Month: January 2020

Tartans – a short story

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By tradition most of the tartans which you see today are registered as being specific to one particular “clan” or family. The best known red tartan is that of the Stewart tartan while the equally common darker blue/ green one is known as the Black Watch tartan. Black Watch is generally associated with the Royal Regiment of Scotland and may be worn by ‘anyone’ however, it is often associated with the Campbells. I won’t bore you with a prolonged history of Scottish tartans as this has no relevance to the story, which I share.

My story relates to the love between Angus Campbell and the beautiful Bonnie Stewart. Angus did everything right and before he proposed to Bonnie, he visited father Stewart in his Georgian town house, in an exclusive residential section of the early 1800’s portion of Edinburgh’s “new town,” to seek parental assent. When Father Stewart appeared reluctant, Angus quoted the Robert Burn’s poem “A Red, Red Rose”

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.

After the first verse father Stewart raised his hand, “I know the poem laddie; it concludes:”

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

The shared poem brought the two men closer even as father Stewart reminded himself that Robert Burns was an accomplished romantic and  renowned womanizer.. He scrutinized Angus, attempting to see into his soul, and then, gave begrudging approval contingent on a long engagement during which time he intended to monitor Angus’s behavior. Everything went well until the night before the wedding bans were to be announced in the Kirk. That is when Angus received an email requesting his immediate presence at the Stewart residence.  He drove over, parked in the street, and bounded up the steps to the regal Stewart front door. He rang the bell.

The door was opened by Caitlin, Bonnie’s younger sister. Caitlin wore an astonishingly short skirt and sheer top with plunging V-neck. She invited Angus in and served him a tumbler of scotch. She told him that the family were all out, and that she had sent the e-mail. She told him that, from the first time that she met him, she had felt a compelling physical attraction for him.  She suggested that there would be no harm in their ‘spending’ time together on this last day of Angus’s freedom.

“I don’t want to sabotage Bonnie’s marriage so this will be a one-night stand and no-one will ever know” she said, “It will be our little secret.” Angus’ eyes glowed at her suggestion for she was very seductive. She concluded her invitation. “I’m going upstairs now to get into something more comfortable. You finish your scotch. My room is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs.”

Angus finished his drink, set the glass on the coffee table and glanced up the stairs. Then he turned and went out the front door to vault the steps to his car. Imagine his surprise to be greeted at his car by father Stewart.

“Congratulations my boy” he said as he gave Angus an unexpected bear hug of an embrace, “you passed our test. You are, indeed, a man of principle and worthy of our Bonnie’s hand.”

Angus accepted the embrace and then, pleading fatigue, got into his car and drove off. When he turned out of view, he reached over and patted the car’s glove compartment. That is because there is a moral to this story. It is a moral which Robert Burns with his 12 or more children might have heeded. “Always keep a spare packet of condoms in your car!”

Confumbulum – a short story

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The little girl, Terry, looked up as her mother lent over to serve scrambled eggs onto her plate. Although she was seven-years-old she was a skinny little thing who looked more like a five-year-old. She wore dirty green corduroy play shorts topped by a green sweater. Her clothing was dirty. She sat next to her nine-year-old sister who was clad in identical, equally dirty clothing. They had spent a joyful day playing outside in a wild garden making dens from branches, cut grass and leaves.  Both girls sat on newspaper covered chairs, so arranged by their mother to protect the chair seats.

Just as the scrambled egg was about to be served onto her plate Terry made her proclamation;

“Mummy, I don’t like scrambled eggs.”

“Nonsense” responded her mother “you have always loved scrambled eggs. I’ll give you one spoonful. You can taste and remember that you love them.”

“No Mummy, I don’t like scrambled eggs!” Terry was emphatic. She looked at her sister who was about to proclaim that she, also, didn’t like scrambled eggs. Their mother intervened and glared at the older girl mouthing the words.

“No, you don’t.”

The older girl kept quiet.

Their mother rasped to the older girl, “You eat your eggs and show Terry how good they are. I’ll also put some on my plate.”

“As for you,” she glared at Terry, “eat your toast while I go to the kitchen to see if there is anything else for you to eat.”

She returned with a look on finality on her face and announced with a flourish,

“Confumbulum, especially for Terry.”

Terry looked at the pink food, with the consistency of scrambled eggs. She stared while it was being served onto her plate.  If her mother hadn’t looked so stern she might have declared another dislike. Instead she accepted the honor of a special food and  murmured “Confumbulum” as she ate.