Tammie-Nid-Nod
sillars@hotmail.com
1.
A dense haar crept over the picturesque East Neuk of Fife on the east coast of Scotland, refusing to allow the powerful morning sun to penetrate its grey, watery penumbra. The thick sea mist gradually enveloped the green and straw-coloured fields surrounding the village of Pittenweem, covering every inch of flat, fertile land and forcing the temperature to plummet. It gently wrapped itself around the grains of wheat and barley and deposited a shiny wet coat on the leaves of the potatoes and lettuce. It worked its way steadily, purposefully across the fields, ignoring the gates, fences and dry stane dykes, which attempted in vain to impede its relentless flow.
When the mist had fully encircled the sleeping village, it began to slowly fill the cobbled streets, reaching through the narrow lanes and closes and caressing the painted doors of fishers’ cottages, like a spirit wandering through the night seeking solace: just as it had done for centuries.
Iain Robertson peered out over the eerie, grey-white blanket below through his small, single-paned bedroom window. He stood mesmerised by the silent flow of the mist: paralysed by its relentless approach towards his small house above the baker’s shop. He knew it had come for him. He watched as the haar approached his home from both directions and witnessed it eventually close the last remaining gap outside his door to complete its invasion of the village. He turned and looked at his empty, untouched, double bed and sighed a final farewell. It was time.
Iain was already dressed for his journey, as he had been expecting the haar for some time now. He had been holding his nightly vigil since the 23rd of March of that year. It had taken almost three months to come but then again, the haar paid no heed to temporal issues. He donned a yellow oilskin coat above his heavy, woollen sweater and stepped out of his front door and down the damp, ancient and worn stone steps to the street.
As he made his way down the narrow cobbled lane towards the harbour, Iain Robertson inhaled the cold, fresh, North Sea haar which mingled with the ever-present smell of herring being smoked to make kippers. The mist clung to his body and gently ushered him down to his boat, which had lain untouched since March. The harbour was full of colourful fishing boats, which now appeared ghostly in the mist. They were gently bobbing up and down, the rubber tyres that protected their hulls creaking as they moved. He climbed down a set of rusty old iron ladders, set in the red sandstone of the harbour wall, and stepped onto the Northern Harvester.
He did not notice the solitary bearded man who sat silently at the far end of the harbour wall. The lonely pensioner shook his head slowly and grunted something to himself as he watched Iain step across from the trawler and onto his own boat, Tammie Norrie. The old man observed Iain’s actions intently as he prepared to untie his boat for the first time in months. He stood up as Iain Robertson pressed the ignition and made the diesel engine burst into life, bellowing white smoke into the surrounding mist. The tide was just high enough now for him to navigate Tammie Norrie through the narrow channel alongside the harbour wall and into the Firth of Forth. As the boat approached the end of the wall, the man leaned over, concern showing through his sad, wrinkled features.
“Don’t do it, Iain!” he shouted, “Don’t trust her, Son!”
Iain Robertson barely heard his old uncle’s warning and paid no heed in any case. He concentrated as he steered his boat by the rocks and out into the Estuary. He swung the boat left when he had cleared the solid stone wall that towered above him, just as he had done a thousand times before, and pointed her towards the open sea. His expression was fixed and his eyes glazed as the engine slowly but powerfully conducted the vessel through the mirror-like water. As the boat slowly crept passed the Isle of May to the right, the haar began to part outside Iain Robertson’s house. It quickly retreated back out to sea and immediately lifted to the sky above. The sun expeditiously evaporated any remaining evidence of its ever having occupied the village.
