Clach Eile Air A'chairn

After many years, I came once more to Kiltarlity and saw again the post office, where my late father and his brother grew up. Robert, the elder, became the post master and lived there until his death. Donald, my father, left at the age of 14 to join the Royal Engineers as a boy soldier of 14 years of age. After 32 years' service, and with both an MC and an MBE, he retired as an acting Lieutenant Colonel and staff officer, Scottish Command.

You see, there was not enough money in the days after World War 1 for my grandmother, a widow whose husband had died in action with the Seaforth's on the Somme, to feed two hungry young mouths.

I saw again the Tomnacross School, where Robert had been beaten like a dog for daring to speak Gaelic.

And I stood in the churchyard to see the grave of my cousin, Donald, named after my father and husband of June, who became, after the Donald's death, the proprietor of the post office.

For one moment, I stood in quiet reverance at the spot where my father's ashes had been scattered.

The tears came freely on that gentle summer's day. Now, I am a teacher -- but I beat no-one, physically or intellectually. Agus tha mi a'bruidhinn Gaidhlig cuideachd -- for the sake of my father and his brother. But, there is no man that will beat me for it -- ever.

And yes, the gentle tears of remembrance and affection are never far away, for a part of my soul still resides, in Kiltarlty. It could not lie, nor draw its strength, from a a nobler place.

Tapadh leibh
Micheal