Miss Harmony’s replacement was one Miss Maclaren Hope, like all the staff at the school a well-trained and committed teacher. She came from the Isle of Skye, by way of Aberdeen University, and had about her that gentleness and slight dreaminess that is often associated with the Hebrides, both Outer and Inner. She was fluent in Gaelic and played the clarsach, which enchanted the children and even managed to put a thoughtful expression on Tofu’s face. She was keen on singing, too, and soon had the entire class singing Gaelic songs such as ‘Fear a’ Bhata’ and ‘Braigh Loch Iall’. Even Tofu sang, sitting quite still – which was unusual for him – staring up at Miss Maclaren Hope as she led them through the lovely, liquid sounds of the Gaelic.

“ ‘Fear a’ Bhata”,’ she explained, ‘is a song sung by somebody who is thinking of her friend, who is a boatman. Will he come to see her? Will she see his boat approaching over the water, or will she close the door with a sigh, realising that she will have to wait until the following day before she sees his boat?’

‘Couldn’t he phone her?’ asked Olive.

Miss Maclaren Hope smiled. ‘This song was written before people had mobile phones, Olive. Or even ordinary phones, for that matter. So no, he couldn’t phone her and tell her whether he was coming to see her or not. She would have to wait, down by the seashore, where the kelp is strewn by the tides. She would have to wait, with the soft evening breeze from the outer islands, gentle upon her brow.’ She paused. ‘That is why she is singing this lovely song, you see.’

One of the innovations introduced by Miss Maclaren Hope was a weekly Show and Tell session. This involved one of the members of the class bringing in an object of some sort – a photograph, a book, an ornament or picture – and discussing it with the others. It had been a great success. Hiawatha had brought in a crystal radio set that his father had built as a boy, and this had enabled the class to look up crystal radios and discuss how radio waves worked. Pansy had brought in a book on flower arranging, which her mother used for the class on that subject that she ran in the local church hall. When it came to Tofu’s turn, he had brought in the wheel of a vintage motorcycle that his father had been restoring, which he had stopped doing.

‘Tofu’s dad’s too weak to do anything any more,’ Olive whispered to Bertie. ‘He’s a vegan, you see.’

Bertie looked anxiously at Tofu, who fortunately had not heard.