Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Battle of Culloden — Part 1: The Pub, The Rain, and the Old Man's Tale

My partner and I went to Scotland on holiday this summer on the motorbike. The weather was awful, but we didn't let it spoil our fun. Give us a cardboard box and we're perfectly happy in it as long as we don't have to go back to work. Fortunately, Scotland is infinitely better than a cardboard box — and fortunately for you, this story isn't about our holiday but about a chance meeting when we were hiding from the weather.

The heavens broke somewhere between Fort William and Inverness. Across the hills hung a muggy mantle of fog. My partner, Chris, could barely see, and I was tucked in behind him with my head hung low as relentless rain battered our waterproofs.

We'd been riding for nearly two hours and were at the limit of our concentration — exhausted from the slippery roads and almost out of hope that we'd find somewhere to stop. Then, from out of the gloom, a sign for a country pub appeared, lit up like a Christmas tree. Wasting no time, Chris pulled into an almost deserted car park. The front of the pub loomed eerily as we rushed towards it for shelter.

We approached the bar for a hard-won pint of cider. "I'll have two Inches please," Chris asked the barman with a poker face whilst I barely contained my giggles next to him.

I muttered, "That's an improvement, dear. It's normally one inch…"

We'd done it a million times, but the comedy never got old. Not for us, anyway — though every poor bar person in the country serving Inches cider must face-palm the moment people like us walk in.

This barman appeared in good humour, sharing a laugh at our cringe-worthy exchange and passing us two pints of cider.

Chris turned to me. "Jayne, could you take these across so I can go to the toilet?" Nodding happily, I picked up the pints and wandered over to a table next to a wood burner.

Happily warming up in front of the fire, we sipped our pints and flicked through our phones. I launched a curved Pokéball at a wild Squirtle whilst Chris scrolled through endless lists of motorbike parts on eBay. We didn't notice an old man shuffling towards us until he began to speak, startling us from our screens.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you both to get some heat from the fire?" He spoke in a musical Inverness accent.

In unison, we replied, "Not at all."

The old man reached his hand out to Chris. "Hamish. Pleased to meet you, and thank you for letting me sit."

Smiling, Chris shook his hand. "No problem. Happy for the company. I'm Chris, and this is Jayne." He released Hamish's hand and gestured towards me.

Hamish turned and shook my hand vigorously. I liked him immediately. He had a wry smile that threatened mischief and a glint in his eyes. Always well-mannered, Chris got up and helped him out of his sodden coat and into the chair. I was hopeful — strangers can sometimes come with an adventure, and both Chris and I love a good adventure.

After Hamish settled in, we were about to resume our phone flicking when he spoke again. "That'll be your motorbike outside, is it? I used to ride one myself back in the day. What is it — a Harley?"

Perking up at the chance to talk about his favourite subject, Chris set down his phone. "No, not a Harley. It's an Indian."

"An Indian, you say. You don't get many of those round these parts. It's a bonnie looking bike, right enough. It looks comfortable." Hamish nodded appreciatively, glancing out the window at the Indian in the car park.

"Oh, it is!" I cut in.

Hamish frowned thoughtfully. "It reminds me of a story about a man on a motorbike. I feel we've met on this damp day because the fates have brought us together. You see, I must pass on a history — as I promised I would after I heard it myself. It's a history that no doubt you've heard before, but few have heard this version of its telling. It was told to me by another biker. Will you both listen to an old man?"

This is different. I wasted no time. "Yes, please — we have time. It doesn't look like this rain is going anywhere fast."

I love stories, and I love hearing them most from old men with a beautifully pronounced Inverness accent. Fortunately, Chris and I are in complete agreement about things like this. We put our phones away and settled back in our chairs.

---

Brian had been out with his friends in Inverness. Like all good nights, this one had to end. The worse for wear, he decided to ride home to Nairn on his motorbike. We can admonish him for this if you like, but the two of you don't look like people who follow the rules — so I think you're going to let it slide so we can get on with the story.

Both Chris and I nodded. A bit of drink-fuelled riding — as insensible as that was — wasn't going to put us off.

Brian walked through the centre of Inverness to where he'd parked his bike, pulled on his helmet, and set off for Nairn. He'd done it many times before. The town was quiet in the wet, the roads slick.

Shortly after setting off, he wiped the rain from his visor — and a woman was standing at the side of the road. Just as he passed her, her hat flew from her head straight into his face. He slammed on his brakes and skidded to an abrupt stop. A little shaken, he switched off the engine and bent down to pick the hat up from the pavement.

He walked back towards the woman, holding it out. "Sorry — here's your hat. It gave me a fright on the bike. You should hold onto it in this weather. Are you alright?"

The woman seemed to glow in the dark. Brian wasn't sure if it was the drink or if she truly was otherworldly in appearance. Her pale, flawless skin looked iridescent above a face that hinted at a keen sense of humour and razor-sharp wit. She was an oddity, misplaced in this setting — and inexplicably, Brian found himself entirely at ease. The rain didn't seem to touch her — the hat was bone dry as he held it out.

The strange woman quickly took it and placed it back on her head — a wide-brimmed straw hat, woven with an array of colours that seemed to move and jump round its circumference, wrapped in a lustrous crimson satin ribbon tied in a voluptuous bow at the back. Various stones and sequins shimmered amongst the weave and along the ribbon's edges. It was the most magnificent hat Brian had ever seen.

Her lips turned up at the corners. "Thank you! If I lost my hat, I don't know what I'd do. This one is precious to me. I'm most attached to it. I'm incredibly sorry if it gave you a fright — you might say it's frighteningly large for a hat!"

Brian smiled. "I think it's the most magnificent hat I've ever seen. It's no problem. It's not a nice night, though — I hope you're not going far?"

The woman tilted her head to one side. "Oh no, not far at all. In fact, I think I might be precisely where I'm supposed to be — and you are exactly where I expected to find you." She winked, as though sharing a secret known only to the two of them.

Brian replied, "Well, I'm glad you haven't lost your hat and that you're alright. I must go — it's a long way home and I'm on my bike." He had just turned to leave when she raised a hand to stop him.

"Before you go, I'd like to thank you." She rummaged in a hidden pocket of a deep crimson velvet overcoat and produced a large velvet pouch, held between long fingers wrapped in gloves lined at the cuffs with delicately sewn gems that matched the satin ribbon of her hat.

"These are for you. I shan't tell you what's inside — I'll leave you with a mystery. You won't know the purpose of this pouch until it's time to use it. Your fortune is about to take you on an adventure that will change history. Brian, that adventure starts tonight. I shall say no more, other than this: if events play out as they should, we may meet again. It has been a pleasure — and thank you for saving my hat!"

She shook his hand, turned on her heel, and set off in the opposite direction.

Brian stood on the pavement holding the velvet pouch, uncertain whether any of it had happened. He tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. Before setting off, he looked back — but the mysterious lady in the magnificent hat was nowhere to be seen.

He realised he couldn't remember telling her his name.