In the summer
of 1988 we took the long drive from our home in London to the Isle of Skye, a
journey of over 600 miles. In tow we had
our then 8-month old son and all the accompanying kit and kaboodle that goes
with a travelling infant. On arrival scotch mist descended in no time at all and thereafter
only lifted briefly. The swirling vapour is not quite rain, its dampness penetrates and its density and swallows up all landmarks
and scenery within itself.
We therefore opted
to visit mostly indoor tourist attractions, one of which was the world-famous
(if you love whisky) Talisker Distillery at Carbost. The whisky is distinctive for its peatiness,
firstly the malt is peated and the water used in the whisky distilling process then
adds even more peatiness. Peat upon
peatiness that is evident in most of the natural water sources on the island,
an amber glow assimilated from the bogged earth that it pushes through.
In those days when accessibility did not have a capital A, it was not
possible to take the son’s pushchair around all the higgledy, piggledy spaces
with the vast vats and shiny brass pipes. So the Scotsman carried him round and
the story goes (the one we have re-counted to anyone who will ever listen) was that
the boy had the biggest grin on his face the whole way round. He was naturally a very happy infant but we
like to perhaps elucidate that he was enjoying leaning over the colossal casks,
inhaling and relishing every single one of the whisky fumes.
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In 2008 a
work friend held her wedding reception in a charming Peak District village
hall. Since the wedding itself had taken
place in Bakewell it was completely appropriate that their cake should comprise
of a tower of bakewell tarts. Each tart had their initials M&S piped onto
the glossy white icing. (She before he, they were a respectable couple you
understand).. As the evening wore on a
bottle of whisky and wooden bowl was produced at the edge of the irregular
circle of guests. Slowly the bowl was
passed round and each one of us lifted to lips and partook of a little of the
gold-coloured nectar.
On the
fog-laden, winding road back home, the Scotsman was driving and concentrating hard to avoid
any mist that might suddenly morph into a sheep that needed to be avoided. He also explained that the wooden bowl
was a Quaich, a special Scottish shallow, two-handled drinking cup (or loving
cup). Although we didn’t know many of
the people at the wedding we had just left, it would have been a significant and poignant act for
the bride and groom to have drunk and shared from the same vessel as everyone
in the room. Their people.
These
thoughts rested and germinated in our minds for a while after. The following autumn we passed through the
Isle of Skye on a trip to North Uist in the Outer Hebrides this time. There are
no distilleries on North Uist so we made sure we returned to the home of Talisker
and purchased a bottle in the gift shop. In the lead up to our Silver Wedding
in December 2010 we asked the Scotsman’s parents to buy us a Quaich as a gift.
And so to our
Silver Wedding.
We are not great party
people but still wanted to mark the occasion with our family and a few special
friends. We opted for a lunchtime meal
in our home town, where our ageing parents still live, the Scotsman’s parents
and my dad. The celebration took place
between Christmas and New Year at a small restaurant called Queans,
where the owner treated us like royalty for a few hours (she had closed the place
that lunchtime and it was exclusively ours.)
After we had
eaten we produced the whisky and the Quaich.
That room
full of special people, family and friends who have loved, laughed and cried
over many years.
And the One who knows it all. He walked my road and He shared my pain, joys and sorrows that I know so well.
The weight of
things reciprocated and condensed into those few short minutes.
In liquid and
wood, an amber kiss.
We shared with our people and
it was good.
