trinkie
08-Jul-07, 13:09
The Perfect Day
By Jane Thomson
Found in an old Caithness magazine c.1965
If, once in a lifetime, we can say we have been privileged to experience "a perfect day" then we are indeed fortunate, and it is only right that we should share it’s memory with other people.
The occasion of which I write was just after World War 11, in the summer of 1947, when a Woman’s Guild Outing was arranged from Keiss to Dornoch and back, and I was lucky to be offered a seat.
One bus came and picked up those of us who were staying in the Lyth district, and when we joined the bus from Keiss village it was 9 o’clock in the morning.
Most of the women were farmers’ or crofters’ wives who had already milked the cows and fed the poultry and had had an early breakfast. I could not help noticing how bright and happy they looked. They had not the tired harrassed appearance of the city housewives, but then they had not had the same food problems for one thing, nor the same years of standing endlessly in queues. Their voices too, were much softer, so that their chatter, though animated, was restful.
The day was beautiful, and we thoroughly enjoyed our run round the coast, with the morning sunlight shimmering across the sea, past the whitewashed farm houses, and over the moors which sometimes were white with cotton flower, and sometimes purple with bell heather. When the road began to wander through the hills we knew that we were into Sutherland, and here awaiting us was even greater loveliness.
We feasted our eyes on the majesty of the hills, on the valleys, the forests and the rivers. At the roadsides grew the most magnificent purple thistles which I had never seen – worthy emblem of Scotland – and the whole picture was rounded off for us when we spied a herd of deer on a hillside, and in the foreground two brawny Highlandmen, dressed in kilts! Can you wonder then that a wild unearthly skirl rent the air – primitive and spontaneous – from the lips of the douce ladies in the bus, and this was to go on the whole day every time we passed man, woman or child on the road or in the field. The Romans they say, never crossed the Ord. Little wonder !
We stopped at Helmsdale for ice-cream, and then continued our journey. The sun was simply scorching by this time, and we envied the cattle and horses standing knee-deep in the water at the Mound. When we saw Highland cattle in all their shaggy beauty we felt that Bonnie Scotland was handing us her chalice of loveliness, in full measure, pressed down and running over.
At last we reached Dornoch, small Cathedral town, dignified and reserved, and when we arrived, deserted, as if everyone was having a noontide siesta. Here we went our devious ways to eat our ‘packed lunch’. My Uncle’s housekeeper and I went to the beach where we ate our mutton sandwiches, and never did lamb taste so sweet ,for, despite rationing laws, my Uncle had killed a sheep a few days previously!
The sands were golden, the Firth and the sky an unbelievable blue, and the hills, in spite of the recent spell of excellent weather, were still tipped with snow. But time flies and we had to retrace our steps. It seemed that every garden in Dornoch was at it’s best, with roses festooned at the doors and windows. There was the contrast of copper beech and silver birch against the skyline. Dornoch, still somnolent in the noontide heat, had given us neither Hail nor Farewell, but we had partaken of her beauty and of her peace.
Returning the way we had come, we noticed that the horses and the cattle were still cooling their feet in the water, standing motionless. We stopped at Golspie and had another ice-cream and a look at the shops. I looked wistfully and longingly at a salmon in a fish shop, gleaming pink and silver, such a welcome sight after all the wartime fish, so dearly won, and so long and patiently awaited in queues.
After half an hour we set off again for Helmsdale, where we were to have tea.
The dining-room was painted green and cream, and the walls were decorated with stags’ heads. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there were bowls and vases of flowers everywhere.
The tablecloths were snowy-white, and the tables were laden with bread, home-made scones and pancakes, swiss rolls, jam, large pats of butter and for each person a huge plateful of fresh salmon, salad, and mayonnaise. At each table was a huge silver tea-pot, full of hot refreshing tea. If before we had been handed a chalice, surely this was cornucopia!
After tea we had another stroll around Helmsdale, and then we set off on the home stretch. It was 6.30pm. by this time and the sun still shone on us like a benediction. When we reached Lybster we stopped and had a walk down to the old harbour, and between sea air and country air, I, personally, had an overwhelming desire to sleep!
On the way home the wild skirl rang out at every available occasion, and as each person was dropped off at her destination she received a vociferous farewell! When we walked down our own particular road the evening star was already twinkling although it was just the edge of the long northern twilight, and as the peat smoke wafted gently towards us from the farmhouse, it seemed a fitting incense at the close of a perfect day.
By Jane Thomson
Found in an old Caithness magazine c.1965
If, once in a lifetime, we can say we have been privileged to experience "a perfect day" then we are indeed fortunate, and it is only right that we should share it’s memory with other people.
The occasion of which I write was just after World War 11, in the summer of 1947, when a Woman’s Guild Outing was arranged from Keiss to Dornoch and back, and I was lucky to be offered a seat.
One bus came and picked up those of us who were staying in the Lyth district, and when we joined the bus from Keiss village it was 9 o’clock in the morning.
Most of the women were farmers’ or crofters’ wives who had already milked the cows and fed the poultry and had had an early breakfast. I could not help noticing how bright and happy they looked. They had not the tired harrassed appearance of the city housewives, but then they had not had the same food problems for one thing, nor the same years of standing endlessly in queues. Their voices too, were much softer, so that their chatter, though animated, was restful.
The day was beautiful, and we thoroughly enjoyed our run round the coast, with the morning sunlight shimmering across the sea, past the whitewashed farm houses, and over the moors which sometimes were white with cotton flower, and sometimes purple with bell heather. When the road began to wander through the hills we knew that we were into Sutherland, and here awaiting us was even greater loveliness.
We feasted our eyes on the majesty of the hills, on the valleys, the forests and the rivers. At the roadsides grew the most magnificent purple thistles which I had never seen – worthy emblem of Scotland – and the whole picture was rounded off for us when we spied a herd of deer on a hillside, and in the foreground two brawny Highlandmen, dressed in kilts! Can you wonder then that a wild unearthly skirl rent the air – primitive and spontaneous – from the lips of the douce ladies in the bus, and this was to go on the whole day every time we passed man, woman or child on the road or in the field. The Romans they say, never crossed the Ord. Little wonder !
We stopped at Helmsdale for ice-cream, and then continued our journey. The sun was simply scorching by this time, and we envied the cattle and horses standing knee-deep in the water at the Mound. When we saw Highland cattle in all their shaggy beauty we felt that Bonnie Scotland was handing us her chalice of loveliness, in full measure, pressed down and running over.
At last we reached Dornoch, small Cathedral town, dignified and reserved, and when we arrived, deserted, as if everyone was having a noontide siesta. Here we went our devious ways to eat our ‘packed lunch’. My Uncle’s housekeeper and I went to the beach where we ate our mutton sandwiches, and never did lamb taste so sweet ,for, despite rationing laws, my Uncle had killed a sheep a few days previously!
The sands were golden, the Firth and the sky an unbelievable blue, and the hills, in spite of the recent spell of excellent weather, were still tipped with snow. But time flies and we had to retrace our steps. It seemed that every garden in Dornoch was at it’s best, with roses festooned at the doors and windows. There was the contrast of copper beech and silver birch against the skyline. Dornoch, still somnolent in the noontide heat, had given us neither Hail nor Farewell, but we had partaken of her beauty and of her peace.
Returning the way we had come, we noticed that the horses and the cattle were still cooling their feet in the water, standing motionless. We stopped at Golspie and had another ice-cream and a look at the shops. I looked wistfully and longingly at a salmon in a fish shop, gleaming pink and silver, such a welcome sight after all the wartime fish, so dearly won, and so long and patiently awaited in queues.
After half an hour we set off again for Helmsdale, where we were to have tea.
The dining-room was painted green and cream, and the walls were decorated with stags’ heads. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there were bowls and vases of flowers everywhere.
The tablecloths were snowy-white, and the tables were laden with bread, home-made scones and pancakes, swiss rolls, jam, large pats of butter and for each person a huge plateful of fresh salmon, salad, and mayonnaise. At each table was a huge silver tea-pot, full of hot refreshing tea. If before we had been handed a chalice, surely this was cornucopia!
After tea we had another stroll around Helmsdale, and then we set off on the home stretch. It was 6.30pm. by this time and the sun still shone on us like a benediction. When we reached Lybster we stopped and had a walk down to the old harbour, and between sea air and country air, I, personally, had an overwhelming desire to sleep!
On the way home the wild skirl rang out at every available occasion, and as each person was dropped off at her destination she received a vociferous farewell! When we walked down our own particular road the evening star was already twinkling although it was just the edge of the long northern twilight, and as the peat smoke wafted gently towards us from the farmhouse, it seemed a fitting incense at the close of a perfect day.