‘Nice day,’ he said to a man repairing a section of stone wall.
‘Aye,’ said the man.
‘I wonder if you can help me, I’m looking for George Tranter.’
‘Oh aye,’ said the man, continuing with his work.
‘Would you happen to know him?’
‘Aye.’
Macandrew felt as though he were drawing teeth. ‘Maybe you can tell me where I can find him?’
‘Aye,’ replied the man, taking a break to consult his work plan before continuing.
There was another pause before Macandrew, misinterpreting the silence, reached into his pocket for money.
‘You’ll no’ be needing that,’ said the man with a look of disdain.
Macandrew felt uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I thought...’ His voice trailed off. ‘Can you help me find George Tranter?’ he asked.
‘I’m George Tranter.’
Macandrew felt foolish and more than a little annoyed. He resented being made to jump through hoops and could only guess that this was because of his accent. Not everyone liked Americans; this was a fact of life. He bit the bullet and said, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr Tranter. I’m told you are the man to speak to when it comes to Ayrshire folklore. The lady at the museum in Ayr told me that if you didn’t know where Drumcarrick was, nobody would.’
‘Did she now,’ said Tranter softly.
Macandrew sensed that Tranter was pleased to hear this despite the dour front he was keeping up.
‘I’ve come nearly five thousand miles to find Drumcarrick and you are my last hope,’ said Macandrew.
‘Well, you’ve had a wasted journey,’ said Tranter in a manner that suggested he wasn’t entirely heartbroken about this.
Macandrew felt utterly deflated. ‘You don’t know it either, huh?’
Tranter didn’t reply. He returned to reading his work plan.
‘Well, I guess that’s that,’ said Macandrew with an air of resignation. ‘Maybe I’ll drive on down the coast anyway and have a root around. Thanks for your time.’ He started to leave.
‘You’ll no’ find it,’ Tranter called out behind him.
‘You sound very sure,’ said Macandrew, half turning.
‘It disnae exist,’ said Tranter.
‘My great grandfather was born there,’ said Macandrew. ‘It must exist.’
Tranter smiled for the first time and said, ‘Oh, it did once, but it was swept into the sea more than a hundred years ago. That’s why you’ll no find it.’
Macandrew walked slowly back towards him. ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ he asked.
‘I’m certain,’ said Tranter. ‘Drumcarrick stood about thirty miles south of here, on a cliff top, just like Culzean here. One night the cliff gave way in a huge storm and the whole village went into the sea, lock, stock and barrel.’
‘How awful,’ said Macandrew. ‘Were many people killed?’
Tranter shook his head. ‘No. The village had been dying for some years before that. There weren’t many people left living there at the time of the storm; about eight, they reckon; all old folk. Most of the houses in the village were derelict.’
‘And there’s nothing left of it at all?’ asked Macandrew.
Tranter shook his head. ‘Not a single stone,’ he said. ‘The whole lot went into the sea.’
Macandrew felt even worse than he had before. He thanked Tranter and said. ‘I think I’d still like to stand on the spot. About thirty miles you say?’
‘Give or take,’ replied Tranter. He gave Macandrew some details about local landmarks to look out for.
‘I’m obliged,’ said Macandrew.
‘Mind you... the village graveyard is still there,’ said Tranter, tongue in cheek.
Macandrew could hardly believe his ears.
‘The cemetery didn’t go over the cliff. It was set back about three hundred yards from the village. You’ll have a bit of a job finding it. It’ll be overgrown and pretty well hidden from the road but it’s still there. I reckon about a hundred and fifty yards back from where the cliff edge is now.’
‘The cemetery would be just fine,’ said Macandrew. ‘Perhaps you’ll let me buy you a drink?’
Tranter moved his head as if uncomfortable with the idea of agreeing openly but didn’t overly object when Macandrew pressed a ten pound note into his hand saying, ‘Thanks again.’
Macandrew felt a growing sense of excitement as he headed south. He had re-set the car’s trip meter when he’d left Culzean so, when twenty seven miles came up, he started to pay close attention to the local geography. He was looking out for Tranter’s first landmark — a round stone tower with its roof missing. He felt his throat tighten as it came into view. The road should now turn inland for a mile or so before rejoining the coast after a steep downhill section. He slipped the car down into third gear as he came to it. It was very steep. He drove on until he realised he was coming to the promised long climb with a cluster of oak trees at the summit. He was now very close to the spot where Drumcarrick had once stood.
The road was narrow on the far side of the summit but Macandrew found a place where he could pull off safely — although he had to park at a bit of an angle. His unspoken prayer that there was no hidden ditch waiting for his front wheels was answered and he relaxed when the ground seemed firm enough. He got out and made his way carefully to the cliff edge to look down at the rocks below.
He supposed he still hoped that he might be able to spot some relic of the village but wasn’t really disappointed when all he could see was foaming sea clambering over black rock. A hundred years was a long time to be exposed to the elements and the ocean. He took in the view for a few minutes, thinking that it was one his great grandfather must have known well, a view he must have thought about perhaps as he journeyed across the dusty plains of the mid-west. He may even have remembered it on his deathbed.
He turned and looked to the land on the other side of the road to see if he could spot any sign of the graveyard but dense undergrowth prevented him from seeing anything at all. He would have to search blind. He crossed the road and climbed over a fence to start forcing a way through. Almost ten minutes had passed before he almost tripped over the first gravestone. It was lying flat in tangled undergrowth and there was a covering of green moss on its surface.
He used a succession of twigs to scrape the moss from the stone but the fact that it was made out of soft sand-stone rather than hard granite, meant that it had not weathered well. He had difficulty in making out the inscription.
There was a clear outline of a skull and cross bones near the top but the deceased’s name had practically been obliterated. He guessed at James Thomson but it could equally well have been Jane Thomas. He was pretty sure however, that it was not Macandrew.
He was breathing hard by the time he had worked his way through all the flattened stones. He had not however, found what he was looking for. Had his great great grandfather’s stone been one of those too damaged to read or could it be the one remaining stone, which had fallen face-down and which was too heavy to move? This one was made out of granite so there was a good chance that the inscription would be legible if he could only find some way of turning it over.
There was plenty of wood lying around that he could use for leverage but the stumbling block was going to be getting an end under the stone to start off with. Scraping away the earth at one corner would allow him to get the point of a stake below the stone but it would leave him with too steep an angle to be of any use. He came up with a better idea. He would use the wheel-jack in the car’s tool kit. That could give him the height he needed. He made his way back to the car and fetched the whole tool kit.