Sarah Powers Richings

KIN

Tiny foot prints in the sand Found shells, clutched in hand Gulls cry out from above My heart bursts with this love Sandy hand clutched in mine Wind blowing hair so fine Sun kisses this precious face Is there a more perfect place For children and their mum to see Just how sweet life can be?

- Sarah Powers Richings

I CAN STILL FEEL THE SUN

By the shore I feel sad, I didn’t before, this is new and shocking. Everything that is beautiful and wonderful is spoilt.

The early autumn sun is so warm and bright, but I see shadows and feel a chill from the non-existent wind.

The gentle lapping sea growls in my ears, the chatter of gulls is unbearable.

It wasn’t this way before.

The shore is still sand, pebbles, saltwater, seaweed, birds, sea glass, shells, turquoise, green, everything is the same, but nothing is the same.

The first time to our beach knowing.

I realise everything is the same, we are here, it is still special.

I can still feel the sun and smell the ocean and hear the pebbles crunch underfoot.

With him, I feel his hand in mine. This shore just has a cloud now, Dementia.

- Mandy Forkin

PHOTOGRAPH

The sand is spongy underfoot, the sink and drag of footsteps as we venture onto the beach. The tang of salt on our tongues, and the sulphurous hint of seaweeds which we avoid as we step closer to the shore. A boisterous wind whips up the sea, causing the sunlight on the waves to spark and flash. We stand close to these waves, Mum, Dad and I, and take in our favourite beach. A sense of calm. Deep breaths, fresh sea air in our lungs. Our eyes are pulled to a small island sitting snug on the horizon. An island we gaze at often.

An arm swings up, fingers point. A seal! Or selkie? Who can tell? Years of island life have not dulled our excitement at those dark, soulful eyes looking back at us. We share smiles, a squeeze of fingers, an attempted photo. We move on to where the sand makes way to layered, jagged rocks. A miniature place of adventures, none of us are too old to explore. oystercatchers scatter; whirled away by the wind. Their screeches break the quiet shush of the sea. We are merely visitors – this is their home. Two hooded crows watch us from the cliff, curious and patient. The seal has gone.

The camera is out again. We stand, Dad and I, the small island behind us, the jagged rocks at our feet. I take off my cumbersome coat and hat. I have too many photographs of myself hidden under woolly hats. The chill of the wind creeps into every stitch of my cardigan. My arms goosepimple, my ears redden. But the sun shines, the sea gleams, and Dad and I stand with our matching blue eyes. It is the first photograph since Dad’s diagnosis. We both smile, our eyes sparkle bright from a week of tears. We stand close, and giggle at our awkwardness at being in front of a lens. Mum calls out, focusing in on us. We are camera shy. We have been foolish. For we are lovely, smiling, laughing. We are laughing despite it all. We capture a good photo. The first of many.

Clouds gather above, dulling the sunshine. A white gleam marks the sea from the sky, the beach, the view, becomes moody. I wrap up hastily in my coat and hat. The wind cools and dries tears that have sneaked into the moment. Fingers touch, hands squeeze. Dad glances for driftwood. Mum hunts for the glint of sea glass. My eyes snag on the little island in the distance once more. We head back, the sink and drag of footsteps in sand, turnstones darting away from us, the shush of sea matching our breaths. We head home and put up the photo for all to see.

- Ellen Forkin

FAVOURITE CHAIR BY THE WINDOW

I have a marvellous view form my favourite chair, The Red and Gray Heads of Eday are a wonderful pair. Stormy days blowing the sea into huge white horses, Calm days with hardly a ripple and lovely reflections.

The tide at times goes roaring along. At other times its as quiet as a lullaby song. The Red Head is pink in the morning sun, It’s a beautiful sight when the days just begun!

Spectacular fishing times when the mackerel come, Many kinds of gulls, gannets, scarfs all diving as one. All eager to catch some fish for their tea, A wonderful free feed straight from the sea.

The biggest thrill is when the killer whales appear, Maybe one, or up to five it’s a sight my heart holds dear. Once we had a basking shark swimming along, He was busy feeding, handsome big and strong.

Then there’s the terns arriving on the 12th of May, Common seals having their pups on an October day. The bonxies, artic skuas and geese all come to and fro, Herons flying by, it’s a mystery where does the neck go?

- Johan Robertson

THE SHORE

I love the shore in all its moods On a summer day or in winter floods, There is always something to catch the eye Like colourful shells or the birds flying by.

The sea breezes softly caressing my face Bring so many memories of this place, From childhood I’ve had the chance to run free The shore is a friend that brings solace to me.

The feel of the sand between my toes The towering cliffs of the hidden geos, The waves rippling gently on a calm day And the rock pools in which the children play.

There’s an inevitability about the sea So blue and calm it can beckon to me, Then on stormy days I watch the waves tower And feel its strength – its awesome power.

No matter the weather the beach works its charm Whether strolling along finding shells in the the calm, Or striding out in the wind and the rain I know I will come here again and again!

- Ann Tait

IF ONLY

By the shore I used to feel happy and busy, but now I see a reflection of man’s interference with nature.

Only the birds are the same, flying around and wondering who is invading their territory.

Not the crowds who used to come to enjoy a seaside outing, but a lone walker sadly traipsing along the littered landscape.

Leaving the shore I feel we have a wonderful heritage we are destroying, but it can be restored if only we care enough.

- Ann Tait

BACK IN TIME

We travelled in our uncle’s car, there were three of us in the back. My aunt sat in the front with my cousin on her lap. We kept asking ‘How long?’ and my uncle would say, ‘Over the next hill, then you will see the sea.’

When he parked the car we all ran down the stony shore and picked a spot to sit. Socks and shoes came off, we ran down to the sea jumping the waves.

The sea was cold, we ran back up the beach and put our costumes on. We enjoyed sandwiches, cake and drinks wrapped in towels. We could not make sandcastles as the shore was stony, but that did not matter.

We always wanted to go to the penny arcades but never did.

Once I remember lots of motorbikes parked outside the penny arcades, I think that’s why we did not go inside. There were frequent fights there.

I think my aunt and uncle sat on deck chairs, we could see the pier in the distance – it always seemed sunny and never cold.

I don’t remember the journey home, maybe we all went to sleep.

Those days will always stay with me, and I think that’s why I love walking along the shore and always have a paddle in the summer.

It transports me back in time by the shore, I feel free and happy, in good company, the wind in my hair as it’s always breezy by the shore.

- Christine Richings

THE SHORE HAS MANY SECRETS

The shore has many secrets some it holds, some it shares

Groatie buckies to name but one finding them is so much fun

Rockpools are a child’s delight crabs a scuttling out of sight

Tangled in amongst the weed victims of a stormy sea

A little fish high and dry overhead the gulls fly by

Passing rocks where otters play stands a heron on display

Pottery a plenty, broken and forlorn shaped by nature needing a new home Nousts dug out from days gone by Seals haul up where boats once lie

Limpets, barnacles, shells abound Swans glide by without a sound

Finding driftwood on the shore carry it home for the winter store

Sun set casts a golden glow across the rippling sand

Incoming tide will wash away footprints left that day

- Christine Richings

WONDERLAND

A lovely trip to the seashore was when a friend drove me to Birsay. I learned later it is called the Brough of Bursay and is an island connected by a causeway only accessible at low tide.

The tide had not receded completely, so I had to take off my sandals and walked over the warm sand and gathered shells. I picked my way carefully through the shallow water on the causeway, as it is very rough. Then we had to dabble our hands in the crystal clear water on either side of the causeway.

It’s amazing how beautiful it is, just sparkling. Then we had to negotiate our way over many smooth stones of various colours and sizes.

I spoke to a woman who was helping her grandson to build inukshuks, and we had to try this ourselves. She told me life had turned full circle for her, she used to take her son there when he was a child, and now her son takes her. Life is good.

Our first trip was exciting and we checked out the tombstones and Neolithic remains, and walked all the way to the lighthouse, treading on beautiful periwinkle blue flowers covering the path. There were many tiny pink flowers too, all the way to the top, and the grass was damp.

I wanted to take photos all the time, of the waves crashing into the rocks and the views. I’d been deprived of sea views for many years as we lived inland. I will never forget our walk, as we negotiated our way over the huge pebble like stones, and the support of my husbands strong arm as I traced my steps over the causeway and sandy beach.

We’ve been back to the Brough many times and while each visit is enjoyable, our first time was like a wonderland.

I PICTURE THE SEA

It’s many long years since I wrote rhyming prose, Something I enjoyed tho’ why I don’t know.

I picture the sea with large waves crashing down And the rhythm just comes and the words seem to flow.

I see group of three running down to the sea Such pleasure they bring to my husband and me.

As they jump from the rocks and swim round to the shore Clamber back up to the rocks and are ready for more.

They laugh as they swim and no time for cross words Vivid memories they bring for my husband and me.

Tho’ years have rolled by in the modern days. It’s a pleasure to watch these three as they play.

Thrashing and splashing and swimming around My heart just brimming with each magic sound.

I picture our own three when down at north shore, They laughed and were happy, and we could not ask for more.

- Betty Clark

SEASONS

IN SPRING

In spring we look forward to the daffodils so cheerful after winter when there’s not much flowers. The daffodils burst into the world dancing in the verges, waltzing in the gardens in their beautiful yellow dresses. Telling the bees to come here! Come here! I have some lovely nectar for you.

The lambs are dotted in the fields bringing joy to all who see them. Happy in the sunshine, not so much in the rain or snow. Cosily snuggled into mum.

If you happen to see the cows and calves newly let out of the byre they are all so very excited, tails straight in the air, running with pleasure of the freedom of spring, freedom out of the byre, freedom of new grass. After all the excitement mums and calves have to find each other again.

I very much enjoy seeing all the birds back again to raise a family or two. They come from far and wide. Probably to the same spot every year.

Spring is also the time for sowing seeds to grow all summer, flourishing into vegetables marching towards the pot.

Flowers to to lift the spirits and brighten our days. Both the sight and scent is marrow to our bones.

- Johan Robertson

THE HUMBLE DANDELION

This gorgeous flower is just a weed, But why it’s disliked is a puzzle indeed. This bloom grows without coaxing And gives us much colour, If rarer I’m sure we’d call it a flower.

Its thousands of seeds like parachutes fly, Children blew on them gaily to tell the time by, An early sign of spring this golden dandelion Is removed from each garden and really maligned.

The daisy is loved and is used to make chains, The buttercup too is picked to play games, But ‘Don’t give me dandelions, you may wet the bed’ Is something as children we often heard said.

This poor little plant is removed from each garden, It’s dug out and choked out, the methods are many. As children we loved them, each girl and boy Why send us such beautify if we’re not meant to enjoy?

- Betty Clark

DAFFODILS

Colourful daffodils loved by all, Varieties are limitless.

Daffodils announce it’s spring, What they bring is pleasure, pure and endless.

- Betty Clark

WINTER SHIMMER

I love winter, long dark evenings to sit beside the fire, close the curtains to hide the blackness and shut out the rest of the world.

In winter, the skeletal trees stand stark against the sky. Birds, large and small, flutter round the feeder looking for food and robins with their vibrant red breasts and bright beady eyes appear in gardens.

Fields hold only sheep with their wonderfully thick woolly coats which help them stand the cold.

When snowy days come, children’s shrill voices carry on the wind with shrieks of laughter as they sledge down the hill or build a teetering snowman.

Pavements sparkle with a dusting of frost and the landscape lends itself to a fairytale of dazzling white images.

And then there’s Christmas, the darkness is lit by a myriad of colours - white, blue, green and red all shimmering in the cold air.

Yes, for me you can keep the hopefulness of spring, the heat of summer, the colours of autumn. I love winter!

- Ann Tait

STORM TALES

Dancing through the air never seeming to touch, crisp, star like floating down to the earth to settle. Wind howling, blowing you all together, blocking roads covering everything in a blanket of white.

Curling crashing waves ,droplets of salty water filling the air, powering up the beach, brushing aside anything in their way, forcing their way upwards over rocks, showing who is in charge.

Gulls wearily walk along, slow to fly when danger approaches.

Far out gannets dive like darts into slate grey depths, struggling to get up airborne again, only to dive yet again and again in search of the bounty to be found in angry churning seas.

Boats tied up in the harbour, large and small redundantly rocking two and fro, twisting and creaking ropes stretched to their limits. Shipping forecast warns of dangers.

Plastic tumbles through the air coming to rest upon the barbs of livestock fencing, all colours and sizes like washing blowing on a line.

Hydro poles struggle, wires touch and sparks fly, darkness descends, candles are lit, camping stoves retrieved from the back of cupboards.

Phone calls to neighbours to determine the cause, rooms start to chill, fires are lit. Favourite programs are missed batteries run down torches and mobiles start to fail.

Candles flicker and glow, shadows are cast, conversations flow as time passes, turn to tales of storms past.

Not a night to be out, but someone must go to face the icy storm. To check their cattle, calves may be born. To trace the fault on the Hydro line, switch off the power until help comes at dawn. To check on the old, get them safely to bed. To hunt for the cat who’s surely not far.

While snow hits your face and driving is poor, it will be one to remember much worse than before.

- Christine Richings

JOURNEYS

SERVICE

I left the school at fifteen with no thoughts of further education. I happily worked nearer home. I always liked to read, it probably stretched my mind a bit. I married and moved to Eday.

At one stage we went weeks without a church service. We were most unhappy about this. I did think to myself at that time, ‘I wonder if I could do it?’ I don’t think anybody else thought I could.

I knew about the readership course, I had a vague feeling if I did that I might be accepted. About that time I was at the general assembly in Edinburgh. I did go to 121, George Street in Edinburgh and enquired about it. I got the information, it looked beyond me and very complicated. I decided I did not have time.

Soon after this the doctor in Eday at the time, who was helping out in the pulpit, said he was going to do the readership course. I told him I had thought about it, but decided I did not have time.

The minister asked me if I would reconsider. I then said I would do the course. I had to write to the Orkney Presbytery asking to be accepted for the course. I got an appointment to go in for an interview. They told me to go home and think about it for a year.

I don’t think they really took me seriously. But they called me back after a year and accepted me. Eventually, a minister taught me to write essays; the ministers helped me such a lot with the essays. Much needed and appreciated.

I had quite a few subjects to cover with three essays on each subject. I did not pass every time. The books were difficult and used a lot of old words.

It took me a long time to get through the required number of essays. I was running out of time and I had two still to be marked. Wonder of wonders they both came back with a mark just high enough to pass.

The presbytery and friends all came out to Eday for a special service when I was set apart as a reader. I asked a young lady to make dinner for the congregation. It was a really nice day for me and the Eday Kirk.

Since then and before I have regularly led worship in lots of places in Orkney. I have led a good few funeral services in Eday too.

- Johan Robertson

GOING TO PAPAY FOR A DAY

We went most years to Papa Westray or Papay as we called it, there in the morning and back at night. Some times we went by steamer. This involved going up the gangway at the Westray pier when we got to Papay. We had to cross from the passenger accommodation through the second class place where the tinkers were, onto the cargo deck to get down the side of the steamer with a short ladder into a small boat to take us ashore.

Sometimes we went with my dad’s boat. He called it the Fly because it was an easy name to paint. Very little safety precautions in those days, he always took oars in case the engine broke down.

His boat is still in use, my nephew George uses it at the Westray and Holm regattas.

My mother was brought up in Papay she had lots of aunties, uncles, cousins and friends. This was long before fridges or freezers, and they never had any warning we were coming. They always had plenty food to share with us. We did such a lot of walking there – not many cars then. Sometimes we got a lift with a horse and cart.

I was in Papay last summer and I still have that lovely warm feeling towards it. Papay still has a special place in my heart.

I liked their dialect too, Papay and Westray side by side but there was quite a difference in how they spoke.

- Johan Robertson

MUCKLE SKERRY

The sun was glaringly bright. It bounced off the waves, tiny chips of light sparked into our faces. The repurposed lifeboat glided through open sea, we breathed deep the scent of salt and water. Strange pools eddied on the ocean’s surface, smooth as marbles, the boat gently nudged its way around them.

A shipwreck loomed, rusty red. We glided on, eyes lingering, until they snagged on a scrap of land. The boat hung back as seals and their pups were spotted. Little, white, furry smudges glimpsed through binoculars. Their mothers’ darker, sleeker shapes beside them.

Cormorants. Guillemots. Razorbills. Gannets. Tiny specks on an expanse of blue, some dared to soar closer to our little boat. A bonxie eyed us, evaluating our worth, then wheeled off.

We pointed and blethered on - our scrunched-up eyes scanned the horizon. We approached a tiny island: Muckle Skerry invited us with a dark, rock ledge. A steady hand, a jump and we were on.

Puffins flew, a flurry of wings, beaks bright in the sun. Legs dangling, bumbling through the air, our excited chatter matched their squawks and squeals to one another.

The grass was warm under our hands, the picnic forgotten, the day surprisingly hot. We were on a small skerry in the middle of the sea: a land of puffins. We sat cross-legged and open-mouthed, transfixed as the little birds circled our wind-swept heads.

- Ellen Forkin

A BAD DECISION IN MARCH

In 1984 I began my journey as a mature student. I missed my family dreadfully and came home as often as I could. Unfortunately, flying from Edinburgh to Orkney at that time cost as much as a fortnights holiday in Majorca.

So when my 15 year old son came down for a few days I thought we’d travel home by train and boat. Bad decision in March!!!!

On the day we were due to leave I stood at the window with a heavy heart. I could usually see across the city, but today there was only blinding snow. Quickly, we switched on the TV to get the latest forecast. Surprise, surprise it said the further north you got the better it would be, so we decided to chance it.

We struggled into Waverley Station and the train left promptly. I was pretty worried, but my son said, ‘Cheer up Mum I saw shovels in the guards-van.’ Little did he know how prophetic his words were.

With constant snow falling we struggled on till we reached Forsinard. The drifts were higher than the train. The guard, who was as cheery as ever, asked for volunteers to dig!! My son leapt to his feet, patted me on the head and said he’d dig for both of us.

How they did it I don’t know, but eventually that train began to move and miraculously took us to Thurso. Once we arrived we still had to face the worst part of the journey – the infamous crossing of the Pentland Firth, and worse than that the ‘Roly Poly Ola’.

The whole way to Scrabster I hoped for a reprieve, but to no avail. A cheery lady at the desk said, ‘Oh yes madam, we’ll be sailing on time.’

I did suggest to my son that it might be better tomorrow, but he was having none of it. I can tell you, as I struggled down the pier in a howling gale and driving snow, I questioned my sanity.

Going up the gangway I looked over towards Holborn Head and saw huge waves crashing against the cliffs and visibility was so bad there was no sign of Hoy in the distance. I fitted myself on a seat, sick bags in hand, closed my eyes and braced my feet against the arm rest. We set off and ‘roly poly’ did not describe it. She certainly rolled till I thought she wasn’t going to right herself again. She pitched and tossed and no matter how I tried I thought I couldn’t stay on that seat.

One minute she was rolling me onto the back of the seat and then she tried to throw me on the floor. Now where was my son to help me in my distress? He was chatting away to the steward while propping himself happily in a corner.

I did survive and reach Stromness, but no-one will ever persuade me to board a boat again in weather like that.

- Ann Tait

NOISE AND STEAM

Packed my little grey suitcase, a material one with flowers inside. It was flat but the sides folded out to make the case. I was told we would soon be going on holiday so I immediately wanted to pack. My shorts went in, swimming costume and just about everything until it was full. Of course my mother had to take most things out and re-arrange it.

We walked up the road, caught the number 9 bus into the station. We were exited to be on the platform and we had time to go to the kiosk and chose a comic. I always chose Bunty, my brother being older wanted Look and Learn. We also got a carton of orange with straw attached, cup-shaped ribbed plastic you pushed the straw through the top of it.

The train would arrive and we must all stand back, noise and steam filled the station. Dad went ahead opened the carriage door – never first class. We walked along the corridors found a place that had enough seats left for us all, slid the door open and went inside. Our suitcases went up above our heads on a rack. Sometimes we could sit either side of the window and had a little table.

There was a mirror and two pictures either side with places you could visit. It was nice when other people in the carriage would get off the train, new ones would get on. We watched out of the window and trees, fields, rivers passed by. We went past houses whose gardens were right next to the railway, we could see washing out on lines and children playing.

Cows, sheep, fields of barley, steam passing by the window. We were so exited when we went through tunnels.The ticket collector would come and would put a hole in the ticket with his machine. We went everywhere by train as my dad was an engine driver.

I still love to go on trains and feel at home on a platform. Although so much has changed, I still feel the excitement of going through a tunnel, or being at the back of the train and being able to see the front of the train as we go around a curve in the line.

- Christine Richings

A MAN AND HIS DREAM

Who would have thought a casual meeting standing in a queue in a local fish and chip shop could lead to more that 65 years of being together? I remember one night my feet were so cold in my wellingtons that my thoughtful-future husband removed his socks to warm my feet.

John yearned to be a farmer, he was born to be a herdsman. Unfortunately, his father was a farm worker, not a farm owner. The wish to rent a small field and to breed and raise his own pigs was almost impossible in the post war years.

No plans were made for future years, we took life as it came. We were blessed with three children, two boys and one girl who happily filled our days. John worked in a factory building balers, but yearned for a plot of land to keep some pigs. A huge change came when we emigrated to Alberta Canada, where eventually his dream came true.

John purchased two weaner pigs for the princely sum for sixteen dollars fifty each. These pigs were raised with tender loving care, but ultimately had to go to market.

It was three years later when he rented an old farmhouse with a barn. Wonderful! Two Duroc gilts were purchased with a boar and they settled very nicely. Nearly four months later the piglets were due to farrow and John made his own bed with straw in the barn close to the bed of the pregnant sow.

Many jokes were made of this in later years as John had not been at the birth of any of his own children.

A litter of seven was born before Easter and the second litter of nine a few days later. This was just the beginning of John’s desire coming true, as the numbers grew and the love remained. The fruition of a life’s dream was achieved.

These sows provided many hours of pleasure and were treated with lots of tender loving care. Early mornings were no problem and each evening the hogs were attended to before anything else.

It was the love of his life, the love of the land.

All too soon we pass on, and only by communicating with the following generations will our history be remembered.

- Betty Clark

FEASTS AND FESTIVALS

HOME SPUN CONCERT

First when I came to Eday, and when I was in Westray, there was always a concert at Christmas. Some would get together to practise a play or two. There was always a good few with musical abilities who could do music or singing.

It was so much fun, I was often involved in the plays, We had so much fun practising. Sometimes with English influence we did a pantomime, I played the part of Cinderella once, it was quite a challenge, but very rewarding.

The concert in Eday was always held on Christmas Eve. Santa Clause visited too. It was great excitement for the children to see what Santa would bring them. The grown ups were nearly as excited to know who was playing the part of Santa.

The concert was followed by supper then a dance to local musicians and dancing to the wee sma hours…

- Johan Robertson

CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

I’ve always loved Christmas It’s part of winter’s joys Santa and his reindeer Bringing children toys.

Christmas pudding boiling Turkey ready to roast Cake all decorated Parcels in the post.

Twinkling lights everywhere Brighten up the night Trees with presents underneath Fill us with delight.

The sound of Christmas carols Carries through the air As we remember Jesus birth A celebration we all share.

- Ann Tait

MEMORIES OF EVIE HARVEST HOME

Every year about November the Evie harvest home was held in the old drill hall. The ladies on the committee prepared the food at home and somehow managed to keep it warm on the old black stove. Everyone had to take a cup, plate and cutlery as there were none of those in the hall. Anyway there were no facilities for washing up.

Once the food was dished out and grace was said everyone tucked in.The menu was always mince and clapshot followed by trifle.

The hall was decorated with sheaves and turnips, and in the excitement of the night you forgot the peeling paint, and the floor that literally bounced up and down.

Once the meal was past everyone tidied away. Tables were folded and put in the storage alcove and chairs were arranged around the side of the room. The band arrived with fiddle and accordion, and the MC, a local worthy, got up on the stage to announce the first dance.

Meantime ‘slipperine’ was being liberally sprinkled on the floor. It was a powder that made the old boards like an ice rink! Joy of joy for the bairns as they set off sliding across the floor and getting in everybody’s way.

It was such a family affair, with fathers teaching their daughters to dance and grannies occupying the chairs and commenting on all the goings-on of the parish.

The dancing went on till the early hours - waltzes, Eva three steps and best of all Strip the Willow. If you’ve never danced an Orkney Strip the Willow you’ve missed a great experience!!

There was of course the customary break for supper when sandwiches and home bakes were served on trays and handed round while other ladies poured the tea.

After a great night tired families wended their way home.The harvest home was over for another year.

- Ann Tait

FOOD WE LOVED

Oh to be a child again to taste the food we loved.

For breakfast Weetabix no sugar or hot milk spread instead with butter and honey it’s really surprisingly yummy.

A packet of plain crisps, Smiths I think a blue salt bag inside a glass on ginger beer the two go side by side.

Beans on toast a favourite asked for every day, on thick buttery toast then out again to play.

Homemade damson crumble, custard poured on top, dish emptied in a moment feeling fit to pop.

Boiled egg with cheese sauce just right for supper what a treat, the best a child can have to get a good nights sleep.

If I were a child again warm crispy rind from dad’s bacon would be just the best, would be my number one.

TOUCHSTONES

- Christine Richings

BURNS SUPPER

Burns suppers were often held. Our son held the position of Poet. We’d have Cock-a-leekie soup, roast beef, neeps and nips and potatoes and the haggis carried in to music on a fancy platter.

Our daughter liked to say Burns grace, and after the meal all family members took their turn at reciting a Burns poem.

Friends were invited and must have been confused with accents we used, but accessories were worn to emphasise the characters we were representing. The evening was looked forward to eagerly.

- Betty Clark

TOUCHSTONES