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  Jan took the boys and I took the girls as we were quickly hustled into ‘wardrobe’.

  Inside there were heavy rails of elaborate period ball gowns, lush silks and velvets in every flavour of pink and green. Sadly, on this shoot everyone was to be dressed in nightclothes, so we were issued with uniformly drab, long collarless shirts.

  Jan bounded off the gents’ costume bus to meet us with a big smile on his face. He wasn’t in a grubby nightshirt like the rest of us; he was in an old-fashioned top coat, knee-length boots and breeches. The breeches didn’t have a fly fastening, they buttoned down either side. Which kept drawing my eye to between the buttoned area. It could have been worse; it could have been a codpiece.

  ‘He’s playing one of the factor’s henchmen,’ explained Walter, ‘the dirty traitor.’

  The kids laughed at Walter’s get-up too: a long goonie and a night cap. They taunted him by singing ‘Wee Willie Winkie’, which he took in good part, turning quickly towards them to scare them and make them giggle. Walter, with his skinny blue-veined legs, looked like something out of Dickens. We all did.

  ‘What factor?’ I asked.

  ‘Patrick Sellar,’ said Walter, ‘the Duke of Sutherland’s factor for the most brutal of the Highland Clearances. Wait and see what happens here tonight,’ he said portentously, ‘just you wait.’

  Chapter 23

  The Claymores were next to emerge. Most of them were in dark-shirted uniforms, like soldiers, but Danny and Will were in the same grubby nightshirts as me and the kids.

  We were sorted into groups, our nighshirt group being led up to the lochan by a guy with a clipboard. It had been raining on and off for days and the bracken was soaked. I had to keep a close eye on the kids. One of them, Rachel, wandered off the path and nearly lost a welly in the bog. As we breasted the hill and caught sight of the village there was a collective gasp.

  The village was completely restored, the houses rebuilt. Blackhouses, with thick stone walls and thatched roofs, now covered the ruins. Highland cattle were tethered outside. G.I. had even planted vegetable gardens in front of the houses, but when we got closer we saw the reality.

  The dry stane walls of the houses were fibreglass facades. Held up with wooden frames, there was nothing behind; they were two-dimensional. Some of the grassed areas were actually artificial turf – even the cabbages they had planted were plastic. Amidst the lighting and camera hardware set out in front of the village, the crew, in fleeces and Gore-Tex jackets, stood staring back at us.

  Clipboard Guy stationed groups of extras behind each of the fibreglass facades, sorting us into what seemed to be families. Me and the kids along with Walter, Danny and an old lady, became one such unit. Rachel was perhaps not the first person to notice our demographic but she was the only person to comment. Developing her theory out loud she explained that Walter and Jean (the old lady) were grandad and granny, she and the rest of the kids were the kids, obviously, and, lastly, to my huge embarrassment, Danny and I were daddy and mummy.

  ‘Ok folks,’ Clipboard Guy – whose name turned out to be Tristan – said placidly, ‘take it easy for now; it’ll be a while before the scene’s ready to shoot.’

  I wondered why they had brought us up if they weren’t ready. We could easily have waited on the buses. It was sheltered down there. Up here a sharp breeze blew across the hill.

  ‘Now,’ said Tristan, ‘can everyone see that man over there?’ He spoke to someone through his earpiece and a figure behind the cameras began to wave at us. ‘Ok, keep your eye on him and when he gives you the signal, take your shoes off and leave them here.’

  The kids looked to me for clearance on this. I looked to Danny – he was, after all, a seasoned film actor – but he shrugged lightly. It must be ok. I nodded.

  ‘Keep watching him, and when everything’s ready, he’ll give you another signal. This time you’ll run out through that doorway and down towards the cameras. Don’t stop; keep running until you’re told to stop and whatever you do, don’t look at the camera, ok?’

  I mulled this over, but everyone else agreed it was ok.

  ‘Remember, you’ve just woken up, you’re tired.’

  The kids, used to playacting, began yawning and stretching.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘but your house is on fire so you have to get out quick. You’re screaming, you’re crying. You’re running for your lives.’

  At this the kids began to squeal and rush around.

  ‘You’ll be great,’ said Tristan, moving off to the next house, ‘just don’t look into the camera.’

  ‘Danny,’ I whispered so that little ears wouldn’t hear, ‘what did he mean by “your house is on fire”?’

  Danny laughed and shook his head. ‘No. There won’t be any actual fire. It’s shot digitally.’

  ‘Aww, not fair!’ Rachel and Michael grumped simultaneously.

  ‘CGI?’ Walter asked, showing off.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Danny, ‘they’ll add the flames post production.’

  Taking their cue from the bigger ones, all the kids sighed and slumped in disappointment. I sighed too, with relief. With Jan off elsewhere, swanning around in his fancy breeches, I was on my own. Solely responsible for the safety of these eight small children. Up a hill in a soggy field. With no shoes on. Running around electrical equipment. In the dark.

  But at least we weren’t required to pass through a flaming building. I had a horrible image of one of the kids catching fire, their skin bubbling as their long flowing nightshirt turned them into a human candle. Thank God for CGI. There wasn’t going to be any actual fire, everything would be fine…

  Chapter 24

  Take after monotonous take we did it, over and over again; running out on an adrenaline high and then hanging around behind the facades, bored and tired, for what seemed like hours. The first time the problem wasn’t technical, it was one of the extras. No one in our family, one of the other houses. An old man, stage-struck and a bit too stoked, got his signals mixed up. While everyone else was removing their shoes, he ran screaming through the doorway, still wearing his bright blue Adidas Sambas. Raymondo Land, the director, shouted ‘cut!’ and turned away in disgust. A moment later we heard the squeal of the loudhailer being turned on again and everyone held their breath.

  ‘I don’t think three stripes were fashionable in the nineteenth century,’ joked Mr Land, and everyone laughed.

  But the laughter drained every time the phrase, ‘positions, please!’ was yelled at us through the loudhailer. Several takes later another extra – again not us, we behaved impeccably – bumped the fibreglass and the whole facade nearly fell on top of him. This would no doubt become comedy gold on an out-takes show and it would have been funny if it wasn’t so dangerous.

  Once we’d made it through the doorway we ran on to an obstacle course. Apart from the uncharted boulders in the bracken, tufts of heather and foul-smelling bog water, we had to dodge the equipment. A huge camera mounted on a platform, which could glide up and down and from side to side like a fairground ride on its own wee train tracks, followed us as we ran. We were not to look at it. We were not to engage with the other actors who stood around, calmly overseeing our village being sacked. Jan was one of them. I had to constantly remind the kids not to smile at him. Jan stared us homeless peasants down as if we were shit on his shoe. Either he was a really good actor or the power of being one of the factor’s men had gone to his head. Perversely, he had never seemed more attractive.

  As we were four adults and eight kids, the arithmetic was easy: two kids apiece. Walter and Jean were happy to hold hands with two kids. I had allocated the oldest kids to granny and grandad; this would provide stability for the oldsters and slow the kids down a bit. As Danny was likely to be the most sure-footed I asked him to take the two smallest, Lucy and Benjamin.

  ‘Sorry, Trixie, I’ll take them through the doorway but once the horsemen come I have to work.’

  ‘What horsemen?’ I asked.

&n
bsp; Out of the mayhem, Rudi and Dave came galloping towards us on horseback. They rode fast and certain, standing up in the saddle and holding the reins in one hand like Cossacks. In their other hands they held what looked like flaming rocks tied on strings. They swung these round their heads and let them fly through the windows and doors of the house. There was a strong smell of smoke and singed hair. Had anyone still been standing on that side of the facade, they would surely have been killed or, at the very least, slightly maimed.

  We ran, and as the hot rocks whistled past our ears, I worried about Walter. His poor wee blue legs were getting tired, he wasn’t up to this. He must have been as nervous as the rest of us but, perhaps for the sake of the kids, he didn’t show it.

  ‘Goodness gracious,’ Walter muttered as he dodged a flaming missile, ‘great balls of fire.’

  ‘Why didn’t they tell us about this?’ I asked Danny between takes.

  More to the point, I thought, why hadn’t Danny warned us?

  ‘They want to make the experience as authentic as possible, get the best performances,’ he explained, ‘the old-fashioned element of surprise.’

  ‘Huh, element of terror, more like,’ I said.

  At last things moved on. We didn’t have to come out from behind the facades any more. Rudi and Dave had stopped throwing fire bombs at us, but we had to stay on set. I now saw why Danny couldn’t take the kids. As we emerged from the house and Dave rode past, Danny jumped onto Dave’s horse and pulled him to the ground. It was highly choreographed but impressive none the less. The next few scenes were of Danny fighting Dave. Every few blows they had to stop and either do it again or move on to the next part of the fight sequence. We simply stood around behind them, decorating the set, no more than human wallpaper.

  It had been a warm night but it was colder up here on the hill. They let us put our shoes back on between shots; we were only barefoot for a few minutes in total but by now our feet were wet and muddy and cold and we weren’t getting the chance to dry out.

  Danny did the whole fight sequence in his bare feet but he didn’t even seem to notice. It wasn’t method acting – I actually felt proud of him trying to defend our village from these marauders. It wasn’t a fair fight – Dave had a pair of boots and a knife – but, like every other inept movie bad guy I’d ever seen, he wasted too much time posturing. He seemed more interested in showing off his flashy knife, throwing it hand to hand and smiling a leery smile. Bootless and unarmed, Danny was focused, his bare feet kicking Dave’s knife away before overwhelming him.

  ‘I don’t think kung fu was fashionable in the nineteenth century,’ commented Walter dryly.

  Now that we were required to stand still – for continuity purposes, not to move an inch – the kids were fed up.

  ‘Auntie Trixie,’ said Rachel, ‘Lucy needs to go to the bathroom.’

  Wee Lucy nodded shyly.

  ‘I do too,’ piped up Ailsa.

  ‘Ok, I’ll ask them,’ I said.

  As soon as they cut I waved Tristan Clipboard over.

  ‘Sorry. The girls need the toilet, is there one up here?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure. We’re nearly finished with this sequence and then I can take you back down to the portaloos. In about five minutes?’

  ‘Oh … ok,’ I said, there being no other option, but he had already ducked back behind the equipment.

  Danny and Dave fighting: Dave punching Danny, Danny kicking Dave. Danny beating Dave and Rudi entering the fray. Rudi jumping Danny from behind and Danny going down for the last time.

  ‘No fair!’ said Michael.

  ‘And thus the powerful tame us,’ sighed Walter.

  But the fight wasn’t quite over yet. Everything stopped for a few minutes while Tony Ramos, dressed in the same grubby nightshirt the rest of us peasants wore, was escorted on to the set by six or seven people.

  ‘Ho, Rudi!’ Tony yelled, pointing at Rudi, ‘you’re gettin’ it, Big Man!’

  Everyone laughed. It was funny, an international film star behaving like a Ned.

  ‘Hiya Trixie,’ he yelled next to me.

  ‘Auntie Trixie?’

  ‘Don’t ask, Rachel, it’s a private joke. Just for the grown-ups.’

  ‘Ailsa really needs to go to the bathroom.’

  ‘Ok,’ I said turning my attention to Ailsa. ‘Ailsa, are you ok?’

  She didn’t look ok.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I discreetly asked Tristan as the Tony entourage passed, ‘can I take the kids to the toilet now?’

  ‘Sorry, we’re bringing Mr Ramos on set just now.’

  ‘Yes I can see that but …’

  ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes,’ he smiled obsequiously.

  ‘Everything cool, Trixie?’ Tony asked me.

  I obviously wasn’t as discreet as I’d thought.

  ‘Toilet?’ he whispered.

  I nodded.

  ‘Use my trailer. Hey Tristan, take them down to my trailer, will you?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Ramos.’

  ‘Eh, now please, Tris?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I turned to Walter, ‘Can you keep your eye on the rest of them please? Ok girls,’ I said, shoving my frozen feet back into my shoes, ‘let’s get you to the loo. Ailsa, why are you crying pet, what’s wrong?’

  Chapter 25

  I almost wished we were back on set. Up there at least it was well lit. Here, halfway down the hill, it was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

  We hadn’t made it to Tony’s trailer, but on the plus side, due to Ailsa’s little accident, Walter, the children and I had been ‘released’.

  ‘Stay together,’ I ordered the kids, but I hardly needed to. They huddled round me, hanging on to my jacket as we blindly shuffled forward over the uneven ground. Once we’d got our own clothes back on, there was no one available to escort us back to the bus but Tristan said we could leave. We could have come round the lochan – there was a straightforward path down the hill from there – but Walter would have none of it.

  ‘Och, it’s best to stay well away from that horrible wee lochan,’ he said dismissively. ‘There’s all sorts of horrible beasties round there, big ugly pikes that jump out and eat you; I’ve even heard there’s a kelpie and we’re not wanting drowned now, are we? No, no, we don’t need to go all the way round, we’re much quicker just going straight down the hill.’

  Jan had been asked to stay on and film another scene where he and other henchmen dragged a pregnant young woman from a house and set fire to it. He was donating his fee to the guitar group, so although it was distasteful, it was for charity. I kept thinking about those breeches they made him wear. They were ridiculous, and yet …

  The kids were moaning about the walk.

  ‘Cheer up you lot,’ I said into the pitch black, ‘we’ll be sitting on the nice warm coach soon.’

  But, cold and exhausted, none of us had enough energy left to cheer up.

  ‘I know,’ Walter said gleefully, ‘we can use my iPhone.’

  ‘Brilliant! Do you have a flashlight app?’

  ‘Nope,’ he replied chirpily.

  Walter had finally lost the plot. Shock and trauma can do that to old people, turn them demented, I was starting to feel a bit Alzheimersy myself.

  Walter set his phone to camera and took a photo of the darkness. A flash illuminated the path before us for a millisecond, only enough to give us a brief light-blinded impression. When I opened my eyes again it was even darker than before.

  ‘Cheers for that, Walter.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘look.’

  He passed me his phone and sure enough, there was a clear photo of what lay ahead for at least the next thirty yards or so. In the photo, about five feet in front of us, there was a deep trench to the right-hand side. If it wasn’t for Walter’s techno nous we would have toppled like lemmings into it.

  ‘I thought as much,’ Walter muttered, ‘so much water comes off this hill, see wher
e the irrigation ditches criss-cross? Come on everybody, get in behind Trixie and me on the left-hand side.’

  Walter took up the position but the kids were reluctant.

  ‘C,mon now. It’ll be just like in The Lord of the Rings,’ said Walter, ‘where Frodo and his companions are blindfolded and led through the forest.’

  ‘So, are you and Trixie elves?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Aye, that’s it,’ Walter agreed with a wink to me, ‘not many people know this but Trixie is actually Galadriel, the elf Queen.’

  Taking photos every twenty yards, Sherpa Walter saw us safely off the hill, but when we made it to the coaches they were deserted and locked.

  ‘Gone fishin’,’ said Walter clicking his tongue, ‘the fishing waistcoat over the driver’s chair is gone. He could be gone for hours. We might as well keep moving, it’ll be warmer than waiting, and at least the road is easier to walk.’

  The kids instantly commenced whining and slumping to the ground, too exhausted to walk any further.

  ‘Och weesht!’ said Walter, his patience threadbare, ‘are you really complaining because there isn’t a luxury coach to take you home?’

  Here we go, I thought, we’re going to get the standard Grumpy Old Man’s you-kids-don’t-know-you’re-born-it-wasn’t-like-this-in-my-day speech.

  ‘Hey, c’mon Walter,’ I joked, trying to coax him, ‘we were all getting on like a house on fire.’

  Walter shook his head sadly.

  ‘You have no respect. Laugh Trixie, laugh away, it’s just a filum, silly playacting. But years ago the people from that village actually saw their houses on fire, their homes burned down. They were forced to walk away in bare feet. This is the exact route they took and plenty of them froze to death or later starved.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Walter, I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘They didn’t have nice warm beds to go home to. They had to build the houses that you all live in today. You can be grateful your ancestors did that for you.’