Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [133]
“Because it’s a dream, Bertie?” interrupted Dr Fairbairn. “Is that why you’re here? Is that why any of us is here? Is that it, Bertie?”
89. Irene Has a Shock
The following day was the day of the concert, which took place in a hall in the UNESCO building. The performance was to be in the evening, which left the day for sightseeing, including a boat trip on the Seine, a trip to the Pompidou Centre, and a walk round Île de la Cité. Bertie, guidebook in hand, enjoyed all of this a great deal, and ticked off each sight against a checklist in the back of his book. The Edinburgh Teenage Orchestra was one of a number of youth orchestras which had been invited to perform in the UNESCO Festival of Youth Arts. The day before, there had been a concert performed by the Children’s Symphony Orchestra of Kiev, and the day afterwards was to feature the Korean Youth Folk Dance Company, which had recently danced in Rome, Milan and Geneva, before admittedly small, but Irene Has a Shock 279
nonetheless enthusiastic audiences. Now it was the turn of Edinburgh, and the orchestra had prepared a programme of predominantly Scottish music, including Hamish McCunn’s
‘Land of the Mountain and the Flood’, George Russell’s rarelyperformed ‘Bathgate Airs for Oboe and Strings’ and Paton’s haunting ‘By the Water of Leith’s Fair Banks’. This programme was well received by the audience of several hundred Parisians. In Le Monde the following week, it was to receive a mention in a feature on young people and the arts, in which the writer referred to the fact that while the youth of France appeared to be burning cars at weekends, Scottish youth seemed to be more engaged in cultural pursuits. This, the writer suggested, was the complete opposite of what one might expect, were one to believe the impression conveyed in film and literature. After the concert, the members of the orchestra were given a finger buffet and listened to a short speech of thanks delivered by a UNESCO official charged with responsibility for youth culture. In the mingling that followed, Bertie attracted a circle of admiring concert-goers, who stood round him in wonderment while he charmed them with his frank answers to their questions. Then, the party over, the members of the orchestra made the short walk back to their hotel. The concert, the conductor declared, had been a great success and he was proud of everybody, from the oldest (a trumpet-player of nineteen) to the youngest (Bertie). Now it was time for bed, as everybody would have to get up at five the following morning in order to catch the flight back to Edinburgh.
When five o’clock came, there was a milling crowd of teenagers in the hotel vestibule. The bus was waiting outside, its coachwork shaking from the vibration of its diesel engine, which made it look as if it was shivering in the cold morning air.
“In the bus everybody,” called out one of the adult volunteers who had accompanied the orchestra. “And whatever you do, don’t forget your instruments!”
Nobody forgot their instruments – but they did forget Bertie. Max had awoken him and then made his own way downstairs. Bertie had sat up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and then flopped back 280 Irene Has a Shock
again. He had been in a deep sleep, and he had not been properly roused. So it was not until nine o’clock that morning, halfway across the North Sea, that somebody in the plane asked the question: “Where’s Bertie?”
The question passed up and down the plane, and nobody was able to provide anything but one answer: wherever Bertie was, he was not on the aircraft. And once that conclusion had been reached, messages were rapidly radioed back to Charles de Gaulle Airport. It was possible that Bertie was still in the terminal somewhere and an immediate search should be instituted. But then further questions were asked and it became clear that nobody had seen Bertie on the bus to the airport. He was therefore still in the hotel. Irene was at Edinburgh Airport to meet her son. When the first of the members of the orchestra appeared from