Scotland Street Volume 18, Chapter 43: Campbell kilts

By Alexander McCall Smith

Published 2nd Apr 2025, 07:00 BST

And the eccentricity had continued. The clock in the main tower, easily visible along all the main approaches to the station, was set several minutes fast, as it still is today, with a view to ensuring that those hurrying to catch a train would discover, to their relief, that they had several minutes in hand.

For many of the guests, though, minutes off the clock would be neither here nor there. This was the case with the late Queen Mother, once a loyal patron of the hotel, just as it was for Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, who waved to milling crowds as they arrived to take up residence. Or for lesser notables throughout the years, including a succession of prime ministers, for whom the North British, as it was, or the Balmoral as it became, was a convenient base in Edinburgh.

“I’m going to be a bit busy,” said Ranald’s father, as he settled them in a small sitting room on the hotel’s ground floor. “But there’s a game of Snakes and Ladders over there, I see.”

“We’ll be fine, Daddy,” Ranald assured his father, giving Bertie a conspiratorial glance as he spoke. “You don’t have to worry about us.”

“I’ve told the people at the desk to look in on you from time to time,” said Ranald’s father. “And I’m just down the corridor in the meeting room. You can call me if there’s anything you need.”

“We won’t need anything,” said Ranald Braveheart Macpherson quickly. “You should go and have your meeting now, Daddy. You mustn’t worry about us.”

Once his father had left, Ranald turned to Bertie and outlined his plans. “We’ll wait half an hour, Bertie,” he said. “Then we can go to the hamburger stall in Princes Street Gardens. And we can go and look at trains in the station. We might even get on one if we see that it’s going to Glasgow.”

It was an enticing vision of freedom, but Bertie was cautious. “We’ll see,” he said. “We should stay in Edinburgh, though – just to be on the safe side.”

Ranald agreed, even if somewhat regretfully, and the two boys sat down to a game of Snakes and Ladders. One or two other guests came into the room, but nobody lingered or paid any attention to the two small boys huddled over their games board. That is, nobody paid any attention to them until a rather anxious-looking woman in a grey trouser suit appeared in the room and immediately fixed them with an accusing stare.

Striding across the floor to stand above them, she said reproachfully, “You two boys are holding everybody up. Didn’t they tell you to go and get into your kilts? Everything’s laid out for you. Now, you come with me – you can play Snakes and Ladders any day of the week.”

“But –” began Ranald.

“Don’t you but me, Ranald,” scolded the woman. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

Ranald was surprised that she knew his name, and felt that he should not argue. This was the voice of authority, and he felt in no position to argue with it.

“Come along now,” chided the woman. “We don’t have all day.”

As they set off behind the woman down a long corridor to a lift, Bertie whispered to Ranald, “Who’s this lady, Ranald? Do you know her?”

Ranald shrugged. “I don’t know, Bertie. But we’d better not argue with her. She says that we’re late already.”

“But late for what?” asked Bertie.

Once again, Ranald shrugged. “Who knows, Bertie?” he said.

Bertie was puzzled. “She knew your name, Ranald,” he said. “You heard her, didn’t you? She called you Ranald.”

Ranald frowned. “Maybe she’s thinking of another Ranald,” he said. “Maybe she’s mixing me up with somebody else.”

Bertie did not think that likely, but said nothing. Now they were at the doors of a lift, and the woman was ushering them into it. “Hurry up, boys,” she said. “We’ll have to be at St Giles’ in twenty minutes. We can’t waste a moment.”

They emerged from the lift on the sixth floor, and were immediately led into a suite of rooms off the corridor. This was buzzing with activity: women were adjusting dresses, hats, and posies and bouquets of flowers. At the centre the room was a young woman in a bridal outfit, being fussed over by several bridesmaids.

The bride turned to them and smiled. “Oh, there you are, boys. I’m glad that Mrs Forbes found you – we were getting worried.”

Mrs Forbes laughed. “They were playing Snakes and Ladders, Ginny.”

“A good way of calming the nerves,” said the bride. And then, to the boys, she said, “I’m sorry we haven’t met before. Charlie arranged all this, didn’t he? Unfortunately, he’s come down with flu and has had to stay up in Inverness. But he said you’d be all right with the other groomsmen.” She paused. “Which one of you is Ranald Macdonald?”

Ranald was right, Bertie thought. There was another Ranald altogether. He pointed at Ranald.

“And you’re?” asked the bride.

“Bertie.”

“Well, you’d better get into your kilts. Everything is in the room next door.”

In a smaller room they found kilts, jackets and sporrans laid out neatly on bed. Ranald Braveheart Macpherson looked at Bertie. “I think this is a wedding,” he whispered. “What shall we do, Bertie?”

Bertie looked thoughtful. “We don’t want to spoil it for them,” he said. “I think we probably just have to stand there and hold things.”

Ranald agreed. “She’s jolly nice, the bride, don’t you think?”

Bertie nodded. “She deserves to get married,” he said.

Ranald glanced at the kilts, and his face fell. “Bertie,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “Campbell tartan. Look, Bertie. The kilts are Campbell tartan.”

Bertie bit his lip. He could tell that Ranald was gravely upset.

“If my dad sees me in a Campbell tartan kilt, Bertie,” said Ranald, “he’ll have a heart attack. You know what the Campbells did, Bertie? You know that, don’t you?”

Bertie tried to calm his friend. “It was a long time ago, Ranald,” he said. “You have to move on.”

“Where to?” asked Ranald.

Bertie was about to answer when Mrs Forbes came into the room. “You’re very idle little boys,” she said. “You have five minutes to get into your kilts. Starting from now.”