This month's guest author is Hamish Brown. Hamish Brown's varied career as mountain traveller and climber, besides his interests in the rich heritage of Scotland and a fascination with far peoples and places has led to a prolific, wide-ranging output of articles as well as his popular books. Many of his articles have appeared in The Scotsman and the Evening News and from these a selection has been edited by Hamish (typically, while in the Atlas Mountains) under the appropriate title of TRAVEL. Whether on foot or ski, sailing or canoe-ing, looking at prehistoric monuments or chasing birds and flowers or leaping to the defence of Scotland's shrinking wildlands Hamish writes with a contagious enthusiasm, with humour and an eye for beauty. A few topics and places have been omitted as they have appeared more fully in other books but no attempt has been made to alter the freshness or topicality of the pieces. Hamish has simply added a few linking passages and arranged the pieces in a certain chronological and thematic order. This is one man's travels but they will appeal to all who enjoy the rich landscape and traditions of Scotland.

Born in Colombo in 1934 Hamish Brown has roamed the world ever since: living in Sri Lanka and Japan, escaping from Malaysia to South Africa as a war refugee and taking in a dozen Middle East and East African countries during National Service days in the RAF. He has climbed and travelled extensively in the Alps and less-known areas of Europe as well as in the remote Andes or Himalayas and each year spends some months in the south of Morocco. When not busy traveling and writing home is at Kinghorn with view over the Forth to Edinburgh.

For twelve years Hamish introduced youngsters to the Highlands, pioneering what has become 'Outdoor Education' then, after a spell as County Adviser, he set off on the 112-day walk over all the Munros - a landmark event-which is told in the award-winning Hamish's Mountain Walk. This was followed by the longest trip over the English, Irish and Welsh peaks, told in Hamish's Groats End Walk, while the recent Great Walking Adventure tells of travels ranging from the Ultimate Challenge (his invention) to treks in Corsica, Norway, the Andes, Atlas and Himalayas. Hamish has edited two classic anthologies: Poems of the Scottish Hills and the huge Speak to the Hills besides a volume of his own poems Time Gentlemen. He has written a guide to the island of Rhum and published Five Bird Stories besides keeping up a variety of articles in many magazines and newspapers, including The Scotsman, some of which are here collected as TRAVEL.

Tony and Alice are twins, living in an Edinburgh flat, who are visited by a bird, Mr Jack Daw, who tells them bedtime stories while their mother is in hospital.

When the rat-tat-tat came they threw down the pillows and rushed to the window. Mr Daw looked at their flushed faces.

Hello? Hello?" he queried.

"We've been fighting!" Tony grinned.

At the same time Alice yelled, "Mummy's coming home. Tomorrow!"

"We were only play fighting," Tony quickly added, seeing the look on the bird's face. "With pillows."

That was fairly obvious from the state of their beds. The bird perched on the chair while they straightened up the covers and thumped the pillows into shape and put them back. They climbed in and gave a mutual "Whew!"

"By the big, blue, bubbly Bimbasha river!" Tony laughed.

"So, what's tonight's story about?" Alice asked.

"Frogs. Enchanted frogs!"

"Not the frog that gets kissed and turns into a prince or was it a princess? That's soppy!"

"You'd be surprised," the bird smiled.

"Well, make it a cheery one for the last night," Alice begged.

"Yes, nothing Grimm," and Tony was pleased to receive a look which showed the bird had seen his pun.

Alice hadn't.

"Once upon a time."

They groaned so the bird let out a chuckle.

"A time not so long ago. Your mummy may even have read about it in the newspapers or seen it on TV ...."

"A true story?" Tony queried.

"Of course, if it was on TV," Alice replied.

The bird gave what sounded like a snort.

"There was this prince, heir to the kingdom and the most eligible bachelor in all the world. Girls of all kinds longed to win his hand but he gave little sign of wanting to marry anyone. He'd much rather be out in the country or talking to his flowers or doing a spot of painting. He made a few attempts at finding the right person but when you're a bit unique that makes it rather difficult. But at last he fell in love with a beautiful, beautiful princess and everyone began to say this was it for sure. She was the sweetest young thing. The press went daft about her. Even the monarch looked pleased. Then - " He paused to gain full attention. "Then the Prince disappeared."

"What?" said Alice.

"Completely disappeared. Consternation! Everyone expected it to be terrorists or something but nobody claimed responsibility, there were no ransom demands, and he didn't turn up at any of the second, or twenty second, homes they used now and then."

"Amnesia?! Tony suggested.

"What's that?" Alice asked.

"Losing your memory."

"No. No. You'd guess for ever and be wrong. Weeks went by before they had the slightest clue."

The bird did a wing stretch, then continued.

"The Prince was having his portrait painted at the time. They always do that for important occasions, as if a photographer wouldn't do just as well. The picture was on an easel in his old playroom where he kept his rocking horse and all the toys he couldn't bear to send to a jumble or charity shop. The painting was almost complete, so much so that many thought it was, that being the sort of work that gets by these days. It even had its signature except it wasn't a signature. When you looked carefully it had been signed, so to speak, by painting a little frog."

They were too astonished to question the bird but he explained other craftsmen often used some mark or symbol instead of a signature.

"A little green frog, which only one old white-haired lady noticed, the daily who did the prince's room. She was curious and asked one of the toffs in the office who the artist was and was told it was a John Rana. Later she joked that this sounded eastern. Was he Indian? 'No.' came the reply but another voice piped up that Rana was the Latin family name for some of the frogs. The old dear was so surprised she nearly put her mop through a pile of severs dishes on the kitchen table.

"Next day she looked again. Sure enough the man signed himself frog (so to speak) and as she walked past the picture it somehow changed, a bit like those hologram pictures on a banker's card, and the prince in his kilt wobbled opaquely and stood out suddenly as a frog, then it all changed back to normal. She walked back and forwards and it happened each time: prince, frog, prince, frog, prince....

"She blabbed of course and word worked its way up through the staff and from floor to floor till it reached sharp ears and big noses. Then the balloon went up, as they say. The royal magician was suspected, but he had an alibi so had to be reinstated. A fat lot of use he was anyway. Eventually they realised it had to be the artist. With a name like Rana, it had to be. So they hauled him in. He held out for a long time but he broke under torture."

"Torture?" Alice said aghast.

"As nasty as could be," the bird admitted.

"The rack? Thumbscrews?" asked Tony hopefully.

"No, worse. He was made to stand at the bar of the House of Commons and listen to every debate, every question time, every word, for a week, non-stop, and when they weren't sitting he had to watch every party political broadcast in the BBC archives over and over. He cracked on the seventh day and out came some admissions: 'Yes, I used magic to turn the prince into a frog' and 'I took him to Lochnagar' and 'No, I can't change him back; only the kiss of a princess can do that'.

"The next few weeks were a shambles. When climbers came down from Lochnagar (the hill) saying that big engineering works were going on round Lochnagar (the lake) there was an outcry from all the conservation bodies. This grew into direct action when it was found the intention was to drain the loch. When it leaked out the object was to recover all the frogs in the loch questions were raised at the United Nations, never mind Westminster. When National Security was given as a reason for not answering questions it led to such a hullabaloo the government had to resign and there was a general election. Scotland looked like declaring its independence, the monarchy itself was under threat. It was a dreadful time.

The whole of Lochnagar, a big mountain, was ringed by security forces and every inch of ground was searched by the volunteers from the Mountaineering Council of Scotland's clubs, who collected 12,675 frogs and toads in their sweep searches. When Lochnagar (the loch) was finally emptied they added another 27 that made, ... - er, 12,702 frogs.'

"What did they do with them?" Tony interrupted.

"They were taken to Aberdeen and loaded on a special train to King's Cross in London: modified carriages to carry the hundreds of open tanks of frogs. They just hoped they hadn't missed the one which would be the prince.

"The princess didn't like the idea of having to kiss any frog, even if it was an enchanted frog which would turn into her handsome prince whom she could then marry and then they'd become king and queen and live happily ever after."

The bird paused for breath.

(To be continued next month)

(You will find more articles by guest writers in the Archives.)