This tale has its feet firmly rooted in truth and fact, but parts have been embellished and characters are fictitious, conjured up by my imagination.
The passing of time has caused memories to fade, with exact dates and details becoming hazy, just like the cold frost fingers, which hug tightly to the larch forest, keeping the warm rays of the sun at bay, as they move over the hills. A sure signal that winter is being summoned to settle her icy shroud on this Borders landscape.
The crisp breath of October has already been felt here, bringing mornings that steal your breath, and leave windscreens needing to be scraped.
We have lived here for eighteen years, hidden down a farm track, out of the way in a would-be-Sleepy Hollow. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary ever happens, well not often.
Another year and all Hallows' eve reappears, a night when spooks and ghouls are said to walk amongst the living. It seems the right time to settle down secure inside our cottage, able to peer out of windows into the inky blackness. As I warm myself in front of the log fire, I can recount a tale of unusual goings on here.
A man's home is his castle, so the saying goes. As a nation of houseproud homeowners, we spend fortunes building, furnishing and lavishing care on our miniature DIY fortresses. Searching for interior perfection, although beauty is in the eye of the beholder, one man's palace is another's disgrace.
When we upped sticks moving from city life to rural idyll, one of our neighbours quietly erected a simple house sign.
It looked something ike this......
©JThomas Creative Commons Licence.
It proudly marked his boundary, a sentinel alongside the busy road. It soon became an important waymarker for disoriented delivery men. It would seem in an age of Sat Navs and GPS, you can still easily get lost in Lamancha.
This area has its own unique microclimate, where winter weather is harsher and lasts longer than anywhere else. Ice settles and stays on the track for months, shielded from the warmth of the sun by the trees. In the past winter has brought ice storms and monumental snow drifts. It can be extreme place to live, which doesn't suit everyone. It takes a certain tenacity to live here.
How wrong were we? Our neighbour made several attempts to anchor it firmly, but all failed. No matter how deeply it was riven into the soil, it soon ended up languishing beside the road. What strange forces were at work?
Our local hero refused to be outdone by a mere house sign. Was it frustration or anger that drove him to find a robust fence post and nailed angrily and untidily supporting stakes at its base.
That should do it!
Mysteriously, the metal chains which suspended the house sign from the wooden hanging gibbet, failed. Leaving the name plate dangling lopsidedly, flapping helplessly like a crow strung up on a wire.
These links became shorter and shorter, each time our neighbour steadfastly repaired them.
After several harsh winters the sign board disintegrated only to be replaced by a home painted effort. But clearly, a determined character was not going to be beaten by the vagaries of the Scottish climate or gravity.
This gargantuan tussle went on for years, countless times the house name would vanish, only to reappear with yet more ingenious fixes. A iron bracket attached, next stronger chains then bigger bolts when finally the original ironmongery, gave up the ghost for good.
Surely time would be called on this epic battle?
But here is the photographic proof of a small victory by man over nature. One year on the sign is still standing.
Although, was this really the architectural look the neighbours were hoping for? Or are some other dark forces at work here.
I will let you decide.
AN UPDATE
STOP PRESS
LETTERING IN 3D HAVE BEEN ADDED MARCH 2020 AND THE LETTER N IS THE WRONG WAY ROUND.
Comments
Post a Comment