Posted on: 14 September 2024 Posted by: Alex Mennie Comments: 0

The fire’s steady, the pot’s warm. John’s out in the fields, and I can hear the cattle lowing like they know something’s a-foot. A wind’s picked up, sharper now, from the north again. We get it from all sides up here, atop the hill above the river, but it’s the north that goes straight to the bones. That’s why the fire must be steady and the pot must be warm. Need a little something to take the edge off. I’ll just take a peek, a breath of honey, caramel almost. Coming along nicely. Just covering the apples, the spices, the pear.  

The kettle’s boiling. Good. Tea at the ready, always keep the kettle on. Who knows who might come by? Always someone wanting something up here. But not today. Please not today.  

Is that the cattle getting louder? A crunch on the path? Surely not. So soon? Sure enough, a shadow crosses the windae – a hat that like? Not someone local, that’s for sure. A quick stop at the stove to swap the pots, a quick stop at the counter to grab a handful of flour. Glance to the laundry. A deep breath. A big smile, and…there’s the knock, heavy on the wood—three times. Firm. Official sounding.  

“Good day to ye, sir,” I say, my voice light, pleasant, nothing to hide here, nothing at all. “Fancy a cup of tea? It’s fresh, just brewed.” Keep smiling. Offer tea. They like that – harmless wifey keeping a tidy home for her mannie. The kettle whistles. Steady, now, steady. Easy movements.  

In he comes, tall lad, officious looking – eyes darting around the kitchen, taking everything in. Deep breaths, is he getting that apple, the cinnamon, the nutmeg? He might be, might just be…  

“What’s that smell, Mrs. Cumming? Been brewing more than tea, have ye?”  

Oh, but I’ve played this game before. Smile wider, show nothing. No nerves, hands steady, brush the apron, draw his eyes to the flour. “Nae brewing sir, just baking. A nice pie for my Johnnie, sir. You know how it is on the farm, always something cooking, always something on the go”  

He nods, and sits at the table, back to the door, taking in the stove. Stirring his tea. Outside the cows are twitching again, another crunch, another shadow. This time a knock at the windae. Just what I don’t need. A couple of steps to take in the view and it’s that damn Duncan MacPherson, hasnae he had his fill this week. He knocks again, I gottae do something.  

“Duncan, I’ve got guests in – you’ll need to come back later.”

“I’ve got a shilling for ye, Mrs Cumming. Have ye anything fae me?”

“Oh just the news, Duncan. I hear the guagers are back in town.”  

“Oh aye? I’ll keep my eyes oot then, eh?”  

I shut the window. Surely even a fool like Duncan can’t miss my intentions there. He looks confused, so I shoo him off. He can come back later.  

“Yer husband about, Mrs. Cumming?”  

I nod, and pour the tea, steady hands now, steady. “He’s out in the fields. Should be back soon. But ye look like ye could use a rest. Hard work, being on the road all day, chasing shadows, aye?”  

He’s sitting now, cup in hand, eyes still scanning, never resting. But I see it, just a flicker—he’s tiring. Good. Good. Stay calm, stay sweet. Keep talking.  

“We’ve been here for years, sir. Nothing to hide, just honest folk making an honest living. The wee ones are sleeping upstairs, poor things, worn out from the day’s chores. Wouldn’t want to wake them now, would we?”  

The clock ticks slow, too slow, but it’s ticking, the fire’s still burning, the pot still on the back burner, still keeping warm, still giving off pastry, raisin, and marmalade. John will be back soon, but I can handle this. I’ve done it before. 

Where’s my red petticoat? Must get it on the line. Mebbe now. The busy farmer’s wife – her job is never done. Too many mouths to feed, and too little time for anything else.  No time for mischief, that’s for sure. 

“Thank ye for the tea, Mrs. Cumming. We’ll be on our way.”  

“Of course, sir. Safe travels, and mind yerself on the road. You never know who you’ll find oot there.”  

The door closes, the footsteps fade, and it’s just me. Still standing, still smiling, still here. I reach for the petticoat, and my peg bag and head for the back door. I clip it to the line and watch it dance in the wind as the horse heads on to the village.   

Up here, my day keeps going. The farmer’s wife, nothing more. Laundry a-hanging. Pot a-bubbling, it’s turned to citrus and pepper now. A nice dram for John when the cold wind sends him in for his tea.  


The history of the Cardow (now Cardhu) distillery is the story of Helen Cumming, one of the first recorded female distillers. Her husband John was a renowned smuggler – fined three times for illicit distilling. After they took out a lease on Cardow farm – at the top of Mannoch Hill, high above the River Spey – Helen took on the day-to-day distilling work, selling the odd bottle to drive-by customers at her kitchen window for a shilling a go.  

The most famous story about Helen though is of her public service. Sort of. With the largest house around, visible for miles, she would welcome visiting excisemen into the home and offer them dinner, or a room for the night. They’d be suspicious of the malty smell about the farm, which she’d explain away with a floury apron and a tray of cakes, and then slink outside to raise a red flag above the farmhouse. After a restful night, the excisemen would ride into town to search for the famed illicit distillers of Glenlivet – all of whom would have had plenty of warning from Helen’s laundry to hide their equipment.  

When the 1823 Excise Act made distilling legal, the Cummings were among the first to take out a licence and Helen’s daughter Elizabeth sold the distillery to John Walker & Sons in 1893 on the condition that the family kept running the distillery and her son could have a seat on the board. Smart women the Cummings.  

Cardhu 11-Year-Old Special Release 2020 (56%) is all honey, caramel and pear on the nose (just like a sweet fruit pie). The palate goes big on baked apples, light pastry, nutmeg and cinnamon before a medium-long finish of citrus, sour apple and raisin. Just what you’d fancy after a cold day in the fields above Glenlivet.