The Scottish Heatwave 1976
Photo: author Jackie Morrison and her brother, David 1976
Dad bought the second-hand car at auction. The big black Rover had a walnut trimmed dashboard and cracked cream leather seats that scratched at the back of my thighs.
We rolled around the coast seeking the never-ending beach of Tentsmuir, me in a floral dress with short puff sleeves sewn by mum, my brother David in his shorts and Tweety-Pie t-shirt. I stared at the fast-moving abstract painting outside, all flashes of Crayola yellow fields and cobalt sky. Sparks of white light pinpricked my eyes.
Grasses in the pale dunes prodded bare legs as we ran to damp, hard, tide-receded waters where young toes avoided worm casts all the way to the white-tipped ocean. Wind roared in our ears, snatched our voices, slapped hair over sweaty faces. Screeching of kids merged with the mad call of seagulls swooping the sand-blasted picnics.
Returning home, windows wound down, mum and dad’s fag reek billowing out, I slept in the back seat, new freckles on my shoulders, sand clinging to the soles of my feet.
Today I wear black shoes, sit behind the tinted windows of a limo. On Nicol Street a lady in a red coat walking a small black dog stops and places her hand over her heart as we pass. Emotion washes over me like a tide coming in as I stare at the plain coffin riding ahead. My dad’s life, my childhood days, trail out like a movie on the road behind us.
This piece was shortlisted a couple of years ago and with everything I’ve learned since, I can see where I could work it tighter. I was practising and trying things out but the emotion of the piece was true. My conclusion is to let it stand as it is: a piece I wrote quickly as a slither of memory around loss of family - and to honour the fact judges saw fit to list it!
I lost my dad years ago, my mum in recent years, and my brother very recently, so this hit home all over again. Sorry if it made you sad. Perhaps it serves as a reminder to treasure our memories. That my brother appears briefly in this story touches me - so I added the photo of him in that Tweetie Pie Tshirt so that he is still being shared and seen.
It may seem a sad little piece but the larger memory is a good one. I’m learning to think of those good times when grief overwhelms me.
This week, I make new holiday memories and I’m blessed and grateful to do so. Following the rush of the Silverstone racing circuit campground, we are on our way to Cornwall. Hope you are in the present today and making good memories for future you. x
How do you feel about your older work? I feel shy to share any of it now as my writing has changed a lot. However, I honour the journey I’ve been on and hope it finds new readers here on Substack.
That’s all for this week, love from Jackie in the Little Writing Corner in Scotland x x x
As I said, we’re travelling this week and as we’re on our way to Cornwall, England, I thought I’d give this one another whirl - it contains the details and link to a story I wrote featuring the setting of the Minack Theatre (the theatre at the edge of the world) which is in Cornwall. Enjoy!
A FREE SHORT STORY TO CELEBRATE!
Thanks so much for staying with me during my first six months or so on Substack.
