UNFORGETTABLE DAY IN SCOTLAND!
A kind elderly couple, and a shaggy, friendly Highland cow...and his buddies...taught me a valuable lesson about the benefits of 'slowing down,' and to better appreciate the things around us!
The following short story is about that memorable day as my wife and I were driving in a remote part of Scotland. We were at last on a mini-vacation after a hectic business trip in London...please enjoy!
*******
WHAM!!
The front left tire struck something. The loud ‘bang’ was followed by the
compact
rental car pulling sharply to the left, plowing into the dirt bank burying the
front bumper in muck. “That does it,” I exclaimed. “Driving on the ‘wrong’ side
of the road is not as easy as it looked to be! They need to clear these large
stones on the edge of the roads!” Our accident left us sitting to the side of a
single lane road in the middle of nowhere. The terrain consisted of low rolling
hills. Not a living soul in sight. “Perfect,” I exclaimed.
My wife commented, “Those rocks are
called Cotswold Stones.” She was reading from a travel guide book.
“We’re not in the Cotswolds, and won’t be on this
trip…you’re looking at the wrong section.” My wife gave me a glare as if to say
‘Fine, I won’t be the tour guide anymore.’
I swore under my breath as this was our second flat tire driving on the narrow
roads of Northern Scotland. This part of our holiday from a hectic business
week in London had not started out well. We had just spent two great days in
Edinburgh, and rented the car for our fun venture north. Our small hotel on
Princess Street had been a real treat. Our hotel room looked out on the
Princess Gardens and Edinburgh Castle high on the hill opposite the hotel.
The beautiful Isle of Skye was beautiful in a stark, barren sort of way. But
at the moment we were in a ‘spot of bother’ as they like to say in England.
I dug out the cell phone I had rented in the U.S.; opened the rental
information packet from the glove box, and checked the phone number of the U.K.
AA office.
My wife leaned back in the passenger seat of our rental car. “Don’t get in a
panic,” she said. “The Auto Club fixed the last flat, and they will rescue us
again this time. Do you want a snack?”
“No, I don’t want a snack. I want to get the car fixed, and get to the next
village. We need to find a B and B or hotel for tonight. Sheesh,” I muttered.
“There’s no reception out here in these boondocks!”
We were stranded on this one lane road (Okay, maybe a lane and a half), with no
sign of civilization. Meeting an oncoming vehicle could present a problem. Not
a house or even a tree in sight. What looked like a field of peat was on our
right. One could see where the harvesters had cut nice little slices, which
were carried off to fuel the fireplaces of homes in the area…there had to be
homes somewhere. To the left there were half a dozen scraggly looking cows with
big horns, and long fur. “Those are Highland Cattle according to the guide
book.” My wife was thumbing through a tour book. She was assuming the role of
tour guide once again. “It says here
that they are free-ranging.”
There was no fence, and one of the huge beasts was curious at our predicament.
He, or she, began walking toward our car and yours truly as I stood out in the
open inspecting the tire and wheel damage. “It also says they are not
dangerous, but are a protected species here in the Highlands.”
I climbed back into the sub-compact Ford car and rolled up the window. “I think
he is just curious,” says my wife.
“Well keep the window rolled up. I
wonder if the big guy can repair our car. Well, I guess I should start walking
to find some help.”
My wife sat up and said, “What, and leave me here with
Brutus? I don’t think so.”
Brutus had walked right up to the car with his nose about two feet from my
window. “Do you think they would like some cheese and crackers,” my wife says.
“If we feed him, he’ll never go away,” I muttered. “Ok,” I
said, “Here’s the plan. We bundle up; lock the car with a note on the
windshield, and start walking in the direction we were headed. Some farmer or
tourist is bound to come along.”
We glanced at Brutus who seemed happy to stay where he was. Maybe he thought of
the car as a friend. Who knew? “Bye, bye Brutus,” my wife said as we exited the
crippled car and began trudging up the narrow road. Maybe the mobile phone
would work again a little further on.
We hadn’t walked more than a hundred yards, when a red mini-van of sorts
appeared on the horizon. We stood to the side of the road, and I waved my arm
hopefully alerting the driver of our plight. Also to avoid being struck dead as
there was only a couple of feet separating the raised muddy bank and the road
surface. As the mini-van came closer, I could see that a man and woman were in
the front seat. The driver blinked his headlights, and he pulled over in front
of us and parked the car. The driver opened his door and climbed out. He was an
older guy with gray hair, and was wearing high Wellington boots. I hated to
think what the boots were covered with. “What’s the trouble?’ he asked.
I pointed back to our car listing almost on its side. “I hit
a rock and blew a tire. I tried calling AA, but I can’t get any reception.”
By this time his wife had joined us. She was bundled up in a heavy long wool
coat, a full head scarf, and clutched her purse as if someone might try to
steal it. She smiled broadly, and greeted us. “Hello, my name is Ann MacDonald
and my husband here is Ian.” Ian and I had not got around to introductions as
yet.
“I’m not sure what to do right now. If
we could get to a land line phone, I’m sure I can get AA to come out and fix
the tire.”
Ian took off his wool cap; scratched his scalp, and said, “Ya might have to
walk a ways to find that phone. Not much out here except our cows. He turned
his head and pointed to Brutus who, joined by two more friends, had walked
closer to all of us. I guessed he recognized the folks that fed him. I doubted
the big guy would charge with his master looking on.
“The Mrs. and I live not so far from here. We own a Bed and Breakfast Inn near
Loch Ness.” My wife and I glanced at each other feeling that we may be in luck.
I quickly said, “We were in the process of trying to find a place to stay for
the night. Do you have a room we could rent?”
“Tell ya what,” says Ian, “We do have a room, and Ann here has dinner fixin as
we speak. We can eat in our parlor next to the peat fire. It will be a cold one
tonight. The wind is roaring off the Firth.” I didn’t know what a Firth was,
but was sure I would find out tonight. If the Firth was on our tour map, I had
a notion to scratch it off our agenda.
“We can call the AA tonight. Your car will be fine right here. If they can’t
get out tonight, I’m sure they can make it first thing in the morning.”
rental car pulling sharply to the left, plowing into the dirt bank burying the front bumper in muck. “That does it,” I exclaimed. “Driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road is not as easy as it looked to be! They need to clear these large stones on the edge of the roads!” Our accident left us sitting to the side of a single lane road in the middle of nowhere. The terrain consisted of low rolling hills. Not a living soul in sight. “Perfect,” I exclaimed.
I swore under my breath as this was our second flat tire driving on the narrow roads of Northern Scotland. This part of our holiday from a hectic business week in London had not started out well. We had just spent two great days in Edinburgh, and rented the car for our fun venture north. Our small hotel on Princess Street had been a real treat. Our hotel room looked out on the Princess Gardens and Edinburgh Castle high on the hill opposite the hotel.
I dug out the cell phone I had rented in the U.S.; opened the rental information packet from the glove box, and checked the phone number of the U.K. AA office.
My wife leaned back in the passenger seat of our rental car. “Don’t get in a panic,” she said. “The Auto Club fixed the last flat, and they will rescue us again this time. Do you want a snack?”
“No, I don’t want a snack. I want to get the car fixed, and get to the next village. We need to find a B and B or hotel for tonight. Sheesh,” I muttered. “There’s no reception out here in these boondocks!”
We were stranded on this one lane road (Okay, maybe a lane and a half), with no sign of civilization. Meeting an oncoming vehicle could present a problem. Not a house or even a tree in sight. What looked like a field of peat was on our right. One could see where the harvesters had cut nice little slices, which were carried off to fuel the fireplaces of homes in the area…there had to be homes somewhere. To the left there were half a dozen scraggly looking cows with big horns, and long fur. “Those are Highland Cattle according to the guide book.” My wife was thumbing through a tour book. She was assuming the role of tour guide once again. “It says here that they are free-ranging.”
There was no fence, and one of the huge beasts was curious at our predicament. He, or she, began walking toward our car and yours truly as I stood out in the open inspecting the tire and wheel damage. “It also says they are not dangerous, but are a protected species here in the Highlands.”
I climbed back into the sub-compact Ford car and rolled up the window. “I think he is just curious,” says my wife.
Brutus had walked right up to the car with his nose about two feet from my window. “Do you think they would like some cheese and crackers,” my wife says.
We glanced at Brutus who seemed happy to stay where he was. Maybe he thought of the car as a friend. Who knew? “Bye, bye Brutus,” my wife said as we exited the crippled car and began trudging up the narrow road. Maybe the mobile phone would work again a little further on.
We hadn’t walked more than a hundred yards, when a red mini-van of sorts appeared on the horizon. We stood to the side of the road, and I waved my arm hopefully alerting the driver of our plight. Also to avoid being struck dead as there was only a couple of feet separating the raised muddy bank and the road surface. As the mini-van came closer, I could see that a man and woman were in the front seat. The driver blinked his headlights, and he pulled over in front of us and parked the car. The driver opened his door and climbed out. He was an older guy with gray hair, and was wearing high Wellington boots. I hated to think what the boots were covered with. “What’s the trouble?’ he asked.
By this time his wife had joined us. She was bundled up in a heavy long wool coat, a full head scarf, and clutched her purse as if someone might try to steal it. She smiled broadly, and greeted us. “Hello, my name is Ann MacDonald and my husband here is Ian.” Ian and I had not got around to introductions as yet.
“I’m not sure what to do right now. If we could get to a land line phone, I’m sure I can get AA to come out and fix the tire.”
Ian took off his wool cap; scratched his scalp, and said, “Ya might have to walk a ways to find that phone. Not much out here except our cows. He turned his head and pointed to Brutus who, joined by two more friends, had walked closer to all of us. I guessed he recognized the folks that fed him. I doubted the big guy would charge with his master looking on.
“The Mrs. and I live not so far from here. We own a Bed and Breakfast Inn near Loch Ness.” My wife and I glanced at each other feeling that we may be in luck.
I quickly said, “We were in the process of trying to find a place to stay for the night. Do you have a room we could rent?”
“Tell ya what,” says Ian, “We do have a room, and Ann here has dinner fixin as we speak. We can eat in our parlor next to the peat fire. It will be a cold one tonight. The wind is roaring off the Firth.” I didn’t know what a Firth was, but was sure I would find out tonight. If the Firth was on our tour map, I had a notion to scratch it off our agenda.
“We can call the AA tonight. Your car will be fine right here. If they can’t get out tonight, I’m sure they can make it first thing in the morning.”
We piled into Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald’s van. He found a wide spot (not easily
done I might add), turned around, and we were off to the MacDonald’s B and B.
During the short drive we got to know one another. They lived alone as their
two children had moved away near Edinburgh to begin new jobs. They had a Black
Scott Terrier, whose name was….are you ready: ‘Scotty.’ I wondered how many
Scot Terriers in Scotland are named Scotty. I was going to ask our host, but my
telepathic wife recognized my thought and gave me the
‘hand-swipe-across-the-neck’ signal, and I shut up.
A few miles later we pulled off the road and parked next to their house and
Inn. It was a three story structure with lots of windows. We lugged our bags
into the house. Mr. MacDonald called the AA number I had given him. “It’s all
set for tomorrow morning at first light.”
I wondered if this meant dawn. Sleeping in had been a pleasant thought I was
having.
Scotty was jumping up and down barking.
I gave him a scratch behind the ears. Mrs. MacDonald said, “That was a
mistake. He won’t leave you alone, and will try to stake out a claim to your
lap. If he tries to hump your leg, just shoo him off. It’s a sign that he likes
you.” I wasn’t looking forward to keeping a sharp eye out for a Scotty attack.
We were asked to join them in the parlor after we had unloaded our stuff in the
upstairs room. We could smell the dinner, as obviously it had been prepared
earlier. Mr. MacDonald pumped up the peat fire with air bellows, and then
briskly rubbed his hands together. He opened a large decanter of something that
smelled like a liquor of some kind. “Here is a glass our favorite Schnapps. It
will pull the chill right out of you.”
His wife told us to make ourselves comfortable, and she would bring in our
dinner plates to the large, low coffee table in the room. Two glasses of
Schnapps later, Mrs. Macdonald brought in our dinner. Potatoes and roast beef.
I was afraid I might start to drool or drift off to sleep…one or the other…maybe
both.
My wife and I helped Ann clear our dinner plates to the kitchen. Ian pumped up
the fire again, and we all settled in soft easy chairs around the warm
fireplace. We were offered an after-dinner drink. I was not sure if I could
keep my eyes open. Mrs. MacDonald sat up holding a piece of newspaper, and
announced: “Our favorite show, Dallas, is on the telly tonight. Do you want to
watch with us?”
I was pretty sure I had only seen about two episodes of this series. My wife
quickly, and alertly, said, “You know we didn’t get much sleep last night in
Edinburgh. There was a noisy street party. I for one feel like I need to go
right to bed.” I was nodding my head up and down in agreement. ‘Atta girl,’ I
mouthed to my wife. Ian and Ann ignored our plea and opened up the subject of
the TV show Dallas…we were stuck.
It seemed that the MacDonald’s knew more about American TV soaps than we did.
The next hour, to my disappointment, was spent talking about the various
characters and plots of well-known shows. These were great people, and I made a
mental note to get their full address information. We most definitely would be
keeping in touch.
****
“A good morning to you lad,” said Mr. MacDonald as I groped
my way down the stairs hoping to find a cup of coffee. His sweetheart of a wife
stood behind him holding a tray with two cups, a coffee urn, milk, sugar, and even tea bags. Are those
cinnamon rolls
A few miles later we pulled off the road and parked next to their house and Inn. It was a three story structure with lots of windows. We lugged our bags into the house. Mr. MacDonald called the AA number I had given him. “It’s all set for tomorrow morning at first light.”
I wondered if this meant dawn. Sleeping in had been a pleasant thought I was having.
Scotty was jumping up and down barking. I gave him a scratch behind the ears. Mrs. MacDonald said, “That was a mistake. He won’t leave you alone, and will try to stake out a claim to your lap. If he tries to hump your leg, just shoo him off. It’s a sign that he likes you.” I wasn’t looking forward to keeping a sharp eye out for a Scotty attack.
We were asked to join them in the parlor after we had unloaded our stuff in the upstairs room. We could smell the dinner, as obviously it had been prepared earlier. Mr. MacDonald pumped up the peat fire with air bellows, and then briskly rubbed his hands together. He opened a large decanter of something that smelled like a liquor of some kind. “Here is a glass our favorite Schnapps. It will pull the chill right out of you.”
His wife told us to make ourselves comfortable, and she would bring in our dinner plates to the large, low coffee table in the room. Two glasses of Schnapps later, Mrs. Macdonald brought in our dinner. Potatoes and roast beef. I was afraid I might start to drool or drift off to sleep…one or the other…maybe both.
My wife and I helped Ann clear our dinner plates to the kitchen. Ian pumped up the fire again, and we all settled in soft easy chairs around the warm fireplace. We were offered an after-dinner drink. I was not sure if I could keep my eyes open. Mrs. MacDonald sat up holding a piece of newspaper, and announced: “Our favorite show, Dallas, is on the telly tonight. Do you want to watch with us?”
I was pretty sure I had only seen about two episodes of this series. My wife quickly, and alertly, said, “You know we didn’t get much sleep last night in Edinburgh. There was a noisy street party. I for one feel like I need to go right to bed.” I was nodding my head up and down in agreement. ‘Atta girl,’ I mouthed to my wife. Ian and Ann ignored our plea and opened up the subject of the TV show Dallas…we were stuck.
It seemed that the MacDonald’s knew more about American TV soaps than we did. The next hour, to my disappointment, was spent talking about the various characters and plots of well-known shows. These were great people, and I made a mental note to get their full address information. We most definitely would be keeping in touch.
I sat at the kitchen table with them both. “Where will you and the wife be
stayin tomorrow?” said Ian.
“I have no idea, but here is our route of travel before
reaching Glasgow.” I am quite positive that Mr. MacDonald and his wife had been
discussing our adventure. He suggested a leisurely drive to Loch Ness to see if
we could spot the famous ‘Nessy.” Right, I thought, I’ll have the camera and
binocs ready.
They both then said that we must stop at a certain village for the night. It
was famous as a delightful tourist attraction. Mrs. MacDonald then said, “We
have very good friends that own a B and B, and I talked to them first thing
this morning. They guaranteed they will have a vacant room for you tonight…that
is if you wish to stay there.”
I was given all the pertinent details on their friend’s lodging. Mr. MacDonald
noted that in one half hour we needed to be getting on to meet the AA service
man. Mrs. MacDonald said, “Your wife need not go. She and I can chat more over
breakfast.”
Ian and I grabbed our coats and paper cups of hot coffee, and went outside. The
min-van spewed gravel as we tore out to meet the AA guy. We approached the car,
and the yellow service vehicle was parked alongside. The serviceman was already
attacking the flat tire. To my surprise, Brutus and a few friends were standing
around next to the car watching the goings on. Ian said, “Come with me, I would
like you to meet Matilda.” It turned out that Brutus was a she, and quite
friendly. “Go ahead; she expects a rub on the head.”
I nervously reached out and scratched the head under the thick mane of light
brown hair hanging down in her face. OK, that’s a first I thought….making
friends with a cow. I now know a Scot Terrier and a furry cow in Scotland. Ian
and the AA serviceman enjoyed a smoke and some chit chat. No one seemed to be
in any hurry around this remote part of Scotland. I kept my eye on Matilda and
friends, knowing I could quickly sidestep if one of the beasts chose to swing
their long horns in my direction. I was curious as to why the very sharp horns
had not been rounded off like they did in the rodeos back in the U.S.
We drove back to the house. I interrupted Mrs. MacDonald and my wife as they
were sitting by the fire hunched over a magazine. An empty breakfast tray stood
nearby. I gave the motion of my head toward the door, and a quick glance at my
watch. We said friendly goodbyes to Ann and Ian, and loaded our stuff in the
rental car. Someone had driven it back to the MacDonald house. We both stuck
our arms out the window and waved goodbye to our gracious hosts.
The rest of our driving tour went smoothly. No more flat tires and I somehow
got the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road. My white knuckle grip of
the steering wheel was gone. It seemed our quiet visit with our new friends had
somehow showed me the benefit of taking life a little bit slower.
“What’s on the schedule today?” my wife asked. “Who knows? I guess whatever
strikes our fancy.” We never caught a glimpse of Nessy, the Loch Ness
Monster…darn!
The MacDonald name would go into our address book at home. We would add them to
our Christmas card list.
They both then said that we must stop at a certain village for the night. It was famous as a delightful tourist attraction. Mrs. MacDonald then said, “We have very good friends that own a B and B, and I talked to them first thing this morning. They guaranteed they will have a vacant room for you tonight…that is if you wish to stay there.”
I was given all the pertinent details on their friend’s lodging. Mr. MacDonald noted that in one half hour we needed to be getting on to meet the AA service man. Mrs. MacDonald said, “Your wife need not go. She and I can chat more over breakfast.”
Ian and I grabbed our coats and paper cups of hot coffee, and went outside. The min-van spewed gravel as we tore out to meet the AA guy. We approached the car, and the yellow service vehicle was parked alongside. The serviceman was already attacking the flat tire. To my surprise, Brutus and a few friends were standing around next to the car watching the goings on. Ian said, “Come with me, I would like you to meet Matilda.” It turned out that Brutus was a she, and quite friendly. “Go ahead; she expects a rub on the head.”
I nervously reached out and scratched the head under the thick mane of light brown hair hanging down in her face. OK, that’s a first I thought….making friends with a cow. I now know a Scot Terrier and a furry cow in Scotland. Ian and the AA serviceman enjoyed a smoke and some chit chat. No one seemed to be in any hurry around this remote part of Scotland. I kept my eye on Matilda and friends, knowing I could quickly sidestep if one of the beasts chose to swing their long horns in my direction. I was curious as to why the very sharp horns had not been rounded off like they did in the rodeos back in the U.S.
We drove back to the house. I interrupted Mrs. MacDonald and my wife as they were sitting by the fire hunched over a magazine. An empty breakfast tray stood nearby. I gave the motion of my head toward the door, and a quick glance at my watch. We said friendly goodbyes to Ann and Ian, and loaded our stuff in the rental car. Someone had driven it back to the MacDonald house. We both stuck our arms out the window and waved goodbye to our gracious hosts.
The rest of our driving tour went smoothly. No more flat tires and I somehow got the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road. My white knuckle grip of the steering wheel was gone. It seemed our quiet visit with our new friends had somehow showed me the benefit of taking life a little bit slower.
“What’s on the schedule today?” my wife asked. “Who knows? I guess whatever strikes our fancy.” We never caught a glimpse of Nessy, the Loch Ness Monster…darn!
