JOURNAL
| Window into Scotland
Notes from the Isles
This issue, our friend is reminded that by doing one’s duty, you reap the rewards Words by KATE FRANCIS
O
ne of my somewhat hubristic assertions has always been that I prefer ‘proper’ weather: rain should drench; sun should burn; the wind should be violent: there should be no boring dreich compromises. I am now regretting such idiocy. A series of bad storms hit us recently, serious enough to have names: Dudley, Corrie, Eunice... with Gladys approaching as I write. Dudley was my nemesis. The house shook, the tiles flew like falling leaves, a fence was flattened; worst of all, the electricity was cut off for two days. I could cope with no lighting, heating, hot water, or telephone. I had a bag of half-used candles so I could read in the evening, but that was daunting because my chair is under a window and the curtains billowed out like sails and the candle flames fluttered alarmingly. The disasters were that I was unable to re-charge my vape, and, having no internet, I couldn’t indulge my daily fix of Wordle – a ridiculous game of chance to which I am addicted. The gale also put out my Esse stove, which not only cooks my food and heats the water but acts as a heater in my kitchen, and that’s the room I live in. For five days, Cronie and I sat, wrapped in rugs, shivering
miserably in our mutual chair, and I wore socks and gloves in bed. Despite the winter weather, An t-Eilean Dubh (The Black Isle), has recently qualified as An t-Eilean Geal, (The White Isle): wild snowdrops carpet the woods and verges, greatly enhancing our daily walks. On one of these, we encountered someone who was considerably hardier than I. We were climbing a path in a freezing gale, and I was thankful to be wearing thermal leggings and vest, my thickest sweater and trousers and a well-padded coat. Then I noticed an old man approaching across the ice, aided by a cromag. He was dressed in anklelength socks and gym shoes, a light cardigan, and a kilt with a shiny leather sporran. His legs were very white and, as we exchanged greetings, I wondered if he kept the Highland tradition of what should be worn under the kilt. I hoped for his sake he was breaking the rules and wearing thermal boxers. The only disadvantage of having a base on an island is that ‘proper’ weather interrupts all ferries and planes. Many friends were cut off for days or had to cancel plans. I’m hoping that things will have quietened down by Easter when I’ve arranged to join the family over in our island retreat. Weather permitting, all my grandchildren are visiting me just before Easter, to partake in
All around us were those dear familiar faces who have been part of the 63 years of my married life
ABOVE: Kate and Cronie, her faithful Border Terrier TOP RIGHT: The Old High Church, Inverness
10 Scotland
