SATURDAY AT LAST

Story contd.

It wasn’t much fun having a day off in the week when all one’s friends were at work so as soon as I knew I had a Saturday off we arranged that Sarah would come home for the week-end and we would plan our holiday in Scotland. We tended to cram in as much as possible and first went to the next town to the first house pictures, to see Joan Fontaine and Cary Grant in ‘Suspicion’. Then we had a long walk back over the old road passing the Catholic Church where Gran went, the Unitarian Church where Maddie was married, the Wesleyan Church with it’s dramatic pillars and finally the Church of England, at the top of our steep hill, where the white marble angel blessed us as we walked past.

It was imperative to get back before Saturday Night Theatre. We wouldn’t want to miss our favourite radio actress, Grizelda Harvey being throttled, poisoned or done the dirty on, without our devoted support. Sweet rationing still existed, (oooh how I missed Grandad’s shop) so we would make toffee – not always burning the pan – and Evan and friend would appear like magic. Then there was just time for a quick game of Newmarket before the highlight of the evening – Jack Jackson’s Record Round Up. We sang along with Nellie Lutcher and her ‘Fine Brown Frame.’ And Hoagie Carmichael’s ‘Buttermilk Sky’. We loved American films, artistes, novels – the whole life style thing seemed so desirable.

Then Mum and Dad came in having been to the second house flicks. Mum gave us tea and her malt loaf and we said we were thinking of going to Scotland in the summer and had they any advice. This always put them in a good mood,

‘You’d do a lot worse than Callander .’ Dad said.

‘Isn’t that in Perthshire,’ I asked, ‘I’m sure I’ve heard Annie talk about it.’

‘Aye it is. Mum have you still got the address of that place we stayed last year?’ Dad asked.

Mum finally found the address and said it was a real home from home. Mrs Scott was a right good cook and you could eat off her floor. Their recommendations last year when we went to Ambleside had proved most satisfactory so we agreed to give Mrs Scott a try so we could eat off her floor with impunity. Then Mum found the snaps they had taken in Callendar and Sarah and I agreed it was our sort of place – mountains – lochs and haunting scenery.

‘We must take walking boots this time Sarah. I’m determined we’re going to do a couple of mountains so I can hold my own the next time I see MTL. - whenever
that might be.’ I shot a baleful glare at Dad but he took no gorm.

‘I hope you’re good at map reading Sarah – because our Pat’s bloody hopeless!’

As usual Dad had the last word. Plus ca change!

It was great to have something to look forward to especially as I was due to go non night duty soon. Sarah was the ideal holiday companion – always amiable and tolerant of my more hare brained schemes. Just like her mother had been with mine when they were at school together.