As a child I was never without a holiday because of this. Oh I remember the days of packing before going on holiday and wearing only rags because my mum had to get all clothes washed and hung up in the caravan. Then the big day, always fair fortnight, both my dad and Grandpa worked in Motherwell Bridge Work and they closed down that fortnight in July. We would rise early to be away before the traffic. We went everywhere but South Hampton and Morcombe were our usual. But my most vivid memories where of the weekends, when we were not touring, the caravan was sited near Prestwick, across the road from the Airport and adjacent to the Old Troon Golf Course.

As time went on, the caravan was changed and Ann and I grew to big for the sharing to continue. They changed the arrangement and my mum and dad and my gran and grandpa alternated weekends away. Did that stop me going every weekend, no it didn't. I got to go with my gran and grandpa too. It was on these weekends I learned of all the wonderful things my grandpa had done in his life, and where he told me the stories recorded on the calling all Muir's page. calling all muir's page.

He was born into a large family headed by Sarah and Thomas Muir, I should be able to remember all the names but there were just so many. When he was eight he had his tonsils taken out on the kitchen table. He was nearly sixty before he went near another doctor, but that story is for later.

He left school at 14, and later married his sweetheart from there. He was too young to fight in the first world war and to old to fight in the second. He was first a riveter then an electric welder having studied for his qualifications at night school in Stow College, Glasgow. Travelled the world building bridges mainly in Saudi Arabia supporting his wife, daughter and his son ( my father). Come WW2 he joined the home guard, something of which he was very very proud.

His welding and riveting skills were much needed during the war and he helped build the landing craft for the D day landings, he told me that they were making such a slipshod job of it he made them halt production, those things would not make it out of port never mind across the channel and they were not fit for our troupes. He was so angry even all those years later about the whole thing. He also helped on the man made harbours used in those landings.

Such a strong man, who would have thought he could be so gentle. His daughter suffered terribly from asthma and it was he, who nursed her through those dreadful times. My gran could only cry when she saw my Aunt Nancy like that. It was always his boast that she took the dux medal even though she missed so many days at school.

In the winter it was always great fun to go to my Gran and Grandpa's house because they had a bath, a real bath, not just the zinc tin effort we had, and they had a fridge too. At night we slept in a bed recess and Grandpa would tell me stories

" I'll tell you a story about wee Johnny Morrie
And that's the story begun.
I'll tell you another 'bout wee Johnny's brother
And that's the story all done."

Naturally that didn't suit a wee lassie, like me. I wanted the Three Bears and I wouldn't settle for that cop out. He would start...
" Right there was a wee girl called Goldilocks."

"No Grandpa that's not how it goes, it starts once upon a time"

and so it would go on untill I ended up telling the story.
Every Sunday and Christmas day was spent at my grandparent's house. Oh the smells, my gran was a wonderful cook. There has always been a comfort in those remembered smells until now, now they hurt.

We walked all over the place, we walked to Troon and to Prestwick, we went across the golf course and over dunes, we explored rock pools and paddled in the sea. Everywhere at the caravan we were surrounded by nature and most of all my Grandpa loved the lark's song.
" Linda listen to those larks."
I got fed up with this day in and day out saying this and developed my standard reply,
"See you and your larks" This became a standing joke between us in later years.

One of the first things I told my dad after he broke the news of my Grandpa's death was "I still hate those bloody larks"

Sadly in 1970 my Gran died and I was glad when he re married aged 70 to his second wife Jess , My gran's presence in the old flat was often to tangible for me.

One of my proudest possessions is a photo I have of Gemma's Christening, four generations, he was so happy when she was born, and similarly with my son Tony. He was ever the family man.

He was so handy he paid no tradesman, he did everything himself. When I went to see him in his coffin the shoes he was wearing were a pair he had soled himself.

I love you grandpa and I miss you so much, I have been so honoured to have known you.

Its the blood of the ancients that flow through our veins, The forms may pass but the circle remains

written for my grandpa

Not to add to saddness, but to add in gladness, for a life so well loved, soares upward like a dove, the beauty of the flight, brings smiles and gentle memories, the beauty nor the love are not lost, for memories are ever just a recall away. Ysandra

My old guest buik

All graphics and content of this web site are © rableather Scotland 2000 ( unless otherwise stated) all dialogue is free to schools or teachers