From
scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her
lov'd at home, rever'd abroad:
Princes and lords are but the
breath of kings,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God;"
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road,
The cottage
leaves the palace far behind;
What is a lordling's pomp? a
cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied
in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd!
Robert Burns
CHAPTER 49 THE SECOND SIGHT
“There’s a car there.”
“It’ll be some old netty having your Gran read her tea leaves,” said Dad
“Aye. I suppose,” said Gloria.
“Well, out you get then, I’ve no time to waste here.”
“Right you are Dad.” Gloria Scot opened the car door and smiled. Her Father was still a little scared of Grannie, even after all these years. Having a Mother in Law who could see into the future must have been really scary when he was courting Mum.
“Bye.” Gloria Scott waved after her fathers departing car and crossed the gravel to her grandparent’s caravan. It was really a mobile home and had electric and broadband and all, and it had been partly dug into the ground against a thick hedge atop an old stone wall, and Granddad had built a turf wall waist high around the rest of it, so it was sheltered from the worst winter winds. But could still be very cold, so he was thinking of next fitting a thatch roof to keep it cool in summer as well.
Granddads house went with his job on the estate, so he’d had to move out when the arthritis got too bad, and normally he’d have moved into one of the stone cottages that old Duke Robert kept for retired workers. But of course the new Lord St Simon had turned those all into holiday homes.
So the caravan it was.
“Grannie?”
“Is that you Dearie?” The caravan door opened
“Aye its me Gran.”
“Come away in child, I’ve just had the kettle on for Mrs MacGregor” Gran indicated an elderly woman sat at the folding table in the kitchenette.
“Thanks Gran. I’ve got your shopping and some Cabbages and carrots from Dad.”
“Oh thanks.” Gran took the bags and put them on the counter between the sink and the gas cooker. “So….How’s your mother keeping?”
“Oh she’s fine.” Gloria sat on the couch that could be turned into a bed
“Good.”
“Yes,” said Gloria
“It’ll soon be boiled again.”
“Yes.”
“So….So….Are you all right?” asked Gran.
“Yes.”
“Well I think I should be getting off now,” said Mrs MacGregor
“Right you are. I'll be seeing you in the week no doubt,” said Gran
“Aye, no doubt,” said Mrs MacGregor as she closed the door
“So Gloria,” said Gran “There’s nothing troubling you.”
“Not really.”
“Come on now. You know I have the sight and you’re my ain bairn’s child, so I know there’s something. Is it a boy?
“Well….”
“Aye. It would be a boy….And….Are you….Are you maybe thinking your expecting?”
“Oh Gran.”
“Oh my puir wee dear. My puir dear. I thought these days you girls had more sense than in my day. But I suppose these things are bound to happen. Less there’d be no more people in the world would there. All these babies all wanting to be created and born into the world. And them not caring how they do it.”
“Oh Gran.”
“What does your mother say?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“Well she’ll have to know.”
“Oh Gran.”
“Who’s the Father?”
“Robbie.”
“Jack Ferguson's boy?”
“Yes.”
“Oh aye. He is a good
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