A wee note to our Papa and who’d be 96 today…… (18th Feb)

We all live in our own places now Pop.

We do our own thing on a Sunday.

I rarely take the train.

I’m rarely in Kilmaurs.

Laura’s in Australia.

Lyndsay’s in England.

Stacey’s in New Zealand.

Shirley Ann is with you.

It breaks my heart that we are all so apart.

How you held us in your arms.

How you held us altogether.

Today, I met an 86 year old man.

He was making his way across a busy Dumbarton Road with his white stick.

In the other hand he held a bag of two cartons of four pints of milk and a bunch of bananas.

How do I know that ?

Because of your love.

Because of your heart.

Because of your joy.

We had a good blether, you’ll be glad to hear.

I can just see you just now, slapping your hands on your knees, ‘What else?  What else?’

How you loved hearing stories.

How you loved to hold court in your muckle chair and tell them.

Well this old man told me about his Leticia – Lettie he called her, who passed three years ago.

The three medals for his service in Korea, China and Kuala Lumpur.

How even though he was a ‘blue nose’,

he loved singing all the catholic songs.

I told him it was your birthday today and how much I missed you.

He told me how heavy his bag was.

How he lost his sight three years ago and that they said he wouldn’t live another year and now it’s seven.

How Alexa was broken and he didn’t know whether he’d get to hear his hymns this Sunday.

I shared how I’d spoke to him before but he couldn’t remember.

He could see then.

He was standing outside the opticians on the corner.

Just as bright.

Just as chatty.

I told him how much you loved to sing too.

‘Could I take your bag , if you’ll sing to me?’

He agreed.

‘Sometimes there’s six women gather around me in Morrisons just to hear me!’

He delighted in telling me.

I thought of all of us the Mitchell clan gathered around you.

We didn’t know how lucky we were back then.

Or maybe we did.

I can’t tell you how beautiful it was to walk him home Papa.

You’d have loved him.

He’d have been one of your cronies.

In another life I’d be shooing him out your house for getting too rowdy with Rab McMaster and the crew.

Tears rolled down my cheeks through his rendition of Ava Maria.

It was as if this day was all about this moment.

I told him that was our Great Gran Duffy’s favourite song and that she was a catholic.

I repeated the story of how ‘the Catholics’  had come to your door to offer you money not marry your Jessie but I didn’t know if that was true.

We had a good laugh.

I sang to him, ‘When I was young I wore a black shawl’ Gran’s party song but he didn’t know it.

He sang back her other favourites ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ and ‘One Day at A Time.’

He surprised me by asking what your song was but he could only remember the first few lines of Moon River.

It didn’t matter.

I could hear you ,Papa as clear as day.

As if it was yesterday your hands like shovels raising to the sky.

Your hands that felt so good in mine.

Our songs and laughter filled the slow steps with the clatter of his stick against the bollards up to No 21.

Then the 21 steps he had to climb before he could get to his door.

God love him. And us still singing.

He gave me his key and I went up first with the big bag before I went back down to get him.

He laughed that everyone would think we were ‘holy joes’

and I said I liked being a ‘holy Joe’ with him.

What an inspiration he was, I raved to him and how I was sure you had guided him to me today.

‘Did my hair look ok?’

He worried.

He had lost a lot of hair.

He got it cut at the Clip Joint yesterday – that’s where they did Lettie’s hair too.

‘You look so handsome’, I meant it,

‘Was your papa’s hair like that?’

He asked me.

I shared that you had lots of thick wavy hair but you passed in your 70’s so I’m sure that it’d be like his now.

That made him happy.

Of course we got around to chatting about what ‘refreshment’ I’d like and like you he loved a ‘half and a half’.

Maybe someday we’ll go for one and make a toast to you.

I think you’d like that.

He bumped into the table when showing me out.

But just laughed that he was going to show off and pick it up but perhaps he’ll just leave it there.

Not taking himself seriously- despite his predicament- just like you never did.

‘You gotta laugh!’

I hear you.

Always. 

And his secret to a happy life, Papa?

To let people like you and to like as many people as you can.

See I knew you’d love him.

For, ‘ We are  ALL Jock Tamson’s bairns.’

You’d have replied.

I hear you.

Remember how you used to cook dinner for the Mormons when they came to your door?

Remember how you’d always tell us…

‘If you’ve got nothing nice to say about someone then don’t say nothing at all’.

Ronnie said – I made his day.

I said he made mine.

And for a wee hour you were back with me.

Back here with that mischievous sparkle in your eye.

Making everything alright.

Melting my heart all over again.

Happy birthday Papa.

Love you  Sharon

Who did you remember as you read that? Who still soothes and melts your heart long after they are gone?

Would love to hear.