11 November 1943

Edward Ross sat at the large kitchen table and chewed his favourite pipe with such force that it was pure luck that neither the stem nor his dentures broke. He had read the letter once in total confusion, twice with a growing dread and a third time with a smouldering anger that few people would have believed possible of the quietly spoken elder of the kirk. His wife, Martha, was washing the breakfast dishes without any knowledge of the despair growing only a few feet away.

`Damn ... damn!'

Martha turned around in surprise at hearing such language.

`Edward! Whatever is the matter?'

Ina had just walked through the doorway and stood open-mouthed at her father's utterance. He saw her staring.

`Where's Effie?' he said.

`Upstairs,' replied Ina.

`Fetch her.'

`What's happened?'

`Fetch her! You need to hear this together.'

Ina had never seen her father so distraught and rushed to get her sister, who, at seventeen, was almost three years younger. Mr Ross slid the letter across to Martha. It was only right that she should have the chance to read the contents before they were discussed. She was still trying to understand the implications when their two daughters burst into the kitchen in a way that would normally have resulted in them being chastised sternly. Mr Ross looked at the sisters standing side by side, as exactly alike as an apple and pear can be.

`Father,' said Effie. `What's wrong?'

`Sit down.'

The girls sat at the table while their mother collapsed into the nearest chair.

`We've received notice from the authorities that we must leave the farm by the twelfth of December.'

`Leave?' said Effie. `Why? Who's going to look after the livestock?'

`We'll have to get rid of it ... cattle, sheep, pigs, even the hens.'

Martha put a hand to her mouth and laid down the letter. Effie reached over and snatched it, scanning the text frantically while Ina looked on.

`There must be a mistake,' said Effie. `They're giving us one month to move or sell everything, in addition to processing the crops. It's not possible in such a short time. We would need a small army of workers.'

`Why do they want our home?' said Ina, close to tears. `What possible use is it to them?'

`We could move the stock until we return,' Effie cut in. `This letter seems to imply it's temporary.'

`It's not just our farm, so there'll be a surplus of animals and no one in the area will have the capacity to take on other people's,' said Mr Ross. `We might find someone to look after the horses, but as for the rest ... And it'll be a sad day indeed when we lose Alastair and his family.'

`Barbara will be heartbroken,' said Martha. `Their boys were born on Kirk Farm. Our cottage is all they've ever known as home.'

`Alastair will have to find new employment at the end of the term,' said Mr Ross, shaking his head. `He won't have any choice.'

They fell silent, reflecting on the enormous changes that were about to be forced upon their lives. Effie eventually broke the stillness by jumping up and pacing around the kitchen in a state of great indignation and irritation that was so ... Effie.

`This is not right,' she said.

`It's the war,' said Ina.

`I know it's the war!'

`The letter says there's a meeting this afternoon at Inver hall, so perhaps we'll get some answers there,' said Martha.

Effie turned to her mother. Martha was a practical, down-to-earth woman, not given easily to weeping, yet she looked close to tears now. Effie's father, grandfather and great-grandfather had meticulously bred the best livestock possible. The careful records they had kept meant they could trace the lineage of some of the cattle and pigs for more than eighty years. They were a part of the land as much as the ancient horse chestnut tree that overshadowed the drive.

`If we sell the stock then so much will be lost,' said Ina.

`People are losing sons, brothers and husbands,' replied her father, sitting up straight in his chair as he began to pull himself together. `If we survive this war and only lose our animals, then we should thank the good Lord.'

`Can't Christopher do something?' said Effie, never one to back down without a fight. `Surely it must be some use having an officer living here.'

Captain Christopher Armstrong had been billeted with the family for three months. Mr Ross had been horrified when he had been informed that they would have to provide accommodation for a young British officer. He readily acknowledged that plenty of other families in the area had been ordered to give room and board to military personnel, but with two beautiful, trusting daughters in the house the idea of a stranger living in such close proximity made him very uncomfortable.

The move had been a double-edged sword. Christopher had been polite and respectful, behaving like a caring older brother to seven-year-old Hugh, who had taken to him immediately. In fact, everyone liked him; Ina a little too much. She had fallen hopelessly in love, ignoring the advice given during their father's frequent lectures on the subject of `hasty wartime romances', and how uncertainty about the future was putting too much pressure on couples to commit.

He liked to remind them that there was a lot of wisdom in the saying `Marry in haste, repent at leisure' and how, when he was young you courted for months before you even held hands with a girl — and as for kissing! His daughters always listened politely without comment, and the advice had been easy to follow while there was no one to fall in love with.

`I don't see how Christopher can help, it's nothing to do with him,' said Ina bristling, yet there was a hesitance in her words. Effie guessed she was thinking the same thought — that surveying the surrounding land for this evacuation was precisely what Christopher had been sent to the Tarbat peninsula to do.

* * *

That afternoon Effie accompanied her father to the nearby village of Inver.

They entered the packed hall to be greeted by the grim faces of neighbours and friends and got the last two seats together. Effie knew everyone, by sight if not by name; other local farmers and crofters, people from Inver, Constable MacKay, the postman and Doctor Gray, who had last called four months earlier when Hugh had been ill.

Her gaze rested on the imposing figure of the Reverend Smith. As her father had often commented, the minister was a tower of strength in these worrying times, a true man of the cloth who worked tirelessly on behalf of his parishioners, as willing to chop firewood for someone as he was to sit by their bedside, with a prayer or a blessing, when they were dying.

Effie saw the minister turn his head towards her, as if sensing he was being watched. She smiled and he nodded, his expression appearing sombre. She thought that the huge responsibility he already had for his flock was about to increase significantly.

Christopher sat to one side of the small stage, normally used by the local band on dance nights. He also looked nervous, staring at the floor as if trying to avoid having to make eye contact with anyone. On the stage were two strangers. One of them stood up and the hall fell silent.

`Thank you for coming at such short notice. I'm Lord Rosebery, the Regional Commissioner for Scotland, and this is General Sir Andrew Thorne of Scottish Command. We're here to explain the situation and answer...