The Serial:

A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 62

It’s like being on top of the world here,” I said to Ronnie, “looking down on everything”

He started up the Allard again and very shortly we turned into a narrower and rougher road, which hid the view from us.

A few hundred yards and we turned again, this time to point towards a gate on the hillside; the gate was closed.

“There’s a road to heaven and a road to hell,” said Ronnie laughing, “but no road to The Shanry; an old saying about these parts,” he explained before getting out to open the gate to let us through.

On returning to the car he said: “If we come here it will be your job to open and close the gates so that I don’t have to get out of the car twice.

“There are two more of these heavy wooden gates closing off portions of the hill. They are a bit awkward to open I’m afraid but you’ll manage it.” “In this exhilarating air I shall enjoy it,” I replied. “If we come here you will not always be saying that. I’ve had occasion to open them in sleet, snow, hail, stinging rain and freezing strong winds when the road, especially at the gates, is deep in snow, muck or mud or sometimes a mixture of all three.” “But that would be fun too,” I said, undaunted. “Glad you think so,” said Ronnie.

Rough track

Certainly the road into The Shanry, over the switchback hillside, was not much of a one. At best it could be described as a rough track that wound for a mile and a half before it came to the farmhouse and steading.

That first morning I thought we were never going to get there and then suddenly, rounding a narrow steep bend, we came to it, dramatically, in a bright shower of rain.

The view was now to the south and spectacular in its own way. Far down below us stretched the emerald Carse of Gowrie bordered by the wide blue river Tay, dotted with pale gold in places where there were islands of sand.

On the further side rose the low, rounded hills of Fife. We had come round the corner in a blaze of glory.

Clear pellets of rain engulfed us, ringing off the nose of the Allard, yet the sun was still shining and an enormous rainbow arched the sky with one foot in the greening lower fields of The Shanry and the other, far away, treading water where the railway bridge at Dundee crossed the wide Firth: the road bridge had yet to be built.

A few woolly lambs gambolled, that is the only word for it, in a field nearby. I was hooked. This was indeed my Garden of Eden.

The Shanry belonged to Ronnie’s father. He had bought it several years previously to run along with the arable farm in the Carse.

The Shanry was a good breeding place for sheep and cattle and the young ones, when weaned, could, be taken down to fatten on the lush Carse lands.

On hearing that we were considering emigrating to Canada, after we were married, Ronnie’s father had offered his son this place to farm.

“I would rather you didn’t go away,” he said, “now that your mother has had a stroke, she needs you.”

This had been the one reason why Ronnie himself had hesitated about going to Canada. I knew he was distressed about her condition.

“He’ll make a good husband,” one of the older part time nurses said to me when I proudly showed her my sparkling new engagement ring.

Perfect place

“I worked in Fernbrae Nursing Home when his mother was a patient there after her stroke. He was in every day to see her. I always say a lad that is good to his mother is good to his wife also.”

That April morning, as we passed the steading in the dip in the hills and came to the new bungalow that Ronnie’s father had built to replace the ruinous farmhouse, I knew I wanted to come here.

Here would be the perfect place to bring up a large family. The bungalow was quite roomy. We would be its first occupants.

Its wide windows gave a panoramic view to the south and about a quarter of a mile away, down over the fields, could be seen the farmhouse and steading of our nearest neighbour.

“It’s like being on top of the world here,” I said to Ronnie, “looking down on everything.” “You like it?” he said, giving me a hug. “I love it,” I said, “what a wonderful view.” I could see life stretching ahead perfectly. We mightn’t have much money but I didn’t mind that. I could learn to live as my aunt and uncle did on their farm in Aberdeenshire, largely off the land.

I could cook, bake, sew, knit and help out on the farm when possible, especially at lambing time: how I would love lambing time.

I would get to do my maternity training but with animals instead of people. We wouldn’t need much money.

We would be so happy together that all problems would be easily solved and any flaws in our differing characters corrected.

Not that there were any real flaws in Ronnie that I could see but even if there were, young love saw no flaw that couldn’t be corrected with love and understanding. Ronnie, much more practical and down to earth than me, was much more dubious.

Exciting

“We can’t live on a view alone,” he said, “however hard we try to. It won’t be easy to make enough to live on up here.

“The last farmer eked out a meagre living with the sale of rabbits.

“Also I don’t know if I am really cut out to be a farmer; all that hard slog. I’ll have to borrow money from the bank to get started and that won’t be easy.” “What would you rather be doing?” I asked. “Oh I don’t know, something in telecommunications perhaps, “he said, “or in a business of some kind; something a bit more exciting than farming and where I can be in contact with people.

“When I was small, I fancied being a judge,” he laughed remembering. “I think it was the wig that attracted me.

“Sometimes I would dream of becoming an actor or someone who could make people laugh. I knew I was good at that. I’m afraid I just wasn’t the son my father, or for that matter, my mother wanted.

“My father wanted a strong, robust son that would excel at rugby and would be keen to be a farmer and make money. My mother had hoped for much the same. I’ve been a disappointment to them. They haven’t understood me.”

(More tomorrow.)