1^st September

 

Unlike the previous mornings, this morning I awoke drenched in sweat and in a state of panic, after having a particularly realistic and worrying dream about being in the big tent, where David was being attacked by some unknown people and then held down against his will. Instead of protecting him, I slipped outside the tent where I stood, pontificating over whether to go back and help, but I decided to be a coward and ran back to my pod, where I began packing my bags to leave. While packing, I could hear David ask me to help and it’s then I woke and, still effected by the realness of the dream, I instinctively packed most of my belongings in my bag. Feeling a bit knowing, if need be, I was ready to go and ventured outside.

 

“Thank God!” I rejoiced, coming to my senses as warm rays of sun hit my eyelids and the chirps of the bird reassured me of my whereabouts. I made my way to get a cup of tea, and the old man was still sitting on the cliff edge. He looked at me, smiling with a smile that seemed full of unconditional love. I can’t say exactly how, but that’s what I felt; loved and understood. Did he know me? Should I speak to him later? Maybe I would, but time was moving on and we had to fly to North Ronaldsay, the northern most Island in Orkney.

 

Unable to find David, yet again, I ate breakfast alone and was deciding to look for after I had eaten, when David arrives at the communal area, with Caroline and Paul in tow.

 

“What the hell happened?” I venture in a resigned tone.

 

“He can’t say,” interjected Caroline, before David could respond.

 

“I can’t say exactly deer chap, but making friends is what I can say,” David said glancing to Caroline for approval.

 

“Yes, good friends,” she smiled, stroking his hand before departing with Paul in tow.

 

“We have a plane to catch in an hour!” I growled, thinking we’d be late.

 

“Don’t worry me old matey,” joked David, amused at my frustration.

 

 After a reckless drive to the airport, we arrived just in time for the flight.

 

“We need to talk about my reasons for being here.” David whispered, leaning over to me, looking furtively around us.

 

“And why you seem to be having sex with every woman you can!” I snapped.

 

David laughed, “Yeah, I guess my behaviour seems a bit…”

 

“Drunk!” I snapped, again, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

 

David laughed, more to himself and we both went quiet until we were touching down in North Ronaldsay.

 

 

My misgivings with David’s behaviour were soon at the back of my mind as we made a whistle-stop tour of the far-flung unique island. First stop was the North Ronaldsay lighthouse; the tallest land-based structure of its kind in the UK. David bounded up the 176 steps to the top, while I walked at a fast pace, trying not to let him get too far ahead and feeling a bit put out by his athletic prowess, that I – thirty years his junior- didn’t seem to have. The view was amazing and I would advise anyone to see it. We also stopped at the old woollen mill, where all the wool from the ancient local bread of sheep is processed. This successful enterprise, involving many of the locals all coming out together to sheer their sheep and the neighbour’s sheep has been a part of the local trade for centuries.

 

There is an abundance of stone dykes that run along the tidal mark, keeping the sheep in and protecting what small shrubs and other areas of grazing there are for other animals. Re-planting of the trees has not reached this part yet, but the sparse beauty of the place is breath-taking and I wondered if it might even take too much limited space form the little green patches left.

 

We just had enough time to check out the Island Archive at the old kirk and view some of the rich history of the Island going back centuries in to the crofter’s history before we spent a short time viewing the many wild birds using North Ronaldsay as a stop-off point on to far-reaching migrations elsewhere.  

 

“This place is beautiful!” remarked David, busy with his binoculars and randomly trying to recognise the many different varieties of birds in the distance.

 

“Shame we didn’t have more time, but we have the plane to catch,” I concluded as we made our way back to the plane. Always at the back of my mind was the unique opportunity to view such places as I may not see them again, then wondering why I never wanted to see them when I lived here.

 

When we boarded the plane, David asked, “Is there anyone else we should try to see today?”

 

“Yes, I’d love to see Christine Kemp again.”

 

“Ah, the reporter who tried to stop all the uplifts happening?”  he asked sympathetically.  

 

“Yeah! It’d be nice to see her and say thank you.”

 

Upon returning to Kirkwall, we decided to look for her and that’s when it became clear to me David knew far more than he was letting on.

 

“I happen to have the address her son works at and maybe if you spoke to him, he might be able to introduce…”

 

“How did you get his details?” I demanded, showing my frustration.

 

“Oh, you know me, I like to snoop.”

 

“Snoop?”

 

“How did I get in touch with you?” David posed.

 

“Snooping?” I mussed with reticence, but David just smiled.

 

A long story made shorter, we drove to the address and David almost crashed, watching his rear-view mirror. The location we had to find her at was a builder’s merchants where her son was the branch manager, but the company was owned by Christine Kemp and her husband. We pulled up outside and with some trepidation I made my way in, not sure what to say, and waited in the reception area until the counter became clear and introduced myself, asking to talk to the manager.

 

“I’m the manager,” came a broad Orcadian accent behind me. The voice originated from a tall, bulky man about the same age as me and clearly in to body building.

 

I was about to introduce myself when he smiled, “You’re Harry?”

 

“Yes,” I confirmed, relieved that it might be easier to request to meet his mother.

 

“Wow! I was in class with your brother.”

 

We soon got along, with him counting memories of KGS and although we were two years apart at school (a big difference then), we were now quite similar; early forties, ambitious and working in management. He had an amiable character, easy-going manner, seeming to smile all the time with bright, focussed and clear eyes. He was one of the two children of Kathrine Kemp who had to live through the fear of being taken away themselves and watched their mother take on the establishment as a lone, but passionately impartial Reporter to the children’s panel for Orkney. She nurtured and guided the blossoming of young people for years, often opting to keep the child as closed to people they knew. The tall, handsome, charismatic son was clearly the stronger for his experiences and a proud Husband and father of the next generation; a leader.

 

At some point I mentioned the reason for my arrival and how great it would be to see his mother, so seconds later, he was on the phone.

 

“You’ll never guess who is here?” he excitedly teased his mother. I took the opportunity to go back to the car to fetch David. Approaching the car, I glanced up the adjacent street and noticed the same black van that I’d seen earlier.

 

“I noticed the same black van parked up the street…” I began when I’d returned to the car.

 

“I know,” brooded David, then smiling, “So she’s coming down?”

 

“Yeah, we should go in the office,” I suggested, “and you’ll get to meet her to.  

 

“I’m just an old Lawyer friend of the Reverent caught up in all the false allegations.” David said by way of introduction to Mrs Kemp’s son.

 

While waiting for his mother, emotions were running high and I think I started to randomly cry, hearing the perspective of the events from Kathrin Kemp’s son.

When his mother did arrive, I was completely overwhelmed, hugging and kissing her, showing as much gratitude as I could. She was still an imposing figure of compassionate benevolence. She still had those strong, steely focussed eyes – like her son - that were smart and wise. Her husband was there, but could not remember the uplifts and false allegation of the Orkney case and has suffered with illness for a few years since. He did have the same strong, focused eyes of his son and I thought he must have looked much similar when younger. Her husband was intimidated by the local police with false allegation, even being taken in for questioning, suffering this humiliation because of his wife’s great resistance against the social workers, police and believers in Satanic Ritual Abuse theory.

Yet, there they were; a strong family running a successful business enterprise. I couldn’t help but be impressed by their commitment to do well and found myself crying a number of times as Kathrine recounted her experience of events to David in particular, who asked many searching questions I – in a highly emotional state - didn’t think of asking.

The other staff  began to filter home as the natural light outside lessoned and it was early evening before we knew it, so caught up in sharing our experiences of the Orkney Case. Listening to Kathrine, helped me see other people’s suffering and Kathrine’s experiences of being isolated and discredited, then maliciously suspended from her role all because she wanted the children to stay at home, was harrowing to hear. My already high estimation of Kathrine grew as I listened; again, witnessing the tragedy others on the islands went through.

 

Kathrine Kemp was, eventually, cleared but the malicious damage was done to her reputation and the kids had been taken away. But, with great fortitude, she put all her resources with the rest of the community and worked tirelessly to get the children back. Her tireless efforts were organised, articulate and determined, culminating in her attendance, as one of the many celebrating at the airport, when the nine children were returned.

 

“But you children were the real travesty,” she insisted, noticing that I was moved by events she and her family had gone through to fight for us, when we were on the mainland so far away. This was because the ‘W’ children, who were the first to be mixed up in Satanic Ritual Abuse Theory, were never sent home, or - like me – they were slowly moved homeward just before we turned 16 years of age. This was a way of saving face by the authorities and did a lot of damage to damaged children.

Kathrine truly understood the depth of the tragedy that the false accusations of satanic ritual abuse theory was and how the media interest steadily diminished as the inquiry was published, yet the ‘W’ Children were still in care.

 

“Even though the allegations were proved to be a complete fabrication, you were all stuck in care,” passionately concluding, “you were all forgotten, and your mother was forgotten.”

 

Kathrine winced as she remembered the publication of the public inquiry, headed by Lord Clyde in his report of 1992.

 

“Oh, your poor mother,” added her husband, the first time I think he spoke.

 

In fact, it the truly miserable situation for my mother that seemed to effect Kathrine the most as she outlined the events from my mother’s perspective. As reporter to the children’s panel of Orkney, Kathrine was in charge of what happened to us when our father was sent to jail in the late 1980s and so long as she remained the reporter to the children’s panel for Orkney, we were to be kept at home and incrementally rehabilitated in to the community.

 

“Then they started playing dirty,” Kathrine lamented in a lower tone. She had also been with my mother after the uplifts and saw how hard she worked to get us back and what a wreck she had become in the process. I saw my mother through Kathrine’s eyes and was, again, overwhelmed. I began to wonder if I ever understood what my own mother went through.

 

Kathrine gave such a vivid insight in to the struggles the community had to face, not just to get their kids back, but the false accusations they had to clear the communities’ name of. She detailed a number of individual Islanders, from doctors to teachers, all with their own input to the struggle against the accusers. Indeed, more stories exchanged and tears flowed as well as compassionate laughter. Soon, it was time for us to leave and let Kathrine and her family get home, so we parted with more hugs, me feeling great to have said thank you in person to Kathrine, but also grateful Kathrine had opened my eyes to the struggles Orcadians I never met went through on our behalf.

 

I think both David and I got in the car with tears in our eyes; both saying nothing, as we drove out of the car park. I was still mulling over the meeting with Kathrine and her hear-warming and heroic battle with the powers that be and what a great story her life is on its’ own. I think we were quite far in to the journey when we spot the van again. I became nervous, while David shrugged it off, “Don’t worry now he whispered, reading my body-language. David made no attempt to avoid or shirk it off, but calmly drove, mentioning the beauty of the landscape.

 

“They really are following us?” I yelped, showing my nerves.

 

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you now,” David calmly began, “just make sure you pack your bags and put them in my car.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Ready to go,” David concluded with a slow nod of his head.

 

“Are you for real?” I inquired; a little more worried.

 

“I can only say that you should do that, that’s all,” he concluded.

 

“Fair enough,” I acquiesced, slouching in my seat.

 

Upon returning to the camp, I looked in the communal area and said hello to everyone, enjoying the familiarity of the fellow guests and hearing how their experience of what they did that day around Orkney. David arrived and we sat down to a great meal and interesting conversation. Yet, just as the night before, the dinner is interrupted by the same old man who came for David last time.

 

“Is our brother David present?” enquired the man, cutting in to the conversations before a period of silence rained. Eventually, David rose up.

 

“I am here brother,” confirmed David, smiling at me, before her slowly and purposefully departed our dinner for the second time, as we watched in silence, David being led away.

 

“What is going on in that tent?” demanded Pascal in a low, conspiring tone.

 

“I think it’s a stone mason ceremony,” someone offered.

 

“No,” I laughed, “they don’t do that, I think.”

“No, I think they are musical and religious people,” offered an unsure Jean-Paul.

 

“Weird folk, sorry to say,” offered Jake, looking at me apologetically.

 

Partly because of my presence, the conversation moved on but I was nagged by concern for David. When the topic had moved on to the places everyone had visited that day, I grew increasingly hapless, not knowing what he was doing. I had to see and made up my mind to slip off discreetly. When I did slip off, it must have been close to the normal bed time, I took a detour back from the toilet, pleased to see there was no one outside the communal area and I had an empty pathway to softly treed the twenty paces to the big tent, where guitar melodies emanated at a lower volume than usual. Creeping closer, then deciding to venture round the rear, quietly shuffling, listening to chattering of those inside; laughing and talking in excited tones.  

 

I had a number of doubts, such as I might ruin the event for David. What if I stumbled in and ended upset him and everyone else on their perfectly decent event? But my gut instinct that there was something wrong stopped me walking away. Instead, I procrastinated, eventually deciding to do my best not to be detected, and nestled down in a ditch, that ran parallel with the edge of the canvas and conveniently came closer to the very rear of the tent, within a foot. Crouched in the ditch, looking up at the canvass, I knew if I was going to get in, it was here. Viewing the base of the canvas on the grass, I noticed the small chink of light coming from the ground a little further away. I crawled along, pleased it was still dry and warm and slowly made my way to the light. It grew in luminosity and I noticed it wasn’t pinned down. I knew I could at least get a look and this part of the tent seemed quiet, perhaps a store area but there was no sound of people on the other side of this canvass.

 

Slowly, I pulled up the slack of the canvass then pushed my head as close in to the gap as possible. This made the next pin holding down the canvass pop up and suddenly there was more to view. But, startled at the noise, I slipped back and waited to see if this had made a sound elsewhere or had been detected. After some time, I pushed much of my head back through the gap and looked up to see the part of this tent was separated by the main part by another canvass wall with a table in the middle. Maybe I could get in here, but I would still have to explain myself. Overcome by doubt, I decided to pull myself back and was just in time, because I heard people coming in the room. I listened to them talking but wasn’t sure what was said and was losing interest in eavesdropping.

 

Someone asked “How are you feeling David?” in a louder voice, getting my attention.

 

“Give him some more time to come round,” someone else finally suggested.

 

“He’s faking it, he’ll put up a fight if we let him recover!” Passionately reasoned another.

 

“Where’s he gonna go?” queried the second voice, “Don’t be so paranoid.” he concluded.

 

I wondered what on earth David had done this time, or if I should go round the front of the tent and try a more formal entry, when the first voice hurriedly mentioned, “We have to get everything ready anyway!” With that they shuffled out the room.

I’m no hero, but knew I had to get under that canvass and see what was wrong with David. I slowly pulled myself through and as I used the side of the table to pull myself upright, I noticed David tied on the table.

 

“What the hell?” I began, unsure of what to do next, when David’s eyes opened and he looked at me.

 

“Untie me, please!” he croaked.

 

Frantically and with shaking hands, I untied his arms and ankles, allowing David to move.

 

“Be quiet,” he first beckoned me as I shook, watching him and breathed erratically.

 

“Sorry, now what?” I asked.

 

“How did you get in,” slurred David.

 

“Under there,” I pointed to the now larger gap. We got under the canvass and pulled ourselves out and were free, but aware they were coming back for David, so we had to move.

 

“Where to now?” I asked.

 

“Everything in the car?” he asked, a little more awake and ignoring my question.

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“…I just need to get my bag.” David butted in and we detoured to a nearby bush where David retrieved a satchel and his car keys.

 

“Are we in danger?” I pleaded as I followed him up the hill to the car.

 

“What do you think?” he mocked with a laugh, running a bit faster ahead of me and increasing my fear.

 

We got to the car and jumped in when David suggested I push it down the hill so as to avoid detection. This I did, unsure of when or if we would be spotted on our way back down the hill. As we went down past the big tent David told me to jump in and we slowly meandered down the rest of the hill. That’s when I noticed there were people chasing us down the hill.

 

“There’s people…”

 

“…No shit Sherlock!” barked David, turning the ignition. The car burst in to life and we swerved out of the driveway and on to the road. As we sped along, I watched through the rear window at the camp site behind for life and soon noticed headlights of a vehicle exiting the site.

 

“They’re on to us!” I yelped.

 

“Don’t worry, I know where I’m going, we’ll be OK,” assured David.

 

David kept within sight of the trailing vehicle then suddenly turned the car lights off.

 

“What the hell...?” I panicked.

 

“Don’t worry,” assured David as we continued to drive at speed. Then he suddenly slowed, turned and managed to pull in to a drive way where we stopped and long enough to lose the chasing vehicle.

 

As soon as our pursuers drove past, David started driving the opposite direction, leaving it sometime before he finally turned the lights back on and I grew a little less scared.  On we drove for some time, before we got to Stromness, pulling in to a driveway of a house close to the harbour.

 

“Where’s this?” I asked.

 

“A safe bed for the night. We have to get the ferry in the morning.”

 

“From where?”

 

“Stromness.”

 

“Here? Really?”

 

“A reliable contact offered this place, where we can hide the car while we wait for the ferry to dock.”

 

“Now?”

 

“No! In the morning!” snapped David,

 

“But what about the plane?”

 

“That’s out of the question now. Are you OK?”

 

“Not really,” I shook.

 

So, in the early hours of the morning, we were on the drive way, reversing in to a garage of this house, but the rear wall of the garage opened and we were soon in a courtyard behind with the garage wall closing behind us.

 

“We’re safe, for now,” assured David.

 

“From who?” I fretted.

 

“I’ll explain later. Just get inside.