A feel-good story for the twilight years.
|Th biggest bagpipes in all Scotland|
from Wee Gillis by Munro Leaf
After twenty years of moving around the country every tuthree years, Pat and his wife settled into a minute cottage on 0.4 hectares of garden very close to the coast in County Waterford. They lived there for about 25 years. About a year ago, the isolation and dependence on a car got to be too much for these stalwart octogenarians and they moved to a newer, better appointed house right in the centre of town. The transition hasn't been seamless but on balance the move is agreed to be A Good Thing. Then out of the blue a couple of weeks ago, the pipes turned up at Pat's front door delivered by the chap who had undertaken to repair them in the 1980s! The back-story is long and complicated and has both black and white hats, melodrama and many still unanswered questions. More directly and recently, it transpired that the repair-man, himself in his 80s, was due for some surgery and wanted to tie up some loose ends just in case the operation didn't go well. The wayward pipes was high up the list of Things To Do before his appointment. With doggedness, networking and detective skills worthy of Hercule Poirot, he found the house and providentially found Pat at home. I'm not sure which of these two old chaps was happier, but I've been grinning like the Cheshire Cat every time I think about the story. I sent him a postcard to say thanks from America when we were visiting Boston last week.