Joanna Fordie
Grandma Fordie:
With no mod coms at The Woodlands, the day would start with a short walk to the 'burn', buckets in hand and my Mother muttering about things being more civilised in Bloody Africa which more or less set the tone for the day! Next was wood for the fire and cooker. Vivid memories of my Father wielding an axe and being instructed to 'stand well back'. In so doing, I found myself confronted by the afore-mentioned Roger (The Lodger) cat. This cat did not hiss, he roared and snarled, claws wide open. I ran to the safety of my Grandmother's legs, which, I was fascinated to see, much resembled those of an elephant (I knew about those) and it had to be explained to me that this was not her skin but rather her thick stockings which had slipped down and were all wrinkled. I was tearfully disappointed to discover that Roger was not a baby lion and that Grandma was not the Great She Elephant.
One day, A Man came to help Daddy and without warning, picked me up, threw me high in the air and, thankfully, caught me on the way down again, holding me face to face and his fascinated me: big, square, very pink (I was used to tanned), big, rubbery lips, a big wart which I prodded (no manners) and bright blue eyes. We were not formally introduced but later in the day when Daddy and The Man had a slight altercation about the The State Of This Place - something to do with the Chicken Coops because I started to look for chickens - Grandma informed all, and nobody in particular that The Child's Uncle Bill was a lazy boy. As I was the only person to be referred to as The Child, I presumed that to be me, but as 'Uncle' was a term I had been brought up with to use for all male friends of my parents, I had no idea that we were related...albeit by 'halves'!! I absolutely adored him and the complicated relationship was (much) later explained. He married Jennie Grant and I first met my cousin, Grant, when he was about 4 years old in Glasgow. My Father drove us out of town for tea - Grant threw up in the car! Sorry, Grant but apart from Grandma's funeral, that is the only memory I have of you!
It was the 'loo' that did it for me. The final destination of a damp, mouldy, spider and other, multi- bug infested wooden edifice at the back of the house, approached along what seemed to me with little legs, a mile long path - especially in a hurry to 'go' was not my primary concern. It was the 'Safari Ants' (I more than knew about those, too) that launched an initial attack, then withdrew only to ambush me again and again en route. Much searching was done to find these carnivorous ants. I was told I was imagining them, they did not exist in Scotland and Grandma pronounced That Child Is Mad. I was provided with, to my utter mortification, a rather lovely china Chamber Pot for use thereof (whatever happened to it?). Bathing me in that zinc tub, my Mother's yells brought my Father to 'look at Karen's legs!'. My Safari Ants turned out to be Nettles...which were duly cleared, but I still had to be carried down there - slightly less undignified than using a Potty!
Dusk was magical. The fire was lit and Grandma would announce 'time to put the lights on'. Not the flick of a switch, but filling and lighting the oil lamps and placing them in strategic positions in the sitting room, especially close to the lovely crystal decanters and glasses on her dining table, in front of the window. I would, from my zinc bath, catch the 'diamonds' as the light shone through. When the flames spluttered or 'wiggled' as I said, Joanna would say: 'The lamps are playing silly bees'. I must have been in my late teens when I realised that this was not a depiction of the flames fluttering around like so many stripy, buzzing insects, but that the BEE was the first initial of something altogether more earthy. And by that time, with the same decanters filled with Whisky and Brandy at home in Africa, Joanna suddenly shot up in my esteem! By the same token and whenever I had a teenage blip, my Mother would reiterate that I was Mad, just as your Grandmother always (once?) said. Hey, ho. Thanks, Grandma! As it has transpired, I am the astounding double of Joanna other than being blonde; photographs of her and myself, at similar ages are quite, well, eerie?
Just one other thing: if any of you in Glen Moriston find yourselves heirs to numerous, various and otherwise inexplicable African Animal Carvings and assorted 'Africana', I can explain! My Mother travelled from East Africa on Home Leave, by boat and with at least 17 assorted trunks and cases; sewing machines, typewriters, toy chests (me) and.... 'presents' destined for friends in Scotland, including all those who had been so helpful and kind to Joanna Fordie, her Mother-in-Law at Glen Moriston. I hasten to mention that these articles were, in fact, hand carved and not the produce of Post Independence, East German factories! Yes, I know: I have a garage full of such articles, but they were offered in the best of intentions and you can blame it on her! Me, even.