This issue our friend spends quality time with her grandchildren, and marvels at a geological wonder she never knew existed
Words by KATE FRANCIS
In my last column, I mentioned my grandchildren’s ‘Doug Run’, in memory of their grandfather. It has now taken place, with great success. One granddaughter, Nelly, was unfortunately unable to join us, so there were only seven contestants on the day.
The sun shone down as they lined up on the farm track below our house and set off on a circular route of about five-and-a-half miles, up the track, down through the village and back along the shore of the firth. The winner, 29-year-old Alex, took 36 minutes. His older sister, Suzanna, who had organised the race, came in last with her husband, Sam, but I suspect they had been holding back.
Honor, the youngest contestant at 15 years old, achieved a final sprint, overtaking several cousins, to come third in 42 minutes. We then had a ceremony on the terrace and Granny presented Alex with a mock gold figure of an athlete, which he received with a gracious bow – and subsequently left behind in the hall.
It was a very happy gathering. My daughter Mary and I provided beds in our two houses and shared the catering. I had forgotten what robust appetites they all have: fortunately, I’d laid on a vast bag of porridge oats, which solved the breakfast problem, and dozens of baps and hot cross buns, which filled the gaps between the main meals. I’ve had lots of enthusiastic feedback from neighbours who “just happened” to be outside during the run, having heard rumours that it was to take place.
The next day, four of the grandchildren and I crammed our luggage and Cronie’s into the boot of my small car and I drove us over to our island home for Easter, catching the ferry from Uig on Skye by the skin of our teeth due to many slow caravans on the road. The crossing takes less than two hours and was somewhat bumpy, but it’s always fun because of the anticipation of what lies ahead.
We got home by tea-time to a wonderful welcome from the parents of my passengers. From then on, island life kicked in and we were quickly absorbed back into the community. The weather wasn’t perfect but it didn’t spoil the joy of being there. I’m an early riser and every morning, when Cronie and I had returned from our brief stroll through the glen, I’d be sitting at the kitchen table drinking my coffee and, at irregular intervals, down
