Finn's party

Finn had his small party this weekend. It wasn't really a party as such, as he only invited Zoe and Brodie, along with Sean and Rowan, to the cinema to see the Smurfs movie and then on to Papilio in Bruntsfield for a birthday dinner out. Sharon was the sole parent on duty but reported they behaved well, once Rowan calmed down and stopped running around at the Omni cinema. After the meal they came home around 9pm and Finn, Zoe and Brodie slept in the playroom. They were tired enough to fall asleep quite quickly, although Sean and Rowan upstairs, especially the latter, were more vocal.

While the rest were partying I took Angus out in the car. He fell asleep so we took the long way round to Dobbies Garden Centre. As we approached the Cockpen roundabout at the south side of Bonnyrigg, it became apparent that an accident had just occurred. A man was lying on the centre of the roundabout receiving CPR from the driver of a van that had pulled up. There was a motorbike on its side and one or two other people standing about. I drove on as there wasn't much I could have done and didn't really want to stop with Angus in the car. Today I found out the motorcyclist had died, apparently after hitting the kerb, coming off his bike and suffering a neck injury. Just goes to show how quickly things can happen. As I was driving through Rosewell the chap was probably still alive and biking his way home to Loanhead: by the time I got to the Cockpen roundabout he was dead.

In the event, Angus and I had a good wander about Dobbies, looking at the fish and rabbits and then outside to survey the sheds and summer houses. Our two huts are in a real bad way and while they'll probably last a few winters yet, we're not really making use of them. The one by the side of the house has a floor that is in danger of collapsing into the inky blackness beneath, whatever terrors that may hold.

Despite having six children in the house overnight, the Sunday morning wasn't too noisy, although I had had to go up to Angus at 5am and ended up sleeping fitfully upstairs. The sound of children in the morning in our house travels more from top to bottom than it does from bottom to top. Sharon and I should really think about relocating our bedroom upstairs. Before lunch and heavy rain curtailed any outdoor activity, we went for a family walk up at Flotterstane. Finn was showing an interest in some of the plants and wildlife (not that we saw any of the latter, save for Angus's tantrums once he felt he'd walked far enough) as he is covering Scottish plants and wildlife at school just now.

A trip to Paisley

I picked Lesley up on a filthy afternoon last Thursday to drive through snow showers and gales and rain to Paisley for Frank's funeral. Before heading to the Woodside crematorium, Lesley and I did the obligatory tour of the old landmarks. We got stuck in Paisley town centre's new road layout that has more or less killed off what little commerce was able to survive before the advent of the massive shopping complex at Braehead.

Glenburn too was quite an eye-opener. Approaching from the "Grants" end of Fairway Avenue I was perplexed by a large swathe of green and an unbroken view of the line of the Braes. The view south from the Fairway Avenue bus terminus is now uninterrupted as the tenements of Fairway, Skye Cres, Bute Cres, Iona Drive and Lismore Drive are all gone, save for a line across from the shops at the corner of Colonsay Rd. On my last trip up to Glenburn one of the tenements in Fairway Ave was ablaze, a not uncommon occurrence as the demolition men fought a losing battle to keep the vandals out.

The area bounded by Glenburn Rd, Fairway Ave, Skye Cres shops and the "Park" running alongside Colonsay Rd was once my life, save for daily forays to Bushes Primary school. How small it seems now! About 400 metres square; the walk to primary school was about half a mile. The gaps left by the demolition work diminish the scale of the scheme. You can see from one boundary to the next with the merest head turn. The terraced houses that remain seem to hug the gently sloping terrain for fear that they too will be uprooted and ground into rubble. The bleak weather didn't help.

Sometimes it is instructive to get down to the boys' height and see their perspective on the world. The house stairs look huge when you see them from Rowan's viewpoint. Maybe that's how it is with the places of your childhood: the scale was different then compared to now. It's the same with time. Finn's fourth year will represent 25% of his existence; my last year was only 2.5% of mine. No wonder we have different views on life!

Frank's funeral was as enjoyable as these things can be. It was a humanist service featuring some Scottish Country Dance music, aptly "The Horticulturist", and an excellent reading from Grigor who had been instructed by Frank that there was to be "NO GRIEVING". There were certainly some smiles as Grigor told stories of Frank's time in the police and his prviate celebrations, such as his birthday "triathlons": 50 lengths in the pool, a 20 mile cycle and then a good walk in the afternoon.

We left in a gale to meet up at the Watermill Hotel. It was good to see the cousins again but we're so spread out these days that it's only at times like this we're likely to get together. As a case in point, Grigor was dashing off, at Dorothy's insistence, to catch a flight to New York where he'll be celebrating his 50th birthday with a cruise on the Queen Mary. Dorothy, not surprisingly, was tearful and tired looking but her independence borne from life as a policeman's wife should hold her in good stead as she faces up to life without her husband of close on 56 years.

Rest in peace, Frank.

Frank Grant 1927-2008

My Uncle Frank died suddenly yesterday at the age of 80. It was quite a shock as he was always fit and healthy, having retired with my Aunt Dorothy to a top-floor flat some years ago and still a regular on his bike and at the swimming. He went out for the milk and rolls yesterday morning and didn't return. He was such a creature of habit, Dorothy sensed something was wrong and phoned the hospital. The police later turned up at her door with the sad news.

When I was young, Frank was always quite a fearsome character. He hailed from Elgin and was a "big Heilan' polis", working for Strathclyde police until his retiral. He was strict and fastidious, the epitome of a policeman. He was very handy at painting and decorating and a gardener of some renown, tending his prize-winning stepped garden which bordered the "zig-zag" path up towards Braehead from Glenburn Crescent. And he also kept bees for a while. I remember being quite proud when Tullochs, the local butcher at Skye Crescent shops, was selling jars of honey with F.Grant printed on the labels.

Frank was always active and still looked fit when I last saw him at Billy's funeral last April. He and Dorothy used to help out at Comrie House, where my Gran Barr lived out the last few years of her life before she passed away in 1992, but it got to the stage where they were almost older than some of the residents. Frank was a homebird and liked his routines. Not for him the foreign jaunts that Dorothy likes to embark upon.

When you are the youngest of the litter, as I am, and you effectively move away from your home town at the end of your schooling, and your own parents die when you are relatively young, it's at times like this you realise how little you do know about some of your family members and how much you have let contact with them dwindle. Sharon has a similar problem in a way, being the eldest of all her cousins and almost stranded between her parents' siblings and her own generation. But the sense of family and community she carries with her is much stronger than in me and something she misses greatly living here in Scotland. She is far better than me at keeping in touch with the important people in your life, your family.

You always think you'll see people again, but sometimes you leave it too late.

For now, my thoughts are with Dorothy and the terrible shock of suddenly losing Frank, and with Wendy and Grigor.