tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69639848713531225232024-03-17T20:03:13.633-07:00Mywriter's blogCatherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-42552308319239498122023-09-24T03:12:00.004-07:002023-09-26T07:40:15.335-07:00My Stroma Home part 6 The return of the Wanderer. <p> I had not returned to the Island for several years. It is no longer the isle of my memories but a sad, neglected place. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ2M5ImmVdALWNjyfAD830nBrAxptZb9vJujAPunJ6GAuLZpQTXUSp3Bso_1GeAiqSv60Vh_QPBmZX5i-r2jB3jyLqeYdzedKdEDnSFwodY0Z3TR5fbg5DhXctDsInakNTFZaQmaKV0uH4bMoj5htXaFHgqlAcdhOtrSEnbur_zzf8cCI-HNQ9IYr-h4/s2048/Stroma%20harbour1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ2M5ImmVdALWNjyfAD830nBrAxptZb9vJujAPunJ6GAuLZpQTXUSp3Bso_1GeAiqSv60Vh_QPBmZX5i-r2jB3jyLqeYdzedKdEDnSFwodY0Z3TR5fbg5DhXctDsInakNTFZaQmaKV0uH4bMoj5htXaFHgqlAcdhOtrSEnbur_zzf8cCI-HNQ9IYr-h4/w209-h157/Stroma%20harbour1.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>It is September, the sky is a bright blue, the sea is calm and the wind is fair. The tide is in, and the harbour is ideal for wild swimmers.<br /><br /><p></p><p>The back of the pier wall has been demolished due to frequent storms, but otherwise, the harbour gives the same refuge as it did when it was built in 1956, <span style="font-family: inherit;">a<span style="background-color: white;">fter over six years of argument and counter-argument between the islanders, the local council and The Scottish Home Department, it was finally completed </span><span style="background-color: white;">at a cost of £30,000.</span> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOPihqMtSzXSs1998whcZzfJimmUQ5BjoRAN08pRwpYwF-UL5sePcFXzkWJ4bZxZWIH6DkmuQQkhDW-k6slaV0vRs6w7Ef0a5EuEPUbLFpIk5j22s0PYq1ChgA9pv3NnpP0MnVk3DCFDHLCPwg3dwWOc2Or0_oJbG1gYzHO0kczLlGzXF1xkutTOsHnk/s1920/new%20video%20stroma_Moment.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOPihqMtSzXSs1998whcZzfJimmUQ5BjoRAN08pRwpYwF-UL5sePcFXzkWJ4bZxZWIH6DkmuQQkhDW-k6slaV0vRs6w7Ef0a5EuEPUbLFpIk5j22s0PYq1ChgA9pv3NnpP0MnVk3DCFDHLCPwg3dwWOc2Or0_oJbG1gYzHO0kczLlGzXF1xkutTOsHnk/s320/new%20video%20stroma_Moment.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">These are the workmen who took time from their farms and fishing to build the harbour. In the photo are three generations of my family. My grandfather, (middle back row) my father (far right second row) and my brother (far left front row)</span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The engineer was Jake Lindsey who lodged with us. He was a lovely, friendly man and remained friends with the family until his death. (He is not in the photo) </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiux4LJQ94J_EVFznnWuhduD9z81kyO8iPweHOPVgrUXRwMd3Z0MfN1I85hz8oAbDjvRwIW1yU4xLTvEKSYIrFzo-YvnQvl9MriUpFj63GxA7NHkYAsOV1UX27iRs-zi4EwWHA753Aw6xTCuuKG6sRbMVI7765V4iDszg6C53AEN0U2afYOWOff7zVNZgE/s2040/Stroma%20our%20hoose..jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1148" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiux4LJQ94J_EVFznnWuhduD9z81kyO8iPweHOPVgrUXRwMd3Z0MfN1I85hz8oAbDjvRwIW1yU4xLTvEKSYIrFzo-YvnQvl9MriUpFj63GxA7NHkYAsOV1UX27iRs-zi4EwWHA753Aw6xTCuuKG6sRbMVI7765V4iDszg6C53AEN0U2afYOWOff7zVNZgE/s320/Stroma%20our%20hoose..jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The house where I was born on 10th October 1946, always known as Eben's, sadly being slowly taken over by nature.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trees at the bottom of our garden, or at least what I saw as trees, appear nothing more than overgrown hedging. The nettles are rampant.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The whole island should be renamed Rabbit Island, as the rabbits seem to have taken over.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyD88iuSGfoMS3z7f83Ml0hjDb0ttMCxA5cH2M45rghva83ig1Ej1bYH2EBhR2BcBQKB_1GYgAMRVHXq8mfIapFWgmfjoPrU-gn7Zl421J8L397tQolVCktF9hXgBcHWDZk-EBJouYnkpuwsMkE0k0z_TCAlJ67hjmRQ2E2BuZP-J5bk1-S3w0W-NG4S0/s280/Stroma%20house%2033.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="158" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyD88iuSGfoMS3z7f83Ml0hjDb0ttMCxA5cH2M45rghva83ig1Ej1bYH2EBhR2BcBQKB_1GYgAMRVHXq8mfIapFWgmfjoPrU-gn7Zl421J8L397tQolVCktF9hXgBcHWDZk-EBJouYnkpuwsMkE0k0z_TCAlJ67hjmRQ2E2BuZP-J5bk1-S3w0W-NG4S0/w107-h190/Stroma%20house%2033.jpg" width="107" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The view from a window that once held glass and curtains.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once upon a time, these houses were filled with families and pets. Animals would be grazing the fields, other fields would be filled with various crops. vehicles and walkers would be on the roads.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_mbQAXqL_u9JRz4uyLCcFW3ZKx7Dqc2qHW0xkOK9kar6zTnZYFa_30L5SdMMG-9naTnCp1Vlss5U1aux3SeZDfVDMHdfmp71xOJqB-iCvL1lexS_HbgJNG4rdhmMqVwQr-yr2l4Blxc5IPgTFtuRWwI4l3B1k7sipmb4gBJSR2vfpwSr9O1fwRhERDs/s2048/Stroma%20abandoned%20cottage.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_mbQAXqL_u9JRz4uyLCcFW3ZKx7Dqc2qHW0xkOK9kar6zTnZYFa_30L5SdMMG-9naTnCp1Vlss5U1aux3SeZDfVDMHdfmp71xOJqB-iCvL1lexS_HbgJNG4rdhmMqVwQr-yr2l4Blxc5IPgTFtuRWwI4l3B1k7sipmb4gBJSR2vfpwSr9O1fwRhERDs/w235-h176/Stroma%20abandoned%20cottage.jpg" width="235" /></a></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDHcDWTOVPeYtkEYgDxI7Jfu-43qOkYOWHC3OHuB7rd8xPYV3jb4QviNy3-W9VMrd3Ot8QQJnyZBOcPDCoQ_A9D9Qr0Xh5dWFznxnCeLiWoW5wcr86N6gil8hlcaYEQHThSX5iYjDRpEQGEDC2n2j2mW2shED4H0Z5lbqN36rNPnTKVKsyDPKIep_gNw/s280/Stroma%20granny's%20house.jpg" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="158" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDHcDWTOVPeYtkEYgDxI7Jfu-43qOkYOWHC3OHuB7rd8xPYV3jb4QviNy3-W9VMrd3Ot8QQJnyZBOcPDCoQ_A9D9Qr0Xh5dWFznxnCeLiWoW5wcr86N6gil8hlcaYEQHThSX5iYjDRpEQGEDC2n2j2mW2shED4H0Z5lbqN36rNPnTKVKsyDPKIep_gNw/s1600/Stroma%20granny's%20house.jpg" width="158" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Some houses seem to have weathered the storms better than others. One could almost imagine that they still could be saved.</span></p><p></p><p><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, My grandmother's house, Garrispow, is not one of them. I remember that front porch. Three pots of geraniums sat in the window, red white and pink, their scent filling your nostrils the minute you entered. The garden had daffodils and poppies. I dug up some of the double-faced daffodils and took them home with me. They have followed me from house to house until they got lost among others of their kind in the gardens of Scaraben.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2toknYUKVMRn09GHGsnSS3E2_8gknLMJK4b0_ulbe2HGlT7rA22_d9rordDhEMMPvA8CtC48Y-s-PPp6cjCWlhJ5VqPAtGzS9QAe7nFz8eCnmqvHiRUOvaIIk7JCp5GteGq4pzPqywxoHRF0_N1zFMUKDwIYJEGtQwLnDPdo8iCWWQcO8ks1dHpsbme4/s2048/stroma%20house%20inside.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AB6fWWoVb3se-gq2U3KZ9WmB11z1WdOA9l8GEoUmsGcp4QHhxLxJanWTrvL73klm-4fvh8iPqHuMG72eP2Iv_RqEGvwCj9YGxFT9wa19EmSw1Ov9ICJ5pKogcsJhTDprA4JuG2CLhxjavnyRIADoshqPSbu5TYiyYhIwS8pGOZN7x8yyEYdi9yUwY4s/s2040/Stroma%20inside.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1148" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6AB6fWWoVb3se-gq2U3KZ9WmB11z1WdOA9l8GEoUmsGcp4QHhxLxJanWTrvL73klm-4fvh8iPqHuMG72eP2Iv_RqEGvwCj9YGxFT9wa19EmSw1Ov9ICJ5pKogcsJhTDprA4JuG2CLhxjavnyRIADoshqPSbu5TYiyYhIwS8pGOZN7x8yyEYdi9yUwY4s/s320/Stroma%20inside.jpg" width="180" /></a></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Inside the houses, are the remnants of ranges, and even box beds.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWfBPHgpUObsrxTdWpEs7ovu-jUdosm5lBVcnbksTE1I0IAEflVkbkpdNC0M_bOCOwpZedBQJmKIDHIyrm08s4M02PM_XBraiQhCuPsfBsh_FxQV--1p3R4Yna1cAcEpNfwUs5hW46qzRWHT0PeaTarFUlKBbugD3LtR-LJWSi9ELTJR10LUtjeYze6A/s1280/box%20bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWfBPHgpUObsrxTdWpEs7ovu-jUdosm5lBVcnbksTE1I0IAEflVkbkpdNC0M_bOCOwpZedBQJmKIDHIyrm08s4M02PM_XBraiQhCuPsfBsh_FxQV--1p3R4Yna1cAcEpNfwUs5hW46qzRWHT0PeaTarFUlKBbugD3LtR-LJWSi9ELTJR10LUtjeYze6A/s320/box%20bed.jpg" width="320" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOOuQ8XdwP27JlA31Kk7BxElCAxSFXIiOr-V__Y4jK6WsCY9X0GxyuILL9sKdzN1Qjac7MXzq72CQTllvUR6593P_BKBhf28dQTLY4XNQA6DESSglix58r2Mmq-Vb-ikpijRPeYCyzWp9YMm2XuwL2muQ_BXzUX4fb7njzGIe5NHep-TzpttgZ071sRQ/s2048/Stroma%20house%20the%20old%20range.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1153" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOOuQ8XdwP27JlA31Kk7BxElCAxSFXIiOr-V__Y4jK6WsCY9X0GxyuILL9sKdzN1Qjac7MXzq72CQTllvUR6593P_BKBhf28dQTLY4XNQA6DESSglix58r2Mmq-Vb-ikpijRPeYCyzWp9YMm2XuwL2muQ_BXzUX4fb7njzGIe5NHep-TzpttgZ071sRQ/s320/Stroma%20house%20the%20old%20range.jpg" width="180" /></a></div></span><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately, the animals have left proof of their occupation. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ignoring that, can you close your eyes for a moment and imagine a family sitting around this range of an evening? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">A large kettle, singing softly, would be on the top. A brass rod would stretch across the front of the mantlepiece for drying clothes. A clock would tick away the hours. Most likely a radio would be imparting either news or music, whatever the family's preference. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most families had a dog and a couple of cats.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In winter months, the man of the house might be making lead sinkers for the fishing, knitting nets or playing games with the children, mother would be knitting or sewing. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes the neighbours came around and there would be a sing-song. My mother played the accordion, and my granny had a repertoire of songs. Or we might be playing records on the gramophone which was powered by winding up, and the needle changed every time. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0KkY_I7VoQ_E7R0FerwdqW6g-SEpPL1OhczloR4dI0U3q2i8TDCVsxZklZCWnjkPwC5cwqaAF0EHsTdm5vEKn8l7oYBCYD6L_t1F6iMVliRv9FTwWGMda19tRG2n_y9pmjszPOikjpLu8P1a0tej1_zM-CbtMuibag1pEpI1ZwmNI_G-R6b6AZLqfaH8" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="640" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0KkY_I7VoQ_E7R0FerwdqW6g-SEpPL1OhczloR4dI0U3q2i8TDCVsxZklZCWnjkPwC5cwqaAF0EHsTdm5vEKn8l7oYBCYD6L_t1F6iMVliRv9FTwWGMda19tRG2n_y9pmjszPOikjpLu8P1a0tej1_zM-CbtMuibag1pEpI1ZwmNI_G-R6b6AZLqfaH8" width="320" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span>We had three records, China Doll and Love Song of the </span>Waterfall by Slim Whitman, <span> The Little Red Caboose behind the Train by the Pichard Family and Just a Poor Batchelor by Frankie Laine. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>Not quite the same but as near as I can find to our original music center. Imagine us, four bairns, and I guess more with the cousins and all, dancing along <br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-KHVWDyAErfOtCmhk-KP2q0PYJc68HwEwBy2G1y5Fxw60VFZ7nNittBeJHxPeDitP9Aso-yeYs7j0lKAmOw_N4qby8W77vwo59jyhl-HVwasJBqKmrWRyWCA2-o_usWHAdmMxr8zKaViLPFnhF2l7oFFohap3VWGvMXOlpIQ81P5aZ2-6eXT0yd3YG8/s1000/gram.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-KHVWDyAErfOtCmhk-KP2q0PYJc68HwEwBy2G1y5Fxw60VFZ7nNittBeJHxPeDitP9Aso-yeYs7j0lKAmOw_N4qby8W77vwo59jyhl-HVwasJBqKmrWRyWCA2-o_usWHAdmMxr8zKaViLPFnhF2l7oFFohap3VWGvMXOlpIQ81P5aZ2-6eXT0yd3YG8/s320/gram.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><p></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Time to go home, and down to the harbour we trek. We must leave our island once more to the sheep, the birds, the rabbits., and, of course, the ghosts of our past.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUyTj5yQWH1Q6RlxuNoLdJt8yXJOVs19Fw3ZDjb8t7SUwadF9Ihhu1EyLtLORufVBfn0h8-6EaJW3l4XHHuWLa3bH5qaxrQf8CYJ-gdYhf6DrzmxBQQdauC8hG7hMYlzwuORZglSHnsQLfkP-zrC2MZFvKFLflSLw-JqSfIKeeA97QRurnGT2kthX4Y8/s2048/Stroma%20harbour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1153" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUyTj5yQWH1Q6RlxuNoLdJt8yXJOVs19Fw3ZDjb8t7SUwadF9Ihhu1EyLtLORufVBfn0h8-6EaJW3l4XHHuWLa3bH5qaxrQf8CYJ-gdYhf6DrzmxBQQdauC8hG7hMYlzwuORZglSHnsQLfkP-zrC2MZFvKFLflSLw-JqSfIKeeA97QRurnGT2kthX4Y8/w400-h225/Stroma%20harbour.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-49852330488117333362023-09-19T04:34:00.001-07:002023-09-19T04:34:36.160-07:00My Stroma Home part 5 on a Dark and Stormy Night<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;">It was a dark and stormy night -- yes, honestly, I just wrote that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As you already know, I was brought up until the age of nine on Stroma, an island in the Pentland Firth. Our transport to and from the island was a yawl, not more than eighteen feet long.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mother and I had been in Wick for the day and were homeward-bound in our small but sturdy craft that had weathered many a storm. The light was fading, but we should have made it before nightfall. Suddenly, the engine died and we were plunged into darkness. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, the backup plan for any boat in trouble would normally be hoisting the sail. Not only would this give us wind power, but islanders, seeing a boat under sail, would be alerted that something was wrong. Unfortunately, my father had cleaned out the boat that day and the sail was back on the island in the sail-shed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The tides in the Pentland Firth are pretty strong, and with no power, we were being swept towards the notorious Boars, a place where several currents meet causing whirlpools and high, lashing waves. As we were dragged nearer, we were tossed around.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Luckily my mother had bought torches that day -- a present for my cousins who lived on the island. With the light, my father and grandfather struggled to get the engine going again. Dad had bought a new part for the engine and had it in his pocket.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was scared, crying. They put me under a tarpaulin and the spray rattled like hail above my head as the boat bucked and rose on the waves and plunged into the troughs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, back on the island, my grandmother, carrying my baby sister, continued to look out the window, searching the firth for any sign of the boat. In the darkness, we were invisible, the tiny torches not able to carry enough light to send a signal.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Finally, the engine spluttered to life and we fought our way from the lashing waves back to calmer waters.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't remember the welcome we must have got that night as relief flooded the family. But, as I had been taught, I did say my prayers and thanked God for delivering us from the jaws of the ocean.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0wqGijWKeRDoVUCqQBO0TeKsCejWQ_v2Du4FlZDHw5uKZU3kOGWzX39FSkeXFynGxq7Q7mntRlpVmTzyKmtg_0eJw_4UaY0zCDVYlrXYdE9liE-yKQhkrdZ1B9Ab-ib3Ik2gNyqY-xk/s1600/off+to+wick.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0wqGijWKeRDoVUCqQBO0TeKsCejWQ_v2Du4FlZDHw5uKZU3kOGWzX39FSkeXFynGxq7Q7mntRlpVmTzyKmtg_0eJw_4UaY0zCDVYlrXYdE9liE-yKQhkrdZ1B9Ab-ib3Ik2gNyqY-xk/s320/off+to+wick.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">Our boat, The Tern, in calmer waters.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p> </p>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-52230883545821942023-09-10T09:09:00.000-07:002023-09-10T09:09:05.656-07:00My Stroma home part 4. Difficult weather.<p> Winters could be tough when the boats could not get to sea or across the firth for fresh supplies. Yet, as a child, I don't remember ever feeling hungry or cold, so I guess the hardy island folk were always well prepared. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3NHNX7Dr8xXt-JDXKFATRLn4Hv3CnK9gRNnFiGpcuAJqj9bT69weN9dkGq5s5K4q_rFwR6QQpgRLoa5VJMdsy1N4GZISEsJeSeACeF7DklJ5vEsJMuOpNo8zBw1JkuB7LXd_MTEFlvSka4LPhVxhmMDu0J8DPsu1IuC9tQy60t_OnCPfvD4o6HkBHmio" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="1199" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3NHNX7Dr8xXt-JDXKFATRLn4Hv3CnK9gRNnFiGpcuAJqj9bT69weN9dkGq5s5K4q_rFwR6QQpgRLoa5VJMdsy1N4GZISEsJeSeACeF7DklJ5vEsJMuOpNo8zBw1JkuB7LXd_MTEFlvSka4LPhVxhmMDu0J8DPsu1IuC9tQy60t_OnCPfvD4o6HkBHmio" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">My mother baked a lot, pancakes, bannocks, and sponges. Biscuits were a treat. Traditional sweets were a treat, but she often made tablet. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">We had a plentiful supply of chickens, salt herring, hard fish, and tinned food, and I imagine the shop was well stocked up in preparation for inclement weather.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The coal boat came once a year so the coal had to be rationed to last till the next coal boat came. </p><p>In January 1955, we had the worst Snowstorm I ever remember.</p><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">'There's going to be a blizzard.' my father said, and we watched as he brought in extra drinking water and coal, and a large shovel. I didn't worry over much. whatever happened my parent were there and they would keep me safe.<o:p></o:p></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">The following morning, I woke up to a silent darkness. The house was encased in snow. My father was already tunnelling his way to the byre to tend the animals. He also tunnelled a path upwards, and once the blue sky could be seen, we children, decked out in wellingtons, hats coats and scarves, clambered out. Only the top of the roof and the chimneys were visible. The large drifts made excellent sledge slopes. We could tunnel in and build caves, then fall back indoors with freezing feet and fingers, desperate to warm up and get outside again. The fact that our snow caves could collapse and bury us never entered our heads. When we ran out of water, my father brought in tin pails full of snow and put it on the stove to melt. </div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">Several of our sheep wandered over the cliff edge and fell down, sinking in the soft snow. My father tied a rope around his middle and rescued them. Trapped in their freezing bubble, and no doubt kept insolated by thick woolly coats, all had survived. </div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Unfortunately for us children, being snowed in did not last long. I well remember the disappointment when I woke up one morning and the snow had almost disappeared. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We perhaps fared better than many of our mainland neighbours, since those who relied on electricity had to do without. We relied on bottled gas and solid fuel and still had warmth and light. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R_dvMQoNb-OAnNXLScEHGKNfQd88tFwotWa8f8iEikICkN0Mi--iderJuaYS192MLDZ3Kjjo6yANKUfbShrb2cwH6oveOpQWCO7hH2p3JcCg8PRUDRsAKMr-UH7isCDyFKw_5cyZyqkxWUhEvaTa1sqF2-eknWJEgf9He5tME6u55OCa-nUp8GsPCwQ/s960/number%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R_dvMQoNb-OAnNXLScEHGKNfQd88tFwotWa8f8iEikICkN0Mi--iderJuaYS192MLDZ3Kjjo6yANKUfbShrb2cwH6oveOpQWCO7hH2p3JcCg8PRUDRsAKMr-UH7isCDyFKw_5cyZyqkxWUhEvaTa1sqF2-eknWJEgf9He5tME6u55OCa-nUp8GsPCwQ/s320/number%205.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">1953 brought a gale and floods all over Britain. Our sturdy wee houses fared better than many mainland dwellings. It was reported that 300 lives were lost in the UK. We didn't go to bed that night, but sat up and listened as the wind railed and battered our cottage. Strangely the wireless did not lose a connection and continued to report the progress of the storm until morning. I understand a great wall of water hit the north end of Stroma where the land was flatter, sending the coastal dwellers running up the rise while the sea poured into their houses. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Next day, many households woke up to discover their wooden porches had gone. Many roofs had been damaged, ours included. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1955 was Scotland's sunniest year on record. After a cold winter and a cold June, July and August were the hottest since 1911, giving a memorable summer. Not only was it hot on Stroma, but dry. Most of the wells dried up, leaving only a spring called 'the Stroop,' which supplied a constant source of drinking water, but even it was eventually reduced to a trickle. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The big drums behind our house which stored rainwater also ran dry and my father carted containers of water from a pond near the lighthouse. Since the animals also needed to drink, it must have been hard days for the adults. </span></span></div>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-46901410966323862642023-08-27T05:00:00.001-07:002023-09-03T04:21:04.003-07:00My Stroma Home part 3 School days.<p><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b> School days<br /><br /></b></span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">I left home on my first day of school clutching my brother's hand. I held fast although we didn't like each other very much. At the top of the hill and in sight of the playground, he refused to take my hand any more. He obviously didn't want this friends to see him hold his little sister's hand!</p></blockquote><p> There were four of us new entrants, three girls and a boy. The school consisted of two ends, the Beeg end for the older kids, and the Peedy end for the younger ones. Once upon a time, there were two teachers, one for each end. When I started there was only one. Mrs Wares. and we all sat in the Beeg end warmed by a small stove. On rainy days, we hung our coats near the stove to dry. No matter how far away we lived, we had no choice but to walk.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7DOZhapfYWE_naogH-NBxkyw_M2DTREzPb9d3L09wh4f5gD5luI_rRwvYhymq406-Bl2Ow5-Xwy8Eqk2CThQICmqdkD_VraAUh--rRPwOkif1dOPePuJ4oqV4d4s-2QZtlupJtOJQnEj_bWkdj-gEadmatbR5gcJat8XznET6YDINQ1kRFYYlGG8dp0/s948/number%2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="948" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7DOZhapfYWE_naogH-NBxkyw_M2DTREzPb9d3L09wh4f5gD5luI_rRwvYhymq406-Bl2Ow5-Xwy8Eqk2CThQICmqdkD_VraAUh--rRPwOkif1dOPePuJ4oqV4d4s-2QZtlupJtOJQnEj_bWkdj-gEadmatbR5gcJat8XznET6YDINQ1kRFYYlGG8dp0/w203-h245/number%2019.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>There were two doors, one for the boys and one for the girls, but the boy's door was permanently shut, again due to lack of numbers. Our toilets were outside, again separate toilets and consisted of buckets beneath wooden seats with the customary hole. </p><p>The school building is no more and used for dipping sheep.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1pXzWmbZWZA_L1WcuNQ9h3b2iu0_ck2Te0ns7DDKc7hCqrZmBPGXfTztXHW35ZApLwrlqpy6ghiP91ysORK8EK2CpLzY_cXXPlsQIJvzl5KPOuuE_iI-tvrirfTJXrXo6MIaL307Dj872FUNA42jJqzUrwIXE267MFayv6j2VcqtO6HUdB46jeWVDEE/s1200/number%2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1pXzWmbZWZA_L1WcuNQ9h3b2iu0_ck2Te0ns7DDKc7hCqrZmBPGXfTztXHW35ZApLwrlqpy6ghiP91ysORK8EK2CpLzY_cXXPlsQIJvzl5KPOuuE_iI-tvrirfTJXrXo6MIaL307Dj872FUNA42jJqzUrwIXE267MFayv6j2VcqtO6HUdB46jeWVDEE/w253-h190/number%2014.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><div>To one side was what we called the Cookery. Made of corrugated iron, it still stands defiantly against the elements and is mistakenly referred to as the School Room by day trippers, possibly since many of the exercise books were taken from the school rooms and stored there. </div><div><br /></div>The cookery was originally used to teach girls cooking, hence its name, but when I lived there it was the equivalent to a village hall for the islanders. After our Christmas treat, where the children put on a concert and received gifts from Santa, there was a dance for all in the Cookery. A white powder called Slipperine was liberally sprinkled on the floor and we loved sliding up and down on it. We were ordered to behave when the band struck up and the adults took to the floor.<br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXwpYwsqeM3E2FSUr7_GGZfgpP6Nq8wO_kxjGM6FFRrAs1v7cZvv2ei6cKvObpC6-bUhE5XEAF_LfGCNS_m-qlApVV07DonyYx5RoNyz393NYibxLGPjmHmFENpgV7TKDjAR7URCsfeDeSe56BH3yGddGdGe29mfVbWLEHxKyxalH7vZyHQIzpuTDtAA/s1396/number%2020.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="1396" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWXwpYwsqeM3E2FSUr7_GGZfgpP6Nq8wO_kxjGM6FFRrAs1v7cZvv2ei6cKvObpC6-bUhE5XEAF_LfGCNS_m-qlApVV07DonyYx5RoNyz393NYibxLGPjmHmFENpgV7TKDjAR7URCsfeDeSe56BH3yGddGdGe29mfVbWLEHxKyxalH7vZyHQIzpuTDtAA/s320/number%2020.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Looking back over the years, it can be imagined how busy and thriving the island once was by the number of children attending school. <p></p><p>This early photo is dated 1907.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2VwZwTEGIQGCsmuA1lChIyhILfPTeUjKWqlMVias9t2asAxVByUSKZz4bVooi_W6ye8uS8_lFxS__rqLdrRI8NaOJTa6ngxZkXqF5mrHUu01rJbn0zOY1EM8j9eullNrYekHRpB-iMPwxiG4h8KWwDNlZLcQ5JrT5SgKfY8geOTbIVUROoxpuzQQex0/s688/number%2022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="688" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2VwZwTEGIQGCsmuA1lChIyhILfPTeUjKWqlMVias9t2asAxVByUSKZz4bVooi_W6ye8uS8_lFxS__rqLdrRI8NaOJTa6ngxZkXqF5mrHUu01rJbn0zOY1EM8j9eullNrYekHRpB-iMPwxiG4h8KWwDNlZLcQ5JrT5SgKfY8geOTbIVUROoxpuzQQex0/s320/number%2022.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>This early photograph is dated July 1932. Back then Children could be educated in the school until they were ready for university if that was their aim. Many had to leave as soon as the law allowed, at age thirteen, as they were needed on the land or to help at home. My mother had to become a full-time carer for her grandmother who was housebound.</p><p><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_dVkUeqXebcussb-AntLTFmYU2lZBOA2UKPGTybbhEHyHNb86_oE5UhzzQYFDeXJ_SD8oTi2vyvXbCti4v-j-ipsd2Zdw_I5se8nnqPJ5iOfuE1GomBpVCrW_rnQgjnvu5e1Jw2ME2xeUK-qoC6U4IO2IyAvvhPMTZXG6rbweeEGOhbX-hvngc98c30/s1940/number%2021.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1940" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_dVkUeqXebcussb-AntLTFmYU2lZBOA2UKPGTybbhEHyHNb86_oE5UhzzQYFDeXJ_SD8oTi2vyvXbCti4v-j-ipsd2Zdw_I5se8nnqPJ5iOfuE1GomBpVCrW_rnQgjnvu5e1Jw2ME2xeUK-qoC6U4IO2IyAvvhPMTZXG6rbweeEGOhbX-hvngc98c30/s320/number%2021.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unable to find a date for this one.<br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p><span style="text-align: left;">The below photo was taken before I started. We joined those children for a year and then the majority of them left for secondary school.</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAhb79bvVA9x1GhQzrjxc4VP23GKCfjb04_MFkYN97kWRmrgBTWs88WMtgGN7pjvbOhHi8Uz2E_7AmldzOQ5CCPFdc8_-wrCYKnftz4W4dEo9eD6jXOnrzw4uFO3W6HIIh3Cd0pXrnbRimBzJte5UJ2sL-Tk8T4cYd8fq2d0etISVw0CN-ICTrEv5_28/s647/number%2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;">.</span><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="647" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAhb79bvVA9x1GhQzrjxc4VP23GKCfjb04_MFkYN97kWRmrgBTWs88WMtgGN7pjvbOhHi8Uz2E_7AmldzOQ5CCPFdc8_-wrCYKnftz4W4dEo9eD6jXOnrzw4uFO3W6HIIh3Cd0pXrnbRimBzJte5UJ2sL-Tk8T4cYd8fq2d0etISVw0CN-ICTrEv5_28/s320/number%2023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcWF2Cg62noppa3VxpmIIUDrOyv-soPOXN1IpE7pRMpJsyL3j6tyJDhKv8mTi5lG0Z8SmkGi-wewbgccQV-jnfOiA_s-ntKuFatMzx6w9Idiy34MkREZK_eZbuqIhaSacWh4a_Ix8RhYo3kPckDRnBFNVDGZ6-qclpatnCwP6Vvlmo0ft7hYxDiwiX_k/s640/number%2024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcWF2Cg62noppa3VxpmIIUDrOyv-soPOXN1IpE7pRMpJsyL3j6tyJDhKv8mTi5lG0Z8SmkGi-wewbgccQV-jnfOiA_s-ntKuFatMzx6w9Idiy34MkREZK_eZbuqIhaSacWh4a_Ix8RhYo3kPckDRnBFNVDGZ6-qclpatnCwP6Vvlmo0ft7hYxDiwiX_k/s320/number%2024.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p>And finally, the last two pupils left before the school closed for good.<p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>As you see, a busy school, a busy island. I believe there were four shops on the island and a pub at one time. Also, the Floating shops from Orkney visited every fortnight. they came to buy as well as sell. I will deal with that in a later episode. </p><p>When I lived there there was only one co-op shop built in the center of the island. </p>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-65369332018859652172023-08-13T03:02:00.003-07:002023-09-03T04:20:40.654-07:00My Stroma home part 2 Life on an island.Stroma is divided into two areas. The north is Nethertown and the South side is Uppertown. We lived on the south side looking over the firth towards John O'Groats. <div><br /></div><div>Our cottage was a typical Butt and Ben, the design found all over the Highlands; a rectangular shape consisting of three rooms and attic space, with an outside lavatory. According to Wikipedia, it is a two-roomed dwelling, perhaps because the third room is very small, but in many cases still held a double bed and a chest. The Butt is an all-purpose room, a kitchen, living room and bedroom in one tiny space, the bed encased in an alcove in the wall and hidden by a curtain or shutters. The Ben room was usually the best room. Again with a box bed, fireplace and possibly easy chairs. <div><br /><div>Some cottages had extra porches at the front, and others had extra rooms added on with their own door, a granny flat would be the modern-day equivalent. <div><br /></div><div>We had a black Dover Range with a boiler to one side, so there was a supply of hot water. The box bed had been converted into fitted cupboards. We had a table and chairs, two comfortable chairs by the range and a chaise longue in worn brown leather which could be converted into a bed. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcuzOKsVY2EAj604qRLYh9UlR1io3-IY9ALQoXpfBbwq1tBuygG45BAoBbIqfrsBPXQuumjy4kj1uTT2UhYA2BoZ9xgwjY9yzF-5FE0IELUhh9G8MH-LMao07knV9vY5rj5e-IOeBnLWXWXz925w_gpeRyiLJZtHDtTZKontYJrUL1RYUWt2E8M1WGDE/s2576/number%203.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcuzOKsVY2EAj604qRLYh9UlR1io3-IY9ALQoXpfBbwq1tBuygG45BAoBbIqfrsBPXQuumjy4kj1uTT2UhYA2BoZ9xgwjY9yzF-5FE0IELUhh9G8MH-LMao07knV9vY5rj5e-IOeBnLWXWXz925w_gpeRyiLJZtHDtTZKontYJrUL1RYUWt2E8M1WGDE/w200-h150/number%203.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /></div><div>No TV in those days but the wireless (radio) was constantly on, giving us news of the outside world. I particularly remember the children's program, 'Listen With Mother,' at about two o'clock every day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before the days of Calor gas, I vaguely remember the Tilly lamp being suspended from the ceiling. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Later that was replaced by the most modern of modern inventions, Calor gas. Gas lights replaced the oil lamps, and cooking was now done on a gas cooker. For washing clothes, we had a gas boiler, a Godsend for my mother who had previously scrubbed my father's boilersuits which stank of oil and fish, on the step outside. She even had a gas iron! </div><div><br /></div><div>Being the gas engineer for the district was yet another job for my overworked father. He was now a crofter/fisherman/occasional lighthousekeeper and Gas representative. During the time he did spend at home, he taught us to play chess, draughs, Monopoly and cards (the only games we owned) and played hide and seek with us or read from Alice and Wonderland, which seemed to be the only children's book we owned. He read it in put-on voices and always made it sound different somehow. We loved those readings! Other indoor games we played were <i>Hide the Thimble, I Spy</i>, <i>Consequences</i> and<i> The Minister's Cat</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our small back room was referred to as the Closet, or scullery. In there we stored food, drinking water brought from a well, and a small table holding a basin beneath a tap. Water for washing came from two large tanks outside and was piped through the wall. they either caught rainwater or were filled manually during dry periods. Our roof was not slate, tile or even thatch, but flagstones quarried locally and cemented together. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>My parents slept in the Ben end, and the children slept in the attic. My father was handy and fashioned two bedrooms up there, one for my two brothers and one for myself and my sister. It wasn't a high attic and standing upright was impossible for an adult. The staircase was very steep, not dissimilar to a wooden stepladder, for comparison.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioWTy2vBgV1sFOb8FGUc22q7GrWi6v2TCRCxtHp5uAHnmM4fZaVAhMZmISvUxQ16LxwydFhY8o4JLHRMJOhc2CReLTuMNyX-YlCladaqot36TdOaA-eSVMAd3-tcSkoieVZ5_pcfRIs0ZZuVq41cRTxhL7VW-cdDwpEc7VZMigCXvpRwBaIJAuCQETDDo/s960/number%2012.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="960" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioWTy2vBgV1sFOb8FGUc22q7GrWi6v2TCRCxtHp5uAHnmM4fZaVAhMZmISvUxQ16LxwydFhY8o4JLHRMJOhc2CReLTuMNyX-YlCladaqot36TdOaA-eSVMAd3-tcSkoieVZ5_pcfRIs0ZZuVq41cRTxhL7VW-cdDwpEc7VZMigCXvpRwBaIJAuCQETDDo/w245-h168/number%2012.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><div>We often had relations come to stay for a holiday. At those times my parents gave up their bed and somehow managed to squeeze in beside us! Our wee room was than wall-to-wall bed! </div><div><br /></div><div> Left was the view from our skylight. We called it The Chapel, but it was never used as a place of worship in my lifetime. </div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2kgbGhAcuVqbbdSQ95omt_jyQmw-_5d443Hq0LxHH-g0tzRQn74oJ-z6CPYM4mUMWQkoxzn23gz5oQP3VrmSnbsSEmsvwyhX20zOhPAEK7zPGWuxg-H3DUK2qOCDS7jFbNOihIf2IeS4LMQ4OYFkvFzETgNWdgDW-03YIHDS8WCfkmcbXxi3nDuGpAYw/s2048/inside%20the%20kirk.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23Ewf0GmmmjWz5aTC0-pei-_Nq0vLryG5QjpZ1Wodzl_fCLaodxRMbQg1j0BrwyT4g5MVXJzx7i_oQhUyL4E2JSM2fci9sD6RAlT1OvNrEtFT6lbNyxi-lrpOwA0ZYRc3pph0igi-75AuqV47kxZQdGfW7c6gcrGjZmqZy10gPTMZyD7dsEszfR-ilk/s4288/Stroma_kirk.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2848" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23Ewf0GmmmjWz5aTC0-pei-_Nq0vLryG5QjpZ1Wodzl_fCLaodxRMbQg1j0BrwyT4g5MVXJzx7i_oQhUyL4E2JSM2fci9sD6RAlT1OvNrEtFT6lbNyxi-lrpOwA0ZYRc3pph0igi-75AuqV47kxZQdGfW7c6gcrGjZmqZy10gPTMZyD7dsEszfR-ilk/w145-h215/Stroma_kirk.jpg" width="145" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The kirk, standing roughly in the middle of the island, is the kirk. It was well attended on a Sunday and still stands proud to this day. With its steeple, it can be seen clearly from the mainland.</div><div><br /></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div><div style="text-align: left;">The manse is attached to the far end and is now used as a home for the owner. </div></div></blockquote><p> The public phonebox was not added until 1953.</p><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRY3PtGWxpUd5dJ8N-p3FY6meHT1vZJ9IZy9NpCbdHIyIMyajQzhEUkRgPn1QgabyOEmaId-NWYlsbFlmNRBAifZitNTE6J0udJJM_gFjcyLBjxmm2hj93IiUER8FNtgFuaJzCcopc2ekkzqCsiSLrT87rkcBBevXzhaN7C5eXQuymXpxVnL24cRgLqGs/s605/stromakirk.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="460" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRY3PtGWxpUd5dJ8N-p3FY6meHT1vZJ9IZy9NpCbdHIyIMyajQzhEUkRgPn1QgabyOEmaId-NWYlsbFlmNRBAifZitNTE6J0udJJM_gFjcyLBjxmm2hj93IiUER8FNtgFuaJzCcopc2ekkzqCsiSLrT87rkcBBevXzhaN7C5eXQuymXpxVnL24cRgLqGs/w166-h219/stromakirk.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>The interior, in my memory, is reminiscent of all old churches, smelling of books, wood and beeswax, that unique smell only churches seem to have. The triangular dome above the pulpit was bright red. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After the last sad service, the bible was left open at the last reading, the hymn books left open at the last hymn ever sung in that wee kirk, '<i>God be with you till we meet again</i>.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That must have been a very poignant service indeed. I can just imagine the congregation filing out in silence, hearts too full to speak. I was just a young child, and none of it touched me. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, the building has been emptied and is now used as a store.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKQPms0kww9SZmU3KWf8sCtq9Y9WtTPlwgrHFWkVGUaMn6QAY6GUWabPOaKxr535vn7hOO6aiBPG5z6XCen5fpFQoqqcoLdgr8J1ANKNg-trG452aFcPIhek6mXQxlWzg0lMsOulWiSYZFvWZvEgFZ4_3pBHVllxYMamqOPDmb1EPyB3fyvnrffq6tA8/s835/number%2018.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="835" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKQPms0kww9SZmU3KWf8sCtq9Y9WtTPlwgrHFWkVGUaMn6QAY6GUWabPOaKxr535vn7hOO6aiBPG5z6XCen5fpFQoqqcoLdgr8J1ANKNg-trG452aFcPIhek6mXQxlWzg0lMsOulWiSYZFvWZvEgFZ4_3pBHVllxYMamqOPDmb1EPyB3fyvnrffq6tA8/s320/number%2018.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Above are the children of the Sunday School on that same last day. I'm the one with the long legs in the middle!</div><div><br /></div></div>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-23876082313790663942023-08-05T07:24:00.005-07:002023-09-03T04:19:56.099-07:00My Stroma home part one, an introduction<p> Looking over the firth from John O'Groats, one might assume that Stroma Island is still populated. These sturdy wee houses, built many years ago by the crofters themselves, have withstood the test of time and only on close inspection can one see the devastation caused by the elements, the birds and the sheep.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4d54Tx1Yk7yIfD6YqzdLTiBmT5Wn0h2dZxDh-SO9dL18VzRxiIbOcbEIzPAkyh-A-iUTzR6DTDSyO-uP8bbA-jpmFm6PIUulc-NzLokWl1f77w3iR4MxBbxw4rUjUXRdoAeeRT1mVKqWJjGV9b6yZyZurmGE7D6n7sEvrM4gzQ0YE1dHAiRhPO7u0QVw/s960/number%201.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="702" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4d54Tx1Yk7yIfD6YqzdLTiBmT5Wn0h2dZxDh-SO9dL18VzRxiIbOcbEIzPAkyh-A-iUTzR6DTDSyO-uP8bbA-jpmFm6PIUulc-NzLokWl1f77w3iR4MxBbxw4rUjUXRdoAeeRT1mVKqWJjGV9b6yZyZurmGE7D6n7sEvrM4gzQ0YE1dHAiRhPO7u0QVw/w112-h154/number%201.jpg" width="112" /></a></div><br /><p>The Norse gave Stroma its name, Straumsey, the island in the stream. The first written history of the island is by Norsemen who we know inhabited the island in the eleventh century. There is evidence that a Pictish community existed there before that. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHsPPNZDIHsXZvZx5YaV0f28T6MPnQEpIDFyWz5CsHkItbtHXJE6jsW4iG2f4pN1kyo5WWLnuhc5okrNQe7-25ilDRpvHJDXkIElbNfT1lxruE6TMi3Wl7YJEQh500G8rdbl4583dKc25P1KdebkKJdWH8pbPqMknypFzbTeFIZ20RnnKiFlZcP1WOrI/s750/castle%20mestag.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="750" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHsPPNZDIHsXZvZx5YaV0f28T6MPnQEpIDFyWz5CsHkItbtHXJE6jsW4iG2f4pN1kyo5WWLnuhc5okrNQe7-25ilDRpvHJDXkIElbNfT1lxruE6TMi3Wl7YJEQh500G8rdbl4583dKc25P1KdebkKJdWH8pbPqMknypFzbTeFIZ20RnnKiFlZcP1WOrI/w238-h172/castle%20mestag.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>On the 1872 Ordnance Survey map, there are two castles on Stroma. Castle Mestag, of which a few pieces of masonry remain, is on a stack off the southwest side of the island and the other is simply marked as 'Castle' on a rocky promontory at Flendie Clett on the Southeast side.I believe a chambered tomb exists near the North End, but I don't know of anyone who has been able to find it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZVn01JEmKpiJcaZNMIMxdUlzoBe7suj1zTd8xbPXDsVDTmMONOuX2fRk1hYa4F3wH7EixDDPUFmNobJu_4b-zabJjY6MaAFsh4h936qfDYlT-pW0GsZHqpe_Bk9ew30kE6wxBZUajavmQ2IFjpGy9cCyCJfDhnumX-BYjI9IjrGMPOt1EMf_kX6NXeM/s1047/Kennedy%20mauseleum.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1047" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZVn01JEmKpiJcaZNMIMxdUlzoBe7suj1zTd8xbPXDsVDTmMONOuX2fRk1hYa4F3wH7EixDDPUFmNobJu_4b-zabJjY6MaAFsh4h936qfDYlT-pW0GsZHqpe_Bk9ew30kE6wxBZUajavmQ2IFjpGy9cCyCJfDhnumX-BYjI9IjrGMPOt1EMf_kX6NXeM/w215-h169/Kennedy%20mauseleum.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><p></p><p>From the mainland, Kennedy's mausoleum is also plainly visible near the shore on the Southest side. Built in the seventeenth century, it still stands defiantly against the elements with only part of the upper story, a dovecot, in partial ruins. All around it is the graveyard, where many tombstones bear testament to the thriving population who lived, worked and died on the island.</p><p><br /></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyyagSEaRqCZnKDFfbQmPKE46u1RH3smCCwmgaeqg4nDeLHTpmTYz8NspYbkPeCzCXTFfUei3Ih1gdEsR_pJsor7VNlpmJg3QcJfa4Oa8Ra-yAmzJmKsjNvXIUwfZuDGQtj3QCKIpo1bSR8j0xc1hk_RBdZJEzP-9YHmmNSHq7p58YHD7B-qWZOJOOhMs/s720/where%20i%20was%20born.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="720" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyyagSEaRqCZnKDFfbQmPKE46u1RH3smCCwmgaeqg4nDeLHTpmTYz8NspYbkPeCzCXTFfUei3Ih1gdEsR_pJsor7VNlpmJg3QcJfa4Oa8Ra-yAmzJmKsjNvXIUwfZuDGQtj3QCKIpo1bSR8j0xc1hk_RBdZJEzP-9YHmmNSHq7p58YHD7B-qWZOJOOhMs/w206-h137/where%20i%20was%20born.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>My claim to fame is that I was the last baby to be born on the island. Thereafter babies were born on the mainland. <p></p><p>My parents bought a cottage formally known only as Eben's, and they flitted in. That same evening my mother went into labour, The following morning, on a beautiful sunny October day, I was born. And there I lived until I was nine years old. </p><p>The cottage was a typical Caithness croft house, with three downstairs rooms, an outside toilet, and an attic space which my father later converted into two bedrooms, one for me and my sister, and one for my two brothers.</p><p>At the front was my mother's vegetable garden. The only flowers there were poppies and a few daffodils. The garden was bordered by small trees with an evergreen at one side.</p><p>Sadly, we were the last family to live in that house. We sold our livestock, including our beloved Petty the sheep who we had reared from an orphaned lamb.</p><p><br /><br /></p>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-39605434466300613902023-07-20T04:54:00.045-07:002023-07-20T05:02:31.489-07:00Updates on my life<p><br /></p><p> <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Follow-Dove-Book-Raumsey-saga-ebook/dp/B07XTN252J/ref=sr_1_4?crid=19AROUVE7X0UT&keywords=Catherine+m+byrne&qid=1689853641&s=digital-text&sprefix=catherine+m+byrne%2Cdigital-text%2C82&sr=1-4">Follow the Dove: Book one of the Raumsey saga (Raumsey series 1) eBook : Byrne, Catherine M: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store</a></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHl7mgiqq2E4r1BYf8gqX2o6xnNuC0cBAObQJOiXvcbFZ2cdOnd49hdGjdAlEUHmYxk_jy215g9_rTkdjIdroEMohPM4PVDsthKV16W2pJBaH4wJwmeoZAlObhFOFe8XHktpwrAH1zRPW7uX_T-p0ucX0LysdC_ansrwRLLrgA75UHh4qjWmuZHdXnGw/s3200/1B%20Follow%20the%20Dove.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2088" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDHl7mgiqq2E4r1BYf8gqX2o6xnNuC0cBAObQJOiXvcbFZ2cdOnd49hdGjdAlEUHmYxk_jy215g9_rTkdjIdroEMohPM4PVDsthKV16W2pJBaH4wJwmeoZAlObhFOFe8XHktpwrAH1zRPW7uX_T-p0ucX0LysdC_ansrwRLLrgA75UHh4qjWmuZHdXnGw/s320/1B%20Follow%20the%20Dove.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="page-title-container span12 tablet-span12 alpha omega" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.48px; min-height: 1px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; position: relative; width: 713.325px;"><h1 class="page-title" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size: 28px; font-weight: 500; letter-spacing: inherit; 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box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 10px;"><span class="review-meta" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: block; letter-spacing: inherit; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 5px; vertical-align: top;">by <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/reviews/user/id/2481506/reynold" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;" title="See more reviews by this user">Reynold</a></span></div></div><div class="action-icon action-share-container" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 0px; bottom: 0px; box-sizing: content-box; display: inline-block; float: right; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; right: 0px; text-align: center; transition: width 400ms ease 0s; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;"><a class="action-icon icon-share" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border: none; box-sizing: content-box; color: inherit; display: inline-block; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; outline: none; overflow: hidden; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;" title="Share"></a></div></div><div class="review-content" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; justify-content: space-between; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: 10px 0px 18px; overflow: hidden;"><div class="review-content-styled" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"><h2 style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 500; letter-spacing: 0.03em; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-bottom: 4px;">“<span class="display_review_title" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Review of 'Follow the Dove'</span>”</h2><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Title: Follow the Dove<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Author: Catherin Byrne<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />• ISBN-13: 978-1848768062<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Publisher: Matador<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Published: December 2011<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Copyright © 2011<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />General Subject Matter: The life of a young woman in Scotland, and the families with</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> which she became involved.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Theme: Lifestyle of the early 20th century in Scotland.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Thesis: The story surrounding 2 families living on 2 small islands off the coast </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">of Scotland in 1899, and 1900. Here we find that the poor were not an exception </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">to the normal population; the poverty stricken were the basis of most of the </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">population.</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Jobs were almost impossible to find, and if a man could get work on a fishing boat, </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">he would be away from home most of the time, leaving his wife, and children</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> to find whatever was available to stay alive. The land was not highly fertile, so </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">only small patches of vegetables were available, and any grass was for the sheep, </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">whose lambs brought small inputs of cash when they were sold at the summer </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">market. Bartering was the main method of obtaining anything needed for the </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">house, as cash was just too rare to be thought of.</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"><br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Description:<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />The reader is introduced to Isa Muirison in the first sentence of this novel, and</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> she becomes a window into the lives of the Muirison family, and the Ried family. </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">‘The first time she saw him Isa forgot to breathe.’ This sentence sets the atmosphere </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">for the entire book. It allows the eye to naturally flow from page to page while </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">the story of Isa’s coming of age unfolds. The narrative descriptions are used in </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">every scene just enough to give the reader the background needed to continue, </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">while the dialog of the characters tells the reader just how important every word is. I</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">sa’s life is followed closely during her triumphs, disappointments, and disasters. </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">The effects of these events and their ramifications upon those close to Isa make </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">this book into a compelling story for every reader.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />The Author, Catherin Byrne, is Scottish, and her knowledge of her country and </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">its history comes out in every word spoken by her characters. Authentic older </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Scottish names, and dialog reinforce the story further, and the fact that it takes</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> place on the islands of Kirkwall, and Raumsey, just off the coast of Scotland is </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">the icing on the cake. This author can write. Her story remains compelling up to</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> and including the last page. Catherin Byrne has written a novel that is worth far </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">more than the price of the book. RB</div></div></div><div class="comment-bottom" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-top: 10px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 713.325px;"><div class="display_review_date" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-right: 50px;">8th October 2017</div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a class="js-open-modal" data-modal-id="loginModal" href="https://www.waterstones.com/books/reviews/isbn/9781848768062/replies/35543#review-35543" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;">Comment (0)</a></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); 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background-color: white; border-bottom: 4px solid rgb(200, 200, 200); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; font-family: "Source Sans Pro", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.48px; margin-bottom: 30px; padding-bottom: 18px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 713.325px;"><div class="review-list-item-main" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; position: relative;"><div class="review-header-bottom" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(200, 200, 200); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; letter-spacing: inherit; min-height: 39px; padding-right: 60px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 713.325px;"><div class="review-rating" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 20px;"><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">Paperback edition</div><div class="star-rating clear-both" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; float: left; font-size: 1px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 1; margin: 0px 10px 10px -5px; overflow: hidden; padding-top: 1px; position: relative; text-align: center; text-wrap: nowrap; top: 2px; vertical-align: top; width: 100px;"><div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 10px;"><span class="review-meta" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: block; letter-spacing: inherit; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 5px; vertical-align: top;">by <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/reviews/user/id/384822/torvaig" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;" title="See more reviews by this user">Torvaig</a></span></div></div><div class="action-icon action-share-container" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 0px; bottom: 0px; box-sizing: content-box; display: inline-block; float: right; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; right: 0px; text-align: center; transition: width 400ms ease 0s; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;"><a class="action-icon icon-share" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border: none; box-sizing: content-box; color: inherit; display: inline-block; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; outline: none; overflow: hidden; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;" title="Share"></a></div></div><div class="review-content" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; justify-content: space-between; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: 10px 0px 18px; overflow: hidden;"><div class="review-content-styled" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"><h2 style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 500; letter-spacing: 0.03em; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-bottom: 4px;">“<span class="display_review_title" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">A great story set in the Far North of Scotland</span>”</h2><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">I started to read "Follow the Dove" by Catherine M Byrne and found myself </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">immersed at once in this compelling story so vividly written by newcomer </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Catherine M. Byrne from Wick.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />After the first few pages I knew I had to keep going, I was desperate to get to </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">know the characters better, to understand them and to get involved in the way </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">they lived their working and private lives in very remote and sparsely populated </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">areas.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />"Follow the Dove" is a strong story and very relative to the period and the setting.</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"> The characters involved become very real. You feel their pain, frustation and </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">anger at what life throws at them.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Many older readers, especially those from the North of Scotland and the Northern </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Isles, will be able to relate to this harsh way of life which existed before and for </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">some time after the turn of the 20th century. Catherine Byrne leads you into the </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">islanders way of thinking, working and socialising until you believe they really </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">existed.<br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;" />Thank you Catherine for filling a space on my bookshelf with a wonderful, </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">wonderful read; you most certainly have a winner on your hands!</div></div></div><div class="comment-bottom" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-top: 10px; position: relative; 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box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div> <div class="active" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 16px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: -1px; overflow: hidden; vertical-align: top; width: 20px;"></div></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 10px;"><span class="review-meta" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: block; letter-spacing: inherit; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 5px; vertical-align: top;">by <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/reviews/user/id/2545705/janetw" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;" title="See more reviews by this user">JanetW</a></span></div></div><div class="action-icon action-share-container" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-right-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-right-style: solid; border-top-color: rgb(221, 221, 221); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 1px 1px 0px; bottom: 0px; box-sizing: content-box; display: inline-block; float: right; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; overflow: hidden; position: absolute; right: 0px; text-align: center; transition: width 400ms ease 0s; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;"><a class="action-icon icon-share" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border: none; box-sizing: content-box; color: inherit; display: inline-block; height: 42px; letter-spacing: inherit; line-height: 42px; outline: none; overflow: hidden; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 54px;" title="Share"></a></div></div><div class="review-content" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; justify-content: space-between; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: 10px 0px 18px; overflow: hidden;"><div class="review-content-styled" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;"><h2 style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Baskerville, serif; font-size: 24px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 500; letter-spacing: 0.03em; line-height: 32px; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding-bottom: 4px;">“<span class="display_review_title" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">A compelling read</span>”</h2><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">Once I started on this book I could hardly put it down. It is set in Orkney in 1</div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">900 but it could be any farming, fishing community in those days. </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">I could relate immediately to the characters. Within a few pages </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">they felt like family and I kept reading wanting to know more. </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">The plot moves along at a cracking pace with humour and tragedy never </div><div class="display_review_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit;">far apart. I would heartily recommend this novel.</div></div></div><div class="comment-bottom" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-top: 10px; position: relative; vertical-align: top; width: 713.325px;"><div class="display_review_date" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px; padding-right: 50px;">2nd February 2018</div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a class="js-open-modal" data-modal-id="loginModal" href="https://www.waterstones.com/books/reviews/isbn/9781848768062/replies/17736#review-17736" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;">Comment (0)</a></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a class="js-open-modal" data-modal-id="reportReviewModal" data-review="17736" data-type="review" href="https://www.waterstones.com/books/reviews/isbn/9781848768062#" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; outline: none;">Report</a></div><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Helpful?</span> <span class="comment-vote-container" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-top: -2px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a class="comment-vote vote-up comment-vote-review" href="https://www.waterstones.com/books/reviewvote/id/17736/positive/1" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background: rgb(194, 194, 194); box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; height: 21px; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: 6px; margin-top: -2px; outline: none; overflow: hidden; text-decoration-line: none; text-indent: -1000px; vertical-align: top; width: 21px;" title="Thumbs up">Upvote</a> <b class="vote-count vote-count-up" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; color: #5c5c5c; letter-spacing: inherit; margin-left: 3px;">7</b></span></div></div></div></div>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-82929860082695786782020-03-08T07:24:00.001-07:002020-03-08T07:24:34.516-07:00Beyond the Pain<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqwJUx0duCpVL-D48UHp6lq-lsNOIuywm31dLNe7CRFq9qw3kQ4SEF1582AgEE9WWeO_vofQKv5gHpiQB1DuEgsN0b23qmmjXIk0n6XMLM8e-c-fEWCUt4hu2xMIZeJDEMbAX97CC2x0/s1600/locket+and+five+taka+new1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqwJUx0duCpVL-D48UHp6lq-lsNOIuywm31dLNe7CRFq9qw3kQ4SEF1582AgEE9WWeO_vofQKv5gHpiQB1DuEgsN0b23qmmjXIk0n6XMLM8e-c-fEWCUt4hu2xMIZeJDEMbAX97CC2x0/s320/locket+and+five+taka+new1.jpg" width="207" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Abdul Mkith's early years are told in the harrowing true story<b> A Locket and a Five Taka Note</b>. </div>
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It begins with his early life in Bangladesh, and how, after relentless persecution, his family sent him to the UK to a place of safety -- or so they thought. There then follows a catalogue of abuse and unbelievable cruelty, highlighting what is going on under our very noses. It's not just to children brought from foreign lands. Abdul meets with a young English girl in what he describes as the Hell House. He also sees many more white teenagers going and coming. </div>
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Once he became a teenager, he was forced into delivering drugs. The one time he rebelled, his finger was cut off with a bolt cutter.</div>
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This is not a doom and gloom story, however. Abdul was one of the lucky ones who was rescued during a drugs raid. Eventually he was fostered by a loving family, and the book ends on a positive note. </div>
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The picture above is of Abdul just before he was sent to England.<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Locket-Five-Taka-Note-story-ebook/dp/B071RKSXZS">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Locket-Five-Taka-Note-story-ebook/dp/B071RKSXZS</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK5vT0NVYDGr4PqxPadeDzpZIMswRj_tv9iOvtBl81tSOqF-UNyiHvZAD0rjO4LyLEqlqllghjtaXc5XrfzpEAMe_65BnvpIfL6fIKn0__c_9ei0_O2Mk70VbypjBvTYQuArgsleXc74/s1600/abdul+front+cover2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1051" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUK5vT0NVYDGr4PqxPadeDzpZIMswRj_tv9iOvtBl81tSOqF-UNyiHvZAD0rjO4LyLEqlqllghjtaXc5XrfzpEAMe_65BnvpIfL6fIKn0__c_9ei0_O2Mk70VbypjBvTYQuArgsleXc74/s320/abdul+front+cover2.jpg" width="210" /></a><br />
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Of course childhood abuse does not leave anyone undamaged. Abdul's fight is far from over. Now, having spent so much time with a Scottish family, he feels part of the community, but half of him is still at home in Bangladesh. Subsequently his struggle is not just with the effects of his abusive past, but also with his identity, with racial abuse, as a child coming out of care, with his lack of education and finding his place in the world.</div>
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Through his self-made coping mechanisms, Abdul hopes to help others struggling with any of the above issues. <b>Beyond the Pain</b> is the story of how Abdul rises above adversity, where he is in the world today and how he copes with coming face to face with the man who initially tore his family apart.</div>
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This book should not just be read by his fans and those struggling with above issues, but by all professionals trusted with child care.</div>
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The above picture is Abdul, how he looks today.<br />
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<b>Beyond the Pain</b> will be available in shops and on Amazon from the 4th of April. </div>
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Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-91304829374399890382020-03-06T01:44:00.000-08:002020-03-06T01:45:37.707-08:00How to format in word for kindle<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsSNjFXA64vjJF1_okfh9UvSC_C4Q08OUpKR6iDfoBSuQAbCdY0MmwoET__HiN-ve6w41BNSP6mzZeV4ZxbBSDsRY76T4SiYKcu4NV4jAHbJ_bGov5bJfm_X4uIc_8IRAzqXeuo-RN9I/s1600/backward+P.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsSNjFXA64vjJF1_okfh9UvSC_C4Q08OUpKR6iDfoBSuQAbCdY0MmwoET__HiN-ve6w41BNSP6mzZeV4ZxbBSDsRY76T4SiYKcu4NV4jAHbJ_bGov5bJfm_X4uIc_8IRAzqXeuo-RN9I/s1600/backward+P.JPG" title="Backward P" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96wIJLrMzabEqPFKIDjxvDJl7wF5nyXJcuHkfonMd-1ZE-x5lrpk45tmj1fnyZ__6ZLJC78sJAx2tCkSFxfllzCClw_AQN1aXiQ5OmrIcUkxvcjZ0XARLnY_i8LgVRzQYJV_ywQgtZuE/s1600/line+spacing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="388" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96wIJLrMzabEqPFKIDjxvDJl7wF5nyXJcuHkfonMd-1ZE-x5lrpk45tmj1fnyZ__6ZLJC78sJAx2tCkSFxfllzCClw_AQN1aXiQ5OmrIcUkxvcjZ0XARLnY_i8LgVRzQYJV_ywQgtZuE/s320/line+spacing.jpg" width="234" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
How to format for kindle in Word.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Select all. The entire document should now be
highlighted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Click on backward P (see snip)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter">
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0">
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1">
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2">
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth">
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight">
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1">
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2">
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth">
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0">
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight">
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0">
</v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:formulas>
<v:path gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect" o:extrusionok="f">
<o:lock aspectratio="t" v:ext="edit">
</o:lock></v:path></v:stroke></v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_i1027" style="height: 36.75pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 1in;" type="#_x0000_t75">
<v:imagedata o:title="" src="file:///C:\Users\CATHER~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg">
</v:imagedata></v:shape></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Click on ‘Remove formatting. (see snip)<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-no-proof: yes;"><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_2" o:spid="_x0000_i1026" style="height: 22.5pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 30.75pt;" type="#_x0000_t75"><v:imagedata o:title="" src="file:///C:\Users\CATHER~1\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image002.jpg"></v:imagedata></v:shape></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaHIlAWkh1-dtkki5288Qq1Q93ff8BBBWs3l-Do7y2UBdVVltFs95xaEJQsjpx6gHEWmR9dPlXOLwQGIBiAiGYCPF6bPmWPAJk8d-RhlgI6Um7LzyFyF0acXRJ2nTMUTr8Juh-CDywZE/s1600/clear+formatting.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="30" data-original-width="41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaHIlAWkh1-dtkki5288Qq1Q93ff8BBBWs3l-Do7y2UBdVVltFs95xaEJQsjpx6gHEWmR9dPlXOLwQGIBiAiGYCPF6bPmWPAJk8d-RhlgI6Um7LzyFyF0acXRJ2nTMUTr8Juh-CDywZE/s1600/clear+formatting.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remove formatting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Line spacing options and do these settings (see snip)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: -18pt;">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Click OK.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Highlight every heading or chapter. You can then
change the colour and/or position. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Hit return for the number of spaces you want to
leave between chapter heading and text.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Hit return button once for new paragraph<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->At the end of each chapter hit control +
return<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u>only once.</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;"><b>
</b></span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b>To list your chapters</b>, set curser at beginning
of book. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Click on references<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Click on ‘table of contents’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Chose table. I choose number one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 40.7pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Your table will then appear automatically.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
There may be other ways, but this is what I do successfully.<br />
<br />
Oh, and remove any page numbers.Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-25749366669694319852018-10-01T09:49:00.000-07:002018-10-01T09:49:14.223-07:00Chapter Six<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Chapter
Six<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
day had begun like any other. At the bus stop she removed her boots and thick
stockings. Bare legs and well-worn shoes were marginally better than roughly-knitted
socks, a present from an aunt she never met, and well-worn shoes. They would
still draw cheers and sniggers of course. She shrunk against the wall of the
shelter as the other children filed in. Girls grouped together and laughed.
Largely they ignored her, sometimes they looked her way and tittered. She
turned her eyes to the sky and pretended she didn't care, that she didn't want
someone to speak to her, show her some act of kindness, that she didn't
desperately want to be part of the crowd. She hated being the odd girl with jug
ears who sang to herself and wore hand-me-down clothes. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Miss Thomson, the music
teacher, asked for anyone who wanted to sing in the upcoming festival to come
to her room after school for an audition. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Singing was the one thing Beth
loved, the one thing which lifted her from her life and made her heart soar.
Her father would not be home until seven o'clock anyway, so there was nothing
to stop her from staying behind. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I'm so glad you came along,
Elizabeth,' said Miss Thomson when she saw her. 'I've heard you sing in class.
This audition will be a walk in the park for you.' Miss Thomson was nice; she
was young and slim and smelt of flowers. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Afterwards, as Beth left the building,
a boy who had also been auditioning, a boy she knew as Magnus, ran up behind
her. 'Wait a minute,' he shouted. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Unused to talking to boys, her
face reddened. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You're a really good singer,'
he said.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And time stood still. She
smiled. Knowing she was.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'The best there today,' he
continued.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Not better than you.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Different. Why don't you come
and sing with our group? We're meeting up at the hall on Friday night.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I'd love to,' she said. At the
same time panicking because she had nothing to wear. But knowing she had to do
this.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On Friday night, she washed and
ironed her hair and dressed in her jeans and a blouse which she thought looked
half-way decent. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I've made scrambled eggs,' she
said when her father returned from the fields. 'You can heat them up. I'm going
out.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He raised his eyes and looked
at her as if he'd never seen her before. 'Going out where?' he asked, an edge
in his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I've been asked to sing with a
group.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Boys?'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Yeees, I suppose.' She fisted
her hair and pressed her knees together to stop the tremble. She wanted this
more than she wanted anything, except, perhaps, her mother to return.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Robbie's face grew red. 'No,'
he shouted, banging his fist on the table, making her jump. He had never raised
his voice to her before, ever.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'But why?' Her scalp prickled.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I know what boys are like.
You're too young.' <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She felt her anger bubble up.
She never asked for anything from him. 'I'm only going to sing. Please, I want
to.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He levelled his finger at her.
'Whores and comic singers. You start going out, drinking, getting up to who
knows what, next you'll be leaving, just like your mother.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It was the first time in her
memory he'd mentioned her mother without prompting. Suddenly singing with the
group was far from her mind. 'Why did she leave, Dad?' Beth pulled in her
chair. Talk to me, she pleaded silently. Please tell me what happened. She
would have stayed here with him, forgotten the band, if only he opened up and
told her what she wanted to know.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You will not sing with a band
and you will not leave this house tonight.' He rose quickly, the chair falling
to the ground behind him and clattering on the floor. With a final glare at her
he stormed over to the cooker and lifted the lid from the pan. With his voice
suddenly calm again, he said, 'Eggs look good.' <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Please, Dad, I want to know
about my mam.' <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He turned. 'Your mother's dead to
us. I never want to hear her name mentioned in this house again, understand?'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'But I need to know...'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She was rewarded by the turn of
his back.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Damn him, she thought, years of
frustration welling up inside her, threatening to explode. 'I'm going to my room,'
she shouted. 'And I don't want to speak to you ever again.' She ran upstairs
and slammed the door. Pans and plates rattled downstairs as he heated up the eggs,
his anger making his movements fast and clumsy.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Are you coming down for your
dinner?' he called after a while.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'No,' she screamed, kicking the
door.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She eased her window open and
looked at the ground one storey below. She had to go tonight. If she didn't
they might not ask again. She wondered if the tree outside her window would be
strong enough to bear her weight and decided it wasn't.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Have you fed the hens?' Robbie
was shouting again.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Wordlessly she marched down the
stairs, went to the back porch and got the feed bucket. The chickens had been
fed, but she wouldn't tell him. Slamming doors and stamping her feet, she went
outside and round the back of the house. From the barn she dragged out several
packing cases, which were used to shelter new lambs in the spring, and built
one on top of the other, testing them for safety as she went along. If she
climbed out of her window and lowered herself as far as she could, her feet
should touch the top box.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She went back indoors. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Are you going to eat
something?' said her father.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'No,' she screamed at him.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Then the dog'll get it.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Fine by me.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She slammed her bedroom door
and turned her transistor up as loud as it would go. Once more she opened the
window and this time climbed out, carefully lowering herself onto the boxes,
jumping from one to the other before the top one wobbled and fell. She hit the
ground and stood still, listening for her father's roar as he came round the
corner. It never happened. She wasn't afraid he would hit her, he never had,
but then she had never defied him before.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Backstage
she froze. Sorry,' she said. 'I shouldn't have come. I can't go out there.' She
closed and opened her fists. What had she been thinking? She was dressed like a
tramp and looked like a monkey, she would make a fool of herself and everyone
would laugh at her. She felt physically sick.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Magnus opened a large coke
bottle and handed it to her. 'Have a drink, it'll calm you.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Coke?' She screwed up her
face.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The others laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'With a wee bit o' Dutch
courage added,' Magnus thrust it at her.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She put the bottle to her lips
and drank. It burned all the way down, and it seemed there was very little coke
in it. She drank again, forcing the liquid past her throat that tried to close
in protest.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Hey, leave some for the rest
of us.' Magnus took the bottle from her. 'That's my dad's best vodka in there.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Unaccustomed to strong liquor,
Beth had already stopped shaking. By the time they were due to go on stage she
was stepping on air, the room spun and she could have sung for the queen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That was the beginning. Once
she started to sing she forgot her father's wrath, forgot her big ears, forgot
everything except that it was her turn to shine. By the time her song ended,
tears were streaming down her face.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">There were many such nights
afterwards, and as her love of singing grew, so did her father’s anger, until
the cold atmosphere dwelling within the house, became hostile and restrictive.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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</span></i>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-53989684413188853172018-09-22T03:37:00.000-07:002018-09-22T03:37:08.166-07:00Chapter Five<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Chapter Five<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Once back home, Beth dumped the shopping bags
on the draining board and lit the stove. By now the water should be hot enough
for a bath. She prepared herself a meal of ready-cooked chicken and salad and
put some frozen chips in the oven to cook. While she waited, she wandered
through to her father's bedroom and stripped off his bedding. After making up
the bed, she sat in front of the dressing-table for a few minutes rest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Lifting her head, she caught her reflection in the mirror and imagined
her child-face staring back at her. She had loved sitting here surrounded by
her mother's things. Her perfume, her lipstick and rouge, her soft-smelling
face powder in the box with the pretty lid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Mother of pearl,' Veronica told her, allowing the child to run her
fingers over it. 'It'll be yours one day.' And she picked up her hairbrush.
'Let's brush each other's hair.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The pleasant memory faded. Beth rubbed her eyes and rose to her feet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Downstairs, she ate her meal, took a bath and
dressed in her nightclothes. A glass of wine and the heat from the stove made
her drowsy, the wind outside brought back fluttering wings of memory. In an
effort to keep them at bay, she rubbed her hands together, lifted her guitar
and began to strum. Her fingers were no longer as supple as they needed to be
for professional playing. Andy was right to persuade her to buy the club. She
began to sing, something she only did when she was alone. She chose a song she wrote
years ago, the song which took her into the charts. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I wish I could go back to what
I used to be<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>A simple little girl, so
innocent and free<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Somewhere along life's path,
much has been lost and little gained<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Somewhere along life's path, it
has rained. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Frustrated by a voice that could no longer
hit the high notes, she set her guitar aside, wiped her cheeks and poured
another drink, emptying the bottle. Why did she keep trying to sing? Did she
really think one day a miracle would happen? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Back in her other existence, singing was her world, filling up the
empty places. And it wasn't just the songs; she revelled in the adoration of
her fans and the applause that electrified her. She loved the life, the money,
the parties, aah, the parties. And Lewis. Rat that he turned out to be. He
swept her off her feet with his promises, his suave good looks, his flashy
cars, his elaborate lifestyle, his guarantees of fame and fortune. He made her
over and turned her into a star and she forgot her promise to Andy and Desmond
to find them a job in the industry once she had her foot on the ladder. When
she overtook Leo Sayer in the charts, it filled her with a false sense of her
own importance. And then, one morning it hurt to swallow. The doctor warned her
of the dangers of straining her vocal cords. He told her to cancel her next
concert, her next tour, to stop smoking, and she ignored him, forcing the songs
from her heart even when the very notes which gave her life caused shooting
pains from ear to ear. Eventually she was diagnosed with polyps on her vocal
chords. They coarsened her voice making it less than perfect. Encouraged by
pressure from Lewis, she agreed to have the offending growths removed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Hammond had a friend, a surgeon who, he said, once owned a practice in
Harley Street, and she trusted his choice. But the knife did more harm than
good. The damage was irreversible. She soon realised it had all been smoke and
mirrors, none of it was real. She was a voice, not a person at all. As her fickle
fans found another idol, Hammond dropped her for a new protégé, and Beth the
pop star disappeared. When she caught him in bed with his latest conquest and
he laughed at her hurt, she took solace in alcohol and drugs that filled the
void as her dream faded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
One night, alone and drunk, nursing the feeling she had nothing left to
live for, she called Andy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'It's Beth,' she slurred, when he answered. There was a long silence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I understand you won't want to talk to me.' She hung up and started to
cry in earnest. She lost everything, everyone. For a long time she stared at
the bottle of sleeping tablets on her bedside cabinet. Then her thoughts turned
to Berriedale and her father. If he'd only installed a telephone. But she could
call the local hotel, they would get a message to him. She reached out her hand
and as she did so, the telephone rang. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Hello.' She pressed the receiver to her ear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Beth, where are you?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Andy... Andy I'm so sorry... you were right... I shouldn't have
gone...' Her voice failed her and she dissolved into a new fit of weeping. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Tell me where you are and I'll come and get you,' he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Gratitude overwhelmed her. Gratitude which still bound her to him after
all this time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The first night he took her home to his one-bedroom flat in Haymarket, he
treated her as if she was made of glass. He gave her his bed and made up the
sofa for himself. At the time he was working as a manager for a hardware store
and singing in a dingy bar room at the weekends. He had had a lady friend, he
told her, but that had recently ended.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll soon have you back to normal. Lots of
sleep and good food. I eat most nights at the café on the corner. Mario makes
the best pasta dishes outside Italy! Your voice’ll soon come back, you’ll see.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘It won’t,’ she said. But he ignored her, and gradually lost patience
with her despondency.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A few weeks later, when he came home to find her still in her dressing
gown, he heaved open the curtains and uttered a snort of disgust. ‘It’s about
time you got yourself out of this state,’ he said. ‘I can’t go on keeping you
for nothing. I promised the lads you’d come with us on Saturday night. And no
more of this.’ He snatched the cigarette out of her hand and threw it into the
bin. ‘They don’t do your voice any
good.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘I told you, I can’t sing.’ Wounded by his harsh words, she rose and
pushed her fingers through her tangle of hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Won’t sing, you mean. It’s all in the mind, Beth.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘If that’s the only reason you took me back, I wish I’d stayed away.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘I’m beginning to wish that too.’ He stormed out of the flat slamming
the door, and she didn’t see him for several days. When he did come back he was
sheepish. ‘Look Beth, I told one of my friends about you. She thinks you should
talk to someone, a professional.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘You spoke about me to a stranger?’ She couldn’t believe this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He ran his hand over his head. ‘There’s the drinking too. And the
nightmares.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘What drinking? I’ve never touched a drop since I’ve been here. And
I’ve always had nightmares when I’m stressed, and you telling me I can sing if
I try is stressing me no end.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Come off it. It’s only a matter of time before you fall off the wagon
and you haven’t had a decent fucking night’s sleep since you came back. And
neither have I. Look, I’ve managed to get an appointment with a therapist. Not
cheap, but it’ll be worth it to see you back to what you were.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘For God’s sake, will you listen. My vocal chords are damaged. My voice
is weak. It’s not going to happen.’ She stormed into the bedroom, pulled her
holdall from under the bed and started throwing her clothes into it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘What are you doing?’ shouted Andy, grabbing her arm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘You’re like all the rest. You just want me to make money for you.
Well, get this through your thick skull, the golden goose is laying no more
eggs!’ She jerked away from him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His voice lowered. ‘Aw, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. Where are
you going to go? Look, I won’t pressure you anymore, honest. Just see this
doctor, what harm can it do?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She suddenly felt the strength drain from her legs and she sank down
onto the bed. It was true she had nowhere to go, and she did need help. Her
life had become a mess. ‘And you’ll stop going on about me singing?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His hand made a crossing motion on his chest, but his eyes remained
unconvinced.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Doctor Madelaine, as she called herself, did
help her. She even helped to convince Andy that Beth’s loss of voice was
physical. But, as the layers of her past began to peel away, the nightmares
became worse. It was then he decided the therapy was a waste of money.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She had been happy enough to leave, although it was against the advice
of Doctor Madelaine. There was a door in her mind that she was scared to open,
and without Andy’s support, she could not go there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Finally accepting that her voice loss was permanent, Andy came up with
the idea of the club and she welcomed it. It gave her the opportunity to
surround herself with the life she was no longer part of.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She continued to write songs for a while, but unable to find a market
for her stuff, she turned to poetry, deep meaningful lines into which she
poured her heart and soul. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Lost in the past, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be
comforted by the settling of the fire, the whistle of the wind outside and the
faded music in her head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i>Suddenly
the eagle sat before her, his great wings folded against his sides, his eyes
yellow. He did not speak, at least in the way Beth knew, with voices that
splintered the air. His voice was the voice of the wind, the voice of the river
running through the glen fast and furious with the swell of spring and melting
snow. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>'I am your friend,' he said.
But she knew he lied. She knew he had come to seek revenge. He moved closer and
the face filled her vision, the scent of the mountains filled her nostrils, and
she heard the beat of his heart matching her own. The hooked beak brushed her
shoulder. She closed her eyes waiting for the slash to her throat. It never
came. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>And then he had gone. She
watched him spread his wings and rise into the sky, higher and higher, and the
terror filling her heart slipped away. The wind was cold on her cheeks and she
shivered, the loneliness of her early life closing in on her. 'Mammy,' she
cried.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
She woke with a start. The curtains, flapping
like the wings of a bird, reached towards her. The rising wind filled the room.
The window was swinging open. She rose and pressed it closed against the
determined gale. Immediately behind her something crashed. She spun around,
eyes flying first to the floor where a ceramic lady that had once belonged to
her father's grandmother, lay shattered on the lino. Then her eyes swept up to
the sideboard. A large, grey cat stood there its back arched, its ears
flattened, its slitted eyes hard and yellow. Her body went soft as relief
soaked through her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Puss,' she cried, holding out her hand. The cat lifted its round head,
lowered its back, yet still eyed her suspiciously. Finally, as if deciding she
could be trusted, it purred and meowed. She walked forward and he butted the
offered hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Sorry, puss,' she said. 'I've no cat food. But I think I've some
chicken left over.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The cat fell on the chicken as if it hadn't eaten for days. When she
finally lowered herself onto the settee there was a sense of comfort at the
warm body pressing itself against her leg, paws kneading her thigh, a contented
rumble in the animal's throat. They had always owned cats when she was a child,
and dogs. She had wanted a pet, but Andy was allergic to cats, and, living in a
flat with busy working lives, it would have been unfair on a dog.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The window swung open again. The curtains streamed towards her. The cat
arched its back and growled. Beth rose quickly, checked the latch, closed the
window and checked the latch again. It seemed secure enough. A chill ran the
length of her spine. She thought of James. She would go and see him tomorrow,
see if he knew any joiners in the area; if she got locks fitted, that would do
it, she thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As if compelled, she reached for her pad and pencil and started a new
poem. 'To an Eagle.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>In dreams,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Gliding, poised,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Muscles straining,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Feathers unruffled against the
wind,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Head angled.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Below, where grass shivers, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Scurrying innocence<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Is marked for extinction. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Caught in the evil of your eye.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
She reread it, drew a single line through it
and started again. Once she was as happy with her words as she could be, she
felt calm enough to search for sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She woke early after a restless night and padded into the kitchen,
checking the windows as she went. All were secure. Taking her coffee cup with
her, she walked out into the early morning. The sun was soft, bright and low. The
river dashed in ropes of white and pewter through the glen, between trees
splendid in their autumnal colours. In the months of spring these hills would
become a riot of yellow where the broom spread over the mountain. On a morning
like this, it was hard to imagine the lashing storms of winter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'll be away this afternoon,' she told the cat. ‘But I'll be back in
time for tea.' She bent down and scratched behind one battle-scarred ear and
tried not to think of windows that opened of their own accord in the night. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
She found James standing at his front door
looking down the glen. He was unshaven, slightly heavy eyes, and wore a cable
jumper the colour of sheep’s wool. In the glen, the haar, a soft white blanket of
mist that had crept landward during the hours of darkness, had not yet fully cleared.
He glanced up as she approached. 'I never tire of the scenery round here,' he
said. 'Every season a different picture. Come in, come in.' He led her into a
large, littered kitchen with an iron range against the far wall, the furniture
stately and old, reminiscent of another era. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James cleared away a pile of books from a chair. 'Sit down. Coffee? I
was just going to make my first cup of the day.' Lifting a<span lang="FR-BE"> cafetière</span> from the draining board, he rinsed it under
the tap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Yes please,' she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'So what brings you here? Not that you're not welcome at any time.' He
was looking at her over his shoulder as he spoke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I need to buy a car. Something reasonable. I wondered if you knew of
anything?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He set the <span lang="FR-BE">cafetière</span>
down and crossed to his laptop on the table. There was a ping of Microsoft Windows
loading. 'I'll have a look on Caithness.org. We might pick up something. Here,'
he turned the screen to face her. 'Browse that lot while I get the coffee.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She chose a couple of private sales that sounded promising. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'll take you there this afternoon. Milk and sugar?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Just milk. No need to take me. I can bus it,' she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I insist.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'And the catch on the living room window needs fixing. I wondered ...'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I can look at that for you too.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I didn't mean... I wondered if you knew a handyman.' She shrugged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Right here.' He pointed to his chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'That's good of you. I'll pay of course.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Not at all. Just have dinner with me, okay?' He lifted his eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Sure. I'll even make it. I'm a fair cook if I need to be.' Why did she
say that? With her cooking skills, he'd be lucky to get beans on toast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'll look forward to it.' James' smile was wide and lit up his face. A
smile she could trust. And she realised she was smiling too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She turned her coffee cup around, serious now. 'James,' she began, 'when
we were children, what do you remember about my family?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Not a lot. I remember you in school, that's about it.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'There are things I need to know, things no one told me.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'What things?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I don't remember much before my mother left. But there were photos in
the house, photos I'd never seen before. A boy I don't know. I think I may have
had a brother, maybe he died when I was young, but I've no memory of him.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James shrugged. 'I don't remember you having a brother. We could ask my
mother about your family. She lives in Lybster. We'll drop in when I take you
to see the cars. Mind you, she's a bit forgetful now, tends to ramble on
sometimes.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth finished her coffee, rose and walked to the window. A roe deer
stood in the garden outside and, without fear, he continued chewing and studied
the face behind the glass. 'Bambi,' she said beneath her breath. She had
forgotten the deer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James came up behind her. 'He comes most days. I sometimes get red deer,
and rabbits, lots of rabbits and hares. They seem almost tame, as if they know
I wouldn't hurt them.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For a long moment they stood like that, in silence, until, as if
alerted by an invisible predator, the deer started and sprung away, leaving the
garden empty. Beth's eyes flicked to her father's cottage nestled in the folds
of the opposite hill.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'd love to meet your mother,' she said, turning back towards the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Nettie Anderson lived in a small bungalow,
just off the main street in Lybster village. She was a round, warm woman who
gave Beth a welcome that made her wish she could stay there forever. Shuffling
rather than walking, she led them into a bright chintzy living room and served
them tea poured from a china teapot into china cups with saucers. She brought
out a matching plate of shortbread and chocolate biscuits. 'If James had told
me sooner that you were coming, I'd have done a baking,' she said, eyeing Beth
and frowning. 'You're awful pale and thin. Eat up now.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Mother, don't get personal,' said James.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth's slimness was a source of pride to her when so many women her age
found it difficult to shift the extra pounds. 'It's fine,' she said to James,
then looked at Nettie. 'This is lovely, thank you.' She couldn't remember when
she'd last drunk tea from a china cup and she thought it tasted better somehow.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'James said you wanted to ask me some things. You'll have to speak
clear though. Folk nowadays either shout or mumble.' She adjusted her hearing
aid and it made a screeching noise. She grimaced and pulled it out. 'Just talk
clear, I'm no deaf.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth caught James' eye and he smiled indulgently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She leaned forward and cleared her throat. 'Do you remember my family?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I mind Robbie MacLean. Quiet lad. He was called up when the war
started. I mind seeing him in his uniform before he left. I was just a bairn at
the time, no more than nine or ten. What a bonnie looking young man he was. His
hair was red, like yours. All gone now I expect.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'And later, after the war, do you remember my mother?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'He didn't come back here after the war. They settled somewhere else
for a while. They came back'... She stared at the far wall, 'about '53 or '54.
Ach, My memory's no what it was.' She smiled, her eyes distant, lost in the
past. 'I was aye good at figures. Top o' my class at school. But we never had
the chances then they have nowadays. Could have gone further, you ken. Gone to
university, my teacher said. But I had to leave school, gut the herring for
very little pay. There were twelve of us. I was the youngest, the only one
alive now. It was a hard life back then, but good, can't say it wasn't good.'
She stopped, a smile tugged her lips. 'I married well.' She looked at James.
'He came here as a young man. All the lassies were after the new doctor, I
swear, there was more illness all of a sudden than there ever was before! You
look so like him, son. Many a time...'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'What about Beth's mother?' said James, bringing her back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Oh, aye, well, like I was saying, she was a right bonny lassie, your
mam. You've a good look of her, except for your hair. I saw her in the shop
sometimes. She kept you lovely, like a wee doll with your golden curls. Never
saw you again once she left. Gladys Mitchell, that was your schoolteacher, she
tried to take an interest, spoke to your dad, but he told her to mind her own
business. They said he went clean to pieces after your ma left, let himself go
right downhill. There was many that would have helped him, especially with the
bairn, but he didn't want it. But he doted on you, though, I'm sure he did.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth never felt doted on. She wet her lips. 'Do you ever remember a boy
living in my house?' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Nettie shook her head. 'When your mam and dad moved here they only had
the one bairn. That would be you.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'So I was born somewhere else?' She stopped for a moment while she
digested this. 'Have you any idea where we lived before?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I don't know, love. I'm sorry I can't help you more, but I hardly knew
your family. Your granddad died and your dad came back to run the croft, I
heard. We lived in Dunbeath by then. Your mam was from the city and I heard
them say that she'd never really settled in the country.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Who would know? Is there anyone who was a friend or neighbour?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'They were a quiet couple, kept themselves to themselves. No one knew
much about them. Didn't want anyone to know.' She lifted her hand. 'Wait, she
sang in a band. A Scottish dance band, just for a couple of months before she
left. They said she left with the drummer. Oh, I'm sorry...' She put her hand
over her mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No, no, go on. She... she sang? Are any members of the band still
around?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Nettie shook her head and gave a little laugh. 'Och no, for they were
all a good bit older than her. The drummer, he was a younger man, came from the
south. Never heard her myself, but they say she was very good.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'What about the teacher, Gladys Mitchell?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Ach, sorry, lass, Gladys passed on last summer.' She set her hand on
Beth's. 'I wish I could help you more. But come back and see me, I'll bake next
time.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Aye, I'll do that,' said Beth, her face relaxing into a smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Thanks, Mother,' said James. 'But we'll have to go. We're going to
John O' Groats to look at a couple of cars. Don't get up, we'll see ourselves
out.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I hope your dad gets better.' Nettie looked up at Beth. 'And do come
back.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth thanked the old woman again as they headed for the door, her mind
already racing. All her life she ignored the need to find out about her past,
never had the time anyway, why should she let it bother her now? Andy's voice
came back to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>'You don't need your family.
What have they ever done for you? I'm here now, I love you and I'll never leave
you.' <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Maybe he was right. She managed to deny any curiosity she might have
had for most of her life, even gave up on therapy when the questions hit a
nerve, and threatened to remove the ability to banish all thoughts from her
mind. Some places were too painful to visit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Andy never gave up on her, did he? Even after she fell hopelessly,
madly in love with Lewis Hammond, so much so she would have done anything he
asked of her and almost did. She believed he felt the same way about her until she
caught him in bed with another up and coming starlet. That was the night she tottered
on stage the worse of alcohol. Her voice was not only weak and hoarse from the
operation, but slurred, the audience weaving before her eyes. She shuddered at
the memory. There was no clapping that night, only jeers and boos. She had gone
to her dressing room and trashed it.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'You okay?' James brought her back to the present. 'You were miles
away.' He opened the passenger door for her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Yes, I'm fine. Someone walked over my grave.' She forced a little
laugh, and wiped an unexpected tear from her eye. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
John O'Groats had changed since she'd last
been here. Chalets filled the field behind a shopping precinct, which appeared
to have sprung up, flourished and died during her absence. The hotel where her
father had once taken her for high tea was under renovation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Everything changes,' she said, as she stood on the shore looking over
the firth towards the islands to the north, shivering under the onslaught of a
northerly breeze. 'Come on,' she said, 'I'll treat you to a coffee, then we'll
go buy a car.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The car she chose, a small Punto, was in good condition and within her
price range. She shook the seller's hand and wrote out a cheque, surprised that
he let her take the Punto then and there, not waiting for the cheque to clear
as would have happened in the city. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I need to get some shopping on the way home,' she told James. 'I'll
see you at seven for dinner.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He saluted. 'I'll look forward to it.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She stopped by the supermarket on the outskirts of Wick and picked up
place mats, napkins, a set of plain wine glasses and a meal for two, easy to cook.
With extra vegetables and another bottle of wine, who would tell the
difference, she reasoned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
By the time she reached home, the sun was
beginning its downward arc towards the west. Rays hit the windscreens of cars,
a chain of sparkling diamonds tumbling down the opposite hillside. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Indoors she shivered. The old stone walls seemed to retain the cold in
spite of the mild day. The feeling that the hand of fate was winding her in,
bringing her back full circle persisted, and the promise she made to her father
cemented the trap. Her main fear was that after life in the city, Berriedale
would be unbearably lonely and bleak in the winter. Perhaps they could sell
this place, get somewhere nearer town, but given the number of for-sale signs
she had seen on the way north, she doubted if that would be possible any time
soon. Then there was Andy. She knew what his reaction to her decision would be.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Forget your father. He never
cared for you. I'm the one who has always been here. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A finger of guilt stabbed her, yet strangely enough, she felt a sense
of relief to have a valid reason not to stay in Edinburgh. What was the matter
with her? They'd made a good living over the years, and she was good at her
job. The club <i>had</i> been her dream too,
hadn't it? Suddenly she wasn't sure. It had been all too easy to let Andy make
the decisions, to convince her that he knew what was best for her, to somehow
repay him for the wrongs of the past. Yet being here, in this place, the place
she once saw as a prison, she felt a sense of freedom that she had not
experienced in a long time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She pulled the Formica-topped table from the kitchen and set it up in
the living room. Covered by a tablecloth and the place-mats, with a candle in
the middle, it looked pretty good. After following the instructions on the
packaging of the meal for two and putting it in the oven, she had time to tie
her hair up and change her jeans and loose jumper for a slim-line skirt and
pale green blouse. She used the straighteners on her springing hair and with a
trembling hand, she applied some foundation and a slight touch of blusher. She never
went in for heavy make-up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
James arrived promptly at seven carrying a
bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. He was dressed in a tweed jacket, grey
flannels and an open-necked shirt, and her heart gave a slight jump when she
saw him. Smiling a welcome, she led him indoors. She went to the kitchen to get
a bottle of wine and when she returned he was reading the poem she had
inadvertently left on the sideboard. He looked up as she entered. 'This is damn
good,' he said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I have more editing to do,' she reached forward and snatched it from
his hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'You wrote it? Have you any more?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She swallowed. 'Yes. I love poetry. I used to write songs, but they
fell from favour. The first couple of recordings I made were my own. After that
they made me sing stuff I didn't even like because it was 'a popular style'.
Anyway, I find I can say much more with free verse.' She stopped, afraid of
getting carried away by her own enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Is that why you gave up singing?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No!' Her reply was sharp.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A look of concern crossed his face. Then as if he realised he'd hit a
nerve, he changed the subject. 'I read a lot of poets, old and contemporary.
And, believe me, this is good.' He indicated the page now lying beside her
plate. 'Have you ever thought of having them published?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'They're very personal, but,' she lowered her eyes, debating whether to
confide, then, coming to a decision, said, 'I do have them published, but not
under my own name. Now come on, the food's near ready.' Andy merely tolerated
her passion for poetry, seeing it as a harmless pastime. She never told him
about the publishing. He would not have understood. The payments were poor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'What name? Maybe I've heard of you.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She hesitated, then thought, what the hell. 'Clara Spears.' She cleared
her throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No! Really? God, you've only been hailed as the UK's answer to Sylvia
Plath.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth felt the heat climb into her face. ‘I wanted to be published because
of my talent, not because I was well-known. That’s why I originally used an pseudonym.
Now I like it this way. I don't want people to know who I am.' She grinned. <i>'You</i> may feel honoured.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James drew a finger across his lips in a gesture of silence. 'But one
thing I've been wondering...'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She looked at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Why don't you sing any more?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'It's no secret. I had polyps on my vocal chords. I opted for an
operation, which the surgeon botched. It was in all the papers at the time.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I would have been overseas then. But medicine has moved on, maybe
nowadays...'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No! I've learned to live with it.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She lifted her fork and began to eat. No, she would not risk further
operations, further disappointments. 'Which poets do you read?' She changed the
direction of the conversation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He smiled, leaned towards her and said, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i>'Tis time the heart should be unmoved,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> Since others it hath
ceased to move:<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> Yet, though I cannot be
beloved,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> Still let me love!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She laughed and replied,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> 'My days are in the yellow
leaf;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> The flowers and fruits of
love are gone;<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> The worm, the canker, and
the grief<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i> Are mine alone!'<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'You like Byron?'<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span>he asked.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Very much. Contemporary poems are fine, but they can't compare.
Actually, my favourite will always be Robert Burns. Mind you, I hardly
understand a lot of the words in the old Scots now. It's a pity our language is
dying.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Throughout the meal, they discussed poetry and the poets they liked,
finding that their tastes in literature were remarkably similar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Setting his fork and knife to one side, James
complimented her on the meal. She smiled, neither confirming nor denying the
fact that she had not cooked it herself. 'It's only a steak pie,' she murmured,
lowering her gaze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
A brief memory crossed her mind. A memory of a time when a neighbour
brought herself and her father a casserole dish of stewed beef and it had been
so good that she'd eaten most of it herself. Knowing that the neighbour would
ask Robbie later how he enjoyed the stew, Beth opened a tin of dog food and
mixed it in with the remaining gravy. She watched, as he tasted it, watched his
face screw up slightly, watched him nod, watched him finish the plateful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Maybe not her best effort,' he said, pushing the empty dish aside. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Beth was still grinning at the memory as she
returned from taking the plates to the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'm sorry my mother wasn't much help.' James refilled her glass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'At least I found out I wasn't born around here.' She sipped her wine
slowly. The first glass had made her mellow and she suddenly wished she had the
means to play some background music.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Did your parents never speak about themselves?' James said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She shook her head. 'I asked my father once how they met.' She paused,
remembering the flush of pleasure to have his attention. 'He'd had a good day
at the lamb sales and a few drams before he came home, just enough to relax
him.' She laughed at the memory. 'He came in, tripped over the dog, and ended
up in the corner. He was all hunched up, looking at me, all guilty, as if he
was a little boy and I was the mother.' She giggled. 'It was funny and we both
ended up laughing. He didn't drink much.' Her voice trailed away and she became
solemn. 'Now and again, when he was in the mood, I managed to get some information
from him, but talking about my mother always seemed painful, even after all
that time.' She fingered the stem of her glass and stared at the wall, as if
she could see her life being played out there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'They met in Bradford. They were both in the forces. He was demobbed,
shrapnel in the hip. He walked with a limp after that. He never spoke about the
war, but he had times when he would go into a mood for days.' Beth stopped and
stared into the remains of the wine in her glass. 'I never wanted children. Was
afraid. Afraid I wouldn't be able to cope and leave like my mother, or maybe...
become disinterested like my father.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'And you never married?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She shook her head. 'Andy wanted to marry me and I even thought I loved
him once, well, as much as I could love anyone, I guess. Maybe it was just
gratitude. He took charge of the club, so I didn’t have to worry, he said. What
about you?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Been married twice. Didn't work out either time.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Children?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Two by my second wife. Boy and a girl. She took them away. They're
grown up now. They keep in touch, but we're not close.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I'm sorry.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'She met a guy from the States when the U.S. naval base was in Forss,
up Thurso end, early warning systems in case someone in the Soviet Union got
itchy fingers. I was doing my first stint in Africa. When the Russian threat
was removed and the Americans went home, she left with him. Took the kids. I
couldn't really blame her, me leaving her alone for so long, must have been
hard. I went to Colorado to see the children once, but it was awkward. They
look on their stepfather as their real dad.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘I vaguely remember the base. Do you keep in touch with your kids?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Yes, but only via Facebook. Beth, why have you left it till now to
find out about your past?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I always meant to try one day, but life was pretty hectic. There just
wasn't the time.' She could not admit she was scared she'd be rejected again.
She didn't want to face the fact that Andy's words fuelled her fear. 'My
father's illness has forced me to realise that if I don't do it soon, I'll die
without ever knowing the truth.' She turned to face James. 'Seeing him lying
there. I thought... what if the same thing happens to me... and I'm lying
trapped inside my mind never knowing. I'm so glad you traced me.' She laughed,
embarrassed at her uncharacteristic openness. 'I don't know why I'm telling you
all this. I hardly know you.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'That's the best way, isn't it?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No, I should stop. Andy's always said it's best to let sleeping dogs
lie.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I don't think you should. God willing, we'll have another twenty,
thirty years of active life ahead of us. After all, sixty's the new forty.' He
was watching her, his eyes kind. 'But you've got to lay the ghosts.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth stared into the ruby depths of her wine. 'There was one time that
sticks in my mind.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Go on.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'It was summer, but Dad made me wear wellington boots. I hadn't wanted
to put them on at first. I can still hear my father's words. "We're going
through deep heather and you might disturb an adder," I remember him
standing there, all brown and healthy looking. He was lean, he was always very
lean. He was a handsome man. After that I didn't complain. I didn't relish
being bitten by a snake.' A little smile played around her mouth. She cleared
her throat. 'And then I saw an eagle in the distance. I remember clinging to Dad’s
leg. I was afraid even then.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
''Damn birds,'' Dad swore. ''Vermin, that's what they are. Killing all
the game. How is the estate going to make money if there's no game left for the
hunters?''<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I started to cry and he picked me up. ''He might think you're a wee
lamb and steal you away. I couldn't stand it if I lost you too.'' And he hugged
me. I remember it especially because right then, I felt he would keep me safe.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James reached over and covered her hand with his. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She enjoyed the feel of his skin next to hers. 'Maybe that's why I've
always been afraid of eagles,' she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'You're afraid of eagles? How afraid?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Very. A phobia. All big birds in fact.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'In that case, I think it would be something much more dramatic.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
James squeezed her hand, his eyes never leaving her face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For a brief moment she wondered how he would react if she asked him to
stay the night. Twenty years ago, he would have asked her already, she
reflected, amused at her own thoughts. How long had it been since a man
affected her like this? A brief memory of Lewis Hammond and how their affair
almost destroyed her, rose unbidden. Just as quickly, she banished it back into
the folder in her head filed under "mistakes best forgotten."
Suddenly uneasy, she withdrew her hand from his and glanced at the clock. 'I'll
need to get to bed soon. I'm going to drive to Inverness tomorrow and I want an
early start.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'You're not sending me away already? I haven't unburdened <i>my</i> soul yet.' He lifted his brows as if
in a question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Okay, another...,' she checked the last bottle of wine. It was
half-full. 'Another drink, then you really have to go.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His long fingers played with the stem of his glass. 'Didn't you ever
want to find your mother?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'For years I dreamed I'd bump into her in the street and we’d
immediately recognise each other. But all my childhood, she could've come back
if she'd wanted me.' Her voice took on a raw edge. 'I tried to blot it out,
tried to pretend I had no family. That I needed no one.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
‘Maybe she tried to get in touch when she sorted her life. How would
she know where you lived after you left? You told me your father didn't even
know.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I suppose you're right.' She stared at his hand, at the fingers on the
stem of his glass, the short clean nails, imagined them on her skin, and
immediately lifted her eyes. 'But he knew later, when I sent him my address. He
didn’t reply, not once!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘It's too late for regrets. It's
doubtful if she's still alive.' But his words had the effect of cracking a
shell, allowing some of the raw emotion to leak out. With all the effort she
possessed, she closed that shell and sealed the edges. What was the matter with
her? She was talking too much. Wanting too much. She drained her glass and
looked at the clock.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I've enjoyed myself tonight,' James said, standing up. 'Look, if the
weather stays fine, how about you and I taking a hike up to Eagle Rock some
day?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No!' the word exploded before she could stop it. 'No, I can't.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He looked confused. 'I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'No, it's just, well, I told you about me and birds.' <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I doubt if they'll come near us. It's just the name of a place. It's
where the Duke of Kent’s plane crashed in WW2.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'I know.' How could she tell him even the word 'eagle' filled her with
an irrational fear? 'But you're right. I'm being silly.' She suddenly couldn't
wait to get him out of the door, get it shut and bolted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Then we'll go?' He looked concerned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Yes, we'll do that.' She spoke without any intentions of going up a
mountain and definitely not to a place called Eagle Rock. Tomorrow would be
another day. Another excuse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'And you'll come to my place next time? I make a mean curry.' He bent
down and kissed her cheek and the warmth of his lips lingered. 'And I want to
read more of your poems.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Yes, I'll do that.' She moved away, trying not to meet his eyes.
'Goodnight.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She closed the door and hugged herself, simultaneously missing his
presence and glad to be alone. She had almost opened up to him tonight.
Draining what was left of the wine she leaned back in the chair. She would
never find sleep now. Once more her thoughts moved to her father.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Looking back from her adult eyes, she realised how difficult it must
have been for him. She, as a moody, sulky child, hadn't been easy. Then she hit
her teens and was filled with angst and anger. If only he had spoken to her
more, they might have been close. How could she have understood his reasons,
his rage? How could she have made things different? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Her mind carried her back to the day she discovered both the seed of
rebellion which had been germinating in her soul, and her love of singing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-91778165395888958422018-09-01T06:11:00.003-07:002018-09-01T06:11:48.906-07:00Chapter Four<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It had been early spring, 1973 and Andy McRae
was trying to earn enough money to stay another year at university. His father
died the year before and his mother was finding life hard. True he had the
grant, but Edinburgh was expensive, especially so for students from the Western
Isles who couldn't pop home easily at the weekends. He had been busking at the
entrance to Waverley Station and doing fairly well, but tonight there was a
young girl sitting in his spot strumming a cheap acoustic guitar which was
slightly out of tune. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His first reaction was anger. This was a good spot and it was his. He
was about to ask her to move on when she began to sing. Her voice was soft and
slightly husky and unbelievably beautiful. She didn't see him. Her head was
lowered. Her straggly reddish hair hung around her face, a woollen hat pulled
down covering her ears and eyebrows. She wore jeans, wide round the bottoms and
a parka over a loose shirt, a string of coloured beads around her neck. He
stood there until the song finished, totally captivated. Later he would tell
her he fell in love with her the moment she lifted her head and he became aware
of a pair of grey-green eyes which held a wealth of sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He wanted to say, 'Excuse me, you're in my pitch,' instead, the words,
'Your guitar needs tuning,' fell from his mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I know that. But I don't have a tuning fork with me,' she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He sat beside her, opened his guitar-case and withdrew the fork,
holding out his hand for her instrument. Wordlessly she handed it to him. Once
he finished, she nodded a thank you and listened as he began to strum out a tune
of his own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Together they played, with him singing the harmony to her songs. After
a while a crowd gathered and after each song there was applause. A couple of
hours later, Andy set his guitar down. 'I'm going for something to eat,' he
said, gathering up the tin with the money, meaning to share it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She snatched at it. 'That's mine,' she shouted. 'I didn't ask you to
join me.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He immediately let go and held up his hands. 'Okay, okay, actually this
is my spot.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her face reddened. 'You don't own a piece of pavement,' she snapped.
'And I was here first.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Fine, you keep it.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her lip wobbled. She trapped it between her teeth and lowered her eyes
but not before he saw the tears shimmering there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He melted. 'You're good. How do you fancy joining my group?' The words
tumbled out without thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her head rose, she sniffed and wiped her cheeks. Her smile was like the
sun breaking through a cloud. 'You've got a group?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'A duo actually. We're playing in a bar tonight. You could come with
us.' It occurred to him Desmond would object, he should have run it by him
first, but something vulnerable about the girl pulled at his heartstrings and
he knew right then he wanted to keep her near. Furthermore, Andrew McRae was
used to getting his own way. Desmond always gave in in the end. 'Where do you
live?' he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She shrugged. 'I just got here yesterday. I've no had time to sort
something out.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Where did you sleep last night?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'In the station.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He bent down and picked up her rucksack. 'Come back with me. You'll
sleep in my flat for now.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Snatching at her rucksack, she faced him with narrowed eyes. 'I'll be
fine,' she said. 'I don't need no boy to do me favours!'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'No strings attached.' He released the bag. 'You'd be helping me out by
singing with us, really. We're musicians, my buddy and me, but we need a strong
vocalist.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She still looked wary. 'I'll no be able to pay rent.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He laughed. 'With a voice like you've got, you will be, I promise.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond did object. Loudly. 'For God's sake,
man. There's no enough room here for the two of us. And the group's just us,
you and me.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I didn't want to come anyway.' Beth wiped her nose on the back of her
fingerless glove, slung her rucksack over her shoulder and headed for the door.
Andy got there before her, slamming his hand against it, holding it shut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You're staying, no argument.' He turned to face his friend. 'She can
stay in my room, share my food.' His voice rose. 'But for fuck’s sake listen to
her sing, man, just listen to her sing.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond turned away. 'I don't care how good she is. She'll be trouble.
How old is she? She looks like jailbait. She's probably a runaway. I don't need
any grief. My old man would stop my allowance, ' he clapped his hands together,
'Just like that.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Please, mate,' said Andy, ‘She's every damn bit as good as Marianne
Faithfull, if not better.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond lifted and lowered his hands in a gesture of defeat. 'I'll
listen. But then she goes.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Beth swung her guitar from her back and strummed a tune they had not
heard before. She began to sing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">You've come a long way from the
mountains<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Where the cold wind blows<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And the sun don't shine<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But somewhere in the future
you'll find her<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In a cold dark place, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Will she still chase<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The dream she left behind her<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">By the time she finished, tears were streaming
down her face. Andy would never have admitted it, but he swallowed a lump in
his own throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond opened his eyes wide. 'Wow,' he said. 'Where did you hear that
song?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I wrote it,' said Beth dabbing at the dampness on her cheeks.
'Did...did you like it?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Like it, I love it. Wow, girl, you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i>
good.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Then she can stay?' asked Andy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Hold on there, I didn't say that. We're hardly making enough to keep
ourselves, less if we've got to split it three ways.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I don't need paying,' said Beth. 'A place to stay and I'll busk for
food. And... and I'll cook for you.' </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She didn't say then her speciality was
toast. Toast with baked beans, toast with sardines, toast with sloppy scrambled
eggs. She turned and glared at Andy. 'And I won't be sharing your bed!' she
added.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andy held out his hands, palms facing her. 'Bloody hell, I said my
room, not my bed. No strings, remember?' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond still looked undecided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I’ll do the washing too.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Come on, man. Give it a try, what can we lose?' said Andy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Desmond sighed. ‘The cooking bit sounds good.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">How were they to know then the limits of her cooking skills?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He turned to Beth. 'Welcome to the Andy and Des Duo. At least for
tonight, it'll be Des, Andy and friend. We'll see how it goes.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Bloody terrible name,' said Andy. 'How about Andy, Beth and Desmond?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'How about Beth and friends?' Beth immediately chipped in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I told you a girl would be trouble,' said Desmond, but he was smiling.
'Look, I'm agreeing to nothing. If we're booed tonight, she's out.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That night they totally won over the audience at the World's End bar. A
week later the bookings were flooding in. A month later, the boys gave up their
studies to go into music full time. It was the days of rock n' roll, yet Beth
refused to sing anything other than folk songs. 'My voice is wrong for rock and
roll,' she said, and although they never hit the big time, they became
well-known in their own field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andy poured himself a whisky, walked to the
office window and looked down into the busy street below. Beth. He could still
see her now as she had been then. She was never classically beautiful, but she
had a spark which dulled any other woman in her company. Yet for all her
bravado, he grew to see, beneath the façade, the vulnerable, frightened little
girl who sang with tears pouring down her cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Over the years, her confidence in her own musical ability grew, but he
would never forget that first night in the World's End bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I can't go on,' she said.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'What?' Andy couldn't believe
his ears.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She wiped her brow. 'All those
people, I can't face them.' Her freckles stood out against her pale skin. Her
lip trembled. 'I'm sorry. I can't.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'What the hell now?' Desmond
rolled his eyes and shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You sang all afternoon, in the
street for fuck’s sake! I persuaded Desmond...'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'That was different. Now
there's... there's an... audience, and no one will listen. I need a drink.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It was true, the audience had
chatted all the way through the last act.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Just leave her, man. Put her
back where you found her,' said Desmond.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I'll get you something. What
do you want?' Andy felt his anger grow, bubbling under the surface. She
couldn't humiliate him now.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Vodka. And coke. A double.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She took the drink with a
trembling hand and swallowed it in three gulps.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'We're on,' he said. 'Now get
out there or I’ll boot your arse.'<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She looked at him with fear in
her eyes and for a moment he thought she was going to refuse. She wobbled
slightly as he shepherded her before him onto the stage. Another awkward moment
as he started to strum. Beth stared at the floor, the microphone held
unsteadily in her hand. Her voice started weakly, and as he glowered at her he
saw a transformation take place. She lifted her head, her voice grew strong. Suddenly
it was as if no one else existed. She sang for herself, wrapped in her own
island, eyes and cheeks glistening. The crowd fell silent, and when the song
ended, the applause could have lifted the roof.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As time went on, they grew restless. They
found the confines of local gigs no longer satisfied them. They dreamed of
cutting a record which would shoot them to fame. And then Lewis Hammond came
into their lives. The man who was to rip their world apart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andy stomped to his desk and refilled his glass. He could well remember
that time, the first time she left him. And he would not suffer a repeat
performance now. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He had let her go then. He even forgave her, took her back afterwards.
He gave a wry laugh. Lewis Hammond. He promised to make her into a star, but
demolished her in the process. She promised to take Andy with her on the ladder
to success, promised him he could be her manager, like Cilla Black and Bobby. How
mistaken he’d been to trust her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Lewis Hammond. Even now, the name made Andy's body tighten. And the
pain of her betrayal still stung.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He had steadfastly followed her career. Her records reached the top
ten, she sang on Top of the Pops. She was on her way up. Then came the botched
operation that stole her voice. Lewis Hammond was reported as saying she was a
liability and he’d washed his hands of her, and as quickly as she rose to fame,
she faded like yesterday's news. Andy swallowed his pride and forgave her, at
least with words. How was he to know her voice had gone for good?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When she returned to him, she was a shadow of the feisty girl she had
been. Alcohol and drugs had dulled the pain of her loss and diminished her bank
account. He brought her home and nursed her back to health. He asked her to
marry him once, but she'd turned him down, swearing she'd never marry anyone.
Nevertheless, he held her when she cried about things best forgotten, and
finally convinced her that she needed looking after, looking after by him. Even
then he believed her voice would return, that this was just a temporary
setback, and this time <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> would
manage her career. But he’d been wrong. She refused to even try to sing again
in public. Accepting defeat, his ambitions changed direction. The royalties
from her songs still arrived and she owed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That had been years ago. Since then they
bought the club and became lovers, but he hated it that when he held her he
sensed her distance, as if he possessed her body but never her heart. He often
caught her with a faraway look on her face, a tear in her eye and he suspected
she stayed with him only because he supplied the stability she craved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle. Beth still had contacts. She
booked many big-name bands which drew in the crowds. Andy McRae's club made him
a name in the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His hand closed into a slow fist as his mind whirled, consumed with a
new fear of losing her, hating that she had never really been his. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Glenda, an employee, a bit of an all-rounder, who helped him in the
bar, Beth with the administration, and who ran the kitchen, moved past him,
brushing him with her thigh as she did so, startling him from his daydreaming.
She turned, met his eye and smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Penny for them,' she said, her voice low, seductive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andy rose from the office chair. He walked to the window and looked out
onto the grey street. 'Have we got a group lined up for tonight?' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I've tried a few, but they're all booked up. Look, I meant to ask you,
my sister's boy is good on the guitar. It would be great if you would give him
and his friends a chance.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Andy sighed. 'We need a known name to pull in the crowds.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Darren's really good. It's the best I could do at such short notice.'
She trailed a suggestive finger across his shoulder. Andy swallowed, felt his
Adam's apple bob. He groaned and grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t do this. Business and
pleasure, remember?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She pulled her hand away from his, walked slowly to the door swinging
her hips, and turned the key. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘The door’s locked,' she whispered. ‘Beth doesn’t
deserve you. I could make you happy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He groaned. ‘No, Glenda.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Bristling, she drew back. ‘What’s wrong with me? It’s not as if you’ve
not cheated on Beth before.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t shit on my own doorstep.’
His voice was gruff. He closed his eyes against the temptation. She was lovely,
sexy, seductive, but he knew the dangers of playing with fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-55706324912474097252018-08-22T11:43:00.000-07:002018-08-23T03:38:25.913-07:00Chapter Three - Song for an Eagle<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On the way to the ward, the sister told her
that her father was awake and responding, but not to expect too much. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In a side room, h</span><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">e lay </span><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">as if he hadn't moved from the position he'd
been in the day before. His face was as white as the pillow beneath his head,
his mouth slightly open, a line of dribble on his cheek. He had a thin yellow
tube attached to an arm and stuck down by a strip of clear, whitish tape, which
puckered the papery skin. The tube threaded up to where a clear bag of fluid
hung on a stand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The strong silent man who often carried her on his shoulders
across the moors, who could shear more sheep in an hour than any crofter in the
district, had gone and left this shell in his place. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Dad,' she said, touching
his arm. The arm was cold and still as if he were already dead. 'It's me,
Beth.' She lowered herself onto the chair and shook his shoulder gently. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His
eyes opened and for a moment remained unfocused, then flickered across her
face. She took his hand. He became tense; the hand in hers began to shake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Nurse, nurse,' Beth shouted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A nurse hurried over. 'It's all right, Robbie,' she said in a soothing
voice as she checked his vital signs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'This is your daughter, Beth.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He seemed to sink into the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Speak to him.' The nurse turned to Beth. 'He <i>is</i> responding. I'm sure
he understands, knows you’re here.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Beth wet her lips. 'Dad, do you know me?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cool fingers fluttered against hers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Is there something you want to say?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His eyes scanned her face, but there was no hope in them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'It's all right. I'm not going away again. There's so much I want to
tell you.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The fingers fluttered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You'll be able to do more tomorrow,' whispered Beth. 'I'm sorry I left
you.' And she was, sorry they never talked, she'd never tried to understand.
She stayed away because of anger; blaming him for all that was wrong in her
life; blaming him for her mother leaving; blaming him for not caring enough to
come looking for her. In any case her life had become so hectic, and somewhere
at the back of her mind, she believed there would be time. A few days ago she
received the phone call, and there was no more time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I was so busy,' she whispered, 'And angry, and I shouldn’t have been. When
you're well enough, I'll take you home, look after you.' As she spoke she knew
she would, for however long he had left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She sat with him, telling him the parts of her life she was not
reluctant to share, until she saw he was sleeping. 'I'll be back tomorrow,
Dad,' she whispered. She kissed his brow. It was dry and cool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Leaving the hospital, she turned on her phone. Andy. Three missed
calls. She dialled her answering service.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Beth, where are you? Are you
alright? Call me back as soon as you get this.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">With a deep sigh, she punched in his number.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'It’s me,' she said, when she heard his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Beth. I've been worried sick.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She quickly explained why he hadn't got through. 'And there's no
service in the mountains, or patchy, so don't worry. I'm fine.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I won't manage up till the weekend. I'll come then, but if you need
me, I'll just leave everything and I'll be right there.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'No, no don't come up. I'm coping fine, honest. I'm just going to do
some shopping and head back to the cottage.' She swallowed her irritation
without knowing what irritated her. Andy was good to her, wasn't he? Had always
known what was best for her, so why did she feel this way? Although she knew in
her low moments the temptation to call him, have him hold her and tell her he
would take care of everything, would be strong, she had no real desire for his
cloying presence. Being on her own these last couple of days gave her a barely
remembered sense of freedom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Beth, are you still there? I said, how's your father?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She started.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'No real change. Look, Andy, I'm staying here as long as he needs me.
And you don't have to be here, honest. We can't both neglect the club.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You're really fine aren't you? I mean you'd tell me if anything was
wrong, wouldn't you?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She snorted. 'I'm not crazy, Andy. And I don't have a problem with
alcohol, whatever you say. In fact, I'm going to confront my <span style="background-color: white;">ornithophobia. </span>See, I can even pronounce that word now.'
She laughed, a little too shrilly. 'I'm going to the Wild Life Park in the
Black Isle and I'm going to get close up to some big birds, how's that?' The
words fell into her mind as if from the air around her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He gave a snort of derisive laughter. 'You?' And then he seemed to
catch himself. 'Are you sure?' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Certain, Andy, I'm fine.' Why did he always do it? Make her feel
inadequate, doubt her own judgement?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Call me the minute you need me, hear?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I will. Talk to you soon.' She rang off. No, she decided, she did not
want him here. This was one journey she had to make alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<br /></div>
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-51846084114220844612018-08-09T04:19:00.000-07:002018-08-22T11:43:35.537-07:00Chapter two of Song for an Eagle<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A man sat in the bus shelter studying a
newspaper. He was slim, with the rugged face of the outdoors and his white hair
cut close to his head. Looking up as she approached, he smiled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Nice morning.'
His voice was deep and soft and cultured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She agreed as she sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I haven't seen you around before. Up on holiday?' He folded his
newspaper and tucked it under his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I was brought up here,' said Beth, gazing into the distance, 'but I've been away a long time.' </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Why did she feel nostalgic? It had been her choice not to return until now. Realising she might appear rude, she turned her attention back to the man. <o:p></o:p></span>'I only returned yesterday,' she added. 'The road's much improved since I was a child.'</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His smile was easy, fluid, his eyes bright, perhaps too bright for a
man who was no longer young.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Still a tricky bend.' He held out his hand. 'I should know you, then.
I'm James Anderson. My father used to be the local doctor for Berriedale and
district.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Elizabeth MacLean, Beth to my friends. Are you a doctor too? Doctor
Anderson?' The name was familiar, and the voice, she’d heard it before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A wider smile stretched his lips. 'I believe we've already spoken on the
telephone. I was dragged out of retirement to act as locum for the local GP until
a few days ago. I thought you should know about the old man.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Of course, Doctor Anderson. You contacted me to tell me about my
father.' She immediately felt more relaxed. Even speaking to him over the phone had given her the sense that here was someone she could trust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘You weren't hard to track down.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Did you know him well, my father?' She hoped he had. There was so much she needed to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James shook his head. 'Only met him a couple of weeks ago when I took
over from Dr Montgomery, but he spoke about you a lot.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'That surprises me.' Beth fell silent for a second. If the doctor found
her so easily, her father could have as well, had he wanted to. The bitter sting of his rejection still rackled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You grew up here, then?' she said at last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Until I was eight. Then I was shipped off to boarding school. I
vaguely remember Robbie MacLean's wee girl.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I don't recall much about school.' She studied his face, searching for
something to recognise. Her school years hadn't been a happy time for her. The
names, Carrot-top, Jug-ears, Dumbo, still stung. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I think I do know you,' she
said. ‘The doctor's son, a big quiet lad who came home for the holidays.’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She'd
hardly noticed him. Thought of him as one of the 'posh' crowd, the crowd who
wouldn't lower themselves to bother with the likes of her. And she didn't want
him to remember her. The girl whose mother went off with another man, or so
she’d heard it whispered, the girl no one wanted to be friends with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You were a bonny wee lassie, but awful feisty.' He gave a short laugh.
'I used to be afraid of you.' His gaze trapped hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Afraid? Of me?' Surprised, she forced a smile, realising he could never
understand how much she longed for friendship, how her anger had been her only
defence. Thinking about the pain of her large ears, her frizzy hair, her
freckled skin, she guessed he was being kind, that or confusing her with
someone else. Self-consciously she tugged a strand of her hair, straightened
this morning and already beginning to curl in the damp air. 'So you followed in
your father's footsteps?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Sort of. I was a surgeon. Worked in Africa up until a few years ago.
And you, you went on to be a pop star.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She gave a short laugh, amazed he'd even heard of her. 'I had my
fifteen minutes of fame, yes. I did okay for a while.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I remember seeing you on the Old Grey Whistle Test on one of my trips
home. I’d switched on to see Led Zeppelin, a favourite of mine, and there you
were, appearing on the same show. You’d changed a lot, but I still recognised
you right away.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She smiled at the memory of that night. There had been a last minute
cancellation, and Lewis, her agent, called her. ‘This is a good opportunity,
girl,’ he said. Her throat was sore and it hurt to talk, but she went anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'My wife bought all your
records. Do you still sing?' James was still talking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">So he had a wife? Had there been a glimmer of hope that he was single? What good would that have done her? Beth almost laughed at her own foolishness. She paused and looked away from him and down into the strath. 'To be
honest I grew tired of the life. I'm quite happy to keep it low key. Plus,
well, I'm no longer young, as you can see.'</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You're still a good looking woman.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Feeling her cheeks grow hot, she tugged at her hair. Although she'd had them surgically pinned back
many years ago, she still tried to hide her ears in moments of
self-consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'We own a club, in the centre of Edinburgh. It does very well.' She
spoke quickly to cover her unexpected embarrassment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'We?' His eyes fell to her left hand where she wore no wedding ring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I manage the musical side, hiring bands and acts. Andy, my partner,
still plays guitar and sings during quiet periods and he takes care of the
bar.' She didn't mention Glenda, the woman who helped with the day to day
running of things. That name would have soured her tongue. 'We're not married,
never saw the need.' She tried to keep her voice light, without a hint of bitterness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The chill of winter already tainted the air and she was glad to see the
bus appear at the top of the brae. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You're going to Inverness?' he said as he followed her onto the bus
and took a seat beside her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'To visit my father,' she replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Of course. How is he?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To her horror her eyes blurred. 'I can't get over the fact he lay all
night before the health visitor found him. If she hadn't come in...' She shook
her head, unable to talk as emotion welled up, blocking her throat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He set his hand on her arm. 'You're here now, that means a lot. He was
a very private person.' James Anderson handed her a folded cotton handkerchief.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She nodded her thanks as she took it. ‘A real hanky. It’s been a long
time since I’ve seen anything other than tissues.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Call me a sentimental old fool,' he said with a slight laugh. 'My
father always insisted he had a newly pressed handkerchief every morning. It
was a joke between my parents. Guess I've inherited the same streak. I never
did come to terms with the paper kind − unless I've got a streaming cold of
course.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She stared through the window, not thinking of handkerchiefs. How could
she tell him about the regrets, the lost years. She wondered how much he knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'It would be so much easier if he was in a local hospital,' she said,
facing James again. 'Why was he sent to Inverness anyway?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'They have more sophisticated equipment there.' James took a breath.
'Caithness is a great place to live, but it has its drawbacks. If the powers
that be had their way, everything would be in Inverness.' His voice rose,
tense, angry. He rubbed his hands together and turned away from her. 'Don't get
me on my soapbox about that one.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Do you live here now?' She changed the subject.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He cleared his throat and drew in some air. 'I came back when I
retired. I bought the big house up on the hill.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'The big white house?' she asked, imagining all those rooms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Aye, I always admired it. Luckily it was for sale at the time I
returned. Do you intend to stay?' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I doubt it. Is your wife local?' Tucking a stray lock of hair beneath
her ear, she met his eyes. They were deep blue. 'Would I know her?'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'My wife? No, and I'm afraid the marriage ended many years ago.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I'm sorry,' she muttered, not sorry at all, and she couldn't understand why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Don't be. I'm not.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Caithness must be quite a change from Africa.' This was safer ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I always meant to come home one day. Buy a boat, a few sheep. This
place pulls you back.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Beth knew what he meant. She'd never intended to return, yet these last
few years, she'd begun to feel the same pull. Was that what happened when you
grew older? She thought of an elderly couple she knew, always reminiscing, lost
in the past, but couldn't remember what day it was. She suddenly realised James
was still speaking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'I'm picking up my car from the garage.' He rose to leave the bus as it
drew to a stop in Helmsdale. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'You know where I live. Give me a shout if you
need anything.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She watched him walk away, turning up the collar of his jacket. He was
slim, broad shouldered with a sprint in his step that belied his years. He’d
been friendly and his chatter had taken her mind off her immediate worries for
a while. She found herself hoping to meet up with James Anderson again. Anyway,
she convinced herself, it was only because she wanted to know more about her father, but guessed,
as a doctor, he would be gagged by some confidentiality clause or other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Settling back, she closed her eyes, and her mind took her across the
years to the last time she'd ridden the bus south. The road had been longer
then, more twists and turns, fewer bridges. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That
day the bus did not appear to have any form of heating and she couldn't feel
her feet. Her guitar was clutched on her lap, her woollen hat pulled down to
her eyes and covering her ears, her long hair loose. She took out a packet of
crisps, removed the little blue sachet of salt, emptied it onto the crisps and
shook the bag vigorously. As she munched, she watched the passing countryside.
It was raining, dull, slow drizzle, and the hills lay shrouded in grey. She tried
not to think of her father's reaction when he read her note. He wouldn't be
home until after seven and by then she would be in Edinburgh, probably sleep in
the bus station, or get an overnight bus to London. Was there such a thing?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She heard his words in her
head. 'Just like her mother. Just like her bloody mother. Well, good riddance,
good riddance to both of them.' He would thump his fist on the table and pace
the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">That day, she'd no real plan,
but was carried away by the dream, the desire to leave the nothingness of her
life and maybe, somewhere at the back of her consciousness, she hoped she would
chance upon her mother. They would pass in the street, their eyes would meet
and somehow, mother and daughter would instantly recognise each other. She
banished the thought as quickly as it came. For years she'd tried to convince
herself she hated the woman who abandoned her. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Raindrops sloped across the
windowpane, tears ran slowly down her cheeks, she was aware of her heartbeat
and of a churning in her gut, and her overall memory was that of fear.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The bus pulled into the station in Inverness
jolting her from her reverie. To her surprise, her cheeks were wet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-50375108313967299052018-08-08T01:53:00.000-07:002018-08-09T04:27:02.863-07:00A Serialised NovellaHi folks.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-nwaPg3MyVS-gRcTZwGfFSK9weqDhFWFFkjE9H3Xy4nRvCyMSAm0iqaLMzyH5fAjK3Ph_CBFmdEfhNJf63UJSQnEavWifRoIWFfF5QCHzoQlDGLLUiBXrBIMAYTW5rZcLGIpw6exmOs/s1600/Image2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-nwaPg3MyVS-gRcTZwGfFSK9weqDhFWFFkjE9H3Xy4nRvCyMSAm0iqaLMzyH5fAjK3Ph_CBFmdEfhNJf63UJSQnEavWifRoIWFfF5QCHzoQlDGLLUiBXrBIMAYTW5rZcLGIpw6exmOs/s200/Image2.jpg" width="132" /></a><br />
I have decided, as a gift to my followers, to serialise my novella,<br />
Song for an Eagle. I will post one chapter at a time, weekly.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 18.0pt;">Song
for an Eagle<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h1>
Prologue<o:p></o:p></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i>When
Beth was five years old, her mother walked out and never returned. The child
had a memory of terror, terror of being left alone. She stood and watched as
her mother dragged a suitcase from under the bed and opened it. She yanked at
the drawers in her dresser and began to throw her clothes, make-up, a bundle of
papers and her jewellery into the case.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>'Mammy, please don't go,' said Beth,
her voice so small it hardly made any sound at all. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Her mother bent down and kissed
her cheek. 'As soon as I find a place to stay, I'll come back for you.' A horn
sounded outside. Her mother stood up and looked around the room. 'This place is
sucking the life from me.' She paused and gazed at her child. A single tear
trickled down her pale cheek and then she turned and was gone. The door slammed
behind her, caught in the wind that howled up the strath like a living thing. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>It was already dark and rain
ran sideways across the window glass. A skeletal tree dipped and swayed
outside, its branches clattering against the panes, a monster's arms reaching
out, trying to break in, trying to reach the child. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Her father had not come home
for hours and, when he did, she was huddled in a corner with her arms wrapped
around her knees, her body racked from crying. He started to go to her, then
saw the note his wife left. He read it, cursed and without speaking to his
daughter, opened a bottle of whisky. Beth's memory of that evening was
indelible, locked inside, echoing down the years.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>She waited for her mother,
night after night, week after week, year after year and, somewhere deep in her
heart, she was still waiting.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h1>
<span style="color: windowtext;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b>2014<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Beth stepped off the bus<span class="Heading3Char"> </span>at the top of Berriedale Braes under a sky
piled grey upon grey. The first thing she noticed was the word, YES, painted in
white on a towering rock on the hillside, a distance away yet plainly visible
from the road. <span style="background: white; color: #0d0d0d;">Someone else with their dreams in tatters, she
thought. How long would it take for the letters to fade and be washed away by
the force of time and elements?</span> <o:p></o:p><br />
Longer, she though, than the dream of independence would fade from many Scottish minds. Personally she didn't care, hadn't even voted in the referendum. Andy had told her she had to vote an emphatic no, so abstaning had been a minor act of rebellion. She had little time for politics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The bus driver set Beth’s case beside her, closed the door to the
compartment and nodded at her feet. 'You won't get far up that road in those
shoes, me girl.'<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
His accent was central London, startling her for a second, briefly
reminding her of a time best forgotten. With a smile at being called '<i>me girl'</i> by a man who was at least a
decade younger than she was, she considered the rutted track before her and
murmured, 'You're right. I should have remembered.' She opened her suitcase,
removed a pair of flats and exchanged them for her high heels.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
When she was five years old she would climb down from the school bus at
this same spot and set out alone under an immense sky. The only sounds were the
birds and the sea and the distant bleat of sheep. The same sounds that filled
the air around her today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now, all those years later, a memory slammed into her mind with
remarkable clarity. With the memory came a rush of fear. She swallowed and took
several deep breaths. At fifty-nine years old, a successful businesswoman with
a career behind her, or so she appeared to the world, she thought herself
finally past the terrors of her youth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 8.5pt;">
Strands of hair blew around her face, the
hair she hated once, but now the hair for which she struggled to find the same
shade of red in a bottle. She lifted her guitar case, eased the strap over her
shoulder and thanked the driver. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 8.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 8.5pt;">
While he removed the rest of her luggage from
the baggage section, she looked around. Wind turbines dotted the hills and the
bay, where, further out, the faded shapes of oil rigs were hardly discernible
in a gathering sea mist. Modern bungalows replaced many of the small, sturdy
cottages which once clung to the hillside like limpets to a rock. More than one
had a 'For Sale' sign in the front garden.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 8.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As the bus drove off, she stood for a moment, staring at the mountains
to the south. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Okay. Here goes,' she said to no one and, avoiding the branches of
gorse that reached towards her stockinged legs, she set off along the side road
to her father's cottage. Her case, balanced on its two wheels, jolted behind
her, her steps in time with the beat of her heart. After so many years in the
city, the mountains to the south, the burn coursing through the glen dashing
its spray upwards as it met the resistance of stone, the snaking road winding
up the opposite hill, were almost foreign to her, yet startlingly familiar.
Memories leaked from the cupboard at the back of her mind, drifting in like the
ribbons of haar that twisted up the strath in the world of her childhood. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The cottage where she grew up sat about one and a half miles from the
bus route, along a neglected track which led through heather and bracken. By
the time she reached it, she was out of breath and the sky began to miserably
spit rain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The key lay heavy in her hand and chattered against the lock like cold
teeth. Only then did she realise how badly she was shaking. At last the door
creaked open, filling the silence with a scream of dry hinges. The odour of
decay came out to meet her. Nothing appeared to have changed since the day she
left. The old range with a one-bar electric fire set in front; the gas cooker,
splatterings of grease on top and down the sides; lino on the floor, the
pattern missing in places, but still bright in the corners where no feet had
trod; a moquette suite, one chair grimier than the others, the arms worn bare. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Now a layer of dust and evidence of mice coated everything, and the
chill in the air, colder than outside, made her shiver. She wondered about her
father living out his life in this cold box.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She should have come back sooner, should have come to see him when he
was still well, not the emaciated figure she sat beside this morning in
Raigmore Hospital in Inverness. The man she'd not seen for forty-two years
before that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Soon the house would be hers, the house, the ground, the memories she
could no longer contain. She flicked a switch and the bare light bulb dangling
from the ceiling threw its low wattage into the gloom. She went into the
kitchen and gagged. Something had been left to rot. A half-empty tin of cat
food sat on the draining board, mould growing on the surface. Opening the
window to dispel the fetid air, she looked outside. The cat had probably found
a home elsewhere by now, that or been eaten by foxes. Under the sink, she found
half a bottle of bleach and set to work. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Some time later, satisfied the kitchen was now as fresh as it could be,
given the state and age of the building, she closed the window. The whole house
could do with a good seeing to, but her muscles were already beginning to ache
and she’d broken two nails.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Her energy depleted, she ate the pot noodle she brought with her and
drank a cup of instant coffee with powdered milk and no sugar. To someone used
to eating meals cooked by a chef, it tasted vile. Then she went to the bedroom which
was once hers. Inside, an onslaught of memories drifted within the shadows. Her
single iron bed with the pink candlewick cover, her soft rabbit with the chewed
ear sitting on top; the rose-flecked wallpaper, now yellowed at the corners and
curling away from the plastered walls; the square of pink and grey carpet; her
pine dressing table with the drawers that were difficult to open; the posters
of Elvis, the Beatles, the Jackson Five, still tacked to the wall. Everything
as she left it. But now, the room reeked of damp.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She stared at the bed. Probably a thousand crawling creatures had made
their home there over the years. Beth crossed the landing to her father's
bedroom and stopped, knuckling her eyes and filling her lungs with the sour
air. Her father's bed was unmade, the indent of his head and a few stray hairs
still on the pillow. She crossed to the cupboard and found clean sheets and
blankets on the shelf where they always were. Somewhere in this house, she
would find a hot water bottle, something to take the chill off. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
On the second shelf sat a couple of tin biscuit boxes, slightly rusty
at the edges. She lifted the first one and, taking it with her, sat on the bed
and eased the lid off. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Surprised, she lifted a newspaper clipping, a grainy photo of herself
at twenty-four, with the caption, <b>Hammond
Signs New Hopeful</b>. Beneath that, she found every report of her life, her
rise to dubious fame, her fall. She quickly set them to one side and picked up
a note, the note she’d penned on a page torn from her jotter on the day she
left.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Dear Dad, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I'm going to London. I want to
be a singer, and I know I'm just a nuisance to you anyway. I'll write when I
get settled.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Beth<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
She smoothed the paper. Why had he kept this?
He hadn't come after her as far as she knew. She hadn't expected him to. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Underneath was the first letter she sent him, Edinburgh postmark,
telling him she was well and she would never come home again. She had not added
an address. Twenty years later she wrote another, one her therapist encouraged
her to send. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>'Build bridges with your
father,'</i> the therapist said.
<i>'He can give you the answers you need to
know.'</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That time she <i>had</i> added an
address.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
He hadn't replied, but kept the letter. It was here, still in the
envelope, the top edge jagged where it was torn open. She tried not to think of
her disappointment as she’d checked the mail day after day. Perhaps she should
have returned then, tried to put right the wrongs of the past, but she'd been
vulnerable, scarred. Her career as a singer was over and nothing else mattered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Then there were her school reports, the father's day cards she made,
the drawings she did at school, black and heavy. He'd kept them all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
At the bottom of the box was a photograph of her mother sitting on the
dyke outside, head thrown back, mouth open in a laugh, her dark hair loose and
tumbling down her back. And another, herself as a baby in her mother's arms.
Her mother was gazing down at her with an expression of adoration. She studied
the image, trying to recall the face, the dark hair, the red lips. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Why did you
leave me?' she asked. 'I needed you so much.' She thought her parents didn't
love her, yet there was no mistaking the love in that photo. And her father, if
she really was the burden she'd imagined herself to be, would he have followed
her career so resolutely, kept every little memoir of her existence? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She removed the lid of the second box. The first thing she saw was a
wedding photo of her parents, both in army uniform. Beneath that lay several
snapshots, and a vision of a Box Brownie camera in her mother's hands flew
through her mind. She picked up the picture of a baby in a gown assuming it was
herself and turned it over. The name Michael was printed on the back. Michael?
An unexplained frisson of fear worked its way up her spine. She shrugged it
off. Who the hell was Michael?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Then another snapshot. This time of a boy of around five at her
mother's side holding her hand. Quickly she leafed through the photos, photos
she'd never seen before, and the boy featured in a lot. Michael aged one,
Michael first day at school, Michael aged ten and Beth aged one. Michael
sitting on an old-fashioned basket chair, a fat baby on his knee. Did she once have
a brother? If so, why did she have no memory of him? Why had her parents never
spoken of him? Why had her father kept these photos from her?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After that, the only images she found were a couple of her school
portraits. Michael was gone. And her mother was gone, and there were no more
Box Brownie snapshots. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She found her parents' marriage certificate, her grandparents' death certificates.
Nothing for Michael or herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
'Who are you, Michael?' she said, but the silent face with the frozen
smile mocked her from the photograph. A stranger, telling her nothing. A creak
came from somewhere. Her fingers tightened on the image, her spine tingled. She
imagined another's eyes upon her. She spun around. The room was empty as she
knew it would be. An old house, settling and creaking. She forced a laugh at
her own nervousness. Nevertheless, she thrust Michael's photos to the bottom of
the pile, rose and left the room, gently closing the bedroom door, trapping the
past and her memories behind it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
Later, sitting beside a blazing stove, glass
of wine in hand, she tried to relax. The gale was a lost soul crying in the
chimney. The house itself seemed to take a breath and release it with a
tremble. The wind sighed and whistled. A cloud of smoke billowed into the room.
Loose branches slapped against the windowpanes making her jump. It was just
like that other night, that long-ago night. The night her mother left. And once
again, she was in this house, alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For a moment she imagined the face of an eagle through the glass. She
blinked, shook her head, rose and pulled the curtains blotting out whatever was
out there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
For years she'd clung to the therapist's words explaining her
nightmares.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>You have come to see the eagle
as a symbol of bad luck. You saw one that day, and that night your mother left.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
There was no eagle, she told herself. There never had been. It was no
more than an imaginary entity conjured up by a lonely and unhappy little girl,
an imaginary entity which grew and became something more, a vehicle for all the
hurts of her young life. She set him free many years ago, released him, watched
the imaginary eagle fly into an imaginary sky and take with him all her
feelings of worthlessness. Why then, the constant sense there was more?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Leaning against the wall she counted each breath until her heart
stopped racing. Perhaps she should not have come back, should have left the
past where it was. Done what Andy told her to do. There was reasonable
accommodation in Inverness for the family of patients, yet she'd been drawn
here by the same invisible bonds from which she once fought to escape. That,
and the need to face the demons of the past, to finally convince herself that
she stayed with Andy out of choice, not because of the deep-rooted fear of
being alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
She poured herself another glass of wine and drank it quickly, waiting
as the welcome warmth spread through her body. From the corner came a
scratching sound. Mice, she told herself, or worse still, rats, and she
wondered again where the cat had gone. Apart from keeping the vermin down, she
would have welcomed its company. Folded on the sofa was a tartan rug. She
pulled it across her knees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
After the sounds of the city, the cottage felt dreadfully isolated. She
had grown used to passing traffic, human voices in the street outside; music
from the bar room; shouts of drunken merriment. All at once she wanted to hear
Andy's voice, wished she had, after all, asked him to come with her. She picked
up her phone and, realising there was no signal, set it down again. Her father
was ninety-three years old and lived all his life without a landline. The rug
was thick and soft, and she guessed fairly new, and she snuggled within its
folds and allowed herself to be lulled by the song of the wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
She awoke, still on the couch, her head at a
painful angle. The light outside was bright amber, the sounds were of the early
morning; a seagull's cry, a bleating sheep, distant intermittent traffic. The
empty wine bottle lay on the linoleum. She stretched, easing the cricks in her
back, almost laughing at her fears of the night before. She glanced at her
watch. Seven thirty. The cinders in the range still glowed, filling the room
with a meagre warmth. Longing for a shower she went through to the bathroom to
clean the bath. Brown water gushed from the hot tap, took minutes to clear, but
remained cold. She had not thought to turn on the immersion heater. A wash-down
was the best she could expect. In the kitchen, she switched on the kettle,
mentally berating her father for not having the foresight to connect the water
supply to the stove. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It occurred to her that if she was going to stay here for any length of
time she would need a car. She'd left the Audi in Edinburgh with Andy. Two cars
were a waste of money, he said, since he was on hand to drive her wherever she
needed to be. For now, she would catch the early bus and spend some time by her
father's bedside in the hope he would recognise her, if for only a minute. She
wanted him to see her, know she was there, forgive her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-64303412251619375512018-07-29T08:58:00.000-07:002018-08-08T15:24:16.557-07:00My Latest News<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7Eyd_isLztgfHs6m6cfMfQVpsfwveMZS6TFwxZjnPqbuj7WcI631ItlI1T70AQpzJlgrBPXk6ChzJZBN7FOxPt12Nda1TvBoL1n0pOW9gYqxs1i_VTKD1fuPaIrVNj5-S2uTeJ3D39s/s1600/IMG_0535%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7Eyd_isLztgfHs6m6cfMfQVpsfwveMZS6TFwxZjnPqbuj7WcI631ItlI1T70AQpzJlgrBPXk6ChzJZBN7FOxPt12Nda1TvBoL1n0pOW9gYqxs1i_VTKD1fuPaIrVNj5-S2uTeJ3D39s/s200/IMG_0535%255B1%255D.JPG" width="150" /></a>Soon July will have ended. How fast this wonderful summer is going! Too hot, too dry is not how you often hear the weather described in Scotland, but this year it certainly has been on everyone's lips.<br />
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My garden has flourished. Today we are enjoying some rain, (that is if rain can ever be termed as enjoyable) so here is the latest photo.<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6PIhUtlBbSuj1CGpkdKr1Abrco1Cpb5o2ujNlhb51xFEJLh8uyv3bU8CDI8psiVFtcQhXAXkQaNgeX2oyVr1jXSI2qxE_8-IKXXS8fk8RmwgjSgGYuJs0fMzyWjS56j2IPbOWUrWre4/s1600/Mary+Rosie+latest+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj6PIhUtlBbSuj1CGpkdKr1Abrco1Cpb5o2ujNlhb51xFEJLh8uyv3bU8CDI8psiVFtcQhXAXkQaNgeX2oyVr1jXSI2qxE_8-IKXXS8fk8RmwgjSgGYuJs0fMzyWjS56j2IPbOWUrWre4/s320/Mary+Rosie+latest+cover.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrw1RKf9J-lFaqhxUBbk31xjQDzH21qyd0334SyyS0SJEmocQgOuftadMWSmilGiI9-DWfpw-0n03G4H2bTOX4hZLeIRkZPBTb5NRrLsBAcsCtW1ZNeIa7YEcybCGeoxOGhpveEjAli4/s1600/book+signing+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="352" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrw1RKf9J-lFaqhxUBbk31xjQDzH21qyd0334SyyS0SJEmocQgOuftadMWSmilGiI9-DWfpw-0n03G4H2bTOX4hZLeIRkZPBTb5NRrLsBAcsCtW1ZNeIa7YEcybCGeoxOGhpveEjAli4/s200/book+signing+1.jpg" width="146" /></a>So much has happened this summer. I formed my own wee publishing company, Overtheord Publishing, finished my seventh book, Mary Rosie's War, and found an excellent printing company. I've already ordered a second print run, and have had several great reviews.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Read some of the reviews for yourself.<br />
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https://amzn.to/2K4TKSP<br />
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<br />
<br />
I have also decided to serialise my contemporary Novella, Song for an Eagle. I will post another chapter every week for you enjoyment.<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-8025888566280244552018-03-13T03:16:00.001-07:002018-03-13T03:16:27.810-07:00Garden. (Watching flowers grow)<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYAplMHtJN9D2uzvPnRMy1wyDmiQnVQmZHJhhePnqDhKmAAVyYHxzNFBsuUxPRj8xIoW7MEOIyBHIBdiJ3TBwsmfhwF4jMjTFfWRaxVD2xthMzYOfatCsu68kftBO7kdLch6ikdYvdUU/s1600/122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYAplMHtJN9D2uzvPnRMy1wyDmiQnVQmZHJhhePnqDhKmAAVyYHxzNFBsuUxPRj8xIoW7MEOIyBHIBdiJ3TBwsmfhwF4jMjTFfWRaxVD2xthMzYOfatCsu68kftBO7kdLch6ikdYvdUU/s200/122.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">kitchen after</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOQYCXY7GZIIVN64_4YxDZsAgQ7gY_u6l5SUDo4Q5WjWZWk6vf1wBiO_Zut6chLDnc7VlAQ1mnfwEx9hztX4vRQ52gJisYm4lk_mPMq1VFhj_9S__l14ea1awRwLjpR1Qx6iHJ6iHevk/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOQYCXY7GZIIVN64_4YxDZsAgQ7gY_u6l5SUDo4Q5WjWZWk6vf1wBiO_Zut6chLDnc7VlAQ1mnfwEx9hztX4vRQ52gJisYm4lk_mPMq1VFhj_9S__l14ea1awRwLjpR1Qx6iHJ6iHevk/s200/058.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">living room before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">As most of my dear friends know, I moved
to this wee house on the 30<sup>th</sup> of August 2017. Of course then my wee
garden was not looking its best but I had dreams, I still have dreams, let’s
face it, I always have dreams. I saw my house as it was going to look back when
I started, and thanks to my builders, it has surpassed my expectations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span id="goog_162685380"></span><span id="goog_162685381"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjE-s1NIlcvyThRyUZ8Bjx5ekcxUdwDeua2hqwIFvlHXWTh9T1lf_UfqzLM4R338vemHAyQTjfOeUuMO_aEhf5sZiQLlfSurZSCjDxUR5g6OCjLcNx47I9-8LVyjCvJiUcLbiquAbZB-w/s1600/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjE-s1NIlcvyThRyUZ8Bjx5ekcxUdwDeua2hqwIFvlHXWTh9T1lf_UfqzLM4R338vemHAyQTjfOeUuMO_aEhf5sZiQLlfSurZSCjDxUR5g6OCjLcNx47I9-8LVyjCvJiUcLbiquAbZB-w/s200/059.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stairway before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfLT_WdeqJbphRi7wX4ituT3xgvYcW0aePpRyS1t9APAoeIC-omiKJkaiuFS_q-8206vvd7rAvdkEYhJ1_0hAFxAYNGtUf33jVq36f_aiYqnquy3AIyzr0rpb65noAF07ahhcbuHbgJE/s1600/109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfLT_WdeqJbphRi7wX4ituT3xgvYcW0aePpRyS1t9APAoeIC-omiKJkaiuFS_q-8206vvd7rAvdkEYhJ1_0hAFxAYNGtUf33jVq36f_aiYqnquy3AIyzr0rpb65noAF07ahhcbuHbgJE/s200/109.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">living room after</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Anyway back to my garden. After I moved
in, I heard of someone giving away top soil, for free!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Free! Good top soil costs! I should have known
right there that there was a catch. The lovely boys who were building me a
patio offered to go and pick it up. I should have gone with them. The free top
soil consisted of small stones and clayish soil, but by the time I realised, it
was already filling the empty spaces of my garden!
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qeQjw_HdKM049-JmTOgxIi7yb1N2k5CF2YoOaJiFHL7qTvIb3G5_7JTtbNmHhCvAb9QFFOKJHc1zIPDgaikOUyOuqjL5k5oSeqkAOmbDWCC5_ybUopcvgxdfJxnZK7z_ICfYv8A6bmQ/s1600/112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qeQjw_HdKM049-JmTOgxIi7yb1N2k5CF2YoOaJiFHL7qTvIb3G5_7JTtbNmHhCvAb9QFFOKJHc1zIPDgaikOUyOuqjL5k5oSeqkAOmbDWCC5_ybUopcvgxdfJxnZK7z_ICfYv8A6bmQ/s200/112.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">garden before</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Well, I couldn’t ask them to take it back,
could I? Not when they had been so kind as to do it gratis. Anyway, long story
short, as my daughter would say, I spent a small fortune on compost to cover
the offending soil, this providing a welcome bed for my plants. Once the roots
are established, I thought, the plants will hopefully not mind the rubbish
underneath. And, of course, the worms would do their stuff. Strangely enough,
in all my attempts at gardening, I have not encountered a single worm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQgDAzDl59BKmX-_17bepia2iUdEtvQgmCzsAfJ1b_fUjJYpL0abwupWkY4Q1Ea362hkZOb44qQ35bfjeGwIJVPGCzrAq9-iB-loMfzqEQ1IB5VFTtpmjPCBtWBYF7LT4Gd3FevjfGsI/s1600/patio+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQgDAzDl59BKmX-_17bepia2iUdEtvQgmCzsAfJ1b_fUjJYpL0abwupWkY4Q1Ea362hkZOb44qQ35bfjeGwIJVPGCzrAq9-iB-loMfzqEQ1IB5VFTtpmjPCBtWBYF7LT4Gd3FevjfGsI/s200/patio+001.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">garden in progress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">By the end of February the weather looked
promising, so out I went and bought some plants. Now I’m not so optimistic that
I believe the Scottish weather would not throw more plant destroying frost our
way, so I went for plants that normally withstand our winter. Primroses, (every
colour in Homebase) dwarf Daffodils (Having a very small garden, I need dwarf
everything), dwarf lupins, a patio rose, snowdrops. Of course, as luck would have
it, not long after I had slaved for days, the weather gods decided to throw a spanner in the works.
March came in like a freezing lion, and covered my newly created garden in the
white stuff. Now, most of these plants could weather the storm. Let’s face it,
if they want to survive up here, they have to, and mostly they do, so I wasn't too worried. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now the snow has gone. The daffodils still
stand proud as do the snow drops, but the primroses do not seem to have stood
up to the Beast from the East. Yet their cousins do survive. All over the
countryside they grow wild, their yellow flame covering the hills and slopes
and the edges of the woods. Maybe the tame variety, cultured beneath glass, are
not so hardy. Methinks I shall have to go out into the country with my spade! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Let’s hope that the old saying is true. If
March comes in like a lion it goes out like a lamb. I spend so many hours
watching the plants grow, each day looking for new shoots, wondering if the
primroses will take a second wind, and decide after all, to bloom again. We
shall see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-12935476800315736582018-01-28T02:15:00.001-08:002018-01-30T03:57:10.676-08:00Letter to the Haggis Protection League<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Sir,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">With reference to your letter
dated 16<span style="mso-text-raise: 3.5pt; position: relative; top: -3.5pt;">th</span> inst regarding the age old custom of haggis
hunting in the Highlands of Scotland, I am pleased to forward the following
information. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Contrary to your statement that
the hunt causes unnecessary suffering to these small creatures and can
therefore be termed as a blood sport, I would stand by my affirmation that no
haggis is subjected to any pain whatsoever and in fact one could go as far as
to say they actually enjoy the hunt.
The best way to kill a haggis, although many would disagree with me
here, is to drown it with whisky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">From the contents of your
letter, I would surmise that you have no concept at all of how the hunt is
conducted. As haggii by nature are very
shy creatures and seldom seen with the naked eye, a variety of web cams are set up in different locations of
Scotland. Once the haggis has been
spotted, the hunter, wearing a pair of rubber gloves, races to the scene, sets
out an open bottle of best malt whisky,
and conceals himself in a nearby location.
Chances are, however, that before the intended prey gets a chance to
come forward, the bottle will be picked up by a torch branding chav, one of
Scotland’s less desirable species.
However, if the hunter manages to fight off the chavs and the
vagrants, the haggis will eventually be
unable to resist the luring aroma of our national nectar . Once he is legless, this not taking long as
his legs are different lengths to begin with, he is easily picked up and simply
falls into a deep dreamless sleep not even stirring when he is dropped into a
pan of boiling water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Before cooking, the size of
the haggis is recorded using a tape measure approved by the National trust For
Scottish measurements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Also from your communication,
it would appear that you are in fact unaware of the true nature of the
haggis. Perhaps you and your claim to
be God’s eyes, may be less ready to interfere with our national customs if you
understood more about the wee beastie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">I will therefore endeavor to
give you information in the many areas in which you appear to be ignorant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">The original haggis was formed
in Frankensteinian fashion from the belly and organs of the sheep. The heart, liver and lungs were chopped up
and mixed liberally with copious amounts of oatmeal, thus creating an entirely
new strain. Once the swarthy Highlanders,
their bellies rumbling after a prolonged and bloody battle during which they
had no sustenance whatsoever, discovered this tasty delicacy, it quickly became
Scotland’s national dish, greatly enjoyed for at least four hundred years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Where it actually originated
is still very much in speculation. </span>In early Roman times, a comic cook
was claimed to have brandished a haggis-like creature on a stick while performing
in the theatre. But even earlier than that there are written clues from ancient
Greece. In Aristophanes’ play 'The Clouds' there is a comic kitchen scene where a sheep’s bladder
is filled with organs and oats thus creating a creature remarkably similar to a
haggis. There is a mouth watering account of the dish as it cooks and a mention
of the golden beads of fat which is also referred to by our own national poet,
Robert Burns two thousand years later
when, penicil in hand, he i<span lang="EN-US">mmortalised the dish in the poem, ’Ode to a Haggis’ and claims it to be ‘the great chieftain o’ the pudding race’
. This was when the noble wee beastie
gained it’s greatest fame and we claimed it as our own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Also to reply to your further concerns that
breeding animals with the legs on the right side of their body shorter than on the left just so that they will remain indigenous to
Scotland is entirely misinformed. The wee crature evolved that way with no
interference from man at all. It is all
due to the terrain in the Highlands and the
habit the haggii have of running around the base of the hills. Neither
is it true that we have forced them to fly backwards so as to keep an eye on
whoever may have a gun trained on them.
Haggii fly backwards over the moor, simply to protect their eyes from
the biting winds. No haggis has ever
been able to survive in captivity, thus making the domesticating or farming of
them impossible. Anything you may have
heard to the contrary is propaganda
spouted by the Sassenachs who would wish to claim these tasty wee
morsels for themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">The hunting season begins in
the month of January so that fresh haggii can be brought to the table as
Scotsmen and women everywhere celebrate the birth of their national poet on the
25th. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Originally it was reported
that after the newly cooked haggis was brought to the table
to the accompaniment of a piper, the assembled kilted clan members would leap
onto their chairs, set one foot upon the table, swallow their dram of whisky
and toss the glass over their shoulders.
Then the Clan chief would recite the above poem, briefly apologize to
the haggis for having killed it and
plunge a dirk - a short sharp knife worn inside a highlanders sock -
into it’s steaming belly. It’s entrails was then eaten with relish by the assembled company. After their hunger was sated, the Highlanders
would spend the night sampling the many different brands of Scots whisky<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Nowadays there is seldom any
jumping on tables or breaking of glass, but the drams are still liberally
served. The night is enjoyed by locals and incomers alike. At our last supper, we were even joined by a
Dutchman, complete with national costume and bargee’s hat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">However, there is one point in
your letter with which I totally agree.
I, too, object to the noble haggis
being sometimes subjected to the
indignation of being dressed in kilt and tam. And once, horror of horrors, some
well-meaning English lady photographed the wee beasty wearing heather sprouting
earrings and eltered in lip balm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">In conclusion, I would
ask that now, having a better understanding of the haggis and his ways,
you would refrain from taking the matter up with the Scottish parliament as I’m
sure they have much more important issues
concerning them than the plight of the simple Scottish haggis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Yours faithfully<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; punctuation-wrap: simple; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;">
<span lang="EN-US">Etc etc<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-1449558140590588762017-10-15T14:49:00.000-07:002017-10-15T14:51:05.385-07:00Interview with Linda Gillard<div style="display: inline !important;">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></i></b></h2>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></i></b></div>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyvLo32mhat9eO6jA9ud5sqRz-_cOuPoQj81QrklolGmgtLFhTKj6RZN4LxLVt0lMdcJwopo_Xb0u0cTDRq4Sc6H9ppULUBw1YBCQhaF-mesH2vblQBHZwjMSjDD_r2Mb6W9FeB5fAPg/s1600/LinMadeiracropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyvLo32mhat9eO6jA9ud5sqRz-_cOuPoQj81QrklolGmgtLFhTKj6RZN4LxLVt0lMdcJwopo_Xb0u0cTDRq4Sc6H9ppULUBw1YBCQhaF-mesH2vblQBHZwjMSjDD_r2Mb6W9FeB5fAPg/s400/LinMadeiracropped.jpg" width="268" /></a></i></b></div>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">May I extend a warm welcome to the talented Linda Gillard.</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Hello Linda. Firstly, please could
you tell readers a little about yourself and your books?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m English but I’ve
lived in Scotland since 2001, mostly in the Highlands and Islands where some of
my novels are set. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I write mixed-genre,
issue-led women’s fiction and I’m told it’s difficult to put down! My books are
all different. They always involve a love story but they tackle challenging
themes such as bereavement, PTSD, mental illness and disability. A couple of
them are contemporary ghost stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNo_dPvLgX3qr_1j_avIOc6GIkNDJkEtRw3KEuGl5ES9fSe8-fPeFpSTwscTb2X05RI5e8A9WJbbDZ2ZmQeAya7_OHLjBmIw2aOOMLTxnh_CUL19nkte61zFjLzdCim8m8IW9UUwQLQ5A/s1600/HoSFINALcover.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNo_dPvLgX3qr_1j_avIOc6GIkNDJkEtRw3KEuGl5ES9fSe8-fPeFpSTwscTb2X05RI5e8A9WJbbDZ2ZmQeAya7_OHLjBmIw2aOOMLTxnh_CUL19nkte61zFjLzdCim8m8IW9UUwQLQ5A/s320/HoSFINALcover.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My first three novels
were traditionally published, but I’ve been an indie author since 2011. I
parted ways with my publisher over my fourth novel, HOUSE OF SILENCE. They said
it would be difficult to market and needed a complete re-write. Rather than do
that I withdrew the manuscript which was professional suicide, but I really
believed in my book as it stood. I hoped I’d get another publisher, but after two
years my agent still hadn’t found one. We had a lot of rejection emails saying
editors liked my books but couldn’t see how to market them as they didn’t
belong to a particular genre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My fans kept asking
about a new book and I had two waiting that my agent had been unable to sell,
so I decided to publish them myself. HOUSE OF SILENCE became a Kindle
bestseller and then Amazon selected it as one of their <i>Top Ten of 2011</i> in the Indie Author category. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’ve re-published my
out-of-print backlist and several new books and I now earn a modest living from
writing non-genre fiction. Not many authors manage to do that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When did you first
realise you were going to be a writer?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodHlXQ60TYt0p8nnjwThaUA5czcbgJSA8zwMjcCh_HKMhQSRzN5-YXToSCmEKfd4Dhw8nej6x5DYw5moNcZaFx3kdU1QYyihnyqV1aofTc9mwvEbh-Xw0Qi7q3PabGRVTJnVlsWcXc4E/s1600/newcoversmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodHlXQ60TYt0p8nnjwThaUA5czcbgJSA8zwMjcCh_HKMhQSRzN5-YXToSCmEKfd4Dhw8nej6x5DYw5moNcZaFx3kdU1QYyihnyqV1aofTc9mwvEbh-Xw0Qi7q3PabGRVTJnVlsWcXc4E/s320/newcoversmall.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’ve had several
careers and one of them was journalism. I did that for twelve years so I knew I
could write, but I didn’t really think of myself as a writer. Freelance journalism
was something that fitted in with being a stay-at-home mum. A later career was
teaching but I had to abandon it after a mental breakdown so I started writing
again, therapeutically. An online writing group encouraged me to find a
publisher for my first novel, EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY which was about the links
between bipolar affective disorder (manic depression) and creativity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was published in
2005 and I was 53. It wasn’t until I was offered a contract that I thought
writing might be what I would do with the rest of my life. But it wasn’t just
the contract. By the time I was halfway through drafting EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY, I
was hooked on writing fiction. T</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">hen when EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY was
short-listed in 2006 for <i>The Waverton
Good Read Award</i> (for a first UK novel) I realised I might actually be a
writer!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">If you hadn't become an
author, what would you have done instead as a creative outlet? <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Writing fiction is my
fourth career – fifth, if you count raising a family. I’ve been an actress,
journalist, teacher and now novelist. My other creative outlet has been making
quilts, but once I took up writing professionally, I found I didn’t have much
time for patchwork. But it found its way into the novels. Two books feature
heroines who work with textiles and in HOUSE OF SILENCE a patchwork quilt contains
clues to the mystery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">How do you carry out
the research for your novels?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0RR3Z9esv3fGqOtw3lMsVGlDJdtioqnk2FsZa71NwJCzgT9BKrXUhhAnS4Nn3-IdtfyTbKor3u-T6i_36PqNzNs551C2Dsz9GlDm2RM8E5-mUdOSTMp_XVQPMkaFXNSnqG8LLY0ZtGs/s1600/ALBfinal600x800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs0RR3Z9esv3fGqOtw3lMsVGlDJdtioqnk2FsZa71NwJCzgT9BKrXUhhAnS4Nn3-IdtfyTbKor3u-T6i_36PqNzNs551C2Dsz9GlDm2RM8E5-mUdOSTMp_XVQPMkaFXNSnqG8LLY0ZtGs/s320/ALBfinal600x800.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I do enough background
reading and Google research to be able to make a start on the writing, then I
research as I go along, looking up what I need to know. I’m careful with
research because there’s a temptation to use what you’ve discovered. You should
use as little as possible – and only the fascinating bits – otherwise readers
will skip to get on with the story. Writers research so we can write a
convincing story, but readers don’t need to know all that we know. They just
need to believe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Some things are
difficult to research. I wasn’t able to find many sources of information about
brother-sister incest (A LIFETIME BURNING) or what it’s like to be congenitally
blind. (STAR GAZING.) There’s lots of information about <i>going</i> blind, but the heroine of STAR GAZING was born blind, a very
different experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">So sometimes I just
have to use my imagination and make stuff up, which fortunately I find quite
easy, perhaps because I used to be an actress. When have to imagine what I
can’t research, I apparently get it right. STAR GAZING was shortlisted for
various awards and one of the judges I met said she’d assumed I must be blind
myself or have a blind family member. Her father was blind and she said I’d
nailed his experience. But I’d never even met a blind person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Some readers assume I wrote
EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY when I was living on the Isle of Skye. In fact, I started it
years before when I lived in a Norwich suburb, as a cracked-up teacher. Finding myself with lots of convalescent time
on my hands, I took up quilting. I found it therapeutic working with colour and
design, but as I got better, I longed to do something with <i>words</i>. I
decided I would try to write some fiction, just for fun, just for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I embarked on a self-indulgent,
fantasy-fulfilling novel about all the things I was interested in – quilts,
Scottish islands, mountains, geology, poetry, Gaelic and teaching. The book was
about a woman who went to live alone on a remote Scottish island. Pure fantasy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Then life got very complicated
and I stopped writing. There was a double bereavement, both my kids went off to
uni and my husband took up a teaching post on the isle of Harris. I ended up
living alone on Skye. In my solitude, I started to think about my abandoned
novel. I dug it out and found to my amazement that all the things I’d <i>imagined</i> – moving to an island
community, the enveloping silence, the blackout darkness at night, the weird
shifts between past and present that take place in your mind when you live
alone and rarely speak – these had all become part of my new island life. (The
two hunky heroes, unfortunately, had not.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When you're not
writing, what do you like to read?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Nowadays most of my
reading is research, but when I read for pleasure I relax with classic crime
(Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Josephine Tey) and historical fiction
(Dorothy Dunnett, Patrick O’Brian). One of my favourite authors is Elizabeth
Jane Howard and I like the sort of authors Persephone Books publish. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My tastes are rather
old-fashioned, I suppose, but for me it’s all about the quality of the writing.
I recently discovered Elizabeth Goudge who writes so beautifully, I have to
stop to re-read sentences. I don’t need a complicated plot or lots of action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Which of your
characters would you most like to be and why?</span></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMIFLBQJ68Mi7AHeBfDqz1yGdkXw32Z3PUWLfF3ehiAjlyf4_INZEbASSaoOwot2ajimUAcFRdze_cQ7cf68OrllO1j5dbMtuLn6_xwEeP7fR156sgTur6reTfbWUShOFXfGkVzbXk_c/s1600/CAULDSTANE_kindle_600x800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMIFLBQJ68Mi7AHeBfDqz1yGdkXw32Z3PUWLfF3ehiAjlyf4_INZEbASSaoOwot2ajimUAcFRdze_cQ7cf68OrllO1j5dbMtuLn6_xwEeP7fR156sgTur6reTfbWUShOFXfGkVzbXk_c/s320/CAULDSTANE_kindle_600x800.jpg" width="240" /></a></i></b></div>
<b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Hmmm… I’m tempted to
think which heroine ends up with the most gorgeous of my heroes? Actually I
wouldn’t mind being a few of my heroes who, apart from being rather tortured
individuals, have interesting careers in theatre, classical music, psychiatry,
horticulture and bomb disposal. CAULDSTANE’s Alec is a swordsmith who lives in
a decaying Scottish castle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But I think I’ll opt
for STAR GAZING’s Louisa. She’s fun, fifty, single and the heroine’s older
sister. Louisa looks after her blind sister and writes trashy vampire romance,
about which she has no illusions. It pays the bills. She’s kind, loyal,
resilient, funny and ready for anything – which is how she acquires a very
unusual and much younger boyfriend, a subsidiary character who turned out to be
one of my favourite creations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">If one of your books
became a film, which would you choose and why?
<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I’ve sold screen rights
to EMOTIONAL GEOLOGY and the producer is currently trying to raise the finance
to make a movie filmed on location in North Uist. Despite the role landscape
plays in the book. I would never have thought this novel could be cinematic.
It’s a small cast of characters and not much happens. The story is about how traumatic
events in the past still affect the characters in the present. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The adaptation is very
faithful to the original. When I read the screenplay I was pleased to see most
of the dialogue is mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But the novel I would
most like to see on the screen is A LIFETIME BURNING. That’s a family saga
covering the second half of the 20<sup>th</sup> century. I think it would make
a great TV series. Imagine <i>A Bouquet of
Barbed Wire</i> meets <i>The Forsyte Saga</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">If you had 15 words to
persuade a reader that your latest book, THE TRYSTING TREE should be their next
read, what would you say?<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Did you enjoy TESTAMENT
OF YOUTH? ATONEMENT? Ever felt like hugging a tree? Then click!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgm5m4lI-apwEBVhuYFWV15D9-8u6ccouQSJ_GHRUbSZkL2uWlOPQCotajFBxXxCcFnTT4e5oB00UKdny29MrgZ97GLKTXmjKuPeKH26hYHqGXQHxjMK1hTuKVsRzdDq-CZzE1Gz9l_tg/s1600/pileofpbsTTT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="899" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgm5m4lI-apwEBVhuYFWV15D9-8u6ccouQSJ_GHRUbSZkL2uWlOPQCotajFBxXxCcFnTT4e5oB00UKdny29MrgZ97GLKTXmjKuPeKH26hYHqGXQHxjMK1hTuKVsRzdDq-CZzE1Gz9l_tg/s320/pileofpbsTTT.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Linda’s website: <a href="http://www.lindagillard.co.uk/"><span style="color: windowtext;">www.lindagillard.co.uk</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LindaGillardAuthor?ref=hl"><span style="color: windowtext;">https://www.facebook.com/LindaGillardAuthor?ref=hl</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Amazon UK: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Linda-Gillard/e/B0034PV6ZQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1"><span style="color: windowtext;">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Linda-Gillard/e/B0034PV6ZQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Amazon US: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Linda-Gillard/e/B0034PV6ZQ/ref=la_B0034PV6ZQ_af?rh=n:283155,p_82:B0034PV6ZQ"><span style="color: windowtext;">https://www.amazon.com/Linda-Gillard/e/B0034PV6ZQ/ref=la_B0034PV6ZQ_af?rh=n:283155,p_82:B0034PV6ZQ</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-67055797167078712552017-07-27T03:20:00.001-07:002017-07-27T03:20:46.045-07:00Just a small extract<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan lines-together; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">Isa sat on the flagstone seat in the soft night, hugging her knees and staring at the darkening sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With shadows in her eyes, she turned her head and waited until he joined her before she spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Ye’ve been a while.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">Davie gazed upwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A single seagull flew silently across the moon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘I got a lot of driftwood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is the baby sleeping?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Aye. Jessie’s rocking the cot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where’s that music coming from?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Maybe the loft at the Mains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lads and lassies often get together for a dance on a Saturday night.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Do ye wish ye were with them?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘No, I want to be nowhere else than right here.’ He slipped his arm around her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Are ye still mad at me for making ye leave yer mam’s?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">He gave a short laugh. ‘I don't blame ye.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Davie,’ she whispered, and waited until he looked into her face. ‘I’ve never danced.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Never?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">She shook her head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘Then how about now.’ He sprung to his feet, and pulled her upright.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">‘I don’t know how.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">He put one arm around her waist and clasped her free hand in his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Now watch my feet and do as I do.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He swirled her round and led her over the green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wave of sound flowed through her until it was part of her and her first awkward steps became fluid and easy. And as their baby slept, Davie and Isa danced among the stooks of corn, under the light of a harvest moon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">This is a small extract from Follow the Dove.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLEKJArD6gVB35xM3XMX95LgEsUb5BZa7Zsfb0RCbldjtVFQtS4o8XaTcmKwuCDeSQcarXVZk48NmjO4s3CBqYnCgpdCLTOoUyEbfehfcmZBTbIyEqBua3T4_oC5LyZevg5rQBs0Tj1Y/s1600/Byrne_cover1correct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLEKJArD6gVB35xM3XMX95LgEsUb5BZa7Zsfb0RCbldjtVFQtS4o8XaTcmKwuCDeSQcarXVZk48NmjO4s3CBqYnCgpdCLTOoUyEbfehfcmZBTbIyEqBua3T4_oC5LyZevg5rQBs0Tj1Y/s320/Byrne_cover1correct.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: #403152; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-3868889574470025092017-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:002017-06-17T11:21:30.410-07:00The Floating Shops of Orkney<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
When choosing
our goods from the supermarket shelf, how many of us reflect on how much the
methods of shopping have changed during the span of one generation. Many elderly inhabitants of the Northern Isles
of Scotland can still recall when a good day's shopping depended on the
weather. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The floating
shops of Orkney were a feature of island life from as early as 1897, although
many smaller islands did not receive this service until 1910. These sturdy vessels continued to brave the
vagaries of the Pentland Firth until the first world war, and for a few years
after 1918 the service was resumed with engine driven ships.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Robert Garden,
who was born in Rayne Aberdeenshire, was to become the biggest merchant in
Kirkwall at that time. A floating market
must have seemed an obvious business opportunity, when all around him, in the
Shetland Islands, the North and South Islands of Orkney, and the northern coast of Caithness, lay many
potential customers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Each floating
shop had a crew of three, and each man was in charge of a department. These men must have had a hard working five
hours or so in their often hot, cramped premises. Frequently too, there was a strong swell
causing considerate discomfort to some of the women customers, who had never
had the chance to develop ‘sea legs.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The grocer had
his domain nearest the bow. Along the
bulkheads and sides of the ship were shelves on which the groceries were
displayed. Bars of wood were nailed
along the fronts to stop the goods tumbling off in heavy seas.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Midship was used
for the meal and feeding stuffs. A large
weighing machine stood in the centre, and sacks of flour, oatmeal, bran and
corn were built up along the sides.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
At the stern,
and the least busy, was the drapery. The
draper had shoes, boots, rolls of wax
cloth, oilskins, overalls and other items of clothing set out on a bench, as
well as on barred shelves and hanging on lines above his head. When a lull came, he was expected to jump on
deck and deal with incoming lobsters and fish.
Because as well as selling, the merchants of the floating shops also
bought the local produce of the islands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
At the sight of
the white sails approaching from Orkney, word was passed around. The women folk gathered eggs into white
enamel pails and lidded baskets.
Fishermen set about preparing what they called ‘wet fish’. At the time of year when fish were plentiful,
the excess was pickled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
When the fish
were brought ashore, they were cleaned, split, boned and washed in fresh
water. After being allowed to drip dry,
they were laid, layer about with salt, in a barrel. Three days later, the fish would be afloat in
a salt pickle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
When the
floating shop was sighted, the fish were swished around in the brine to remove
any slime, piled up, covered with canvas, and large stones placed on top to
press out the water. Then in barrows and
baskets, they were taken to the shore and loaded into boats. Boxes of lobsters were also put on board.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
By the time the
floating shop had reached its anchorage, the pier would be crowded with
people. Not only did the adults set
aside their tools, but the children took a holiday from school.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The local boats,
with their loads for sale were ready to go out to the ship. The customers settled down to await their
turn to be ferried out, three or four at a time in the ship’s own rowing boats.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
These ships
included Gleaner, Endeavour, Zoona, Klydon, Thankful, Aberdeen, Lizzie Bain,
Star of Bethlehem, Summer Cloud and the Star of Hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
One of the
islands regularly served by these vessels was Stroma, Caithness’ only
island. The Star of Hope called once a
fortnight at the north end and the Endeavour came to the south side each
alternate week.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
There are a few
expatriates who still recall the boats and their popularity, although at that
time there were four other shops on the islands. The arrival of a floating shop is remembered
as a time of great excitement, no matter what the weather, and for the
children, it was an excuse to lay aside their slates and chalk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The floating
shops also brought employment to many of the womenfolk of Kirkwall. There are few alive who remember working for
Robert Garden and packing boxes for the floating shops. They
filled huge wooden boxes with
boots, bales of men’s shirting, wool, and the half bleached cotton ladies used for making their
underwear, all for six shillings a week.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
James Allan, a
resident of the North End of Stroma, recalled how the draper, when there was a
lull in his trade, counted the lobsters brought by the fishermen and paid out one shilling or one and two pence each and
packed them into the ship’s own boxes.
Those when full, he dumped overboard to keep the supply fresh and alive. The fish were weighed on deck, giving about
eight shillings to ten shillings per hundredweight, and then they were stacked
and covered over with canvas. The
grocer bought in the dozens of eggs at
six pence per dozen and packed them between layers of straw in boxes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
I have been
unable to find a report of any of the ships being lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Now with the
depopulation of many of the smaller islands, and the advent of ferries to the
places where supermarkets abound, there is no more need for the floating shops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Robert Garden,
described by <i>The Orcadian </i>as Orkney’s merchant Prince died in 1912. His legacy to the county would be what became
Kirkwall’s Balfour Hospital after his
widow bequeathed the money to erect in his memory, The Garden Memorial Building
which opened in 1927.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -252.0pt; text-align: justify;">
Shopping
methods of today.<span style="color: #339966;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-65292915115721806922017-04-18T02:28:00.000-07:002017-04-29T02:44:23.044-07:00The Locket and a Five Taka Note<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">When Abdul Mkith left Bangladesh with nothing other than his clothes, the locket his mother placed around his neck, and a five taka note, neither he nor his family had any idea what lay in store for him.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5quPIUgfBQUCkHpdFZYIZqNMX0sKiX2ws9d7veA2THyyB4BcaAfI4MTH8bKBmeCl3qxTOESJdHjT8moC93SHtjuCn__yQuM0VMHXv06_CIh3YS94Mru5tLnOEiwMwN3LYi3PSnkbexBs/s1600/young+Abdul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5quPIUgfBQUCkHpdFZYIZqNMX0sKiX2ws9d7veA2THyyB4BcaAfI4MTH8bKBmeCl3qxTOESJdHjT8moC93SHtjuCn__yQuM0VMHXv06_CIh3YS94Mru5tLnOEiwMwN3LYi3PSnkbexBs/s320/young+Abdul.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abdul before he was sent to then UK</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">In October 2012, an
English teacher contacted me. He told me he had been working
with a boy who was keen to tell his tale to the world. I met with Abdul, then
twenty-four and was mmediately drawn to
this personable and attractive young man. Bit by bit he told me his
story and supplied me with the notes that the authorities held on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">He left a family
where he was loved and pampered and sent to an "Aunt" and "Uncle"who his family trusted to love and care for him the way they had done. The truth was different. The "Aunt" and "Uncle" effectively sold him
into a life of what can only be described as a horror story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s been extremely
brave of this young man to revisit his past and lay it bare for the world to
read. He not only wants to expose what’s going on in this country under our
noses, but also warn parents from third world countries who believe they are
doing the best for their children by sending them to the west.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Names of individuals
have been changed, but otherwise <i>The
Locket and</i> <i>A Five Taka Note is </i>his true
story, as he told it to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Of course,
never having been to Bangladesh, I needed to get a ‘feel’ for the country. Through
the magic of You Tube, I visited the places Abdul spoke about, I saw the men
fishing in the fields, gathering the dhal, and herding the cattle over the paddy
stalks. I woke up to the beauty of a Bangladesh morning, saw the early sun
shine through the palm leaves, heard the twitters of the birds, heard the call
to prayer.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-SsOpkXthxVMwqdfkmIEeW-dv6kTSFT8v4kCg3F2KHFVfM9mgHGWQaj4_AL8Gjg8buJ9j9Z-agx0y8Zgi3G-sjHWcCWfXCb8j_zOAnKfNpvT7OYeGO60nQpVMk5D8vq6XXAVQj3_Sbw/s1600/Abdul%2527s+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-SsOpkXthxVMwqdfkmIEeW-dv6kTSFT8v4kCg3F2KHFVfM9mgHGWQaj4_AL8Gjg8buJ9j9Z-agx0y8Zgi3G-sjHWcCWfXCb8j_zOAnKfNpvT7OYeGO60nQpVMk5D8vq6XXAVQj3_Sbw/s320/Abdul%2527s+cover.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abdul's true story</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I watched
trains laden with men and boys hanging onto the outside and riding on the roof,
and I travelled through the streets of Bazar and Dhaka, and attended a Muslim
wedding. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
You Tube is
a very handy tool.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
That was
the good bits.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately
other localities in Abdul’s story can only be envisaged. I have an eleven year old
grandson and imaging the horror of what Abdul went through at the same age was
hard, but it is important to see his life as it was through his eyes and
understand his coping mechanisms. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It is not
an easy read, it was not easy to write. How many other children out there are
in this situation and never escape?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It is
estimated that at least 129 refugee children have gone missing since the Calais
Jungle has been disbanded. No one knows the real numbers. No one knows what they are enduring every day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 8.5pt; margin-right: 8.5pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
.<o:p></o:p><i>The Locket and a five taka Note </i>will be published next month both as an ebook and a paperback, and I’m sure we all wish Abdul every success in his future life</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-36180216852796459672017-04-09T02:08:00.000-07:002017-04-09T04:23:35.877-07:00How the The Broken Horizon came to be written <div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7URaQTkP3fLdupquqwSbTrm4sAPChUnKWOCVPGII-r5Gh0z5CXTUy9OuVWBNVPskq8pRbPmepu9j9YYRtOrKaCMoIDgW3l8nHD3h36rSurUfCg_5r1lMsE9zUw3H1_ET80YURmShNxDs/s1600/Byrne_cover1correct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7URaQTkP3fLdupquqwSbTrm4sAPChUnKWOCVPGII-r5Gh0z5CXTUy9OuVWBNVPskq8pRbPmepu9j9YYRtOrKaCMoIDgW3l8nHD3h36rSurUfCg_5r1lMsE9zUw3H1_ET80YURmShNxDs/s200/Byrne_cover1correct.jpg" width="128" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When Davie Reid gets a girl from another island pregnant, and
brings her to his home, Chrissie is devastated. It was understood
that she and Davie would be married one day, and he has already taken her
innocence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In despair, Chrissie turns to Davie’s violent brother, Jack, who
has always coveted her. However, his nature does not lead to a happy marriage. (<i><b>Follow
the Dove</b></i>)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<i><b>Follow the Dove</b></i> was meant to be the first in a trilogy and Isa's story, but Chrissie evolved into the stronger character and demanded a book of her own.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<i><b>The Broken horizon</b></i> is Chrissie's story.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIjH7T46iF_ERhu2YYjkxWkd-QYI2C15Zuc1KVWJtmfzlwsbQI5syYOaCREWhCwSpLIN5PAQQ3QQuu6G_fj1p2trZyCXew2CO04WUgKufyyuK884GZVgLME-eCmjF5DWCJiixNwlzZeE/s1600/cover+BH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinIjH7T46iF_ERhu2YYjkxWkd-QYI2C15Zuc1KVWJtmfzlwsbQI5syYOaCREWhCwSpLIN5PAQQ3QQuu6G_fj1p2trZyCXew2CO04WUgKufyyuK884GZVgLME-eCmjF5DWCJiixNwlzZeE/s200/cover+BH.jpg" width="134" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After a brutal attack which leaves her concussed, Chrissie mixes
poison in Jack's whisky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Next day she only remembers snatches of what happened, but she does remember her intentions all too clearly. Jack has gone, there’s a fresh grave in the byre, she
has dirt beneath her fingernails and on her boots. She has actually done it. But she must never tell a soul. Let the islanders think he has been lost at sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Over the years, she forms a close attachment to the young, dashing
Charlie Rosie and eventually falls deeply in love with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Fourteen years since Jack’s disappearance, Chrissie receives a
letter signed, Jack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Read all about it in<i><b> The Broken Horizon</b></i>. On sale today and all this week, for 99p<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-51863050654137651902017-04-06T02:36:00.000-07:002017-04-19T10:26:27.901-07:00This Year's Writerly Weekend.<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Another writerly weekend. This time in wonderful weather, blue
skies and little wind. After an amazing meal in Café Andaluz, Glasgow, and a couple of
drinks, we retired to our rooms in the Premiere Inn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Next day was spent checking in and meeting up with friends in the Westerwood
Hotel, Cumbernauld for the 48<sup>th</sup> annual conference. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsL0v3IxbO0FimON7h_rLQ2hokgHoH0ZY8I3S5El3ZIresrO56MQmFSvHz_G3j3aqVrbMQEhfOdnLMdkxDptntBS_bhnLHwd0DTb1qQlLE3VCsWlsO_NPI-1caKUrarWw9XUzpJiBv8M/s1600/prize+winners+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsL0v3IxbO0FimON7h_rLQ2hokgHoH0ZY8I3S5El3ZIresrO56MQmFSvHz_G3j3aqVrbMQEhfOdnLMdkxDptntBS_bhnLHwd0DTb1qQlLE3VCsWlsO_NPI-1caKUrarWw9XUzpJiBv8M/s320/prize+winners+1.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prize winners. My trophy is invisible because it's glass!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The schedule for the whole weekend, starting with dinner on Friday night, is full. A lot of organisation and hard work by the committee of S.A.W.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I imagine that, unless someone proves me wrong, we from Caithness
travel the furthest to attend this weekend of talks, competitions, workshops
and socialising. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But true to form, our small writer’s circle do well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I won the Barbara Hammond trophy for the best self-published novel with <i>Isa's Daughter</i> and Morag Oag
won a second for her non-fiction children’s novel, <i>Living with Sheep</i>, and a
third for her under sevens' story, <i>Boogie the Centipede.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">All in all, it was a successful and </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">enjoyable weekend.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">
</span></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-Ilw2337GE059hrNHuQNBLchZT9F5eBnkCyAz8ov262aC9oJYf40x0UK1LHdPBzrPe5i4iUFETUp_vrPzGV0HGbh0pB9X13kZ9HOL6x7PGUDclJ-xlP7BH_FGq9mCDAp_thIfitVDTo/s1600/prize+winners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-Ilw2337GE059hrNHuQNBLchZT9F5eBnkCyAz8ov262aC9oJYf40x0UK1LHdPBzrPe5i4iUFETUp_vrPzGV0HGbh0pB9X13kZ9HOL6x7PGUDclJ-xlP7BH_FGq9mCDAp_thIfitVDTo/s320/prize+winners.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">all the trophy winners</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963984871353122523.post-57768601920024818462017-03-29T07:13:00.001-07:002023-09-10T09:09:57.971-07:00Operation Snowdrop<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
'There's going to be a blizzard.' my father said, and I watched as
he brought in extra drinking water and coal and a large shovel. I didn't worry
over much. whatever happened my parent were there and they would keep me safe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
The following
morning, I woke up to a silent darkness. The house was encased in snow. My
father was already tunnelling his way to the byre to tend the animals.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
He also tunnelled a
path upwards, and once the blue sky could be seen, us children, decked out in
wellingtons, hats coats and scarves, clambered out. only the top of the roof and
the chimneys were visible. The large drifts made excellent sledge slopes.
We could tunnel in and build caves, then fall back indoors with freezing feet
and fingers, desperate to warm up and get outside again. The fact that our snow
caves could collapse and bury us never entered out heads. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When we ran out of
water, my father brought in tin pails full of snow and put it on the stove to
melt. Several of our sheep wandered over the cliff edge and fell down, sinking
in the soft snow. My father tied a rope around his middle and rescued them.
Trapped in their freezing bubble, all had survived. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately for us children, being snowed in did not last long. I well remember the disappointment when I woke up one morning and the snow had almost disappeared. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We perhaps fared better than many of our mainland neighbours, since those who relied on electricity had to do without. We relied on bottled gas and solid fuel and still had warmth and light. </div>
<br />
http://www.britishpathe.com/video/operation-snowdrop-aka-operation-snowdrop<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvB5qDlym4Cq4gAwAqDQue8zYBD6Jsp6-JSBwJDQSP3CjLfxKKphgHY19z-noVQ-LGYXyZbBxcH64CtDmcsxiosdvvoBZ-eAba7mpDikqTXrWSSwzW99kf5Aam2JoQilk1E_MbRjJQWoA/s1600/big+snow.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvB5qDlym4Cq4gAwAqDQue8zYBD6Jsp6-JSBwJDQSP3CjLfxKKphgHY19z-noVQ-LGYXyZbBxcH64CtDmcsxiosdvvoBZ-eAba7mpDikqTXrWSSwzW99kf5Aam2JoQilk1E_MbRjJQWoA/s320/big+snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">snow in Caithness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Catherine McCaughey-Byrnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12434753521832560891noreply@blogger.com0