A Highland Christmas Read Online Free

widow.’
    ‘So you don’t know everything, Angus.’
    ‘No one can know everything,’ said Angus huffily. ‘You will need to give me a bittie o’ time to consult the spirits.’
    ‘Aye, you do that,’ said Hamish, heading for the door.
    The seer’s voice followed him. ‘I find a bit o’ steak does wonders for the memory.’
    Hamish swung round. ‘I gave you two trout!’
    ‘Aye, but there’s nothing like a bit of steak for helping an auld man’s memory.’
    ‘Aren’t you frightened of the mad cow’s disease?’
    ‘Not me,’ said Angus with a grin.
    ‘Aye, you’ve probably got it already,’ muttered Hamish as he walked down the frosty hill.
    The village school only catered for young children. The older ones were bused to the high school in Strathbane. There was a new schoolteacher, a Miss Maisie Pease, and it was she who had
suggested that Hamish talk to the children. She was a small, neat woman with shiny black hair, a rather large prominent nose and fine brown eyes like peaty water. Hamish judged her to be in her
thirties.
    ‘Now, Officer,’ she began.
    ‘Hamish.’
    ‘Well, Hamish it is, and I’m Maisie. I feel that children are never too young to learn about the perils of drugs, as well as all the usual cautions about not talking to
strangers.’
    ‘Right. Are the children ready for me?’
    ‘They’re all in the main classroom.’
    Hamish walked with her along a corridor to the classroom. As he neared it, he could hear the row of unsupervised children. When he pushed open the door, there came a frantic scrabbling of small
pupils rushing back to their desks. Maisie followed him in.
    ‘This is PC Macbeth, children,’ she said. ‘I want you to sit quietly and pay attention.’
    Hamish looked round the faces of twenty-four children, ranging in ages from five to eleven years old, rosy-cheeked Highland faces with bright eyes.
    He started off by talking about the evils of bullying and of stealing. He warned them against talking to strangers or accepting lifts from strangers and then moved on to the subject of drugs.
Not so very long ago, he reflected, such a talk would have been unnecessary. But drugs had found their way even up into the Highlands of Scotland. He then asked for questions.
    After a polite silence, one little boy put up his hand. ‘Is wacky baccie bad?’
    Hamish, identifying ‘wacky baccie’ as pot, said, ‘Yes, it is. It’s against the law. But a lot of people will tell you there’s nothing to it. It’s better than
booze. But it’s not. You can get sicker quicker and it destroys short-term memory. Just say no.’
    Another boy put up his hand. ‘My brither wants to know where he can get Viagra.’
    ‘Ask Dr Brodie,’ said Hamish. The boy relapsed, sniggering with his friends. So much for the innocence of youth, thought Hamish.
    He then asked them what Santa Claus was bringing them. He was answered by a chorus of voices calling out that they wanted dolls or mountain bikes or dogs or cats. Hamish was glad that the
children were not going to be denied Christmas, however Calvinistic the parents, although in the Lochdubh way, it would probably be celebrated behind closed doors.
    ‘I’m going to talk to you now about pets,’ said Hamish. He thought briefly of his own dog, Towser, long dead, and felt a pang of sadness. ‘Don’t ask your parents
for a dog or a cat unless you’re very sure what looking after an animal entails. A dog, for instance, has to be house-trained, walked and fed, possibly for the next fifteen years of your
life. A cat even longer. It’s cruel to want an animal as a sort of toy. If I were you, I’d wait until you’re a bit older. Dogs have to be properly trained up here or you’ll
have some animal worrying the sheep.
    ‘While I remember,’ he continued, ‘someone or some people have stolen the Christmas lights that were meant to decorate the street in Cnothan. I want you to let me know if you
hear anything about strangers in the