Storms Again

08/28/2005

We have a week of mostly wet and cold weather culminating in a stormy Sunday, an hour or so of which we spend in the kirk where Uncle Mungo kindly conducts the service. I anxiously watch the drips from the ceiling realising that Trollaighs will need to stump up for some repairs, whilst Mungo speaks well on the subject that we all have our part to play regardless of our size or status, Uncle Mungo must have been following my concerned glances. It has been a wonderful few days with Mungo and Morag, highlights have been Lachie and my efforts, with pony trap, quad bike, block and tackle to get nonagenarian Mungo up to my favourite River Trollaigh pool. Uncle Mungo had selected a whopper 16 foot greenheart from the rod case, not used for generations, and then in amongst the swirling, peaty spate he hooked a 16lb fresh Salmon. Lachie and I are worried about Mungo, but we should not have been as he plays the fish for an exhausting hour, lands and dispatches the king of the pool without any need for the defibrillator that we had dragged along with us. Mungo and Morag have kept us all hugely entertained with tales of their long missionary lives in Africa, especially the many difficult times with restless natives from Cannibals in the Congo to Dervishes in Dohana. For one dinner, Mungo and Morag take over Mhairi’s kitchen to recreate a splendid typical African meal. Our girls dress in the uniform of the Trollaigh Young Ladies Bush Schools, though dearest Dottie does persuade them to keep their bosoms covered while we eat, and I have a great desire to check that our two Jack Russells are still with us after dinner. Uncle Mungo confers on me a Fellowship of African Religious Trust and presents me with the rather too obvious fertility symbol that is the well-known trophy of a fellow. You will know that I seldom use the many titles that history has bestowed on my family, to say nothing of letters of degree that I have earned, but I do rather fancy, The Baron Trollaigh F.A.R.T. and on my next visit to Oban I may order some new visiting cards so inscribed. As the weather closes in this Sunday afternoon,with only yards of visibility and great rushing burns around us, I feel a bit like a ship’s catpain concerned for the safety of his ship and crew. Only the briefest trudge with guests and hounds can be contemplated, I feel that a showing of “I Know Where I’m Going” is on the cards in the Ballroom, with a good glass beside each guest. The girls all laugh at this tradition, but secretly I know they love it. Light the great fires, fill the glasses, roll the film. Ah the simple pleasures! God Bless one and all. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.