tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62821679641880584012024-02-07T14:32:13.611-08:00Scotland My ScotlandEverything I love about Scotland:
Landscape, History,People, Music - my memoriesAnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-10461045730283520792022-10-31T04:53:00.008-07:002022-12-13T06:10:37.335-08:00The Post Office - only the names have changed<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">THE POST OFFICE </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqRva1dbj-Sl9uVvDGCkLmEgfLe01pHNLwEfjgMIMDk5WJCwp1BNAkFDn0UKIJ45p4RQ29TeqoTSfd4V8wFgRXoiHxrpYEiVMgNOnp50G9jt4RR-7xHCtLQpz9a-586n3OB3FCt1P2pHuds4UxU_7HOIXcuqDwjksZrShW41L_mtoVHP0TZfn-3Zr4Q/s423/post-office-cartoon-style-vector-260nw-494083435.webp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="423" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAqRva1dbj-Sl9uVvDGCkLmEgfLe01pHNLwEfjgMIMDk5WJCwp1BNAkFDn0UKIJ45p4RQ29TeqoTSfd4V8wFgRXoiHxrpYEiVMgNOnp50G9jt4RR-7xHCtLQpz9a-586n3OB3FCt1P2pHuds4UxU_7HOIXcuqDwjksZrShW41L_mtoVHP0TZfn-3Zr4Q/s320/post-office-cartoon-style-vector-260nw-494083435.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">It was 8.30 am on a
cold Monday morning, and two figures materialised at the door of the Post
Office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No use wondering where they
appeared from, it was the same every week, no matter how early I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I jiggled with the old keys for the old door
and Mary Henderson and Jane Green followed my heels inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘morning Mary, morning
Jane,’ I said, ‘come away in out of the cold,’ then noticed, they already had.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘morning Morag,’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>chimed two voices; one a heavy English accent,
the other a Highland lilt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘’Noo we’re no in ony
hurry mind,’ Mary said, ‘you tak yer time lass.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary held herself straight for her eighty
years; a big woman, she struck an imposing figure in her brown tweed <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>coat that was nearly as old as she.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jane, on the other hand, was thin to the
point of scrawny; all points and sharpened edges, like her chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little and Large greeted me the same way
every week.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I clunked through the
security door to get behind the counter; the security door that I could shimmy
under when I locked myself on its wrong side; the security door with the piece
of hardboard bolstering the back of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I switched on both the computers then chucked my coat on a chair in the
back-shop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">While I turned off the
alarm and rescued the limpet from the front of the heavy iron safe, I listened
to the usual conversation between the optimist and the pessimist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘gae cauld the day,’ -
Mary<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘but lovely and
bright,’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- Jane.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘aye it caud be whar I
suppose,’ Mary’s brown handbag shrugged closer to the impressive bosom, ‘but
it’ll rain afore denner time, ye’ll see.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Monday was officially
started as I took my place at my counter, ‘now ladies, what can I do for you?’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Christine Petrie popped
her head round the door, resplendent in purple tammy that seemed to get bigger
every week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Is it pay day?’ she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Not today Christine,’
I shout to her, ‘this is only Monday, come back tomorrow.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christine worked on the principle, that if
she came in every day, one day in seven, she would pick the right one to
collect her pension. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Right you are.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christine waved and set off with her tartan shopping
trolley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That trolley followed her
everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think it ever
actually held anything and it was always being found abandoned, but it was part
of who Christine was. <br />
<br />
My assistant, Clare, arrived as the queue grew, but everyone enjoyed catching
up with people they only saw once a week.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">David Gourley was
telling <span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">everyone where to find free food.
'There's a nice crop of wild spinach down at the burn and lovely mushrooms out
at the airfield,’ he told all and sundry. He didn't mention the effluence that was
the runoff from the pig farm at the burn or the fumes from the go-kart racing
out at the airfield that I suspected had a detrimental effect on free food. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>It was David’s aim in life never
to pay for <span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">food if he could avoid it, down to
raiding the butcher's bin for the odd pig's head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pete,<span style="color: red;"> </span>the
butcher, had to put a padlock on it or face the wrath of the Health and Safety
officers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="postbody1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">At
the ripe old age of seventy-four,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David
was waiting to die. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Three score years and ten,' he told Mrs Birse, who
was trying hard to follow his train of thought. 'We are promised three score
years and ten and I've had my fill.' He even managed to sound enthusiastic
about it. 'I'm ready to go any time,’ he continued. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David was very proper in his speech which
always seemed at odds with his frayed shirt sleeves and ragged tank top. 'I'm
ready to go at any time, aren't you Mrs Birse?' </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Well,' replied a rather subdued Mrs Birse, leaning
heavily on her cane. 'I suppose it might be something of a relief.' </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Of course, one could always commit suicide,’ he
continued, ‘but that would be cheating would it not?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Into the silence that descended on the Post
Office. </span></span><span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At the head of the queue, he asked for one
first class stamp, presumably not into buying more than one at a time in case
he pegged it before he needed them. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Mrs Birse, the wealthiest woman in the village, put 5p
into the charity box for the seventeen second-hand books she had picked out on
the premise that charity began at home. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Liz' I said with an inward groan as Liz Cooper
approached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, on the busiest
morning of the week, she delved into the depths of her poly bag and brought
forth ten packets of 20p pieces, each wrapped lovingly and VERY tightly in
cling film. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Morning Morag,' she said cheerfully, 'my phone bill
arrived the day.' Sometimes it was the gas bill but I doubt either actually hit
the floor as they came through the letterbox. Liz turned to her sister, Grace
Patterson, who clacked her loose false teeth at her and continued her
interrupted conversation. 'Aye, I heard it from Jenny, they found him lying in
a puddle.' </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Douglas, the subject of the conversation and our local
drunk, entered and cleared the place immediately as everyone remembered they had
to pay their papers or buy something from the butcher - urgently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Douglas, bless his unwashed socks, smelt a bit
ripe. While I am still counting the 20p pieces, Clare lit a scented
candle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We kept the candle especially
for his<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>visits, in a vain attempt to
clear the air. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liz Cooper buried her
nose in her handkerchief and Grace sidled over to the second-hand paperback
books, as far away from the counter as possible and I asked<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, 'Will someone open that door please.’? </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">'Morning, Mistress,' said Douglas, one hand to his
forehead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor Douglas, his teeth were
completely yellow, his grey hair dank and greasy under a woollen hat that used
to be a tea-cosy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lining of his
jacket hung at odd angles, his trousers rode at half-mast and were fastened
round his waist with string. At one time an intelligent man, he lived in a
council flat without electricity because he never paid the bill. The local fire
brigade were regular visitors whenever he sets something on fire and the local
bobby kept an eye on him to make sure he didn’t die in the middle of the night
with no-one to miss him. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Actually, someone would miss him: if he didn’t turn up
for his pension on a Monday, if he didn’t visit the hotel at lunchtime or
collect his fish and chips from the chippy, the phone line would be red hot to
the bobby. There were more wooden boards on his door now than original door,
thanks to the frequent official break-ins to check up on him when he was too
drunk to answer the door. Why he didn’t just issue them with a key, I didn’t
know. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I would have kept one; I already held an odd
assortment of keys behind the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Miss Mackie, for example, left one with me – and one at the doctor’s
surgery, the paper shop, the butcher’s, the fruit shop and the local fish man’s
van. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miss Mackie, (I was in the war you
know,) is very deaf and had a morbid fear of collapsing in the night. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As usual I saw her outside the window. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waved to acknowledge she had indeed survived
another night, and she toddled off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In the meantime Grace MacIntosh brought yet another
card up to the counter and asked how much it would cost to send it to a)
America (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and oh is Canada the same</i>?)
and b) to Australia, Asia and South America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She never bought any, or posted them as far as I was aware. Perhaps it was
the romance of far off places that gave her such simple pleasure in expanding
her horizons from the village where she was born, raised, married and widowed. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Lizzie Taylor entered with Jeannie Craven; the latter
almost bent double, but still muttering gamely at the old woman in front of
her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little Lizzie Taylor was permanently
cheerful; five foot nothing in her rundown wellie boots, her knitted bonnet nodded
every time she spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lizzie was queen
of our village roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, her
firm belief in her divine right to ride her bike in the perfect centre, and to
turn whenever and wherever the notion took her, was respected by the locals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just prayed visitors were equally
vigilant. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jeannie Craven, in contrast, must have been five foot
ten in the days when she could stand tall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had worked the land all her life; up with
the dawn, to bed with the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She played
the bagpipes enthusiastically in the days when it was more than unusual for
women to be seen playing them at all. She sorely missed the pipes now she
hadn’t the breath to play them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
she often sat with her pal, old Davey Cook who practiced the pipes in his
garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Davey said bagpipes were never
meant to be played indoors and enriched our lives when his playing wafted over
the village in the evening air. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was even
known to take requests, if you caught him in the right mood. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Do you have any spare £1 coins Morag?’ Michael, the
new pharmacist asked from the doorway. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew he would have left a note on the door of the pharmacy:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘back in a minute’. I also knew he would
return to find someone standing there when he got back, not actually wanting
anything, but ‘jist winted tae see how lang yer minute wis’. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As usual, I watched in fascination as the assorted
ladies of the village pressed back against the card racks to let him pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Michael grinned at them as they preened. Younger
than most of the community by at least 30 years, Michael and his young family
were a fine addition to the community, not least because Michael was an
outrageous flirt. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I let my simper die when I caught Clare’s eye and handed
over several packets of £1 coins without demur – I’d find some way to explain
to the Post Office why I was asking for extra change later in the week – well,
I was menopausal, not dead. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In came Joe Petrie, looking for all the world like
Santa Claus with his white hair and white beard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joe was the ‘younger’ man of sixty-five who
escorted ageing ladies to the Post Office on a Monday morning to collect
pensions and then carry their shopping home. On his arm, old Mrs Ewart tottered
over to the counter and handed me her pension book, together with the list I would
dutifully return ready for next week – 1 TV stamp, 2 gas stamps, 1 BT stamp and
2 second class stamps. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Outside, I saw the red postie’s van draw up and groaned
when I saw Jim unwind his long length. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jim
and I were old antagonists: he swore at me, I shouted at him. I did try to be
nice, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let the spring on the
parcel shelf window release as he approached the counter, ‘Morning Jim.’ </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘Don’t know what’s good about it,’ he grumbled,
throwing the clipboard in my general direction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clare the peacemaker stepped in quickly and took
over, smoothly pushing me back to my own counter position where I would be more
productive. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">‘The Major’ entered and Jim immediately drew himself
up, ‘Good morning Major,’ he said in an alert kind of voice
and I clenched my teeth to prevent myself telling him the only thing ‘The
Major’ was ever in charge of was a quartermaster’s warehouse. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span class="postbody1"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Good
morning all,’ Major William said and, if you listened carefully, you could hear
the word ‘troops’ replacing the ‘all’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
cheerfully issued him with his free car-tax disc for his Land Rover, so old it
classed as historic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That old Land Rover
regularly disappeared from in front of his house when someone needed a ride
home; the Land Rover had no locks and a manual starter, so was easy prey for
everyone who knew about it.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jim left and I unclenched my teeth enough to smile
again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old Miss Rennie, everyone's first
primary school teacher, reached my counter and I tried to serve her quickly
before the ever-present drip at the end of her nose finally dropped. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charlie MacIntosh, last of the old guard
fishermen asked about my roses, his friend George, about my cats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before he retired, George would leave a bag
full of fish-heads hanging on my door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
never had the courage to tell him even Domino, she of the iron stomach,
wouldn’t eat them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The day disappeared in a flurry of pensions, stamps
and bills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We helped fill out endless
forms, listened to tales of aches and pains, gripes about family and neighbours
and caught up with births and celebrations. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="postbody1"><span style="line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A final visit from Miss Caird for an envelope to send
her used stamps off for the ‘deaf dogs’, aka the charity, Dogs for Deaf People,
and it was time to lock up, go home, put my feet up and count my blessings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe that would be the one evening when
no-one knocked on the door because they had dropped their keys in the post-box,
or they because they had forgotten to buy a birthday card – maybe it wouldn’t,
but what the hell, that was what I loved about it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-63362837634073135942015-04-08T14:17:00.000-07:002015-04-08T14:17:05.056-07:00Vegetarian Clootie Dumpling: My take on a traditional Scottish Dessert Recipe<h2 class="subtitle" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
How to Make a Vegetarian Clootie Dumpling</h2>
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<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/AVvXsEgmiLitStr5plT8LY5AVJSccAakoeDTCDBOjpFcLihCsVgOR9WsS_yUSvt-XMfARnIpW79IWocNLFpFZuXaDKfpQ_5uhQ4GrOXJ8AnB9y0IJ1ZQnKpP1Mh5U8omEntLQePwbpDkgW1Gn-BN/s1600/British_threepence_1899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="British silver threepence piece" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmiLitStr5plT8LY5AVJSccAakoeDTCDBOjpFcLihCsVgOR9WsS_yUSvt-XMfARnIpW79IWocNLFpFZuXaDKfpQ_5uhQ4GrOXJ8AnB9y0IJ1ZQnKpP1Mh5U8omEntLQePwbpDkgW1Gn-BN/s1600/British_threepence_1899.jpg" title="British silver threepence piece" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A silver threepence piece via Wiki commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here's my recipe for a vegetarian clootie dumpling. This was one of my familiy's favourite pudding served up on special occasions. In case you don't know, clootie dumpling is a traditional Scottish steamed fruit pudding and named for the cloth or cloot it was steamed in. Lucky coins, (usually silver three-penny-pieces my father saved and duly exchanged for a half-crown), were wrapped in grease-proof paper and included in the pudding before cooking: giving the pudding a stir was thought to guarantee every child a lucky coin.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
It is traditionally cooked with beef suet but thankfully you can now get vegetarian suet - failing that use butter instead, this will make a lighter pudding.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
It is best served hot with double cream but you can also use custard or ice-cream. It can be eaten cold, much like a rich fruit cake. The most famous clootie dumplings were made my Ma Broon, of the cartoon Broons family, who liked it fried with bacon!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
Today you can buy them on line if you don't make them yourself and they interesting and unique gifts. If you make your own, wrap the dumpling in a pretty clean dry cloth or muslin and tie with a tartan bow.</div>
<a name='more'></a><div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<h2>
<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: normal;">To make a Veggie cloutie dumpling: You Will Need</span></h2>
</div>
<div class="txtd" id="txtd_29772015" style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
</div>
<ol style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">A clean cloth - a teacloth, tea-towel or muslin can be used but my mother always used a pillow-case.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Scales</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">A large baking bowl</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Wooden spoon</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Ingredients</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">A large saucepan or steamer</li>
<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/AVvXsEgYDsbKi3hfO-Tzwp12SAkfvk_Dd2F-pVP46SYSHMOt9oHCzvO_AJ19NXpDppQBnGgv7OBXuD0zjOElbc4__fKxfMP62VQ8OPdln0a1RqTa2TMpT3-IexXPVd2tQXm-KqFNWoXFYk4RFmhK/s1600/9916739_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="clootie dumpling" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDsbKi3hfO-Tzwp12SAkfvk_Dd2F-pVP46SYSHMOt9oHCzvO_AJ19NXpDppQBnGgv7OBXuD0zjOElbc4__fKxfMP62VQ8OPdln0a1RqTa2TMpT3-IexXPVd2tQXm-KqFNWoXFYk4RFmhK/s1600/9916739_f260.jpg" title="a clootie dumpling on Wiki" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clootie Dumpling via Wiki Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">A plate or saucer for inside the pot to raise your dumpling off the bottom.</li>
</ol>
<div>
<ul style="background-color: #efefef; font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Prep time:</strong> <time datetime="PT20M" itemprop="prepTime">20 min</time></li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Cook time:</strong> <time datetime="PT2H40M" itemprop="cookTime">2 hours 40 min</time></li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Ready in:</strong> <time datetime="PT3H" itemprop="totalTime">3 hours</time></li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Yields:</strong> <span itemprop="yield">4-6</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;">My mixed spices contain cinnamon 40%, and the remaining equal amounts of cloves, ginger, nutmeg and coriander seeds.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="module moduleIngredients color0" id="mod_29772019" style="clear: left; font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 1.4em; padding: 0px;">
<h2 class="subtitle" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
Ingredients</h2>
<div class="moduleIngredients" id="29772019_ingredients" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<ul style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">8</span> <span itemprop="name">oz flour</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">4</span> <span itemprop="name">oz vegetarian suet or butter</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">4</span> <span itemprop="name">oz oatmeal</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">3</span> <span itemprop="name">oz soft brown sugar</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">1 teaspoon </span><span itemprop="name">bicarbonate of soda</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">1 teaspoon </span><span itemprop="name">mixed spice</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">ginger</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">cloves</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">nutmeg</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">cinnamon</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">2</span> <span itemprop="name">oz raisins</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">4</span> <span itemprop="name">oz sultanas</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">2</span> <span itemprop="name">oz currents</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">2</span> <span itemprop="name">eggs - beaten</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span itemprop="amount">3</span> <span itemprop="name">-4 tablespoon milk</span></span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient">flour to coat the cloot</span></li>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;"></ul>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
<div class="module moduleInstructions color0" id="mod_29772020" style="clear: left; font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 1.4em; padding: 0px;">
<h2 class="subtitle" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
Instructions</h2>
<div class="moduleInstructions" id="29772020_instructions" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions"></span><br />
<ol style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;"><span itemprop="instructions">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Instructions:</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Sterilise the cloth by boiling in water for 2-3 minutes. Please take care when taking this out.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">When it is cool, flour the inner surface to give a nice skin to the dumpling and make it easier to turn out of the cloot.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Sift flour into a large baking bowl</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Rub in the suet until it looks like fine breadcrumbs</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Add all the dried ingredients and mix well</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Make a well in the middle and add the beaten eggs</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Add enough milk to make a soft dough</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Put the mixture in the centre of your cloot, gather the ends together and tie the top with string - NB you need to leave about half an inch of room, enough for the pudding to expand.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">In a large pot/saucepan place an upturned saucer or plate to take the cloot off the bottom. (I use a steamer inset instead of the plate)</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Place the clootie dumpling on this.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Fill the pot with boiling water, to cover about two thirds of the dumpling.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Boil for 3 hours checking the water level from time to time.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Allow to rest and cool before turning out the pudding</li>
</span></ol>
<span itemprop="instructions">
</span>
<br />
<div>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=annmonsqui-21&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=B00ARDD7DM&asins=B00ARDD7DM&linkId=E7SPIUQPL7KUD3RQ&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEiWk36dcgBjY50gkO46SlZQt86GNbCjBUEfGGo5y3cLfRZpJ12yNxoAHRodwKT7tLONK_rLDk_yPAYjpQD5CB1-I4ChgcFtFr3kfa0v1-lOpeqwIWrXCJI6Tt4D90HDuKKvxf-qHY92xfK7/s1600/9916777_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="The Cloutie Well" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWk36dcgBjY50gkO46SlZQt86GNbCjBUEfGGo5y3cLfRZpJ12yNxoAHRodwKT7tLONK_rLDk_yPAYjpQD5CB1-I4ChgcFtFr3kfa0v1-lOpeqwIWrXCJI6Tt4D90HDuKKvxf-qHY92xfK7/s1600/9916777_f260.jpg" height="277" title="The Cloutie Well " width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AClootie_Well_-_geograph.org.uk_-_410112.jpg" style="color: #551a8b; font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; outline: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Nick R<br /> [CC-BY-SA-2.0 via Wikimedia Commons</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2 class="subtitle" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions">
The Clootie Well</span></h2>
<div class="txtd" id="txtd_29772023" style="font-size: 13.8000001907349px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions">Hidden away in the Black Isles there is a Clootie Well - tradition says if you hang a clootie rag you will ward off evil.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions">Other traditions say you should wash a diseased part of your body with an old clootie rag then tie it to a tree near a Clootie Well to aid your healing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions">There are several Clootie Wells in Scotland including one on Culloden Moor - they say if you see your own reflection in that one, you will also know the date of your death.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<span itemprop="instructions">So, if you come across a pond with a tree nearby that is hung with rags, you will know you have found a Clootie Well.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<span itemprop="instructions">
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-3556823801181069902015-03-30T06:09:00.000-07:002015-03-30T06:09:25.751-07:00Carrou Mor Vignettes: Of School Days<h2 style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Of School Days in Kirriemuir</span></h2>
<table align="center" 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/AVvXsEiJmtUi-3Pk7ps98I-uhD30q1BGB5oh-g9rgOourGIBSpQZqbPwjcIII4jQ7lWyWEjrDz_dZ3mhywyv8sWkuupWVjMyzqPglu2X8vyk1GOPfqzTrhaJF3dr00kolM1tk8SA5tCgwDIymKRb/s1600/Bellies_Brae,_Kirriemuir_-_geograph.org.uk_-_728329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Bellies Brae Kirriemuir" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmtUi-3Pk7ps98I-uhD30q1BGB5oh-g9rgOourGIBSpQZqbPwjcIII4jQ7lWyWEjrDz_dZ3mhywyv8sWkuupWVjMyzqPglu2X8vyk1GOPfqzTrhaJF3dr00kolM1tk8SA5tCgwDIymKRb/s1600/Bellies_Brae,_Kirriemuir_-_geograph.org.uk_-_728329.jpg" height="268" title="Bellies Brae Kirriemuir" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bellies Brae Kirriemuir by <b style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">Gwen and James Anderson</b><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">under Wiki commons </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">There were two primary
schools in Kirrie, ours, the<a href="https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/Southmuir+Primary+School/@56.670101,-3.00476,2567m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m2!3m1!1s0x0:0x1d89ee10e8e31f1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"> Southmuir Primary School</a> part of Webster’s Seminary
and the Reform Street Primary up the town which might as well have been another
country for all the contact we had with it we definitely felt superior since
ours was attached to the high school, proudly the only non-Catholic Seminary in
Scotland at that time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The Southmuir
primary was a pretty red stone building that stood at the top of Bellies Brae
and had served countless generations before becoming too small to service the
growing population. From our side it was on the level but anyone coming from
the town had a long climb from the Gairie Burn and Bellies Brae up to it. Those
old steps were uneven rough stone of undetermined age. Everyone and their granny used those steps
and the playground as a short cut from one side of the town to the other, much
to the annoyance of Mr McIntosh the school janitor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> When I was little I thought McIntosh owned the
school, living as he did in a small house in the grounds; it took a while
before it clicked that he was the caretaker and groundsman. A great brute of a man, he looked like a
giant to our five year old eyes, much like Hagrid before Rowling created
him. Not as soft as that giant
though. McIntosh – I never knew his first
name - took everything personally within his well kept grounds. Gruff and dour, he glowered at everyone from
under heavy black eyebrows skimmed by his old army bunnet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Young
and old alike ran the gauntlet of his wrath in taking the short cut. Many arguments would drift in through the
windows while little ears flapped listening to McIntosh tearing strips off some
old lady who had just panted her way up one hundred steps. In response, people either ignored him, or
gave back as good as they got, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">‘If ye
think...’ pant, ‘I’m gawing back doon they steps McIntosh...’ pant, ‘ye can
think agin. I pay my taxes like abody
else.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Some
people even he wouldn’t challenge; specifically, Mrs Elder. The sight of her tartan headscarf coming into
view above the parapet of stone wall would see McIntosh disappearing in the
opposite direction. Sometimes he didn’t
quite make it round the corner of a building before she topped the steps and
Mrs Elder would catch a glimpse of him, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">‘Aye, ye
scurry awa ye wee rodent ye,’ would drift through the windows and she would
mutter her way down passed primary’s four, five and seven. Mrs Elder stood five foot nothing in her
stocking soles to McIntosh’s six foot four, proving size didn’t matter when it
came to dealing with bullies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Inside,
we didn’t actually see any of this; the windows, great arched things with
impressive stone lintels, were high off the ground, presumably to prevent
distraction from our chanted times tables. The general layout was simple;
classrooms on each side and a square in the middle lined with gym benches, for
PE, assembly, choir practice and the odd play. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">You started
with entry through the left-hand side door progressing annually from primary
one to two to three down the left of the building, let’s skip over the boy and
girls toilets that formed the top of the square, then on the other side, down to
four and five - one big room divided in two by a glass and wood screen. There was a brief side step into primary six
at the front beside the office, then back to primary seven, the last class room
before you exited the right hand side door and up to the BIG school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When we
were five, Gracie Bruce and I went eagerly to this familiar building. We had been inseparable since we were two
years old, and together, we could do anything.
There is a photograph somewhere of that first day, of the pair of us in
cotton dresses, school bags on backs and grinning manically into the camera at
the door of Grace’s house, our introduction to the world delayed by the
necessity of recording it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Besides
having each other, it also helped that the school was at the end of our road,
familiar territory and well within our comfort zone. <i> </i>Not so for Lesley Cameron, this was her
first extended absence from her mum and she spent the whole day hanging onto
the door knob, howling. I can remember
being puzzled that anyone would be so reluctant to leave home. Maybe she had the right of it after all, to
clinging as long as possible to childhood.
Miss Petrie, by that time Primary One teacher for three decades, let her
stay by the door, obviously watching to see she didn’t harm herself, and simply
raising her voice above the noise. Next
day Lesley came and sat behind Gracie and I, and that was that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Behind
me also, and for the next seven years, sat the Thomson twins, Peter and Andrew,
the same pair who shared my baptism day.
For some reason, I have carried that tenuous connection to the twins
with me throughout my life. Everything
twin-like got my complete attention, and I thought nothing would have pleased
me more than to be the mother of twins.
Not to be, but later as a midwife I did delivery a couple of pairs of
twins to my great delight, and that must serve. But I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Memories
of primary school days are scanty. I
remember the old oak tree that dominated the playground at the top of the
steps. That tree was used for
everything; it formed shelter from rain and sun, around its raised roots we
created our own games, swarmed in its branches, and, later on, it became a
trysting place for our first romantic encounters. That tree was solid. I always imagined the roots grew down inside
the whole of that hill, a huge anchor that kept us earthed to Scottish soil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">For
those years, the school was the centre of our universe, the spot from which we
surveyed the rest of town life. From its
grounds on one side and down the brae was the Commonty, the jute factories and
the old gas tanks, empty but still stinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHsj1BnAgbzlPt0Jwwr3ZD7x9POoyhaMg6aNLkUmpLI-H7_z6AFO3Wc2AWq3lfx07DK9ulD1-ZaKE3laOW27FfUlNEjjKbKKY0JHdJ7jTbaoahYj0qP5tB00F26dB7-gyTIqS9evTfJLo/s1600/397px-Waterfall_at_the_top_of_the_Gairie_Burn,_Kirriemuir._-_geograph.org.uk_-_118263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Waterfall at the top of the Gairie Burn, Kirriemuir" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHsj1BnAgbzlPt0Jwwr3ZD7x9POoyhaMg6aNLkUmpLI-H7_z6AFO3Wc2AWq3lfx07DK9ulD1-ZaKE3laOW27FfUlNEjjKbKKY0JHdJ7jTbaoahYj0qP5tB00F26dB7-gyTIqS9evTfJLo/s1600/397px-Waterfall_at_the_top_of_the_Gairie_Burn,_Kirriemuir._-_geograph.org.uk_-_118263.jpg" height="320" title="Waterfall at the top of the Gairie Burn, Kirriemuir" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h1 class="firstHeading" id="firstHeading" lang="en" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-color: rgb(170, 170, 170); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; font-family: 'Linux Libertine', Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 1.8em; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; overflow: visible; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">
Waterfall at the top of the Gairie Burn, Kirriemuir</h1>
<div>
Wiki Commons</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The
Commonty was common land, a swathe of green, a path along the top, another down
the far side going toward the factory.
At the bottom, another path and then the burn. It’s important to remember that the burn was
at the other side of the path in winter.
When the snow came, at every playtime and lunchtime there was a scramble
to find a cardboard box to slide down the Commonty. If you timed it wrong, you hit the bottom of
the slope, flew over the path and into the burn. Shrieking kids, who normally hated being wet,
were willing to forego comfort and were content to spend afternoon classes
steaming gently in classrooms whose perfume then became wet wool and
leather. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Funny - the scents and smells that take you back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-649010550050889832015-03-14T06:34:00.003-07:002015-03-14T06:34:44.083-07:00Memories of Mum<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/AVvXsEh3PweVpMi99aeCS4BMiVSwOzBNC9WpocJFx28Qpd34HMX8dOJTtmAzdheAGOJJuOUB6wfubECNRtb63khqo171PDR9qi03epQQhazWxuyWY1bZFkdnGxJLfnlPiqjq34Yb080FiBVLDS8o/s1600/the+famour+rose+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="mum" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3PweVpMi99aeCS4BMiVSwOzBNC9WpocJFx28Qpd34HMX8dOJTtmAzdheAGOJJuOUB6wfubECNRtb63khqo171PDR9qi03epQQhazWxuyWY1bZFkdnGxJLfnlPiqjq34Yb080FiBVLDS8o/s1600/the+famour+rose+photo.jpg" height="320" title="mum" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret Mackie Buick Reid</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2>
Memories of Mum on Mother's Day</h2>
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As we reach Mother's day it is natural my mind turns to memories of my mum. Margaret Mackie Buick Reid.</div>
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Mum died in 1984. She
was born in Stonehaven, a small coastal town on the east coast of Scotland just
south of Aberdeen. Her father was a
police sergeant and as such, moved around the region a lot. Mum grew up with a younger brother and sister
and she said her greatest love in her childhood was her piano. I think she would have liked to pursue a
career in music but, with the outbreak of the Second World War, she joined the
Sick Children’s Hospital in Aberdeen as a nurse. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She moved to Strathcathro Hospital near Laurencekirk which
was build especially because of the war.
It is still being used today with typically concrete buildings that were
only supposed to last for the duration of the war. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtgYZvo9YV9JnBMK4Mu2CtCaRaR40Twq3bXpHS9HQADzOw4awBZvT0Ri-PYnTxVh-SNnNZUgjqu3_gw7ld5XwhP8W05jYCfZi-CB4zjSH8s4GeDlxUKbREhxgaPrlJDpiT4EiCO4m0pTW/s1600/mum+and+dad+the+day+they+got+engaged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtgYZvo9YV9JnBMK4Mu2CtCaRaR40Twq3bXpHS9HQADzOw4awBZvT0Ri-PYnTxVh-SNnNZUgjqu3_gw7ld5XwhP8W05jYCfZi-CB4zjSH8s4GeDlxUKbREhxgaPrlJDpiT4EiCO4m0pTW/s1600/mum+and+dad+the+day+they+got+engaged.jpg" height="320" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and Dad on their engagement day<br />
at Turretville Brechin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While at Strathcatho she met my father. Courting was different in those days, very
circumspect. My dad was 12 years older
than her, an experienced man who had spent much of his adult life in the army
in India. Her parents most definitely
did not approve. Neither of them talked
much about that time, except for one tale of the day they were sitting on a
fence and Dad found a lipstick in her purse.
Telling her she had no need of it he threw it into the field behind them
and thereafter it was always the Lipstick Field when we passed it. For years my dad had me scouring it for a
sight of the lipstick tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite opposition which was to shape and sadder her all her
life, my mother was the first nurse to marry at Strathcathro Hospital. The Matron too disapproved and immediately
put her on night duty. </div>
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In the early years, they had two babies who both died, not
unusual in those days, but heartbreaking nevertheless and they adopted a little
girl. Later my brother was born and seven
years after that, I was born. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEji_7VSj9VmvzhCJ0TEgMNQouYJGpNCWLiagVEfni8niZtvKZ1IuE8AsOQ0cAD6xBmg_fT-AFpmKKCy1kYjaIxaOH-pxg8LfJi5jtr3CtEWKySTEWJBG1ZIHHYSYxdGkQxdNaDwRb9biM/s1600/mum+in+the+height+of+fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEji_7VSj9VmvzhCJ0TEgMNQouYJGpNCWLiagVEfni8niZtvKZ1IuE8AsOQ0cAD6xBmg_fT-AFpmKKCy1kYjaIxaOH-pxg8LfJi5jtr3CtEWKySTEWJBG1ZIHHYSYxdGkQxdNaDwRb9biM/s1600/mum+in+the+height+of+fashion.jpg" height="320" width="187" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn’t have an easy life and I’m sure she missed many of
the privileges she had enjoyed with her parents. Then again, life was hard for most ordinary
people in post-war Britain. Once the war
ended, my father insisted his wife didn’t work, by which he meant work outside
the home. Mum supplemented the household
budget with selling eggs from her chickens and later, when they moved to the
town, by sewing and by picking raspberries in the summer. She made a lot of our clothes and pickled and
preserved and jammed with the best of them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They had settled in
Kirriemuir in Angus just before I was born and Angus in the 1950s was ‘berry
country.’ Miles and miles of fields were
heavy with raspberries and they were harvested by local and itinerant
workers. For some reason Dad didn’t put
his foot down about this, perhaps because it was the money set aside for our
annual holiday. Also it was something
that Mum loved. She enjoyed the chatter
and friendship in the fields and I suppose it was a complete change of scene
for her. Personally I never saw the
attraction, I hated it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Margaret Buick Reid was wife, mother, nurse and
musician. She cooked and baked, she
knitted, she sewed, making a lot of our clothes including my wedding
dress. She loved to garden, when my
father let her, although they finally seemed to compromise on which part of the
garden was hers. She would play the
piano for hours – old Scottish airs, light opera and musicals for our
sing-a-longs, classical for herself. I
can still see her swaying gently on the piano stool completely lost in the
music. </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/AVvXsEgaXWRH6_Qqey4pSiZHBz-cGUKofeXXLRgUwYu8UlIIgQyEl6gRZp1mQGFwjgqcNq6WzweS-DAlYK13ds5Jn9Q2-Dgv0X-ybAR04IGPgiwZpdSIrToIZcBIjUT1S1Pe9bnnDqpP_kGiKCM4/s1600/with+borrows+bobby+hats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXWRH6_Qqey4pSiZHBz-cGUKofeXXLRgUwYu8UlIIgQyEl6gRZp1mQGFwjgqcNq6WzweS-DAlYK13ds5Jn9Q2-Dgv0X-ybAR04IGPgiwZpdSIrToIZcBIjUT1S1Pe9bnnDqpP_kGiKCM4/s1600/with+borrows+bobby+hats.jpg" height="400" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nurses with bobby's hats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She left me with so much: a love of music and reading,
skills with sewing and knitting although not much skill in the kitchen. She also gave me a keen interest in Wimbledon. I don’t watch any other sport, in fact I
don’t even watch any other tennis tournaments, but I wouldn’t miss Wimbledon. With Mum, every year, for that fortnight, we
ate salads for tea, something my dad teased her about endlessly. All the housework was done in the morning and
if it wasn’t finished, too bad. Then at
2pm sharp she would have the ironing board set up in front of the telly or she
would sit down with her knitting to watch every ball played. In our household there was a strict rule that
when visitors arrived the television was switched off – unless it was Wimbledon
fortnight, but then people knew better, if they visited they would be expected to
watch the tennis. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, as I watched
the dramas unfold from Wimbledon, I knew just how she would react: she would
love the gentleman that is Roger Federa and delight in his new babies; she
would tell Nadal to wear a proper pair of underpants and Andy Murray to stop
acting like a moody teenager and grow up.
She would have watched every single game of the longest game in history
and would have wanted to hug the loser, and she would have been proud of the
standing ovation given to the servicemen honoured on People’s Saturday with a
seat in the Royal Box. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Such are my memories as we approach Mother's Day - and maybe that is the way it should be. </div>
<br />
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-18277806217510574292015-03-09T07:04:00.001-07:002018-10-10T06:31:28.768-07:00Kellie Castle Fife Scotland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<h2>
Photos and Info on Kellie Castle Pittenweem Fife Scotland</h2>
<div>
<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/AVvXsEiyx-lcVa1ho1E7ouPYSYojivE4GtYc6I0PXnhdaI0uCr_aQQQKZoOeDiqbb3k33_Eswb2lap2NyWI2IJ7nTnxrAb2tGtIeTIDRHNGFxWP2HMnGrEZqc9Oa0A0kHgk3NmMhOCBvmgCEKzIK/s1600/Kellie+castle+3aa.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/AVvXsEiyx-lcVa1ho1E7ouPYSYojivE4GtYc6I0PXnhdaI0uCr_aQQQKZoOeDiqbb3k33_Eswb2lap2NyWI2IJ7nTnxrAb2tGtIeTIDRHNGFxWP2HMnGrEZqc9Oa0A0kHgk3NmMhOCBvmgCEKzIK/s1600/Kellie+castle+3aa.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kellie Castle Fife Scotland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As part of the St Andrews Poetry Festival this year I was lucky enough to spend a day at Kellie Castle in a workshop led by Sandy - I thought you might enjoy seeing some of my photographs in and around the castle.<br />
<br />
There has been a dwelling on this site for something like 600 years though not in its present form. The first would have been a typical Scottish tower house, a simple tower with thick walls, narrow windows, winding stone stairs and tiny rooms. There was probably a 'great hall' the largest room with two fireplaces to heat. Everyone from Laird down would dine there before the top table retired to the 'withdrawing room'. The tiny rooms remain as do the uneven stone stairs.<br />
<a name='more'></a><h2>
Kellie Castle and the Jackdaws</h2>
<br />
Approaching Kellie through a little woodland walk filled with snowdrops the first thing that struck me was the jackdaws. They really set the scene so I wasn't really surprised to learn they form part of the history of the place.<br />
<br /></div>
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Kellie lay empty for a long time until taken over by the Lorimer family in the 1870s. The walls were sound but the roof was not and when they bought it for a holiday home it was inhabited by crows and owls. There is an inscription above one of the doors that was translated for me by a Latin professor who was also attending the workshop. It reads - "This dwelling place was torn from the crows and owls and dedicated to honest leisure upon toil." I suspect it was hard work getting the place in enough order to actually live in.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" 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/AVvXsEjk5WDovauo5GqcUGKZ-c2cRoLA7M5e4XhIr6OHYMZFSeset3zp0eRp_zfeSrNy1EepsrojdYbE3KgVgPLJd18J7JMQlTiSqDkEshP6Er6FZ5uRXDruboc3paQ5IO8lB_YqceVc37KTCTHM/s1600/Kellie+castle+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Latin inscription at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5WDovauo5GqcUGKZ-c2cRoLA7M5e4XhIr6OHYMZFSeset3zp0eRp_zfeSrNy1EepsrojdYbE3KgVgPLJd18J7JMQlTiSqDkEshP6Er6FZ5uRXDruboc3paQ5IO8lB_YqceVc37KTCTHM/s1600/Kellie+castle+14.jpg" title="Latin inscription at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Latin inscription at Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The workshop was about the tradition of ballad and we were asked what we would like to write about it - for me it was the atmosphere of the jackdaws and my poem will eventually be the jacks talking about the castle, the people and, in true ballad tradition, the ghosts. I say eventually as it is very much a work in progress... at the moment just think of Jacks screeching caws against castle walls.<br />
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<br />
<table 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/AVvXsEhB8TIOYruAbgmNKxFpT5qCBkQXSu2hP6O-8oO3_o5no5SuE9CIn_yc8KQAqYQpsi6WvpDsFNKKuGzxRdyzN3c1kblu_PMpELooBVCw_uZdjM9h974QFim68cVxH07oGbhWGHsL2IbsscXJ/s1600/jackdaws+at+Kellie+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="jackdaws" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB8TIOYruAbgmNKxFpT5qCBkQXSu2hP6O-8oO3_o5no5SuE9CIn_yc8KQAqYQpsi6WvpDsFNKKuGzxRdyzN3c1kblu_PMpELooBVCw_uZdjM9h974QFim68cVxH07oGbhWGHsL2IbsscXJ/s1600/jackdaws+at+Kellie+1.jpg" title="jackdaws in a tree" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jackdaws at Kellie Castle<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
<b>PHOTO GALLERY KELLIE CASTLE IN SPRING</b><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think this is the first tower - a second was built further over and the two eventually joined by the straight section later. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUikxr2iGe5JyZgldg5shWbmasSjE5IWDIFfKXu3dEE2LxDbbuxt39UlxpAVp11n3uvbWT7KX418CbAAsCvMiE3uWAsbgdIw5ir2E5fg6r75p8Zuol47dzsW88NClwq5Qmv8x8Ndz16Qb/s1600/Kellie+castle+8a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kellie Castle Scotland" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUikxr2iGe5JyZgldg5shWbmasSjE5IWDIFfKXu3dEE2LxDbbuxt39UlxpAVp11n3uvbWT7KX418CbAAsCvMiE3uWAsbgdIw5ir2E5fg6r75p8Zuol47dzsW88NClwq5Qmv8x8Ndz16Qb/s1600/Kellie+castle+8a.jpg" title="Kellie Castle Pittenweem Fife Scotland" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h2>
<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/AVvXsEiMc39nmyASuTAQy_FqFFFfGDlowhQ7QvCfQUV9ZeZr4-wbFitijmnwVLR_37szAhXgyADvpE81ZBOj0Cwzn8q5wsq8n-3Uq5xe_k8zWtnK1DgvlaJhD-vCsnfR2_N0UoLni0uGbbs4HwL3/s1600/Kellie+castle+7a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img alt="Kellie Castle Pittenweem Fife" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMc39nmyASuTAQy_FqFFFfGDlowhQ7QvCfQUV9ZeZr4-wbFitijmnwVLR_37szAhXgyADvpE81ZBOj0Cwzn8q5wsq8n-3Uq5xe_k8zWtnK1DgvlaJhD-vCsnfR2_N0UoLni0uGbbs4HwL3/s1600/Kellie+castle+7a.jpg" title="Kellie Castle Pittenweem Fife" width="256" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kellie Castle Pittenweem Fife</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Of course every castle needs a walled garden and Kellie is no exception. In secret it is lovely but of course a bit bare right now. You will receive a warm running welcome from the three resident hens though. I don't think I have seen one move so fast - obviously well used to being fed by visitors. </span></h2>
<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/AVvXsEgEBv2Dq4ZlZ8yUiuItk-FgP0eAmohsWx8rIKV3N_l_d8cgevRyvimoo83fzKH-La67Ck01mkIajW6V-wGDxc0TeolHNcjZj9QOFZY30B93cOlxV__-s9gM_3zxtAxkKQWMEVDfG2kwagYg/s1600/Kellie+castle+9A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEBv2Dq4ZlZ8yUiuItk-FgP0eAmohsWx8rIKV3N_l_d8cgevRyvimoo83fzKH-La67Ck01mkIajW6V-wGDxc0TeolHNcjZj9QOFZY30B93cOlxV__-s9gM_3zxtAxkKQWMEVDfG2kwagYg/s1600/Kellie+castle+9A.jpg" title="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kellie Castle from the walled garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhoN_X6kVhs4mNYT2rQlsI3gdel7GIIJ8WPVT9VVp56o0djTVQ7-0E8nP1IKl96SBgCmbjxOpYPyP1MTb9up9VrbDKIKlOKeCIs0v1UBsCweYj5d0uf6PEwiVlbZiO2LlS3Fn9A1uFc27gX/s1600/Kellie+castle+12a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoN_X6kVhs4mNYT2rQlsI3gdel7GIIJ8WPVT9VVp56o0djTVQ7-0E8nP1IKl96SBgCmbjxOpYPyP1MTb9up9VrbDKIKlOKeCIs0v1UBsCweYj5d0uf6PEwiVlbZiO2LlS3Fn9A1uFc27gX/s1600/Kellie+castle+12a.jpg" title="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Kellie Castle from the walled garden</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEg424dAs_WIU0qyt2SlopgjchIHjmYgwoxuNQDM61bRP1a4p5Xtk8stjf0uneoSMZqioj5Tc2Vkm1NM0l7V7udwFzecJy4nXnjxlp0QcP6YoRPHqd9tk0fchGb0N8gjyfkO9BD1gAvtiHKa/s1600/sundial+in+Kellie+1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg424dAs_WIU0qyt2SlopgjchIHjmYgwoxuNQDM61bRP1a4p5Xtk8stjf0uneoSMZqioj5Tc2Vkm1NM0l7V7udwFzecJy4nXnjxlp0QcP6YoRPHqd9tk0fchGb0N8gjyfkO9BD1gAvtiHKa/s1600/sundial+in+Kellie+1a.jpg" title="Kellie Castle from the walled garden" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Kellie Castle from the walled garden with sundial</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhU8vd93H7_ySkI6BWlhhw1a1oUEFkiFxzo3hb3T2I4GoS8I02cts1W-E9PZz337Uji8k8aKy0wohCNsL532pSJ7jxfEA8NUc3NxaEaZrkm4xge695oek0FGw_t401xbDKLbMAyXopBU8wU/s1600/walled+garden+Kellie+1A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="arched trellis Kellie Castle " border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8vd93H7_ySkI6BWlhhw1a1oUEFkiFxzo3hb3T2I4GoS8I02cts1W-E9PZz337Uji8k8aKy0wohCNsL532pSJ7jxfEA8NUc3NxaEaZrkm4xge695oek0FGw_t401xbDKLbMAyXopBU8wU/s1600/walled+garden+Kellie+1A.jpg" title="arched trellis Kellie Castle " width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">getting ready for Spring at Kellie Castle Fife</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
residents -<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/AVvXsEgkVf2il5C9eMQpi42J_ipBzJzgUdLVpLmF7ILdIHI5H-dCMkbVsktK_fgUA2UUEx7d7bjQ0ul_fccUm-1otXfZPF-P5BM1I3tKoVjiRO9JOzd-rFcs3_09xMPcpEMzrJzPpPWXvlxiCUn7/s1600/chickens+at+Kellie+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="chickens in wall garden Kellie castle" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVf2il5C9eMQpi42J_ipBzJzgUdLVpLmF7ILdIHI5H-dCMkbVsktK_fgUA2UUEx7d7bjQ0ul_fccUm-1otXfZPF-P5BM1I3tKoVjiRO9JOzd-rFcs3_09xMPcpEMzrJzPpPWXvlxiCUn7/s1600/chickens+at+Kellie+2.jpg" title="chickens in wall garden Kellie castle" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">chickens in wall garden Kellie castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhaZxg4dYp6vTycJcQJ-h7HYViP9baqwhBI9OoikEuh7By00GLt-kxsfJEad5W49ziLf9cjs-c_n7yW9yli6v4KylDfF7rkkdfcFIcGU9baMIAmdtY0xl2dLBgcHpQRirgM34gFiEijLk7n/s1600/chickens+at+Kellie+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="chickens in wall garden Kellie castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZxg4dYp6vTycJcQJ-h7HYViP9baqwhBI9OoikEuh7By00GLt-kxsfJEad5W49ziLf9cjs-c_n7yW9yli6v4KylDfF7rkkdfcFIcGU9baMIAmdtY0xl2dLBgcHpQRirgM34gFiEijLk7n/s1600/chickens+at+Kellie+4.jpg" title="chickens in wall garden Kellie castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">chickens in wall garden Kellie castle</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Spending a penny at Kellie Castle<br />
<div>
Even the public conveniences are picturesque - </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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghddt3R0MjPetLp7obQ9Oid63jg84-CZzeyE93whtlYYnxjQTFCvV7hKxYew5tYiwRs_P75UR4W0Gsmh-AkRyDhTN4RDrWE734i9ab1LkWCBNXOsCXFlDuUq7Bfgsq928gtkyTKG1ElJ6J/s1600/Kellie+castle+4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Public Toilet at Kellie Castle Fife Scotland" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghddt3R0MjPetLp7obQ9Oid63jg84-CZzeyE93whtlYYnxjQTFCvV7hKxYew5tYiwRs_P75UR4W0Gsmh-AkRyDhTN4RDrWE734i9ab1LkWCBNXOsCXFlDuUq7Bfgsq928gtkyTKG1ElJ6J/s1600/Kellie+castle+4a.jpg" title="Public Toilet at Kellie Castle Fife Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pavilion Toilet at Kellie Castle Fife Scotland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A lovely sunny day for my visit meant the snowdrops made a great showing.<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/AVvXsEiLPNqRg80HNVZacwat1X23laCeZYtIB2TrYiUI_aFpEy9UkA3OAbuXuik8kIzhxH12HCFf7FRIi4DNVIGt-552BJLD06f5ZyhaDxTVmZgfbC_p8fcVE2VJSyJj0UP2BrTe21vmLrEP8P63/s1600/snowdrops+at+Kellie+3a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="snowdrops on tree stump" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPNqRg80HNVZacwat1X23laCeZYtIB2TrYiUI_aFpEy9UkA3OAbuXuik8kIzhxH12HCFf7FRIi4DNVIGt-552BJLD06f5ZyhaDxTVmZgfbC_p8fcVE2VJSyJj0UP2BrTe21vmLrEP8P63/s1600/snowdrops+at+Kellie+3a.jpg" title="snowdrops on tree stump" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">snowdrops</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhMfYE4QzaIIHXZten5dq9-6auGMehlsC9AHo-5Uf9nDf7mKMCqsg5g8H3R52YEK2aAr0e9lEVy1wn6i_hUN24WPkZXmIdg54m88i2jILeUiGe3Jb5Dc-N-q4fa_qVMHY5GbZg7Ssyp18xX/s1600/snowdrops+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="wood footbridge and snowdrops" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfYE4QzaIIHXZten5dq9-6auGMehlsC9AHo-5Uf9nDf7mKMCqsg5g8H3R52YEK2aAr0e9lEVy1wn6i_hUN24WPkZXmIdg54m88i2jILeUiGe3Jb5Dc-N-q4fa_qVMHY5GbZg7Ssyp18xX/s1600/snowdrops+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" title="wood footbridge and snowdrops" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">snowdrops and footbridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
of course I had to find some other birdies though I had the wrong camera lens with me</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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTueDd-kflSFWqPGL92oy_dUNNvquo0rnzQ3NLmUgtYSKYlOvh5fymXv5xp79ZKpNaYwCP2YCf-M53Da35lBOfYo4Qv551-Qfls4dWTrzdeH1PLfj0wm-dnAQ2EbV2amaxXl1MiSzZo5G/s1600/blackbird+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="female blackbird at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTueDd-kflSFWqPGL92oy_dUNNvquo0rnzQ3NLmUgtYSKYlOvh5fymXv5xp79ZKpNaYwCP2YCf-M53Da35lBOfYo4Qv551-Qfls4dWTrzdeH1PLfj0wm-dnAQ2EbV2amaxXl1MiSzZo5G/s1600/blackbird+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" title="female blackbird at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">female blackbird at Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjtQmDv96R7G2B8GYNLtlVZhKsDWLm-B9-mqaXVuMTEnOIONTpo3cWvr4WIvCq3zPj_-B0FSF_iiSw-FBCjxDewCk2g5w_Gj5OcE6_VbkdVZr9I9tv93S9u4xbpszLyMvnBQPfkvuNrwQ38/s1600/chaffinch+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="male chaffinch at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtQmDv96R7G2B8GYNLtlVZhKsDWLm-B9-mqaXVuMTEnOIONTpo3cWvr4WIvCq3zPj_-B0FSF_iiSw-FBCjxDewCk2g5w_Gj5OcE6_VbkdVZr9I9tv93S9u4xbpszLyMvnBQPfkvuNrwQ38/s1600/chaffinch+at+Kellie+1a.jpg" title="male chaffinch at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">male chaffinch at Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgaWqbJnTdUrLa7rTkYiWluoLtH3N46WLV2TEc4Vis5AZTd8oNFmAkEcxbmYTLs9kmbQyhn-HObvUWynRE3wQI5Iq1GzMe_RRWhX8VDmrOjeqWiZFMwcUuZgxAFNf1h-TUH8DsVkEG8Z0sz/s1600/dunnock+at+Kellie+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Dunnock at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWqbJnTdUrLa7rTkYiWluoLtH3N46WLV2TEc4Vis5AZTd8oNFmAkEcxbmYTLs9kmbQyhn-HObvUWynRE3wQI5Iq1GzMe_RRWhX8VDmrOjeqWiZFMwcUuZgxAFNf1h-TUH8DsVkEG8Z0sz/s1600/dunnock+at+Kellie+2.jpg" title="Dunnock at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dunnock at Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhlV_QCZWddLaK7Hp3AGGoqiS_KaqA-eeFJlwNOH9hbVNviBCM2o6L4WG9y4NG4o15cMQVobC_q0JVYQqhDrNsWI26rB9CXeIBmaC279SwqaRbOJHyMy6R0PV1sWKheEAj5eUpz5UXFX-9o/s1600/robin+at+Kellie+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Robin at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlV_QCZWddLaK7Hp3AGGoqiS_KaqA-eeFJlwNOH9hbVNviBCM2o6L4WG9y4NG4o15cMQVobC_q0JVYQqhDrNsWI26rB9CXeIBmaC279SwqaRbOJHyMy6R0PV1sWKheEAj5eUpz5UXFX-9o/s1600/robin+at+Kellie+2.jpg" title="Robin at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robin at Kellie Castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEiPLLgPu0zDu-2Tok5YmMM8cQX0YeWvykOgbZOxTRDZlarWMKbvk6kKy2jiMRjbFG6aZ-xpuimztalkjeX5D2eLaAs7GQtNWymQT29D9soso9z9bs8w07u6wmakmvXEM60A8ylxkZG85r9p/s1600/robin+at+Kellie+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Robin at Kellie Castle" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLLgPu0zDu-2Tok5YmMM8cQX0YeWvykOgbZOxTRDZlarWMKbvk6kKy2jiMRjbFG6aZ-xpuimztalkjeX5D2eLaAs7GQtNWymQT29D9soso9z9bs8w07u6wmakmvXEM60A8ylxkZG85r9p/s1600/robin+at+Kellie+5.jpg" title="Robin at Kellie Castle" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Robin at Kellie Castle</span></td></tr>
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</iframe>AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-20373944360073878182015-01-20T04:53:00.003-08:002015-01-20T04:53:45.888-08:00Visiting Scotland: St Andrews The Home of Golf<div class="module moduleText color0" id="mod_29772684" style="background-color: white; clear: left; margin: 0px 0px 1.4em; padding: 0px;">
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St Andrews, Fife, Scotland</h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Andrews Castle Fife Scotland</td></tr>
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I went to university in St Andrews (many years before Prince William and Kate Middleton), so perhaps I am bias, but to me St Andrew is one of the places in Scotland everyone should visit at least once in their lifetime. Find out what to do, where to stay and where to eat in St Andrews. The British Open Golf Championship return to St Andrews for 2015.</div>
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Classed as a city (by some) because of its Cathedral, the atmosphere of St Andrews is more of a metropolitan small town. It is very welcoming with a cosy atmosphere of winding streets lined with old buildings, many built from the stone taken from the cathedral , and roofed in red pan-tiles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFO1zeTzcuJ8yt8mF4bNFTvQgTdVG0L3JRpp15kDiHXgrrA3EgoyBVIk4rXp7XifzE3CEqlrINZTFtHODWhVQi4jLihJ8KibNV5_vZ-ay3C22EF8CJHMOIzHhYazP9UEmlDF26T5ZMgZz/s1600/north+street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="North Street St Andrews Fife Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFO1zeTzcuJ8yt8mF4bNFTvQgTdVG0L3JRpp15kDiHXgrrA3EgoyBVIk4rXp7XifzE3CEqlrINZTFtHODWhVQi4jLihJ8KibNV5_vZ-ay3C22EF8CJHMOIzHhYazP9UEmlDF26T5ZMgZz/s1600/north+street.jpg" height="400" title="Looking up North Street from the Cathedral St Andrews" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up North Street towards the University Chapel<br />
from the Cathedral St Andrews</td></tr>
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The University of St Andrews stretches throughout the town, many of the magnificient buildings along The Scores and within the town are associated with the university, making this a unique whole-town campus where town and gown meet. I suppose some may think the town has a duel personality: during term time it brims with life in the students and academics while in summer it heaves with tourists and golfers, this being the Home of Golf and the ultimate challenge for every player. Rich and famous, they fly in in helicopters just to play on the courses here, especially The Old Course. It is the residents of St Andrews, however, who are the luckiest having this on their doorstep with a better than average chance of winning the ballot for teeing off, especially out of season.</div>
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The place is seeped in history, beautiful old buildings spoiled only occasionally by a carbunkle like the University library of the new Byre Theatre.</div>
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And to top it off there are wonderful clean beaches with sanddunes, good surfing, incredible bird-watching opportunities and lovely walks.</div>
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<b>All the image used on this page were taken by me and are copyrighted to AnnMackieMiller 2010. Please do not copy them.</b></div>
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University of St Andrews</h3>
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University Chapel</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_fxgF7SSXdANOMazpScBnIsijSVw4UAGeUSZGsIMFy9zCJLjK-fxyvOWVdMBrB7SkLg9ZfFOPfh58hEog3770PnikWcfqtQIWghuYuKrw0y29-cDThN0nx3yKZHiT8g0fSRT4v2fQMVw/s1600/chapel+from+the+quad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="University of St Andrews Chapel from the quad" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_fxgF7SSXdANOMazpScBnIsijSVw4UAGeUSZGsIMFy9zCJLjK-fxyvOWVdMBrB7SkLg9ZfFOPfh58hEog3770PnikWcfqtQIWghuYuKrw0y29-cDThN0nx3yKZHiT8g0fSRT4v2fQMVw/s1600/chapel+from+the+quad.jpg" height="320" title="University of St Andrews Chapel from the quad" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Andrews university chapel<br />
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There are many things to see in St Andrews and you can even take a walking tour with one of the students, in their distinctive red gowns. The tour starts at the University Chapel which is of itself a wonderful, ivy covered building.</div>
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It plays an important part in student life, not least because it is in the cloisters forming part of the Quad that exam results are posted and students celebrate. As per tradition, I was met by my friends with champagne when I finished my last exam here. </div>
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University of St Andrews Chapel - and where Patrick Hamilton was burned at the stake</h2>
At the gateway built into the cobbles is a tribute to Patrick Hamilton the last martyr to burned at the stake here. Rumour has it that they ran out of wood before he died and they sent to the Cathedral for more. Students today believe the face to be seen etched in the stone above the gateway is that of Patrick Hamilton. His initials are etched on the cobbles at the spot where he died and it is still considered bad luck to stand on the letters depicting his name - especially at exam time.!</div>
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Can you see the face in the stone in the photo? Try the third block up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwG8d6N0T-54vLHa_xexzwXnzKnNUH8DM4krazk7qh8-c74XOtfV072JAC97eBBBjjv7RNzSVc0IdlII5I_ltet0_Ayoa47JvuAG4VpWPilYySS2LpLyHF1dnMyqMvdDyK4LyxoY4KHfZ/s1600/9916640_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="stonework St Andrews Unverisity chapel" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwG8d6N0T-54vLHa_xexzwXnzKnNUH8DM4krazk7qh8-c74XOtfV072JAC97eBBBjjv7RNzSVc0IdlII5I_ltet0_Ayoa47JvuAG4VpWPilYySS2LpLyHF1dnMyqMvdDyK4LyxoY4KHfZ/s1600/9916640_f260.jpg" height="400" title="stonework St Andrews Unverisity chapel" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">face of Patrick Hamilton? </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfvFJ9ZDdj0W36rgzdnyDELS3WUDn_TAYDvCmIlJsM1EowOXw1hxDLvgPA_eTorYea3YaYBjDVUzQBBmZQAPWQj5aKKrq4Fpfdhv6zZQR3t5s2YSPFpVPKtvtWvFuVzaIrx3Dyd2SXnAg/s1600/patrick+hamiliton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="initials in cobbles where Patrick Hamiltion was burned at the stake" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfvFJ9ZDdj0W36rgzdnyDELS3WUDn_TAYDvCmIlJsM1EowOXw1hxDLvgPA_eTorYea3YaYBjDVUzQBBmZQAPWQj5aKKrq4Fpfdhv6zZQR3t5s2YSPFpVPKtvtWvFuVzaIrx3Dyd2SXnAg/s1600/patrick+hamiliton.jpg" height="400" title="initials in cobbles where Patrick Hamiltion was burned at the stake" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where Patrick Hamiltion was burned<br />
at the stake</td></tr>
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Where to visit in St Andrews - attractions</h2>
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<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.historic-scotland.gov.uk/propertyresults/propertyoverview.htm?PropID=PL_248&PropName=St+Andrews+Castle" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">St Andrews Castle</a><br />Perched on the edge of the sea, St Andrews Cathedral is open to the public. This was the main residence of the bishops and archbishops of St Andrews - the focal point of the Church in Medieval Scotland, and scene of brutal events. Today, a siege min</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/standrews/cathedral/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">St Andrews Cathedral Feature Page on Undiscovered Scotland</a><br />The Cathedral of St Andrew in St Andrews, Fife, Scotland was the seat of the Bishops (later Archbishops) of St Andrews from its foundation in 1158 until it fell into disuse after the Reformation. It is currently a ruined monument in the custody of Hi</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.britishgolfmuseum.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Welcome to the British Golf Museum Official Website!</a><br />The official website for the British Golf Museum. Based in St Andrews just a stone's throw from the R&A Club House and the Old Course. Where else would it be than in the Home of Golf?</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.standrewsaquarium.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Home :: St Andrews Aquarium</a><br />St Andrews Aquarium and Sealife Centre</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.st-andrews-botanic.org/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">st-andrews-botanic.org</a><br />The garden has been described as a 'hidden gem' of Scotland.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://stanzapoetry.org/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">StAnza - Scotland's Poetry Festival - St Andrews, Scotland - Every March</a><br />StAnza, Scotland's Poetry Festival, is held every March in St Andrews, Scotland's oldest university town. With readings, exhibitions, performances, music, film and children's events, all in exciting and atmospheric venues, StAnza celebrates poetry in</li>
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St Andrews Poetry Festival </h2>
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<a href="http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2015/information.php" style="color: #326497; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; text-align: -webkit-center;">StAnza 2015 </a></h2>
<a href="http://www.stanzapoetry.org/2015/information.php" style="color: #326497; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; text-align: -webkit-center;">Dates: March 4 - 8</a><div class="txtd" id="txtd_29772692" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
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cultural festival</h3>
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Every spring a wonderful event takes place in St Andrews, the annual Poetry Festival. The is the only regular festival dedicated to poetry in Scotland and is truly international in outlook. Founded in 1998, it is held each March in St Andrews, Scotland's oldest university town. The festival is an opportunity to engage with a wide variety of poetry, to hear world class poets reading in exciting and atmospheric venues, to experience a range of performances where music, film, dance and poetry work in harmony, to view exhibitions linking poetry with visual art and to discover the part poetry has played in the lives of a diverse range of writers, musicians and media personalities. The simple intention of StAnza is to celebrate poetry in all its many forms.</div>
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Venues stretch all through the town from pub breakfasts to university building to the new Byre Theatre. Many evenings there is an open-mike session and the event usually has an annual SLAM poetry competiton.</div>
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If you are planning a visit to St Andrews this is certainly one event to consider.<br />
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Wildlife in and Around St Andrews</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PqDkdZmnGmpRFx9UZmbW4AhrtEM2r-OLAjnynE6OBokH3Malv-aRn6RCIX78_bmX3dDRsHxZcyzxbV2mdhCBJfAYvWzsBw9sk1XVv_c1EXWj-MY6GCn_kYyYUhUk5L4xaYxBg4ICQquN/s1600/clliffs+at+st+andrews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kittiwakes nesting on cliffs at St Andrews" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PqDkdZmnGmpRFx9UZmbW4AhrtEM2r-OLAjnynE6OBokH3Malv-aRn6RCIX78_bmX3dDRsHxZcyzxbV2mdhCBJfAYvWzsBw9sk1XVv_c1EXWj-MY6GCn_kYyYUhUk5L4xaYxBg4ICQquN/s1600/clliffs+at+st+andrews.jpg" height="320" title="Kittiwakes nesting on cliffs at St Andrews" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pictures%20of%20kittiwakes%20on%20bempton%20cliffs/" target="_blank">Kittiwakes</a> nesting on cliffs <br />at St Andrews</td></tr>
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There is plenty of wildlife in St Andrews and that isn't just the students.</div>
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Seabirds and seal are often seen and the cliffs along from the castle are regular nest sites for Kittiwakes. As you look down at them it is an excellent opportunity to observe these pretty but noisy birds.<br />
<br />
You can often spot seals on shore and there are many seabirds and waders.<br />
<br />
Nearby is <a href="http://fifecoastandcountrysidetrust.co.uk/Local-Nature-Reserves/Eden-Estuary_36.html" target="_blank">The Eden Estuary</a> which is famous for many rare sitings.<br />
And of course the wonderful beach and forest reserve at <a href="http://www.tentsmuir.org/content.php?content_id=4" target="_blank">Tentsmuir.</a> </div>
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<br /></h2>
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<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background-color: #e1d9b6; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; width: 912px;"><tbody>
<tr><td rowspan="20" valign="top" width="17"><img height="17" src="http://www.standrews2015open.com/images/spacer.gif" width="17" /></td><td class="bodytext" colspan="2" height="15" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12px;" valign="top"><span class="h1" style="color: #43474d; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px;">St Andrews 2015 Open Championship</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">Of course you can't get away from golf in St Andrews and this year the British Open will be there 16th to 19th July. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 19px;"><a href="http://www.standrews.com/Play/open2015/join-the-conversation" target="_blank">The Open Championship St Andrews Links</a></span></div>
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Find Accommodation in St Andrews - where to stay in St Andrews</h2>
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There is no shortage of places to stay in and around St Andrews from 5 star hotels to small Bed and Breakfast homes and Self-Catering Flats.</div>
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<ul style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.discoverstandrews.com/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">University of St Andrews</a><br />Find conference & wedding venues, self - catering, hotel, bed & breakfast, hostel accommodation St Andrews, 2010 OPEN Golf Championship location.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/VacationRentals-g186533-Reviews-St_Andrews_Fife_Scotland-Vacation_Rentals.html" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">St Andrews Holiday Cottages: Reviews for Holiday Rentals and Self Catering in St Andrews - TripAdvis</a><br />Holiday rentals in St Andrews: reviews, photos, and deals for 3 St Andrews holiday rentals at TripAdvisor.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.standrews.com/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">St Andrews - The home of golf and the heart of the scottish diaspora</a><br />Shopping, golf, history, accommodation in St Andrews</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://guide.visitscotland.com/vs/scout/accs/5,en,SCH1,1459/waitCount,1/result.html;jsessionid=0a0202915bcdac0a4405b7c94430b763d0a78cdbbafc.e38Mc30Oc3qRa40Lb3mOb3qLc3qMe0?topNav=1&season=at1&ref=1&langId=en&r=RGN517vs&region.x=31&curr=GBP&region.y=18" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Scottish Tourist Board - St Andrews</a><br />VisitScotland.com The official site of Scotland's national tourism organisation</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.standrewsbandbs.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">association of bed and breakfast - b&b accommodation st andrews</a><br />association of b&bs st andrews, offering fine bed & breakfast accommodation welcomes you to St Andrews Scotland.</li>
</ul>
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Where to eat in and around St Andrews - eating out</h2>
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One thing there is no shortage of in and near St Andrews are places to eat out. There is everything here from fine dining to fish and chips. Explore the Wynds (little alleyways) to find restaurants and cafes tucked away. These are only a few of the treasures to be found.</div>
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Many of the hotels and bars also do excellent catering.</div>
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<ul style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.dolls-house.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">The Doll's House Restaurant; 3 Church Square, St Andrews</a><br />A relaxed and informal restaurant in the heart of St Andrews.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.houserestaurants.com/glass_house/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Glass House Restaurant :: Home</a><br />Welcome to the Glass House.......where history meets modernity, as traditional values fuse with contemporary dining in the heart of old St Andrews. Telephone: 01334 473673</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.vineleafstandrews.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Vine Leaf Restaurant, St Andrews</a><br />This is no longer a vegetarian restaurant. The chef specialises in fresh local seafood, Scottish beef, game and lamb with a selection of gourmet vegetarian dishes.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.ziggysrestaurant.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">.: Ziggy's Restaurant - St Andrews :.</a><br />Ziggy's Restaurant - St Andrews... ROCK ON!!! A great themed restaurant tucked away in a corner. Its food: 'the biggest baddest burgers to the healthiest salads and everything in between.'</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.rufflets.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">St Andrews Hotels, Rufflets Country House Hotel in St Andrews, Fife, Scotland</a><br />Rufflets country house hotel St Andrews, a 4 star small luxury hotel in St Andrews Scotland, specialising in romantic breaks, golf packages, weddings and corporate events. One of the finest hotels in St Andrews and indeed Scotland.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.thegrangeatstandrews.com/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">The Grange at St Andrews</a><br />Our aim to offer simple, traditional cuisine using the very best produce, prepared with thought and creativity. The Grange has a relaxed, informal atmosphere where diners experience great hospitality whilst enjoying the stunning views over the Royal</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.thepeatinn.co.uk/" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Luxury hotels St Andrews Fife Scotland, best restaurants Scotland, 5 star hotels accommodation Scotl</a><br />The Peat Inn has been named Restaurant of the Year 2010 and chef-proprietor Geoffrey Smeddle has also been named Chef of the Year 2010 at The Scottish Restaurant Winner of the AA Restaurant of the Year awards for 2010 at the recent AA Hospitality Awa</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.restaurant-guide.com/pizza-express-st-andrews.htm" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Pizza Express - St Andrews - Pizza & Pasta restaurant in St Andrews</a><br />Pizza Express - St Andrews - Pizza & Pasta restaurant in St Andrews .</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.standrewsdirectory.com/entry/pms-of-st-andrews.html" style="color: #551a8b; outline: 0px; text-decoration: none;">PM's of St Andrews - Take Aways - St Andrews Directory</a><br />Everyone knows PM's chip shop - hot food take away based 1-3 Union Street in St Andrews, Scotland</li>
</ul>
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-27207322972361075102015-01-20T03:46:00.001-08:002015-01-20T03:46:47.759-08:00Memoir: Carrou Mor Vignettes<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="line-height: 32px;"><b>Carrou Mor Vignettes: Memories of Kirriemuir</b></span></div>
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<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/AVvXsEiE14zdXr1jJZAUzYMq3C6kWds5l1NNyMRtPTxrp1QgGfL25xr0OSr2Is4gPdWX4IOfdbe_lZ7NT_hZ4CPef-BNdfs-hEaVnH-DFa3ieTlb13gp3Xj0-ZpSLGo-0O0XJImqxYTV9EiOYfeo/s1600/Kirriemuir,_Peter_Pan_Statue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="peter pan statue Kirriemuir" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE14zdXr1jJZAUzYMq3C6kWds5l1NNyMRtPTxrp1QgGfL25xr0OSr2Is4gPdWX4IOfdbe_lZ7NT_hZ4CPef-BNdfs-hEaVnH-DFa3ieTlb13gp3Xj0-ZpSLGo-0O0XJImqxYTV9EiOYfeo/s1600/Kirriemuir,_Peter_Pan_Statue.jpg" height="400" title="peter pan statue Kirriemuir" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/Richard%20Slessor%20[CC%20BY-SA%202.0%20(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)],%20via%20Wikimedia%20Commons" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Richard Slessor [CC BY-SA 2.0 <br />(http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)],<br />via Wikimedia Commons</a></td></tr>
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Continuing my little vignettes of life in Scotland in the 1950s.</div>
<a name='more'></a><div style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">And So I Was Born<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I cost my dad half a crown in
old money. With wages only a few pounds a week I often wondered if my dad had
to save up for the midwife, but I was aye ‘my Bonny Lass’, so I suppose he
thought I was worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> Lizzy
Battie was one of the midwives who served Kirriemuir for as long as I lived
there. She carried all her equipment in
a basket on the front of her bicycle, whose loud bell she would ring at each of
‘her babies’ when she passed them in the road. “Yohoo Tom (Dick or Harry), you
behaving?” she would shout with one hand waving and her black stocking
wrinkling at the ankles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">On this
particular day, she carried a black doll with her, something she handed to my
sister, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“here
you go Hen, here’s yer new babby,”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">My sister promptly burst into
tears, ‘I don’t WANT a black sister,’ she wailed and would not be comforted
until after she had been allowed in to the see the crinkled bundle in our
mother’s arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“See
here Maggie,” Mum said, “this is Amy, your new sister. Look she’s just like you
and she has your Daddy’s chin.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"> I
was born in one of the first flats to be built on the new council estate after
the war. In the upper flat of a two
storey building, and in the middle of a thunderstorm I arrived, a baby girl
with a head full of tight black kiss curls and eyes that would turn the colour
of a stormy sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">When I
was two, we moved down the road into a brand new house, red brick with harled
exterior of tiny pebbles we could pick off as it pleased us. The windows were metal framed that collected
condensation and attracted Jack Frost patterning, on the inside of the panes,
every winter. Ours was one of a block of
three shaped like a backward L. We
lived in the first leg, the Bruce’s in the middle and the Gourley’s on the
other leg. There were five in my
family, my brother, sister, Mum, Dad and me; the Gourleys were the same. The Bruce family, however, had four boys and
one girl, a few months younger than me.
We ran in and out of each other’s homes, interchanging mothers when we
felt like it; mine was the cuddly mum, hers the glamorous one. Dads were trickier, I wasn’t keen on sharing
mine, and I was scared of hers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">We had
three bedrooms upstairs, down a dogleg staircase, a living room, bathroom and
kitchen with a linen cupboard where the hot water tank lived (and where I hid
when upset). There was also an under-stair cupboard called a glory-hole. In the ‘60s, during the Cuban crisis, I
remember being sent home from school with a leaflet to give to my parents about
taking precautions against nuclear attack.
It involved stocking the glory-hole with food and water and blocking the
door with a mattress. Exactly how that
was going to protect us, I have no idea, but that was our government’s answer
at the time. Mum and Dad were less than
impressed by my insistence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“You
want us to do what,” I seem to remember being my mother’s query. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“That’ll
tak some clearing,” my father added around the stem of his pipe referring to
the accumulation of Christmas decorations, suitcases, shoeboxes and Mum’s tea
trolley that Dad had made for her and was only brought out for visitors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The
front hall had an intriguing trap door that led into the foundations. For some reason I was fascinated by that trap
door and scurrying around under the house.
I was less keen on the attic for some reason. In the hall stood an old oak hallstand
complete with mirror, umbrella/stick stand and hooks on which my grandfather’s
police helmet hung. I think the idea was
that the helmet was a deterrent element for any conmen who might chance their
luck at our door. Beyond the kitchen was
a back lobby, with hooks for coats and a coal hole, then the door leading out
to the back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Making
up the square of land where our houses stood, was a drying green, divided into
shares with iron poles. Actually divided
into four squares, the men took turns at cutting the grass, and the women at
using the drying lines on that fourth square.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">It made
a wonderful arena that back green, a natural gathering place surrounded on
three sides by our homes. We would hang
halfway out the upstairs windows, shouting encouragement to those below or
stringing cans together from house to house as telegraphs for playing spies. In the long hot summers, the boys would take
turns standing on a chair and dowsing everyone from a tin watering can. I performed my skating debut there, in the
dark, using the poles to twist and twirl, sliding gracefully from one to the
next and back again and only stopped when I saw the Bruce’s curtains twitch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">My
father had worked all his life as a gardener, until the estate he worked at was
sold. The walled garden that was my
father’s pride and joy, was torn out for a tennis court and a swimming pool,
the house divided into apartments and the land given over to a caravan park.
Just before I was born, he took a job as a municipal gardener with the town
council. He also looked after the cemetery, including digging the graves,
something I found a bit scary but which he reassured me,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">“Och no
Bonny Lass,” he said, ‘tis last nice thing you can do for someone, laying them
to rest.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">For my
first birthday he brought home a black and white kitten he found in the
cemetery, subsequently called Corky after the cartoon cat in the comics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In truth
I think the move into the town was prompted by my mother. She had followed Dad
from estate to estate around the country all their married life but she was
really a town lass at heart and she’d had enough of the countryside by that
time. She loved company and rural living could be gae lonely for women. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Though
he never worked professionally as a gardener again, there was no denying the
earth was in his blood. It was natural
then that at home he had a huge garden. At the side of the house lay his
vegetable garden. For me it seemed as big as a field and here he grew all
manner of wonderful things; rows and rows of potatoes, early and late season,
turnips, cauliflower, cabbage, beans and peas and strawberries for us to
pilfer. I’m not actually sure that wasn’t the whole reason he grew them, so he
could jump out at us while our mouths were full of his harvest! Well maybe it had something to do with Mum’s
strawberry jam too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Between
us and the next block there were bushes for Mum’s blackcurrants. I hated those blackcurrants; if we had a cold
Mum’s blackcurrant jam was diluted in hot water or if we needed any other
dosing – blackcurrant jam hid the medicine.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Along
the path between the house and the vegetable plot Dad always planted ‘pinks’,
dianthus, whose heavy clove smell perfumed the summer, a scent I have never
been able to recapture with any of the dianthus I have tried over the
years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Behind
the vegetable patch was our own private bit of grass in front of Dad’s
shed. I could stand there like queen of
the castle and deny access to all – i.e. those two feet away from me across a
cinder path or across a simple wire fence on the other side. Finally there was a rhubarb patch beside the
garden shed. We would take a jar full of
sugar down there, hide from the three kitchen windows, and stuff ourselves full
of rhubarb dipped in oodles of sugar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Separating
the kitchen garden from the front garden was a rustic wood fence covered in
rambling roses and honeysuckle. A step down, Dad grew prize winning dahlias and
roses for Mum. In front of the living
window was a square of grass bordered in summer by white alyssum, blue lobelia
and big red begonias grown from tubers he bought the year my sister was born
and carefully tended every winter. They
lasted forty years those begonias, they and their off spring, before they
succumbed to the combined un-green fingers my brother, sister and I. Funny the things you regret losing isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-48950717123457573022015-01-12T06:19:00.002-08:002015-01-12T06:19:40.777-08:00National Gallery of Scotland and Queens Gardens Edinburgh<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;"><h2>
<span style="text-align: left;">The National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh </span></h2>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The National Gallery of Scotland is a must-see for everyone visiting Edinburgh. It sits on The Mound at one end of Queen's Gardens - which incidentally was a lake many years ago. Today it runs the length of Princes Street and is well-loved and well-used by visitors and residents. </div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tQAV6xqHgJ_gV_7tNTgCCJBpusU6SDpaDvryzXTfZWZPWvxBTIlJQUZxynoMzO8VJtgkZH5p3C0CusRC5TcXDg-Wz7mHfatVfXPfOVFEYGxcQt8P3Uysx5htKC1SfcID5YDlm6vpDlYl/s1600/Edinburgh+national+gallery+of+Scotland+001+comp+copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7tQAV6xqHgJ_gV_7tNTgCCJBpusU6SDpaDvryzXTfZWZPWvxBTIlJQUZxynoMzO8VJtgkZH5p3C0CusRC5TcXDg-Wz7mHfatVfXPfOVFEYGxcQt8P3Uysx5htKC1SfcID5YDlm6vpDlYl/s1600/Edinburgh+national+gallery+of+Scotland+001+comp+copyright.jpg" height="256" title="National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Gallery houses not only many famous Scottish artists but many of the old masters - my two favourites being contrasting Van Gogh paintings that sit on either side of a doorway. On one side the trees he paints are pastels and peaceful, the other was painted while he was in a sanitorium and is vivid slashes of colour. Maybe they stick in my mind because I can relate to the contrasting moods. <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/AVvXsEjk_wvMJnl2nLXTAnA6mjcHA8IEXehrs9N1QavQKv541LnghDae909uY9-IQ6Qi8BUjhjrJRt3qTSkJUzt7Rhyphenhyphenei7eEB4Z_9hJZgdvSrV1WdqlBoHj2N92fHxA54jE3WEDYrcvuNR4vxXcY/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+003+300dpi+Copright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_wvMJnl2nLXTAnA6mjcHA8IEXehrs9N1QavQKv541LnghDae909uY9-IQ6Qi8BUjhjrJRt3qTSkJUzt7Rhyphenhyphenei7eEB4Z_9hJZgdvSrV1WdqlBoHj2N92fHxA54jE3WEDYrcvuNR4vxXcY/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+003+300dpi+Copright.jpg" height="320" title="National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There is a nice cafe on the lower level which is actually the start of the Gardens.<br /><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/AVvXsEgdysDeQfvu0qnKlYXOSxrFlQvFwrO5xRKVsO9eFfSai3uvZkOfqUHocm7QS0GKGDCVSS_ZmuMUfOgNS3Pp-py8T1hPUGSePrIRz2-BDl7WyJMfMr4ZirdP5X-Gg-L9QgQH4nZ4V1XlbX-S/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+001+comp+Copright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="steps in Queens gardens down to National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh Cafe" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdysDeQfvu0qnKlYXOSxrFlQvFwrO5xRKVsO9eFfSai3uvZkOfqUHocm7QS0GKGDCVSS_ZmuMUfOgNS3Pp-py8T1hPUGSePrIRz2-BDl7WyJMfMr4ZirdP5X-Gg-L9QgQH4nZ4V1XlbX-S/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+001+comp+Copright.jpg" height="256" title="National Gallery of Scotland Edinburgh" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steps in Queeens Gardens leading down to the Gallery Cafe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiWUX3Ana5_w-WVCg0WfnzOMWyQ92mqPkyDF1nVj1RRifabIGAd5hpMN21IpRDypuH7zO2Rlsp8Y3uIzzJhQpWRNuH22X5Cz7sy83Ap4GJlG4-dsZ6xjkh8T6o20k5E-Gvr4qgAVcvhjD7m/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+005+comp+Copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Queens Gardens Edinburgh" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWUX3Ana5_w-WVCg0WfnzOMWyQ92mqPkyDF1nVj1RRifabIGAd5hpMN21IpRDypuH7zO2Rlsp8Y3uIzzJhQpWRNuH22X5Cz7sy83Ap4GJlG4-dsZ6xjkh8T6o20k5E-Gvr4qgAVcvhjD7m/s1600/Edinburgh+Queens+Gardens+005+comp+Copyright.jpg" height="256" title="Queens Gardens Edinburgh" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queens Gardens Edinburgh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-38472828758047901812015-01-09T00:51:00.000-08:002015-01-09T00:51:22.514-08:00A Scottish Poem: Hame by annmackiemiller<h3 style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
Poetry by Ann Miller</h3>
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<strong>Hame<strong></strong></strong></div>
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</div>
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<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/AVvXsEh5CelWCKP0wEOqqfMhzFnh2_XIzU2GMODRyREABZJZPPaOEgrqyg730udJirucZWU4DPiFDBHn72w1M4SQnashCTMHtRSLUKTThh6FtTuut50oJiudpEBF8YX9X7K53K8q15FuPHb5GuMV/s1600/9916250_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="stove and hearth" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CelWCKP0wEOqqfMhzFnh2_XIzU2GMODRyREABZJZPPaOEgrqyg730udJirucZWU4DPiFDBHn72w1M4SQnashCTMHtRSLUKTThh6FtTuut50oJiudpEBF8YX9X7K53K8q15FuPHb5GuMV/s1600/9916250_f260.jpg" height="320" title="stove" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">by the fire</td></tr>
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Yer asking me whit hame is?</div>
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Well, haud yer wheest a mo and let me think.</div>
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Weel then -</div>
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Hame is whaur the hert is -</div>
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is it no?</div>
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and once upon a time</div>
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twas whaur wallie dugs graced the mantle</div>
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and 3 geese traversed the wa'</div>
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in endless flight.</div>
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Hame was faither's pipe and the coloured cleaners</div>
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I bought him every year - you mind the kind.</div>
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He'd duly mak them intae wee men fer me,</div>
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He'd say 'here ye go bonny lass',</div>
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faithful pipe clenched tight in teeth</div>
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wi groove long worn.</div>
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Hame was couerieing in by the fire</div>
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tartan legs and cauld lugs.</div>
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It was a tully lamp in power cuts</div>
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and lightning visits tae the lavie.</div>
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It was a box foo o half pennies</div>
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we used when playing cards.</div>
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It was listening to the radio</div>
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while mum knitted socks</div>
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and dad mended shoes,</div>
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or tinkered wi his clocks,</div>
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ye mind? the anes he'd</div>
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be winding up to tell fowk</div>
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was time to leave when visiting;</div>
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'Here's yer hat and whit's yer hurry'</div>
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we'd laugh and joke</div>
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but that was him,</div>
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and his bedtime ritual.</div>
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Hame was sing-a-longs</div>
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when mum played piano;</div>
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it was books and music,</div>
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friends and fowk comin rund</div>
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for tea and sugary pancakes,</div>
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for help, or crack and telling jokes.</div>
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Hame was an open door</div>
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Mum's baking and dad's gerden.</div>
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Ye want mair?</div>
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Och weel</div>
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let's just say</div>
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Maste o' a' -</div>
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Hame is in the past.</div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
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<strong>Poetry copyright to AnnMackIeMiller</strong></div>
</div>
AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-57373699653909500472015-01-08T05:29:00.001-08:002015-01-08T05:29:12.918-08:00Clunie Bridge Pitlochry Perthshire Scotland<h2>
The Clunie Bridge Pitlochry</h2>
<div>
<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/AVvXsEiJWlK1B3iZ3MKAtHak6rXPxNl0BKZbXYOr9Pf1y1IlvX0Uu4SELbQRx9royOK-hkxZ3AjsDigQxlCJphrpw19I8sF0J7UQxyWlnuyFqwNzSWE7UnxK677NpTrDMN1ibulNCjv51Ve8H4-_/s1600/Clunie+Bridge+Pitlochry+001+300dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cluny Bridge Pitlochry Perthshire Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWlK1B3iZ3MKAtHak6rXPxNl0BKZbXYOr9Pf1y1IlvX0Uu4SELbQRx9royOK-hkxZ3AjsDigQxlCJphrpw19I8sF0J7UQxyWlnuyFqwNzSWE7UnxK677NpTrDMN1ibulNCjv51Ve8H4-_/s1600/Clunie+Bridge+Pitlochry+001+300dpi.jpg" height="400" title="Cluny Bridge Pitlochry Perthshire Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cluny Bridge Pitlochry Perthshire Scotland<br />Misty Morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I took this picture on a misty Sunday morning while I was attending <a href="http://annieangel1.hubpages.com/hub/dougie-maclean-perthshire-amber-festival" target="_blank">Dougie MacLean's Perthshire Amber Folk Festival.</a><br />
<br />
The footbridge crosses the River Tummel and was built about 1950 - it replaced an old road bridge that was lost when Hydro Electric built the reserviour and dam here. It is a suspension bridge so will sway while you cross - not great for those of us affected by balance issues.<br />
<br />
If you are wondering about the name - it seems to relate to the land ownership at the time the first bridge was built in the 18th century. Clunie itself can date back to a pictish clan. </div>
AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-9725050328417139112015-01-03T07:59:00.000-08:002015-01-03T07:59:07.393-08:00A Scottish Poem: Mum's Wool Winder<h2>
Mum's Wool Winder</h2>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEiwT7pTwSzumiuKIqNpHn2hcR1eyOuJM3t-eozHZVukOd0scBFRwkGPujOmDu0CbTQ9mv1w20HFYMrP3m0jmZIXUq5h0xPsivkhW52duASX5aM-vGjTHNEV_wk3EA_gNQfsksRFCVMgYo8b/s1600/9916250_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwT7pTwSzumiuKIqNpHn2hcR1eyOuJM3t-eozHZVukOd0scBFRwkGPujOmDu0CbTQ9mv1w20HFYMrP3m0jmZIXUq5h0xPsivkhW52duASX5aM-vGjTHNEV_wk3EA_gNQfsksRFCVMgYo8b/s1600/9916250_f260.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheltand Wool Winder and Hearth<br /></td></tr>
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A Poem by AnnMackieMiller<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When wool came in hanks<br />
<br />
Mum would use whoever handy<br />
<br />
to hold their arms straight<br />
<br />
so she could wind hank to ball.<br />
<br />
There was a trick to holding it,<br />
<br />
a rhythm that shifted you<br />
<br />
from right and from left<br />
<br />
with a subtle release of the thumb<br />
<br />
at just the right time.<br />
<br />
Then dad make her the wool winder.<br />
<br />
First seen in Shetland I believe<br />
<br />
it was just a simple design,<br />
<br />
two reels and a ladder<br />
<br />
crafted in a workshop haunted by kids.<br />
<br />
A quiet man, my father never voiced his love<br />
<br />
letting instead the shaping of the wood<br />
<br />
and each tender plane and polish<br />
<br />
speak for him.<br />
<br />
The wool winder sits on my hearth now,<br />
<br />
beside a fading photograph<br />
<br />
and every day it reminds me<br />
<br />
of that other fireside in a family warmed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All poetry is copyright to AnnMackieMillerAnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-42883370731525069492015-01-03T07:38:00.000-08:002017-06-12T12:33:52.154-07:00Memoir: My Father: Biography of a Gentle Scotsman<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/AVvXsEhhAaJyAz_VH1RV3F9wPx2MouHsW6kdu-2ut1VD5ihIqn8DT2ddSaj8PDnOl-4Vs1EpoGSWo-ibuglptlVZYuh1vr2PBg80ZlPEEbyUUgxjnh5KXiA3GUP-0yMirZrEaKqLgttVhfTt5hLa/s1600/9916279_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAaJyAz_VH1RV3F9wPx2MouHsW6kdu-2ut1VD5ihIqn8DT2ddSaj8PDnOl-4Vs1EpoGSWo-ibuglptlVZYuh1vr2PBg80ZlPEEbyUUgxjnh5KXiA3GUP-0yMirZrEaKqLgttVhfTt5hLa/s1600/9916279_f260.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Hall Reid</td></tr>
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<h2>
My Father - A Memoir and a Tribute</h2>
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<br /></div>
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When I was set the challenge "The Person You Most Admire" I discarded a lot of people: William Wallace, Mother Theresa, Ghandi, JFK, Martin Luther, Grace Kelly and on and on. But the one person I just could not get out on my mind was my father. Life threw more than its fair share of problems his way but he emerged a gentle, quiet, well educated man that I miss every day of my life. He was my hero.</div>
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This is my tribute to him in poetry and prose. Some of the poetry is in the language of my land, Scotland. Old Scots rich in the cadence that is Scotland.</div>
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<br />
<h2 style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 28px; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
Copyright</h2>
<div class="" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 27.6000003814697px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
As you can see, the photos are from my family album, duly scanned into digital form. All the pictures and the poetry here are my own.</div>
<div class="" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 27.6000003814697px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
Please respect my copyright to them and do not copy or reproduce.</div>
<div class="" style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 27.6000003814697px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
Many thanks</div>
<br /></div>
<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/AVvXsEiGipHx5xMRwYiulm-krucuTATtnnYzOEEN8SCau_4nbQrNxpH-jzRAfQUjzdfz-FsQQwtwawAEn5luwrrNcfyYFYb1A1I11q4ZpzipjnuSQD5OeRVuUo5sZsjx0dPJ50-ba-S91qZdlyeD/s1600/9916475_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGipHx5xMRwYiulm-krucuTATtnnYzOEEN8SCau_4nbQrNxpH-jzRAfQUjzdfz-FsQQwtwawAEn5luwrrNcfyYFYb1A1I11q4ZpzipjnuSQD5OeRVuUo5sZsjx0dPJ50-ba-S91qZdlyeD/s1600/9916475_f520.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad with Uncle Bob and 'Meggie' the car</td></tr>
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<h2 class="subtitle" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
James Hall Reid</h2>
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<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
1907-1980</h3>
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Born in Huntly, now Morayshire, Scotland James Hall Reid was the eldest of three. His mother was a nurse at Aberdeen Sick Children's Hospital before she married, and his father had a plumbing business. When Dad was 10, his sister 6 and his brother only 1 year old, their mother died of tuberculous. His father had returned from the Boer War (1902) minus several fingers so found it difficult to work as a plumber. With the death of his wife, he took to drink, lost his business and left most of the care of the children to James, his eldest son. James senior became a postman in Auchinblae a cute little town in The Mearns - now Kincardinshire. I am told he liked that as there were lots of illegal stills in the area who were very generous to their posties. My father never talked about him but my uncle once told me he remembered Hallie (my dad's family name) bringing his father home in a wheelbarrow. What a burden for a child. My father was a confirmed tee-totaller his whole life and I suspect he was afraid he would be like his father if he ever gave into it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
He worked where ever he could to bring some money into the household, and taught himself to read, to do carpentry, plumbing, shoe making, even sewing for his siblings. My uncle spoke often of how Hallie brought him up and despite the constant banter between the pair of them, through all their lives there was a strong bond, immense respect from my uncle to my dad and quiet dignity by my father. My uncle called him The Flower Man because of his love of gardening for Uncle Bob could not see the point in growing anything that couldn't eat.</div>
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<strong>The photo here is of my father in front with Uncle Bob and 'Meggie' the car.</strong></div>
<h2 class="subtitle" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
The Army Life</h2>
<div class="txtd" id="txtd_29770134" style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA6W_C9DPKEhWDsQlTjhs5eu2BoeVNYLQPRQeoFJCqRHJVA5dh6raaZ8Acw3u0eDfisNnnHGj8cM05tYQpAQoKafQygbEKPVTEMfGs8_SaKrGTFRxssthOtQ4PXW-yw5Oci_mQXDrDL43/s1600/9916352_f520.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/AVvXsEiZA6W_C9DPKEhWDsQlTjhs5eu2BoeVNYLQPRQeoFJCqRHJVA5dh6raaZ8Acw3u0eDfisNnnHGj8cM05tYQpAQoKafQygbEKPVTEMfGs8_SaKrGTFRxssthOtQ4PXW-yw5Oci_mQXDrDL43/s1600/9916352_f520.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">two Gordon Highlanders</td></tr>
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<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
A Highlander in India</h3>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
It is little wonder that at 15 or 16 he faked his age and joined the Gordon Highlanders to get away. In the army he was a corporal, he played drums in the band, and danced as a Highland dancer at Gatherings. He worked a lot with horses and travelled to Egypt and spent a long time in India. One of my treasures are the photographs he took, processed and printed while he was in India. The backs are a wonderful vignette of life in the army in India in the 1920s. He sent them all back to his father, and still show just how much he loved the man despite all his faults.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
Dad left the army in 1930 with an ulcer, a bad chest and a gamey leg from when a horse fell on him.</div>
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</h2>
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<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
poetry by AnnMackieMiller</h3>
<table 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/AVvXsEhlvIoafH8-Xj5w6u1VXcTeRrivUEMmupOBDig1-Vby8WetDsLMom1yKQjQxgkM3zaBVzx2xVL_navQU2Hmt_M_Sxr9A7RbGEcWh45LGn5Ope1MvrVQuFTRLNS9frf_bVYRZILwZ_7ct_cP/s1600/9916490_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvIoafH8-Xj5w6u1VXcTeRrivUEMmupOBDig1-Vby8WetDsLMom1yKQjQxgkM3zaBVzx2xVL_navQU2Hmt_M_Sxr9A7RbGEcWh45LGn5Ope1MvrVQuFTRLNS9frf_bVYRZILwZ_7ct_cP/s1600/9916490_f520.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gordon Highlanders in India</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<strong>DRUMS<strong></strong></strong></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
My father was a drummer</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
in a Highland regiment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
Fancy that, my father!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
Strange to think of him marching</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
and twirling drum sticks,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
but I have the photographs to prove it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
He was a Highland dancer too</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
- and a singer;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
I only knew him as my dad;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
the soldier in the photo</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
a stranger with my dad's face.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn5C9HtB6yZOuYDcvMQjsLUvI6taoveiKmaao_zMTJed4FMndbuRFndBrUoNmPUhdbI-5iGq8xbrnKUfVi_ySBT9vilksJ73HGj73exfaue2-hODV9xlrZo6-jI2auhyphenhyphenNz4D2RbLS9UFy/s1600/9916375_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn5C9HtB6yZOuYDcvMQjsLUvI6taoveiKmaao_zMTJed4FMndbuRFndBrUoNmPUhdbI-5iGq8xbrnKUfVi_ySBT9vilksJ73HGj73exfaue2-hODV9xlrZo6-jI2auhyphenhyphenNz4D2RbLS9UFy/s1600/9916375_f520.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and Dad on their engagement day<br />
at Turretville Brechin</td></tr>
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<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
</h3>
<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
The Gentle Man</h3>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYqks_BjufTjuO5mr-PxlKlgtCnhNCFsJ-p4G8PaSOKhaDxihsSijLJXRG00ma_jDo5Z2RsPHOKqNXyc-8D-i5naHgqqzU8ulxVK33j4n2V0RYgex7yMgPWahAbz1GfYkKmq_BMX_npA5/s1600/9916203_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYqks_BjufTjuO5mr-PxlKlgtCnhNCFsJ-p4G8PaSOKhaDxihsSijLJXRG00ma_jDo5Z2RsPHOKqNXyc-8D-i5naHgqqzU8ulxVK33j4n2V0RYgex7yMgPWahAbz1GfYkKmq_BMX_npA5/s1600/9916203_f260.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad with Micky the dog</td></tr>
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Home again in the 1930s Dad worked on various country estates as a gardener. I still love enclosed walled gardens and see him working in them ever time I visit one. He met my mother at Strathcathro Hospital where she was a nurse. She was 18 years younger than him. One tale we heard every time we passed Stracathro was when, while they were courting, Dad threw her lipstick away into the field, saying she didn't need anything like that. I spent years trying to see the lipstick tree.</div>
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They moved all over Scotland losing two babies but ending with a family of three, my sister Greta, my brother and me, the after-thought.</div>
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Before I was born my mother had tired of the constant moving and they moved into the town of Kirriemuir, a market town in Angus Scotland. He could turn his hand to anything and Dad had a variety of jobs from a cemetery worker, a motor mechanic, a factory jute inspector and finally a boilerman in a jute factory. He hated being indoors and he missed the gardens, so gardening became one of his greatest loves.</div>
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His family was the most important thing in his life. He wouldn't have a television in the house until we were quite grown believing it ruined family life. As a family we sang songs round the piano. My mother was a wonderful pianist and Dad a great singer. He used to perform in amateur operas and it was a joy to stand beside him in church, We also played card and board games and made things. We read constantly and listened to the radio - long before modern technology, when I was a teenager he rigged up a speaker in my bedroom to let me listen to Radio Luxemburg, so he could switch it off when he thought I should be asleep.</div>
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He loved to tinker with clocks and we had an abundance of them, all lovingly restored. Mum always knew what would come home from a 'roup'. He made rag rugs out of old clothes so the rugs that graced our floors told a story all their own. Dad taught us so many things, it was my dad that taught me to knit (he learned on the ship to India when the sailors taught the army men to pass the time). I was only sorry he didn't teach me the woodworking he taught my brother. On Sundays after church and lunch he and my mother would take us walking, teaching us the names of the trees and flowers. Pity I don't remember them now.</div>
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He had the most wonderful child-like love of Christmas perhaps because they had been so few in his own childhood. Some of my most precious memories are of Christmas at home, all celebrated without a drop of alcohol. He would squeeze every present, even those that were not his own and loved squirrelling away little surprises for us all. Many of his presents were hand made or renovated, like the bike he gave me on my 12th birthday. They had had a terrible time keeping me away from his workshop and I can remember sulking when I wasn't allowed near it. The year he won some money on the 'Football Pools' he kept it secret but so proud when he presented us each with a BOUGHT present. My sister got a powder compact, my brother a cigarette lighter and me... a book of course.</div>
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He also loved cars. When he got his first car he swelled with pride. 'Meggie' named after my mother is the car shown here. She was dark green - the car not my mother though I suspect mum's love of the colour green had a lot to do with the choice of car.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uqA_GKNJ8CqUNob0Ul_VEbhHNxFFONtAf8BXCjdfQ4k2G_v88kF7cgIgLvZIE7AZ94ff-FHUC7wwwg82XX9pyO5JJMVgadIxwmjS_aSusU5CHI-d4qheTShKCKexQRTJ02KvZga_6BOT/s1600/9916300_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-uqA_GKNJ8CqUNob0Ul_VEbhHNxFFONtAf8BXCjdfQ4k2G_v88kF7cgIgLvZIE7AZ94ff-FHUC7wwwg82XX9pyO5JJMVgadIxwmjS_aSusU5CHI-d4qheTShKCKexQRTJ02KvZga_6BOT/s1600/9916300_f520.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<strong style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;">PHOTOGRAPHS</strong></div>
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<strong style="color: #333333; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;">a poem by annmackiemiller</strong></div>
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I hae but twa, maybe three, photos of me and Dad</div>
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Ain, snapped in a Dundee street</div>
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With me between them, Mum and Dad</div>
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But looking back for brither an' sister.</div>
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And ain, high in faither's airms</div>
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Aged 2 or so I think.</div>
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The last?</div>
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On my wedding day</div>
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still his Bonny Lass</div>
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he handed tae anither.</div>
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Oh wid I had mair tae mind</div>
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his dear face though</div>
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it be scoored deep with life's</div>
hard tale and sorrows.<br />
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<strong>Poetry is copyright to AnnMackieMiller</strong></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGAVXn19SlLoYIGF73eAWtFUWX2ilgWMXE4mPuuZccxvhxqZAkZuBRoXBTHoXBGqBfq-8HW0y54fCljdcMAKL3E71YUY-EXMyEJRxQ3Si0FcvDdmbBNqB-ZoAF22q3N_DuNlsOy5IWkHs/s1600/9916396_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGAVXn19SlLoYIGF73eAWtFUWX2ilgWMXE4mPuuZccxvhxqZAkZuBRoXBTHoXBGqBfq-8HW0y54fCljdcMAKL3E71YUY-EXMyEJRxQ3Si0FcvDdmbBNqB-ZoAF22q3N_DuNlsOy5IWkHs/s1600/9916396_f520.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mum and Dad on my wedding day</td></tr>
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The Funeral by annmackiemiller</h2>
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Poetry for my father by Ann Miller</h3>
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I wrote a series of three poems for three funerals, this is my Dad's</div>
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Dad,</div>
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I couldn't sing.</div>
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Not today, not for my dad.</div>
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I wanted him to hear my voice one last time</div>
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but the words wouldn't pass choking chords</div>
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I tried - and failed</div>
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Just as I failed to be there before he died</div>
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and now the one thing I wanted to do</div>
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I couldn't sing for my daddy.</div>
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Perhaps he hears me now.<br />
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Poetry is copyright to AnnMackieMiller, please do not copy</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCeekvQwMpgAMSHDuSyz1lj7O5BZHgzfruQ-aAlxFdVVdaT3Koo8kTwACXnr7XOr9a72156fD7LDpNpMiKxkg7qge_Gi6uIwULver6dZp4XG2PVruJ7BrwenB1SvW2ELkb9zt3inKjoeq/s1600/9916536_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipCeekvQwMpgAMSHDuSyz1lj7O5BZHgzfruQ-aAlxFdVVdaT3Koo8kTwACXnr7XOr9a72156fD7LDpNpMiKxkg7qge_Gi6uIwULver6dZp4XG2PVruJ7BrwenB1SvW2ELkb9zt3inKjoeq/s1600/9916536_f520.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">his last Christmas</td></tr>
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-59020326060626407682015-01-03T07:28:00.001-08:002015-01-03T07:28:10.420-08:00A Poem in Venacular Scots: MY FAITHER AIRMS <h3 style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
A Scottish Poem by AnnMackieMiller</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAaJyAz_VH1RV3F9wPx2MouHsW6kdu-2ut1VD5ihIqn8DT2ddSaj8PDnOl-4Vs1EpoGSWo-ibuglptlVZYuh1vr2PBg80ZlPEEbyUUgxjnh5KXiA3GUP-0yMirZrEaKqLgttVhfTt5hLa/s1600/9916279_f260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAaJyAz_VH1RV3F9wPx2MouHsW6kdu-2ut1VD5ihIqn8DT2ddSaj8PDnOl-4Vs1EpoGSWo-ibuglptlVZYuh1vr2PBg80ZlPEEbyUUgxjnh5KXiA3GUP-0yMirZrEaKqLgttVhfTt5hLa/s1600/9916279_f260.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px;">MY FAITHER AIRMS </span></span></h2>
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I mind my faithers airms,</div>
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strong and chisled flesh</div>
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walnut brown</div>
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with lines painted,</div>
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a map of life-blood</div>
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that mark time, place and burdens.</div>
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They wer'nae muscley strong mind</div>
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but stringy strong, whittled strong</div>
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by years o shovelling coal</div>
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intae yon great burning monster</div>
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that made the jaite.</div>
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Tons o coal broocht in big lorries</div>
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frae the coal-fields where ither faithers</div>
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howked it oot the grund in dark profusion then.</div>
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I mind the smell, the heat,</div>
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and black stained haunds</div>
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adjusting dials and funny wheels.</div>
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I mind his laugh ain dae</div>
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I asked tae ply the shovel</div>
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and couldnae lift the loads</div>
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he threw aroon,</div>
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muckle heaps o coal piled ceiling high</div>
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that dwindled tae noucht alooe his haunds.</div>
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I mind his airms pruning roses and turning wood</div>
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I mind his hand haundling faithful pipe</div>
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and stroking mither's hair</div>
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where she sat at his feet by fire.</div>
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Aye I mind,</div>
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And mindin', miss him still.</div>
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<strong>Poetry copyright to AnnMackieMiller: Please do not copy</strong></div>
AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-45300074484123587522014-12-03T05:45:00.001-08:002014-12-03T05:45:53.180-08:00About my Scottish Memoirs: What is a Vignette?I am writing my Scottish memoirs as a series of vignettes so it seems appropriate to share what that means with my loyal reader. :)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV53bY6YpUup8Z3oRThqnCAkboVvPz-VUe9_I7e1RTXWpbCO7JTpHEMNvqVb79moJazJG7cXbFmm4VCS9GydS00pVkE-Y9v9yOE1cwIH8_NNR9q3eoTHMZCUfmoVfhYCevtMDVsY1yM3V3/s1600/wine-leaf-504830_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="vine leaf from pixabay" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV53bY6YpUup8Z3oRThqnCAkboVvPz-VUe9_I7e1RTXWpbCO7JTpHEMNvqVb79moJazJG7cXbFmm4VCS9GydS00pVkE-Y9v9yOE1cwIH8_NNR9q3eoTHMZCUfmoVfhYCevtMDVsY1yM3V3/s1600/wine-leaf-504830_1280.jpg" height="213" title="vine leaf from pixabay" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">vine leaf with thanks to <a href="http://pixabay.com/en/wine-leaf-vine-wine-autumn-journal-504830/" target="_blank">Pixabay</a></td></tr>
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What is a vignette?</h2>
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The origin of the word vignette was 'something that could be written on a vine leaf', in other words a short descriptive scene or sketch. It is free-flowing, a stream-of-consciousness writing, that is prompted by a particular focus. It might be a character, an event in your life, a setting or an observation. Each vignette stands on its own, a little slice of life that is usually particularly vivid and is written from your point of view. One could describe a good blog as a vignette but it could be anything that resonates with you, anything that is begging for your attention and for you to capture in words.</div>
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How to write a vignette</h2>
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Vignettes are best approached as free writing, that is, stream-of-consciousness writing where you give your mind free rein. This doesn't mean it is sloppy writing because after you have captured that first slice you still need to edit it, and edit it again until it is smooth and as perfect as you can make it.</div>
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To write your own vignette, first of all sit quietly at your computer and let a topic come to the surface of your mind. It might be a memory from childhood, say a day at the zoo, your first day at work or the birth of your first child. Make it something that is ringing bells, begging to get written. Let's take a day at the zoo to use as an example. Take time to remember the day - was it warm and sunny or damp, who was with you, what did it sound like, smell like, how did you feel? Bring up memories of the taste of candyfloss or the pleasure in feeding monkeys or the feel of fur as you petted animals in the petting corner. Once you have submerged yourself in all that day meant to you, write it down, type it out. Keep going until it is all on the screen. At this stage don't worry about spelling, grammar or format - that comes later.</div>
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When you have it all down, go back and edit it once, then leave it alone for a day or so and come back and edit it again.</div>
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-46541540662798795222014-12-01T05:08:00.000-08:002014-12-01T05:08:42.426-08:00A Scottish fun poem@ Is a doo a dove Dad by Jim Douglas<h2 style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
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<b style="line-height: 14.5pt;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">IS A DOO A DOVE DAD</span></b></div>
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<b style="line-height: 14.5pt;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif";">BY JIM DOUGLAS</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvS5WxuFjMy4uLVAJMvjITOaPkfv_A1L5RUfqtIn9ZktkBebucpefBPXUEuDbg0wQ0MRdmRbcVVsW39x8DgLTYM6ADLv7V8rA12uV_kd6LM6gP7LLB354Xw-MtWwbkVUsUfKQoXUbqNmHW/s1600/collared+doves+003+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="collared doves" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvS5WxuFjMy4uLVAJMvjITOaPkfv_A1L5RUfqtIn9ZktkBebucpefBPXUEuDbg0wQ0MRdmRbcVVsW39x8DgLTYM6ADLv7V8rA12uV_kd6LM6gP7LLB354Xw-MtWwbkVUsUfKQoXUbqNmHW/s1600/collared+doves+003+comp.jpg" height="320" title="collared doves" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">twin doos photography by annmackiemiller</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 19.3333339691162px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Is a doo a dove/ Is a cow a coo Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">A sparrow jist a spyug</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">And is a wall a waw Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Is a dog a dug</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">She's gonnae warm ma ear Dad</span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span class="textexposedshow"> Instead o' skelp ma
lug.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Ma teacher's awfy posh Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;"> She changes
aw oor names</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Wee Shuggie now is Hugh Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">And Jimmy's ayeways James</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah'm scunnered wi' it aw Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">The way she shoogles words</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah must be glaickit no 'tae ken</span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">That feathered friends are burds.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ye learnt me aw wrong Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ye
cawd a ball a baw</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">
Your wife is now my Mother</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">You said it wis ma Maw</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah'm no share hoo tae spell Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah'll niver pass ma test</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Whit is this ah'm wearin' Dad’</span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A simmet or a vest?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Ah gave ma nose a dicht Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">When it began tae dreep</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">She gave me sich a fricht Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah near fall aff ma seat</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">“Haven't you a handkerchief”</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">She roared as if in pain</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">No, ah jist yase ma sleeve, Miss </span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">And wiped ma nose again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">Ah cawd a mouse a moose Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Ah shid hiv held ma tongue</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">That's manure oan yir bits Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Nae longer is it dung</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">It's turnips and potatoes</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">No tatties noo and neeps</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">She said I've ripped my trousers</span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">When ah'd only torn ma breeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">There's twa words fir
awthin' Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">They're jumbled in ma heed</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Hoo kin I be well bred Dad</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">When ah keep sayin' breed</span></div>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 14.5pt;">Now is a crow a craw Dad</span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"> Is a bull a bull <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">A'll try tae get it richt
Dad</span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 14.5pt; margin: 4.5pt 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;">I will, I will, ah wul</span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">AND IF YOU WANT TO HEAR IT SUNG.... </span></span></div>
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-25633768945793829062014-10-31T03:11:00.000-07:002014-10-31T03:11:31.912-07:00A Old-Fashioned Scottish Recipe: Mince, Tatties and Neeps<h2 id="29772664_title" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.2em; margin: 0px 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
Low-fat Vegetarian Recipe using vegetarian mince</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQGREGgqZibmYv1HypcvisfruH6-pkLClYJvVxtwiT8pMcWsjSWXEvhON8Sz875QU3hTT0sdQ0jpzERIm19OuS4Fz2fvdnJEG1q5cj_W1SlUszmP3-eEXdOttZeyvylGWj3W9q-CvyYDh/s1600/mince+and+tatties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="mince, potatoes and turnip plus turnip lantern" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQGREGgqZibmYv1HypcvisfruH6-pkLClYJvVxtwiT8pMcWsjSWXEvhON8Sz875QU3hTT0sdQ0jpzERIm19OuS4Fz2fvdnJEG1q5cj_W1SlUszmP3-eEXdOttZeyvylGWj3W9q-CvyYDh/s1600/mince+and+tatties.jpg" title="mince, potatoes and turnip plus turnip lantern" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mince, Tatties and Neeps with Tumshie Lantern</td></tr>
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What is mince and tatties? Traditionally, it is minced beef served with mashed potatoes and mashed turnip or swede. It's an old Scottish favourite and being a vegetarian doesn't mean I miss out on it. Vegetarian mince made with quorn has about 75% less fat than beef mince, is a good source of protein and cooks up into many tasty dishes. This page features traditional mince with vegetables, served with potatoes and mashed turnips - ah the childhood memories this evokes!</div>
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I grew up in 1950s Scotland, a time when the country was still recovering from the Second World War, when food had to be cheap as well as wholesome. Mincing the beef was a way to make it spread further but actually, since I have never liked the texture of meat in my mouth, was one of the only ways my mother could get me to eat beef. It is interesting to note how popular Second World War cookbooks are becoming as we realise how much healthier many of the dishes were.<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/AVvXsEhf2xw8e0XjkqyedwIMROse4nAWFJg_XrmttfAxB9B7p8JD_r2o1y2jBkIX4HE3o5V8UJRXABQkyfmZO_Dp3P7HZvqhkXGucqTKDHNwmYQWdn6QLhXFKD8SWZIQOFN6QsCnCKGmWuw_ulYw/s1600/tumshie+lantern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="turnip lantern" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2xw8e0XjkqyedwIMROse4nAWFJg_XrmttfAxB9B7p8JD_r2o1y2jBkIX4HE3o5V8UJRXABQkyfmZO_Dp3P7HZvqhkXGucqTKDHNwmYQWdn6QLhXFKD8SWZIQOFN6QsCnCKGmWuw_ulYw/s1600/tumshie+lantern.jpg" height="256" title="turnip lantern" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tumshie lantern</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<ul style="background-color: #efefef; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Prep time:</strong> 15 min</li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Cook time:</strong> 30 min</li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Ready in:</strong> 45 min</li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><strong>Serves:</strong> 4</li>
<li style="display: block; float: left; list-style: none; margin: 5px 10px 0px 0px; min-width: 132px; padding: 0px;"><br /></li>
</ul>
<div class="mod hasFloatedRight" id="mod_29772676_Ingredients" style="border: 0px; height: auto; left: 0px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; top: 0px;">
<div class="module moduleIngredients color0" id="modcont_29772676" style="clear: left; margin: 0px 0px 1.4em; padding: 0px;">
<div class="moduleIngredients" id="29772676_ingredients" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<h2>
<ul style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Ingredients</li>
</ul>
</h2>
<ul style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">250 gram quorn mince</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">1 tablespoon olive or vegetable oil</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">1 onion - peeled and diced</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">3 carrots - peeled and cut into rings</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">1 small turnip - cleaned and cut into cubes</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">1 small potato - peeled and cut into cubes</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">1 pint vegetable stock (broth)</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">black pepper and salt to taste</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h2>
How to Make Mince and Tatties</h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="mod" id="mod_29772677_Instructions" style="border: 0px; height: auto; left: 0px; line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; top: 0px;">
<div class="module moduleInstructions color0" id="modcont_29772677" style="clear: left; margin: 0px 0px 1.4em; padding: 0px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<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/AVvXsEiIN26W2Xg6RjJkfuq4MJRq9GpnfJ8qvGegDkCMBY9PKhTieYmbnnAe1LDb2v-Kvj7mxgqZ28K4Wt8LjzdPED5NyfyKLjjMq4xZ06xhKeK8rOu-qdoHy9OgZSw_V4f755p8tFq24sU0smq1/s1600/quorn+mince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIN26W2Xg6RjJkfuq4MJRq9GpnfJ8qvGegDkCMBY9PKhTieYmbnnAe1LDb2v-Kvj7mxgqZ28K4Wt8LjzdPED5NyfyKLjjMq4xZ06xhKeK8rOu-qdoHy9OgZSw_V4f755p8tFq24sU0smq1/s1600/quorn+mince.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mince and tatties</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="moduleInstructions" id="29772677_instructions" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<ol style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em 2em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Heat the oil in a saucepan and fry the onion until it is soft and transparent.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Add carrots, turnip and potato and coat with the oil/onion mix.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Cook for 5 minutes.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Add mince and stock and seasoning.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Bring to the boil.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes until the vegetables are soft.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">Serve with mashed potatoes and mashed turnip.</li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.5em; padding: 0px;">For these simple boil potatoes and turnip until soft then mash with a little butter. </li>
</ol>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<h2 style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
Variations</h2>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<span style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px;">I like my veggie mince packed full of vegetables.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
This is a recipe that can be adapted in many ways -</div>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
change out which vegetables you use</div>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
add herbs and tomatoes for a completely different taste</div>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
add HP brown sauce or curry powder to give it some spice<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<h2>
What is Quorn </h2>
</div>
<div class="txtd" id="txtd_29772670" style="line-height: 20.7000007629395px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<h3 style="font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 1.15em; line-height: normal; margin: 1.2em 0px 0.6em; padding: 0px;">
vegetarian</h3>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
The main ingredient in Quorn is what is called a mycoprotein, and is made from a fungus like mushrooms. It is high in protein, low in fat and it contains very few calories. It is also high in fibre which helps maintain a healthy bowel and digestive tract. It also contains amino acids and, as it has no saturated fats, is thought to help reduce bad cholesterol which is the leading cause of heart disease and strokes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
NB - Egg whites are used as binding agents so this is NOT A VEGAN product.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.75em; padding: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
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</iframe><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=storybookphot-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1500715387&asins=1500715387&linkId=TI3EEOP4W3R53ISF&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-79966334286420330242014-10-31T02:39:00.002-07:002014-10-31T02:45:18.005-07:00Memories of Halloween in Scotland<h2>
Halloween in Scotland in the 1950s and '60s</h2>
<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/AVvXsEhf2xw8e0XjkqyedwIMROse4nAWFJg_XrmttfAxB9B7p8JD_r2o1y2jBkIX4HE3o5V8UJRXABQkyfmZO_Dp3P7HZvqhkXGucqTKDHNwmYQWdn6QLhXFKD8SWZIQOFN6QsCnCKGmWuw_ulYw/s1600/tumshie+lantern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="tumshie lantern" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2xw8e0XjkqyedwIMROse4nAWFJg_XrmttfAxB9B7p8JD_r2o1y2jBkIX4HE3o5V8UJRXABQkyfmZO_Dp3P7HZvqhkXGucqTKDHNwmYQWdn6QLhXFKD8SWZIQOFN6QsCnCKGmWuw_ulYw/s1600/tumshie+lantern.jpg" height="256" title="turnip lantern for Halloween" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tumshie Lantern - Scottish Turnip Lantern</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
We never really celebrated Halloween in Scotland - to many staunch Presbyterians it was a bit too pagan for their liking.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But - we had a few traditions. My dad would make me a tumshie lantern - no pumpkins for us, we made do with a turnip. OK my attempt on the right is a bit pathetic and Dad would laugh. His were always a bit more elaborate and I'm pretty sure he had as much fun as we did with the finished product. Then Mum made mashed neeps from the insides to have with our mince and tatties. Recipe on the way. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For some they would attach a string to the tumshie so they could carry it and go guising. I suppose that was short for disguising and a forerunner of today's elaborate Halloween costumes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kids would go house to house complete in home-made outfits and with tumshie lanterns. They were expected to do a party trick - sing a song, tell a joke, do a little dance - and in exchange got a few pennies or a sweetie. I wasn't allowed - Mum thought it was undignified and Dad didn't take with the concept of begging when there were so many worse off than us. That didn't stop me sneaking out occasionally with friend Shelagh to go guising to her Gran's in the Glengate. Granny Bruce made fantastic gingerbread men and I was always looking for an excuse to sing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brownies and Guide groups usually held parties at Halloween. Again we made our own costumes, I once spent hours stitching newpaper cuttings onto a dress so I could go as a paper lassie and Shelagh and I once won the fancy dress contest as Beauty and the Beast complete with cardboard snout. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Games always seemed to involve getting in a bit of a mess. If you weren't bobbing for apples you well trying to eat treacle scones that were hung from a rail by string. With your hands behind your back it was harder than it seems and black treacle found it's way into all sorts of places. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A simpler time? Probably. A better time? That remains to be seen. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-75200192225184411232014-10-23T05:26:00.000-07:002014-10-26T11:48:44.006-07:00Memoir: Introducing the Little Red Town<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBTt8_dKWmMl0U59juu5o5GusdQAKzXijM3QynBVAoAco3I4x7fgecOzrA7oQG3b8ThNrUvVtAOyXWgUEXrQ7jOA31YMPwPTgVmOOyAYEhV-TJzLZPeVN1pRETTQxQOKcq6Diq5xA41Hq/s1600/10733767413_409243858d_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kirriemuir panorama by Duncan Stephen " border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBTt8_dKWmMl0U59juu5o5GusdQAKzXijM3QynBVAoAco3I4x7fgecOzrA7oQG3b8ThNrUvVtAOyXWgUEXrQ7jOA31YMPwPTgVmOOyAYEhV-TJzLZPeVN1pRETTQxQOKcq6Diq5xA41Hq/s1600/10733767413_409243858d_k.jpg" height="70" title="Kirriemuir by Duncan Stephen" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirriemuir Panorama by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorvee/10733767413/in/photolist-hmvn6p-9iMazW-b6WAcK-b6VbVV-b6VQsk-b6VrWe-b6VU5t-b6VArk-b6VLMc-b6VvFZ-b6VEbB-b6VzKv-b6VfNX-b6VXyB-b6VgNt-b6W57x-b6W2fk-b6Vk8x-b6VoAa-b6Wcek-b6W8DK-b6WfKx-b6Wtb6-b6WpVX-b6X6sp-8cibb3-cxGRmq-cxHBdE-3no9jK-3no9RT-4qoDVS-52k2Gy-8pYXbK-bTKfGt-8th3BZ-aYNGDM-cNcBrb-iCz2Go-cNcq1N-c6pwmu-6v6UQn-6ov2T9-bTKebc-bEQuwb-bTKevV-bEQtvs-bTKf54-bTKfDZ-bTKeQV-bEQtJU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Duncan Stephen</a> under collective commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Introducing The Wee Red Toun<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The Wee Red Toun is Kirriemuir, in Angus Scotland - named for the red sandstone of many of the buildings. I grew up there in
the 1950s. The country was still
reeling, still recovering from World War II.
Rationing was fresh in minds, shortages were common and growing your own
vegetable was essential. But everyone around us
was the same; no television for a few years yet (except the Bruce’s next door),
no telephone in our road (except ours), and no one with a car, that was
something you hired for the holidays. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<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/AVvXsEjav1DNFE4IVQkvlIOjGIB2gHPBoeCPV-IzegZRJWFFzvVvX9Cnngmp2FSifYhBOEj6O_ePhlJ_tuXiq3nHCZFoFO5iPlQkSJs7tEo7H0v3z78RFUm7ooFXL_mb0A-R_QMtq9z0lgXwFKim/s1600/3752660972_2ecac3f04f_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kirriemuir Angus Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjav1DNFE4IVQkvlIOjGIB2gHPBoeCPV-IzegZRJWFFzvVvX9Cnngmp2FSifYhBOEj6O_ePhlJ_tuXiq3nHCZFoFO5iPlQkSJs7tEo7H0v3z78RFUm7ooFXL_mb0A-R_QMtq9z0lgXwFKim/s1600/3752660972_2ecac3f04f_z.jpg" height="240" title="Kirriemuir Angus Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Square Kirriemuir as it looks today <br />
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/14422389@N06/3752660972/in/photolist-6HBnnf-aEFfMV-bqj4c6-6HBnnq-bF6rNb-9DiqJQ-ecXB9r-odYJyu-nWxY11-8gpc7U-ofDppd-nZvHY1-odWovP-6gTXcB-aEWnGz-ewT1tk-9Q8wYT-ddqxfZ-nQDLMo-9QED7L-2mbjbe-4aQFXZ-obrYGd-4PHSmF-aF93XM-8DzCdr-8DCKdm-egKGbU-5Z8URc-anyZFQ-anw2yX-anyZ9s-anyYis-anyZWs-anwaF4-anwbht-anyYAC-9DJdUq-8DCKgm-8DzCax-4FMc6b-5Z8Uer-bCAVKG-ooHFCF-o5u74e-omXD7z-o5ua7D-omWcDu-o5u8yi-o5tXTM" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">by Ana via collective commons</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Kirriemuir
was a small market town in Angus, tucked under the glens and supervising the
fertile Valley of Strathmore. Its ancient name was Carrou Mor, Gaelic for
‘large quarter’, a way of measuring and identifying different jurisdictions.
The town was divided into sections by braes: Northmuir, Southmuir, Westmuir and
Kirriemuir itself which I suppose was the ‘east’ part for I haven’t found
another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsRHNGVnDimlD983In_wSiYmBfqCs2rY3lmyG-JXZPx-K8mLhaD7aBmtaLh-3oDXjQ1Ck2FUhdgup_Iy7Qb_rs0H8oLluW2owF-4Gja7yUgVbksymhVpopPz6EuN4aOIx_YslK71zyBnC/s1600/3003415420_238d9bf661_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="valley of strathmore angus scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsRHNGVnDimlD983In_wSiYmBfqCs2rY3lmyG-JXZPx-K8mLhaD7aBmtaLh-3oDXjQ1Ck2FUhdgup_Iy7Qb_rs0H8oLluW2owF-4Gja7yUgVbksymhVpopPz6EuN4aOIx_YslK71zyBnC/s1600/3003415420_238d9bf661_z.jpg" height="265" title="valley of strathmore scotland" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Valley of <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/worldofjan/3003415420/in/photolist-5zphLu-9RL8aQ-5FYCpK-nZvHY1-obrYGd-pBMeb-odWovP-nU2W5F-odijkt-8aKt67-o83wa9-ocHEnj-ocHG5Y-5sKRBj-9RH8c8-9RKXCq-9RKYQJ-9RGZp6-9RH5Y2-9RKVRA-9RKWNS-9RGXXR-9RL1WY-89frsk-89ft3r-9RL4oW-89iwTG-89fkMR-89fsvv-89iAwY-9RHa6M-5Zdf8U-89fnPr-J44Tp-J41r1-89fwok-89fuYr-89iJbL-93a9Hn-8j9yaZ-5PyTxq-nQDMto-6teSSM-93a9EZ-ovcYuB-9ZUVXY-o6xpyr-853a63-89foMx-3JzEpF" target="_blank">Strathmore by Jan</a> under creative commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">From the
flat <a href="http://www.scottish-places.info/features/featurefirst3603.html" target="_blank">Vale of Strathmore</a> at the base, imagine a town build up on levels. On the
first elevation was Westmuir and to the south, the Southmuir. To reach the town
centre from either you needed to go down then up the other side of a valley cut
by the Gairie Burn. The south approach was via Bellie’s Brae and the west,
Tannage Brae named for the tanning works that had disappeared before my day. The town centre had a short high street, a
square - the old market place - and a
collection of streets and wynds (narrow lanes) clustered around the old church,
the Town House and Toll Booth. From
there was a skelp up a steep hill, called The Roods (another measurement) and
all part of what was our extinct volcano. Right at the top was The Hill and the
Northmuir. For us, we knew The Hill as a
playground for rolling Easter eggs, running wild and meeting friends, but more
of that later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">There
too, behind a tall stone wall, lay the town cemetery. There was something comforting in knowing
your last resting place was watching over the town, across the fertile valley
stretching away into the distance and with the hills with the glens guarding
your back.<o:p></o:p></span><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/AVvXsEhi3seebnarRA1LZ9UT1T_qRSxByMNvKh2fTGSmF5Ew0PmKQ3B-vXIdq2OAbGWhJn3PmsfxXXGqXRL9DfRcnT9wvRa1LWQMFQ1543BA1aDyzJYzX_dYiz8FXSWnJFtITCqO5_zjd03IW3dD/s1600/5019768081_8795945989_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="camera obscura Kirriemuir" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3seebnarRA1LZ9UT1T_qRSxByMNvKh2fTGSmF5Ew0PmKQ3B-vXIdq2OAbGWhJn3PmsfxXXGqXRL9DfRcnT9wvRa1LWQMFQ1543BA1aDyzJYzX_dYiz8FXSWnJFtITCqO5_zjd03IW3dD/s1600/5019768081_8795945989_o.jpg" height="300" title="camera obscura Kirriemuir" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camera Obscura on the Hill at Kirriemuir<br />
by Sandy Stephenson via Creative Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">On the
Hill was a camera obscura in the cricket pavilion. I believe it is still there,
one of the few left in Scotland. But for us neither the obscura nor the cricket
was of much interest, but the cricketers at practice – that was another thing. In return for fielding for them, we got big
glasses of Robertson’s Orange Squash and, of course, the chance to practice our
flirting with the big boys. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<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/AVvXsEgVKj9Ht_62EBIxqMEnyRAz-NpeFNwszsJ3hm7BXJWraIEjjEJwjumZ49jf_5XHPO8IuugB4vQ5eJTvUEYekIhEb-9PT2KVR8auxDUvXrXdcMYDxOXNv9Px3mV17vG3w3AFaJlV17vM3wx4/s1600/7045494613_7a8d2a50a1_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVKj9Ht_62EBIxqMEnyRAz-NpeFNwszsJ3hm7BXJWraIEjjEJwjumZ49jf_5XHPO8IuugB4vQ5eJTvUEYekIhEb-9PT2KVR8auxDUvXrXdcMYDxOXNv9Px3mV17vG3w3AFaJlV17vM3wx4/s1600/7045494613_7a8d2a50a1_b.jpg" height="168" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Kirriemuir from <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tourscotland/7045494613/in/photolist-bJA164-o5YsJu-o5ZSHg-ope7Jz-onc9VH-onrZi7-opezWa-o5ZSCX-o5YtuY-oncmV4-ons3xJ-o5YuUb-o5YAKZ-o5Z2UA-okrh7L-o5Yrcw-okrBUS-o5YXTk-onchRT-okrG55-ong43L-o5Z2Xc-o5Z5A8-ongkHu-o5Z4Ge-o5Zyvz-o5YQMN-onbUUg-o5YvLS-o5Yy4r-ontAhM-opeDiv-okrLSw-o5YSsR-ongpSm-onrZxf-onrB3L-o5ZAtT-opeAUT-odijkt-bB7Hxw-8HnSaD-8HnScR-o61ajn-9jUk3s-9U5amR-8N3SU3-8CAFTU-8CAFNj-omKQMm" target="_blank">Sandy Stephenson </a>Creative Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">While I
was growing up, there were two factories in the town, descendents of long gone
18<sup>th</sup> century cottage industries when linen was a staple in Scottish
manufacturing. Proto-industrialisation
they call it now, though none would have recognised the term then. ‘Getting by’ was what they would have
said. Kirrie was well known for its
linen and many of the houses still exist, little ‘but and bens’ with one side
of the house for living and the other that used to house one or more looms. Up
the town they might be two storeys, one for living, one for work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">In the
18<sup>th</sup> Century the Gairie Burn had provided water for seeping the
stinking linen and our Commonty, - green common land- was used to spread the
linen to bleach and dry in the sun. In
our days it was something else entirely but that is something else I’ll come
back to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Factory
and housing were build in local red sandstone that named us The Little Red
Town, immortalized by Kirrrie-born author J.M. Barrie of Peter Pan fame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdmVq8fbyZiftnnGA9dOJmnj9Dyk_ZRRFqhBNLlT-_gWzC47a5jKOyiQg4Jde-ANqb7nl-w2Dn4YUdoqnnEuJIkZlrz8uR1NMzsTneASxXKUqX21y_tHavyB3d7iVyzCEdS_Jwu3bV2Rg/s1600/6512348081_20ffee9f4c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdmVq8fbyZiftnnGA9dOJmnj9Dyk_ZRRFqhBNLlT-_gWzC47a5jKOyiQg4Jde-ANqb7nl-w2Dn4YUdoqnnEuJIkZlrz8uR1NMzsTneASxXKUqX21y_tHavyB3d7iVyzCEdS_Jwu3bV2Rg/s1600/6512348081_20ffee9f4c_b.jpg" height="187" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The town clock and Peter Pan statue Kirriemuir<br />
from <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tourscotland/6512348081/in/photolist-aVtuct-aVttbM-aVsL2v-9D8KJj-8HuHUV-8BpozH-8Bsvjf-aVsLFR-aVsPr8-aVsNmt-aVucbg-8ChLyS-8BpoxH-aFxrdg-5Zd3Pb-9m8yya-9B3Txz-9FMiNN-9mbD6W-9FJoce-9FJmmi-9FMhth-9FMkqj-85TnHU-9FMh1u-9FMiDY-9FMib3-9m8yde-58fMEM-9FMmtb-9FMinb-7U1LgA-7Ua4oW-6or2tC-7UakFL-95WWxW-agCU9S-7W48q4-7TY8pa-obYMYv-85TnGq-5YLPpC-7U6HR4-5imr4k-8grEGh-9FMkVf-9FJqeH-7U8F1F-9m8yjp-9FMjzA" target="_blank">Sandy Stephenson</a> via Creative Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Time was
measured in different ways in Kirriemuir. The chimes of the town clock could be
heard throughout the whole town while factory workers were ruled by the
‘hooter’ and, us, by the school bell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">The hooter sounded morning
and noon, then again at 1pm and 5pm calling the faithful to work or releasing
them for food and rest respectively. For
those working overtime, well they must mark the time themselves.<o:p></o:p></span><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/AVvXsEh4CZ3KqbnqjYT6Cc-nbFxGVvULn906-D5dvDkMPC-0qaNZ5u0ePdAgtwN6CijZEFxKPokneMRqygRJ8IrKCTPX7zUAA3oi5rjFscWu0TaIl3DQR7WTjrSLAcXjBMwXvnYIgK6tLro4C01n/s1600/5067655616_3b11c5e7f2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4CZ3KqbnqjYT6Cc-nbFxGVvULn906-D5dvDkMPC-0qaNZ5u0ePdAgtwN6CijZEFxKPokneMRqygRJ8IrKCTPX7zUAA3oi5rjFscWu0TaIl3DQR7WTjrSLAcXjBMwXvnYIgK6tLro4C01n/s1600/5067655616_3b11c5e7f2_o.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To the Glens - Kirriemuir is called the gateways to the Glens<br />
Glen Clova by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/tourscotland/5067655616/in/photolist-8HP4sG-o61Ezg-o5ZLPV-o5ZA8L-o5ZGjw-onhd6J-onh7Zb-onheLN-onhfJE-o5ZJZx-okspfS-o61Cwt-onhda1-onhc1s-o61Esc-okso7u-o5ZLSj-o61FCD-ooFiMk-ooFd9B-o5qBBU-o5qPUi-o5rJat-o5qRK2-omHpBA-o5qR8Q-o5rS4p-omVsEM-ojTAiQ-omVsSv-o5s6F7-omTQP7-o5rSMi-ooGHKD-ojUVdw-o5qGBU-o5qwSJ-o5qD3Z-o83wa9-nQDMto-ocHG5Y-ocHEnj-o6xpyr-7VtHpD-9m8yq6-o7pc2f-7U2R8U-7U2vKG-omJR6u-omCZ5p" target="_blank">Sandy Stephsson</a> via Creative Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ac&ref=tf_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=annmonsqui-21&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=1840331968&asins=1840331968&linkId=F25M2XIO3AYPF2AD&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=storybookphot-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=1840331968&asins=1840331968&linkId=2ALF45K44Z44ZT2O&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-32514087862232516942014-10-23T04:45:00.000-07:002014-10-26T11:49:00.322-07:00Foreword for my Scottish Memoirs<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/AVvXsEhaholHkUNnbDNNgnnkg2uExZztk2ececfOnews_lzRr46FqK4b3z-4xRbhRo5Sr8_zoj_xONXgeS-UGbt4yXzvfO5vGauYmplV_DIq8LluSdM53sDDCLWlDTPV0ruzD7wAFFgXpk8Xoa3o/s1600/ID-100264585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaholHkUNnbDNNgnnkg2uExZztk2ececfOnews_lzRr46FqK4b3z-4xRbhRo5Sr8_zoj_xONXgeS-UGbt4yXzvfO5vGauYmplV_DIq8LluSdM53sDDCLWlDTPV0ruzD7wAFFgXpk8Xoa3o/s1600/ID-100264585.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/biography-dice-represent-writing-a-memoir-or-life-story-photo-p264585" rel="" target="_blank">from freedigitalphotos.net</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From time to time I will post some of my memoirs - this is the Foreword<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 200%;">FOREWORD<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Let me prepare you for what is to
come, dear reader. This book has no
pretensions as a serious history tome.
Instead it is a conversation. Or, perhaps, better say a series of conversations:
memories written on a vine leaf that provide a glimpse of life for a young lass
growing up in 1950s and ‘60s Scotland. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If
you haven’t met the term before, a vignette is a short descriptive sketch that
depicts a single event, an observation, a setting or such. The origin of the
word comes from “something that can be written on a vine leaf.” It is a free
style of writing, some call it stream of consciousness writing, with each
vignette standing on its own. For my purpose here, each is a wee slice of life
from my memories of growing up in a small Scottish town called Kirriemuir. <b>I have changed the names used to protect the
innocent, but each vignette is a truth as I saw it. </b> And if I ramble some, well that is okay, it
is MY story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Was
it Churchill who said, “history is another country”? They had the right of it. I sit here with my
laptop on my knee and access to the world a click away, far removed from that
1950s girl. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So,
dear reader, pull up a stool, put your feet up, pour yourself a nice cup of tea
and … enjoy! And if you need help with the odd Scots word, there is a glossary
at the back. <o:p></o:p></span></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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSzLnRzHMqGts5YM65F9ZwSB3fCn3S6gxtWPdStyf_1H6twQ3e1IZ3FHA8bLNZAipQxqzSAIiPpsX_M_6zKTQTZUryxo71N-LE7W1DPkUBo12MMSvu4wUWpvwGtYgPNXqoXp3GUR6VCXa/s1600/1280px-ANGUSSHIRE_(Forfarshire)._Civil_Parish_map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSzLnRzHMqGts5YM65F9ZwSB3fCn3S6gxtWPdStyf_1H6twQ3e1IZ3FHA8bLNZAipQxqzSAIiPpsX_M_6zKTQTZUryxo71N-LE7W1DPkUBo12MMSvu4wUWpvwGtYgPNXqoXp3GUR6VCXa/s1600/1280px-ANGUSSHIRE_(Forfarshire)._Civil_Parish_map.jpg" height="275" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Forfarshire from wiki commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kirriemuir lies in the heart of Angus, called Forfarshire in old times. It nests snugly under the Angus Glens and overlooks the fertile Valley of Strathmore. </span></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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DWRJTtjKGDkSKME7srmld9CChtZQjj6RCeXwxow88O0wWMKxlvGxme9qdntgExuuCIgOr3RR15gFikM3RC_aYQ7lHIJQWhvl2HKDhSTj91qLnJZutt1Vi_I_jWCo64LxQ0fDOfNr7hce/s1600/800px-Angus_in_Scotland.svg+(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Angus on a map of Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DWRJTtjKGDkSKME7srmld9CChtZQjj6RCeXwxow88O0wWMKxlvGxme9qdntgExuuCIgOr3RR15gFikM3RC_aYQ7lHIJQWhvl2HKDhSTj91qLnJZutt1Vi_I_jWCo64LxQ0fDOfNr7hce/s1600/800px-Angus_in_Scotland.svg+(1).png" height="320" title="angus on a map of Scotland" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How to find Angus on a map of Scotland thanks to wiki commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-1032901637488684262014-10-22T02:36:00.000-07:002014-10-22T02:36:07.300-07:00A Dougie Maclean Virtual ConcertMy Dougie playlist - 21 hour of Dougie Maclean and wonderful musicians.<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/AVvXsEiqX-AQIY0OFiRszLHnF-1wN8WdnaawtDlG05Dv3yVxlAqVHixhA72flAX08J7huQdpLmyeuGUA-O9SgNOYeeo0cnkrgNc_J0GiN2OnnCum62fSH1Z5YICJ016G6T4m0EnrR-gtomcw79pT/s1600/Dougie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqX-AQIY0OFiRszLHnF-1wN8WdnaawtDlG05Dv3yVxlAqVHixhA72flAX08J7huQdpLmyeuGUA-O9SgNOYeeo0cnkrgNc_J0GiN2OnnCum62fSH1Z5YICJ016G6T4m0EnrR-gtomcw79pT/s1600/Dougie.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dougie Maclean and fiddle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7EF3D5CD15400ECB" target="_blank">A Dougie Maclean Virtual Concert </a></h2>
<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-23398504422320256082014-10-22T02:22:00.000-07:002014-10-26T11:26:44.064-07:00Dougie MacLean's Perthshire Amber Music Festival<h2>
Perthshire Amber</h2>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.perthshireamber.com/" target="_blank">Perthshire Amber 2014</a></td></tr>
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Unfortunately I can't get there this year :( but this is one music festival I can highly recommend. </div>
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Ten days of wonderful music from Scots and all around the world. There are also talks and walks, workshops and open-mikes all in wonderful atmospheric venues in and around Dunkeld and Perthshire - including Blair Castle!</div>
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Don't be surprised if you see folk knitting everywhere, in pubs and theatres, cafes or just in the park. It is all part of the Big Knit where people knit squares to make a huge blanket that is raffled at the end of the festival. </div>
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Scotland is beautiful in Autumn and Perthshire even more so. There is loads to see and do and you will meet hundreds of wonderful people. The festival is very much a family affair and they take great pains to make sure you feel part of the family. </div>
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The final hurrah is held in the smallest whisky brewery in Scotland which is worth a visit all on its own. </div>
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Not sure how many tickets are still available, people come from all over the world so they go quick. Click the link to check. </div>
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Dougie sings Caledonia - a 'little song' he calls it he wrote when he was in France and feeling homesick.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wP8A9rtg0iI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqX-AQIY0OFiRszLHnF-1wN8WdnaawtDlG05Dv3yVxlAqVHixhA72flAX08J7huQdpLmyeuGUA-O9SgNOYeeo0cnkrgNc_J0GiN2OnnCum62fSH1Z5YICJ016G6T4m0EnrR-gtomcw79pT/s1600/Dougie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Perthshire Amber music festival" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqX-AQIY0OFiRszLHnF-1wN8WdnaawtDlG05Dv3yVxlAqVHixhA72flAX08J7huQdpLmyeuGUA-O9SgNOYeeo0cnkrgNc_J0GiN2OnnCum62fSH1Z5YICJ016G6T4m0EnrR-gtomcw79pT/s1600/Dougie.jpg" title="Dougie Maclean" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://annieangel1.hubpages.com/hub/dougie-maclean-perthshire-amber-festival" target="_blank">Dougie Maclean</a></td></tr>
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I've been lucky enough to be there and will certainly make sure I go again. I just have to get better organised!</div>
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You might like to read about my experiences and see my photos - the two links are in the captions of these photos.</div>
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My photo of Dougie in a bar somewhere in Perthshire! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC-RE3mI3hhaQ7v-FN5YrWrgyNXDx9tob1Eu5tGDwDyDs9L7tpCsGViC7aaZWAOL98vTb1xrQ5Bt7FSVhsC5JZiJgd1xme9cs0HGiih5jiVzuyun4HaXB0kFSC0QqfCc7T-0XWvAEVOKB/s1600/blair+castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Blair Atholl Castle Perthshire" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIC-RE3mI3hhaQ7v-FN5YrWrgyNXDx9tob1Eu5tGDwDyDs9L7tpCsGViC7aaZWAOL98vTb1xrQ5Bt7FSVhsC5JZiJgd1xme9cs0HGiih5jiVzuyun4HaXB0kFSC0QqfCc7T-0XWvAEVOKB/s1600/blair+castle.jpg" title="Blair Atholl Castle Perthshire" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://annieangel1.hubpages.com/hub/visiting-scotland-perthshire-in-autumn" target="_blank">Blair Atholl Castle Perthshire</a> - usually hosts at least one concert.</td></tr>
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<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-85431709285646672792014-10-21T11:43:00.003-07:002014-10-26T11:50:10.231-07:00Photo Gallery St Andrews Cathedral, Fife, Scotland<br />
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St Andrews Cathedral in Autumn Sunlight</h2>
<a href="http://annieangel1.hubpages.com/hub/visiting-scotland-st-andrews" target="_blank">I went to university in St Andrews</a> so it holds a special place in my heart and I visit as often as I can. You can read about from the link above.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LCQl16s4QVb_wKdciOAdE3SBv1MrbzO_fi2yyZVLp0VYOIBkF3Q3C3aZc7iJ9aLOVsPAf8ZorOesnLY340GOwZQYBfDC-0XuKJx8Hiw6_UOZ71iREAKO-KIlvIeqUMi5ZjB5anZ0h59n/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+004+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LCQl16s4QVb_wKdciOAdE3SBv1MrbzO_fi2yyZVLp0VYOIBkF3Q3C3aZc7iJ9aLOVsPAf8ZorOesnLY340GOwZQYBfDC-0XuKJx8Hiw6_UOZ71iREAKO-KIlvIeqUMi5ZjB5anZ0h59n/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+004+comp.jpg" height="400" title="St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Andrews Cathedral, Fife, Scotland</td></tr>
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I was last there in November 2013 on a beautiful autumn day and couldn't resist snapping a few shots though I am not really a landscape photographer.<br />
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For the history buffs among you -<a href="http://www.historic-scotland.gov.uk/index/places/propertyabout.htm?PropID=PL_249&PropName=St%20Andrews%20Cathedral" target="_blank"> The Cathedral </a>was built in the 12th century and the sheer size of it give you an idea of how important St Andrews was in that era. It was the central Roman Catholic diocese.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk69qhaNdN7LrWnGygi6cYPktogoKabCFerpxo-m1nJm2VV1gamXomYyg4RtFuxTYHO5PB92_6LEdiUse2dJMfHK0Mv0vgLw_lkS0DMpA-l5AHsJV8Iq5xvWenKXuauQ55vGIkapibQrUk/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+003+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk69qhaNdN7LrWnGygi6cYPktogoKabCFerpxo-m1nJm2VV1gamXomYyg4RtFuxTYHO5PB92_6LEdiUse2dJMfHK0Mv0vgLw_lkS0DMpA-l5AHsJV8Iq5xvWenKXuauQ55vGIkapibQrUk/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+003+comp.jpg" height="400" title="St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland</td></tr>
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When the cathedral was abandoned after the Scottish Reformation many of the stones were carted away and used to build houses throughout the town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmV1JdCoBagvMZ7VN8pwEg1LUp681keL_6ot6i4Syu9_35LvvaF_9PMA_42Mhbz27gweUklQYJ5D-4urLn7x-u1HlBaIcdoQr3EURb04Bil8BAEHVXQXqEsTuhO13u3aPXJbdAgV4_vzLo/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+005+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="st andrews cathedral" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmV1JdCoBagvMZ7VN8pwEg1LUp681keL_6ot6i4Syu9_35LvvaF_9PMA_42Mhbz27gweUklQYJ5D-4urLn7x-u1HlBaIcdoQr3EURb04Bil8BAEHVXQXqEsTuhO13u3aPXJbdAgV4_vzLo/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+005+comp.jpg" height="330" title="st andrews cathedral fife scotland" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Andrews Cathedral, Fife Scotland in Autumn sunlight</td></tr>
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The square tower you see here is <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Andrews_Cathedral" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">St Rude's Tower</a> and was actually here before the cathedral. You can climb it now - for a price - and get a great view of the town. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0_i7PqkF17xvJpJ0w_jEQWrzBD7ZU6OHyC6MRbBRXmVFZMcp2JEC9sNQvc-MK7-MuutJbIwjZ_jh2HmtiomN1HiyghR1aqzjBDFjmYDRqQi6CYIZ98Sf6hJnjl9ea6dD960FhOI2pJsd/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+001a+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Looking at Dean's Gate from the Cathedral, St Andrews, Fife, Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0_i7PqkF17xvJpJ0w_jEQWrzBD7ZU6OHyC6MRbBRXmVFZMcp2JEC9sNQvc-MK7-MuutJbIwjZ_jh2HmtiomN1HiyghR1aqzjBDFjmYDRqQi6CYIZ98Sf6hJnjl9ea6dD960FhOI2pJsd/s1600/st+andrews+cathedral+001a+comp.jpg" height="400" title="Looking at Dean's Gate from the Cathedral, St Andrews, Fife, Scotland" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking at Dean's Gate from the Cathedral, St Andrews, Fife, Scotland<br />
Dean's Gate is now the post-graduates residence for the University of St Andrews.<br />
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AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6282167964188058401.post-52394139903305717062014-10-21T11:28:00.000-07:002014-10-21T11:28:12.721-07:00Welcome to my Scottish blog<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/AVvXsEiCWso_I7ARiGlhDGeFXdW1tJKuPRRnDMQ38IU4Y7JN8mdmzZJ9tAHcHtuJ_Dz-BrNyMukdCeb6UKi9Xbr0zyiGe_pdHpmvCyCcyyNCKSjkpLCo9QenC-Gykmz2g5Z1pMoIimwpAnSFSsnj/s1600/Forter+Castle+Glen+Isla+004+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Scotland" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWso_I7ARiGlhDGeFXdW1tJKuPRRnDMQ38IU4Y7JN8mdmzZJ9tAHcHtuJ_Dz-BrNyMukdCeb6UKi9Xbr0zyiGe_pdHpmvCyCcyyNCKSjkpLCo9QenC-Gykmz2g5Z1pMoIimwpAnSFSsnj/s1600/Forter+Castle+Glen+Isla+004+comp.jpg" height="256" title="Forter Castle Glen Isla " width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forter Castle Glen Isla</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Roaming, ramblings and reminiscences of Scotland</span></h3>
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Here, as it grows, you will find all the things about Scotland that I love: the scenery, the people, the music, the history.<br />
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Hi, I'm Ann and I'm a real Scots lass - well I was a lass a long time ago. Born in Kirriemuir, Angus - not far from Forter Castle actually.<br />
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I've travelled the world and now live in Yorkshire - yup - Yorkshire. I am constantly homesick so this blog is as much for me as it is for any readers who happen by.<br />
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I studied Scottish history at the University of St Andrews so it will be no surprise when you find the odd history post makes it way here from time to time.<br />
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It is also a place where I can share my photos on line.<br />
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I hope you will join me from time to time and enjoy your trip to Scotland.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rK-TzXYIFwXBOu2RW9ACVq2SRwxHe90xR8_WoVagM5q0nnAEmbEuYzAdRRpVZSZWOM_AHdi1cN0E31MVsFudTP6HP8Uz6EVCNbOS5BRrotMsOvHw13rD6gqBJmVYwJUfLhMnoPGqpat4/s1600/Highland+cows+004+comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="highland cow and calf" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rK-TzXYIFwXBOu2RW9ACVq2SRwxHe90xR8_WoVagM5q0nnAEmbEuYzAdRRpVZSZWOM_AHdi1cN0E31MVsFudTP6HP8Uz6EVCNbOS5BRrotMsOvHw13rD6gqBJmVYwJUfLhMnoPGqpat4/s1600/Highland+cows+004+comp.jpg" height="256" title="Highland cow and calf" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highland Cow and Calf, Lintrathan Loch Reserve Kirriemuir</td></tr>
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<br />AnnMackieMillerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14645419116758558186noreply@blogger.com0