The Press and Journal (Inverness, Highlands, and Islands)
Fairy tales and cakes still casting their spell
Uncle Pat and housekeeper Mrs Forest weaved childhood magic with his stories and her baking, writes
Where are the dancing shoes? My mother’s great-uncle, Pat Campbell, a retired schoolmaster, lived in a cosy cottage on his family’s farm at Blackhillock near Forres. Uncle Pat was one of those comfortable, warm people who had lived a quiet, kindly life, and his inner goodness beamed out of his round shiny face and sparkling blue eyes.
His faithful companion was a matronly springer spaniel called Nanny who lay devotedly at his feet, her soft brown eyes never leaving her master’s face.
My sister and I loved visiting Uncle Pat because he wove enthralling imaginary tales – there was always an adventure to be had at Uncle Pat’s.
One bright summer day, my sister and I were sent to look for the “fairies’ dancing shoes”.
According to Uncle Pat, local fairies danced all night and, in the morning, hid their shoes in the foxgloves before retiring to sleep in their toadstool homes.
Look carefully into a foxglove and you will see their shoes nestled quite far back into the throat of the flower.
But you must not touch because, if you do, it will
nd break the magic spell and the fairies will be unable to wear the shoes or dance again!
Uncle Pat’s housekeeper, Mrs Forest, was more like one of the family – a marvellous cook, she could produce a feast in a twinkling.
Probably just as well, for we no doubt developed a healthy appetite on our trips beyond the cottage garden gate.
A neat, tiny, bird-like person, I can see her yet, dressed in a rich blue lace-collared dress, her snow-white wavy hair framing her smiling face.
In the kitchen she would wrap a huge apron round her finery and set to work with great patience, for she never complained about the two little girls who frequently got in her way.
She made amazing lemon iced treacle gingerbread, the lightest of scones and, favourites of ours, melting moments and gypsy creams.