1

1968

It was a warm, gin-clear July day. The wooden fishing boat bobbed gently on the low swell of an ocean that looked as thick as treacle. Under a blue sky unburdened by cloud, the dome of Ailsa Craig shimmered in the haze, framed by the dark line of the Ayrshire coast, which appeared to be distantly floating on the still air.

All was quiet, save for the gentle lap of the waves on the side of the clinker-built hull and the occasional plop as a seal surfaced before diving back into the torpid depths in search of fish. The creature would reappear every time with no sign of a wriggling silver herring clasped between its jaws and, if such a thing were possible, a rather disconsolate look on its face.

The stout old mariner surveyed the scene with dismay, his pipe clenched between his teeth. ‘Och, even the creatures o’ the deep canna get a bite,’ he observed, addressing the spotty youth at his side. ‘That beast is looking fair emaciated, and nae wonder.’ A cloud of pungent blue smoke spiralled into the air. ‘In fifty years o’ this, I’ve never seen the like. Mid July, and no’ a catch worthy of the name. It’s enough tae gaur ye greet.’

‘Is that a nautical term? ’ asked the boy, anxious to impress.

‘No, it’s not, young Peter. It means it’s enough tae make you burst intae tears.’

‘Is it really that bad? I mean, will the fish no’ jeest turn up when they’re ready?’

‘Och, aye.’ Sandy Hoynes took the pipe from his mouth and fixed the ship’s boy with a beady eye. ‘The herring are probably away on one o’ they new package holidays. A few weeks swimming in the warm waters o’ the Mediterranean, before coming back here tae surprise the hell oot o’ us by fair jumping intae the nets. We’ll no’ need tae bother putting tae sea at all. Likely, the silver darlings will jeest launch themselves intae the fish boxes on the quay, and tell auld Erchie Keacheran the fish buyer tae get on his bike and come up the hoose and let us know how big the catch is.’

‘I canna work oot whoot’s wrong,’ said Peter, desperately trying to retrieve the situation.

‘Noo, you’re less than a year oot o’ school. Jeest you tell me: whoot would we normally expect tae see when we’re plying oor trade here?’

Peter bit his lip, deep in thought. ‘Water, we always see plenty o’ water, skipper.’

‘My, but you’re a bright spark, right enough. It’s easy tae see how I spotted your fine intellect and offered you a half share aboard this fine vessel.’

‘Dae you mean that?’

‘No. The only reason you’ve been given the chance tae learn your trade aboard a state-o’-the-art craft like this, is that I owed your aunt Ina a wee favour.’ Hoynes tapped his pipe on the hull and searched in the front pocket of his bib and braces for his pouch of tobacco. He wore an almost beatific expression as he stared out to sea.

‘I didna know you knew my auntie Ina.’

‘Clearly there are a multitude o’ things you don’t know aboot. Your auntie an’ me have been freens for a long number o’ years. A clever, bonnie lassie she was in the school. I’m mair than sad tae note that none o’ that intelligence has managed tae fight its way through the family tae you. Have you ever heard the like, Hamish?’

A round face appeared through the wheelhouse window. ‘The answer you were looking for was gulls, Peter. We’d be in a poor state right enough if we were oot here and there was nae water,’ chided Hamish. He looked to be in his late thirties, though it was hard to tell under the olive tan of his skin. Certainly, there wasn’t a fleck of grey to be seen in the dark quiff he’d constructed from what was left of his hair. It rose from his head like a small edifice. Had it not been for the bright blue of his slanted eyes, he would have had an almost oriental appearance. ‘No’ a gull tae be seen – I’ve never known it like this. They’re usually fair mobbing the boat. I canna think it’s anything less than the worst sign.’ He craned his head further out of the window and looked heavenward. ‘We’ll have another seven hours o’ light anyway. Maybe we’ll hit a proud shoal yet, skipper.’

‘You’re like your faither, Hamish. Never saw him wae an attack o’ the glums in all the years I knew him. Quick wae the premonitions, tae.’

‘He looked pretty glum the last time I saw him,’ remarked Hamish ruefully.

‘Och, how so?’

‘He was laid oot on auld Kennedy the undertaker’s slab in his best Sunday suit.’

‘Well, anybody can be forgiven for looking a wee bit glum under they circumstances. I wouldn’t hold that against the man. A natural optimist, he was – right cheery when he’d a few drams on board, tae. But I tell you this, even he’d be crying in his whisky by now.’

‘Nae herring, and you with your Maggie getting wed, tae,’ said Hamish, leaning on the wheelhouse windowsill, lighting his own pipe.

‘Me and the wife have been waiting thirty-five years for that – I’m buggered if the lack o’ a fish or two will put paid tae the exercise. Aye, even if I’ve got tae dip intae my own nest egg.’

‘She’s been a while settling,’ observed Hamish, a coy look on his face.

‘Och, you know yoursel’, the Good Lord didna see fit tae adorn her wae the keenest o’ looks,’ replied Hoynes. Beside him, young Peter raised his eyebrows, out of sight of his skipper. ‘But she’s got a big heart.’

‘And a fair-sized arse, tae,’ said Peter, thinking out loud then regretting it when his skipper caught him a clip behind the ear.

‘That comes from her mother’s side o’ the family – nothing she can dae aboot it. The women canna all be as svelte as your auntie Ina . . .’ His musings as to the feminine qualities of Ina Blackstock were cut short by a low rumble followed by a distinct boom.

‘There it’s again,’ shouted Hamish. ‘That’s the sonic boom o’ that jet they’re testing.’

Hoynes relit his pipe, a look of distaste spreading across his face. ‘Noo, Hamish, you’ve been at the fishing since you were a boy.’

‘You have the right o’ it there, skipper,’ he agreed.

‘And in all that time, have you ever known a spell like this wae hardly a herring tae box?’

‘No, I have not. I mind fifty-seven wisna such a good year, but it was nowhere near as bad as this.’

‘Man, fifty-seven was like a bumper compared tae this, man. I’ll tell you why I think it’s happened, tae.’

‘You mean you know?’ asked Peter excitedly, keen to restore his skipper’s faith in him after his ill-advised comment as to the size of his daughter’s backside.

‘It’s that bloody plane. All this sonic boom stuff. When did they start they flight tests, Hamish?’

‘Och, aboot the end of April – jeest as the nights wir getting longer.’

‘Aye, and jeest as oor wee silver freens were getting busy spawning. I’m telling you, that racket’s fair frightening the fish. It’s no’ natural, and that’s a fact. I’m no’ the only man who thinks so, neither.’

‘But whoot can we dae aboot it?’ asked Hamish.

‘We’re having a meeting on Friday night – all the skippers, aye, and anyone else who’s interested.’

‘Whereaboots?’

‘In the County Hotel. Seven thirty, on the dot. We would have had it at McGinty’s, but the way things have been, half the boys are barred until they can pay off their tick.’

‘There’s loyalty for you,’ remarked Hamish. ‘The McGinty sisters have nae shame – when you think o’ the money that gets spent in there by the fishing community.’

‘I know fine. This crisis wae the herring, it’s the kind o’ thing that tears communities apart, and no mistake. Aye, an’ forbye that, the McGinties sell the cheapest dram in the toon.’

‘They dae that,’ Hamish agreed, ‘but fae very small glasses.’