CHAPTER 26
We talked Fran and Richard through the drive up, as well as our plans for Scotland.
“Last time I was there was as support for Judy on the LEL—London-Edinburgh-London, ladies, like the French Ride. We, Franny and me, have spent more time recently in Galloway than the Highlands; easy trip from here. You taking the A82?”
Mary answered for us, as she would be doing most of the driving.
“Gretna, Beattock, Lomond, yeah, then out to Mallaig, ferry, Skye, back via Kintail”
“Not the North-West?”
She shrugged.
“Muggins here is the default driver, so it will depend on how knackered I am and how much time is left. I don’t want our return to be a mad all-day thrash all the way to Wycombe from Glen Poguemahone or wherever”
“Mary?”
“Yes, Jacky?”
“I may not know what a DNF is, but I do know that one”
I was chuckling by then, as my wife and friend were developing a lovely ‘sparring’ relationship, but I let out an audible snort, and both of them turned to star at me.
“It’s just something from Australia that fitted Mary’s comment. I was talking about the real rural Australia, and Carly said, ‘RFO’”
Jacky was now laughing with me.
“Yup, I remember! Right, er, Frigging Outback. Some of the places I saw, heck. Isolated or what? Ranches so big the ‘rents have to drive their kids miles to get to the school bus stop. Anyway, Snecklifter? What’s that”
Richard looked at his watch, then smiled.
“I think it’s late enough, Ellie. Agreed?”
I nodded, and he rose from his chair with a, “Back in a minute. All of you, Ellie??”
“Yup. We have been educating Jacky”
“Good-oh!”
He returned with a cardboard box, set it on the coffee table and nodded to Fran, who started bringing in pint glasses.
“This, Jacky, is what my company produces, and this is our pride and joy. I give you Snecklifter”
Out came five half-litre bottles, and Fran started popping the caps as I explained the name.
“Jacky, a sneck is a latch on a door or a gate, one that you lift to open, so the name is sort of ‘here’s a good reason to go to the pub’. Strong ale”
Richard shook his head.
“Not exactly, Ellie. The name refers to a sixpence, or the person who holds it. Back when prices were very different, a snecklifter was somebody who would take his last sixpence, enough for a pint, lift the sneck, look into the pub for a friend who might buy him a second pint, and if he saw nobody, he’d just shut the door and leave. It’s just over five percent ABV”
Jacky pointed at Mary, laughing.
“Tell him about Belgium!”
“So I drank a few tripels, but the waiter was a tease”
“Yeah, girl, but Ellie had already put him right, right?”
“She had. I should have tried some of those fruit beers, though”
Richard calmly announced, “We actually do a turnip beer. We call it ‘The World’s Biggest Liar’. And when I say ‘turnip’, that’s a lie, even though it’s on the label”
It was almost like a session on the forum, for I knew his sense of humour as well as he knew mine. Sometimes fate could…
My mind derailed slightly, as I understood that fate didn’t just occasionally deal me a good card, but had recently filled my hand with trumps. Carly, Jacky, Phil and Val, the Christmas truckers and their muffins, the UK Immigration officer who, it now struck me, must know ‘Hairy’, Richard, and most of all the woman sitting beside me, bent out of shape but never broken, coming back to being my only lover, my life’s love.
“You okay, love?”
“Sorry, Mary. Just a little… counting blessings again, yeah?”
Richard and Fran smiled, and he simply said, “Keep doing that, woman. What needs doing in the kitchen, wench?”
“Peeling and chopping, Oh Mighty Lord”
“Right. I’ll neck this and get changed, and then sort it”
“I’ve set the oven heating; just got to dress the lamb”
“I’ll open some of the Burgundy then, get it breathing. Any of you want a shower or anything?”
We all shook our heads, Mary adding, “Before bed for me, though. Long drives always leave me, you know, glowing”
Our dinner was a delight, the lamb studded with rosemary before roasting, proper roast potatoes and an abundance of vegetables, all washed down with a pretty decent Burgundy and, as we did the holiday snaps thing, more of ‘the company product’.
Sleep hit me like a cosh that night.
Of course we did the drive back into Keswick for the boats the next day, together with a walk up to Lodore, and the following day was a gentle walk along Catbells for the views over Derwent Water and the surrounding fells, Jacky once again complaining that we couldn’t just stay where we were, but…
Fran saw us off with a superb breakfast before we hit the A595 for Carlisle. When we had mentioned that place, Fran had twitched.
“Sorry, girls. It’s just that, well, when I was little, there was a huge scandal there, a children’s home. I was always scared that if I were naughty, I’d end up being sent there”
Mary said, very quietly, “Castle Keep?”, and Fran nodded. Mary took her hand.
“When I was training, we had a number of safeguarding courses, and our tutor mentioned that place, as well as a few others. Not a topic for breakfast. And I won’t be going into Carlisle but round it, so no issues”
I filed that name away in my memory for later reading.
Carlisle was soon behind us as we rolled across the wide Solway flatlands, Criffel hulking to our left, and as we passed the ‘Welcome to Scotland’ sign, and the M6 became the A74M, , Jacky gave a little cheer that trailed off rather quickly.
“Is that it? The Border? That’s all?”
“Yup. I mean, we could stop in at Gretna Green if you want”
“No”, said Mary, “It’s a dump. Miles to go, places to see”
A few miles later, and Jacky spoke again.
“Is this, you know, THE place? That airliner?”
“Lockerbie? Yes. Bloody awful, that”
“I didn’t realise… Must have just missed this road”
Yes: by falling slap-bang onto the town. I thought back to my own flights, and how the bombing game seemed to have all but disappeared, only to be replaced by suicidal hijackers, pissed Russians with missiles, or American sailors who couldn’t tell an airliner from an anti-ship missile. Hang onto the small comfort that air travel is still safer than driving, Elspeth, then do your best to forget that you’re currently in a car.
The land was starting to rise again, huge conifer plantations appearing, and thenthe sun started to fade as clouds arrived. By Crawford, it was drizzling, but at Red Moss, it was hammering down.
“Glad you got that coat now, Jacky?”
No reply. We did pop back out of the clouds as we descended, and then Mary, after a quick stop to check the route, took us on a loop to the South of Glasgow, which I explained to Jacky.
“I always used to follow the Great Western Road there, through Anniesland, but it is really, really slow. This is a lot longer, but avoids the traffic”
Mary patted my knee.
“Glad you think so, because you’re driving this bit. Budge over”
M8 , M898, Erskine Bridge, and then, finally, we were on the A82 and making much slower progress through Dumbarton. I risked a sideways look at my wife.
“Don’t you dare, Mary”
“Dare what, love?”
“Sing that bloody song”
“Well, ‘straditional, innit, and we’re almost there”
Jacky, silly woman, had to ask, “Almost where?”, but we only got one line, thankfully.
“On the bonny, bonny baaaaanks of Loch Lomond!”
The road past the Loch runs through quite dense woodland, so you’re quite a way up its length before you can actually see it, from near Cameron House. Mary called out for a right turn as we came to Cameron, which put us on the older road that runs along the shoreline, where I found a place to pull over for Jacky’s photography fix. Another of her boxes ticked, and in brilliant sunshine as well.
While she snapped away, I stretched my legs and used my phone to do a quick search. Castle Keep… Carlisle…
Oh my god.