Clola must have been eleven when her second brother, Malcolm, had taken her with him to explore the watchtower, and greatly daring they had climbed the cliff.
It had been easier than Clola had expected and when they reached the top they had found their way into the watchtower itself.
It had a heavy studded oak door and Clola remembered now there had been no lock. It was fastened by twine which Malcolm had cut with his skean-dhu and they had gone inside to find a dark and smelly hole with only a wooden ladder up which those who wished to reach the top could climb.
Malcolm had been disgusted.
“I thought it was something better than this!”
“It looks more impressive outside than in,” Clola had agreed.
“The McAuads can keep it!” Malcolm said in disgust, “but we must leave them something t
