Sunday.
George awoke to shouting outside. The siren at the huts began to wail. He threw off the single blanket and opened a window. A cloudless sky was strangely grainy. Air held a distinct odour of wood smoke.
The hair on his neck prickling, George swiftly dressed and returned to the window. Below, Roland and Guy ran past, Guy shouting up at the figure in the window, “Fire in the wood! There’s a fire in the wood!”
George could hear Ruairidh and Blue cursing and bumping into furniture in the bedrooms across the landing. All three rushed downstairs and into the kitchen.
“George, could you fill the haversacks with grub…anything that comes easily to hand…and plenty of water,” Ruairidh said urgently. “Come on, Blue, we’ll take a look outside.”
But Blue was already unlocking the back door and George, impatiently filling plastic bottles with tap water, heard a startled “Jesus Christ!”.
An extended black pall hung above tree tops to the north east. The siren now ceased its lament and a faint roaring took the place of what should have been stillness. This background sound was punctured by blares of approaching car horns.
Ruairidh, Blue and George each hooked a filled haversack into the crook of one arm and hurried outside. All along the row of bothies, doors were opening. Men began to stream down the incline of road and muster in front of the grouped wooden huts.
Vehicles full of local Commission men had arrived at the flat hardcored area bordered by these cabins. Men jumped out of vehicles and milled around the hutments. Euan Mackinnon climbed up on the bonnet of a landrover with the Commission cartouche stamped on each door.
“Okay, everyone, here it is,” he looked over the men clustered around. “I’ve been up since six thirty this morning when I got the first report of fire. One of the boys spotted it coming back from Glenfinnan. It’s not so far away, either. You can see that a head of fire has already come over the crest of the hill above us and it’s coming this way.
“Robbie, I want you to get the spare keys from the office. Check to make absolutely certain every bothy is empty. There may be a hangover or two that doesn’t know what is going on. Or somebody may be sick. Anybody you find, bring them here then we will call a roll.
We’ll rig a pump and hose at the main water tank, or the river, whatever is better. We’ll begin by dousing those trees nearest the bothies, then the bothies themselves starting at the far end of the row with No1. The group doing this will also firewatch. The fire could easily outflank us. We don’t want to be caught out.
Meantime, I want the cutters to make up one squad, the planters another, everybody else in another. I’ll pick some of you to do the pumping; the rest will get instructions in a few minutes.
The office behind me will be our centre. We’ll organise everything from there. Gangers, check your field telephones. You cutters do the same and get your chainsaws and gear, we may need to do some felling. Those of you with hard hats, make sure you have them with you. Wear them when you are fighting the fire.
I have already called the forestry boys at Oban, Inverness and Kingussie for urgent assistance. They are getting organised, but remember today is a Sunday. We will keep them updated on what is going on.
For the time being I’ll be staying here, near the office telephone. Those of you with field telephones, use them to keep in touch. Forget mobiles. Too many black spots around, eh? Anyway, I need to keep the office line free.
Okay, that will do for the minute. Sort yourselves into your squads while Robbie checks the bothies for waifs and strays.”