands and found that they could survive the cold winters. That was when the clearances began.
“The cry became Mo thruaighe ort a thir, tha’n caoraich mhor a’ teachd! ‘Woe to thee, oh, land, the great sheep is coming.’ First there were a hundred sheep, then a thousand, then ten thousand. It was a bloody invasion.
“The lairds saw riches beyond their dreams, but they maun first get rid of the tenants, who worked their wee patches of land. They had little enough to begin with, God knows. They lived in sma stone houses with nae chimneys and nae windows. But the lairds forced them out.”
The young girl was wide-eyed. “How?”
“The government regiments were ordered to attack the villages and evict the tenants. The soldiers wad come to a little village and gie the tenants six hours to remove their cattle and furniture and get out. They maun leave their crops behind. Then the soldiers burned their huts to the ground. More than a quarter of a million men, women, and children were forced frae their holdings and driven to the shores of the sea.”
“But how could they drive them from their own land?”
“Ah, they niver owned the land, you see. They had the use of an acre or two frae a laird, but it was niver theirs. They paid a fee in goods or labor in order to till the land and grow some tatties and raise a few cattle.”
“What happened if the people wouldn’t move?” Lara asked breathlessly.
“The old folk that didn’t get out in time were burned in their huts. The government was ruthless. Och, it was a terrible time. The people had naething to eat. Cholera struck, and diseases spread like wildfire.”
“How awful,” Lara said.
“Aye, lassie. Our people lived on tatties and bread and porridge, when they could git it. But there’s one thing the government could nae take away frae the Highlanders—their pride. They fought back as best they could. For days after the burning was o’er, the homeless people remained in the glen, trying to salvage what they could frae the ruins. They put canvas over their heids for protection agin the night rain. My great-great-grandfather and my great-great-grandmother were there and suffered through it all. It’s part of our history, and it’s been burned into our very souls.”