I've been lucky to know a whole range of characters, including Granny Clarke, and her dog, Ruff. But let me introduce Ruff properly with his own story.

When my youngest uncle, David, he was only eight years older than me, got married and moved out of the house, everyone decided Granny Clarke needed a dog to keep her company.

Granny Clarke put up a stout resistance saying she couldn’t take it out for decent walks and it would get fat. John, her last bachelor son insisted he’d take it walks for her and, since she could deny John very little, someone found a dog called Ruff, a kind of collie all-sorts.

Ruff moved in and began a platonic relationship with Granny. I’ve known many dogs who enjoyed having their heads patted or ruffled but Ruff was too liberated to be treated as a pet.

The rest of my first encounter with Ruff is among the short stories in Bees in my Bonnet but is on its own at - 

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A letter for Broon

Jinks, the postman, came with a letter from Cluggie, the village next door. They want to have a meeting about the flower show next year. I didn't want to get involved but you ken what Miss Kirkwood is like, as soon as she heard, and I expect Jinks would tell her, she tackled me in the street. 'John,' she told me. 'It's your duty to see that they do not take over our show in Cairndhu. They want to change the name of the village from Cuggie to Dalriada to reflect the quality of the houses there. They didn't have the nerve to say the quality of the people there, but that's what they meant.'
'Miss Kirkwood, I've got this new market garden business to see to and my work at the mine as well as makin' sure Gillespie doesna win the show. I don't have time to go gallavantin' and talkin' to folk like that Cluggie crowd.'
'John Brown, you will not side step your obligations. It was you who first talked to them about this idea of a joint show.'
'There's others better able to talk to them than me, Miss Kirkwood.'
'No there is not, John. You have been hiding from responsibility too long. If you wish I will get Farquhar to accompany you.'
I could see there was no point in arguing so I've written to them at Cluggie, after all, that's the official address and we'll see what happens next.

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Jinks brings a letter

I've started to lay out the follow on from Best in Show in Cairndhu. The opening comes with Broon making his way home from work and meeting Jinks, the postman. Jinks gives Broon a letter which he says comes from Dalriada.
'Dalriady?' Broon exclaims, where the Hell's that?'
'No Dalriady, Dalriada, it was spelt oot for me. It seems they don't like their place bein' camed Cluggy.'
'It's been Cluggy since ever I kenned.'
Broon goes on and is met by a bee-keeper who wants to know if he can put his bees on the bramble bushes at Broon's new market garden.
Broon goes home, opend the letter and finds the Dalriada people want a meeting to discuss the next years flower show, which will have two classes, the local Cairndhu, and a special class to include the villages round about. He tells Maisie, his wife, that things are getting out of hand. Maisie naturally suggests a session with Miss Kirkwood to sort things out and Miss K insists Broon write back to Cluggy arranging a meeting.
Broon resists but Miss K was his teacher and he is forced to give in.
I tried several other openings but none of them got into the action like this one.So far, I've introduced five characters, which I feel is enough to be going on with. The next will be Broon's daughter Ger and the rivals for her hand, Calum Gillespie, the butcher's son and young Lindsay, the farmer's son.
I enjoy writing about these people. Their problems are not saving the universe but in the village context they are major.

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I wanted to reflect how happy childhood had been for me in a Cairndhu type village but as I mentioned there were low points in the life of those villages and those are better reflected in Miss Kirkwood's story in A Land Fit for Heroes, which was written in memory of all those ladies who lost fiancees in WW1 and took to teaching. They gave us such a warm start to our schooldays that I felt they needed someone to recognise their contribution. Don't think it is doom and gloom, village life is always like tartan or a tweed, a healthy mixture. I had hoped to interest a literary agent and one does one's best but life is full of these little disappointments.

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Life in a village like the fictional Cairndhu had its downs as well ass ups. Three of us including my friend Rob were playing at  being a military band. Our drums were a mixture of one with diagonal stripes like the real thing, a plain red one and mine, with Mickey Mouse, Mini Mouse and Donald Duck chasing each other round the rim. The other two took turns at leading but when I insisted it was my turn to lead I was told Mickey Mouse drums always come last. Even at that age I could see the logic. I've since worked in some real Mickey Mouse operations and the logic still holds true. I suppose it all comes under the heading of Character Development.

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Ice cream in Cairndhu

Ice cream in Cairndhu. When the summer came, I remember standing with Rob staring through the big plate glass window into what we called the milk bar, where they sold Ice Cream. We didn’t have money for ice cream so we were just staring in. Inside, a wee lad called Pat was leaning over the high counter watching the old man who owned the place make ice cream.

The ice cream machine was like a deep mixer with a sort of bin that they poured the ice cream mixture into and it went round and round until it was properly chilled. The bin was then taken out and put into the refrigerated hole they served the ice cream from.

In any case, Pat Broon had a school cap on and, as we watched, his cap fell off into the mixer. I’ll never forget the look of absolute disgust and frustration on the old chap's face as looked at Pat, shut down the mixer and delved into it to get the cap out.

He pull out the cap and slapped it, full of ice cream, on to Pat’s head. Pat started to howl and rushed out of the shop and ran away down the street.

We watched him go.

‘I don’t know what he’s bubblin’ about,’ Rob said. ‘He got all that ice cream for nothing. He might have stopped and let us have a lick.’

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Our house looked out over the end of the tarred road; beyond us there was only a farm road. It looked as if it had been Macadamized with bigger stones below fine grit when the Douglas estates had kept what was known as the Mountain Drive in repair but it had deteriorate over the years. Anyway, beyond the road was a fence, then a burn and then the open field, green when it was used for pasture, dark brown and full of good humus when plowed golden brown and full of the rattle of corn crakes when hay or the corn was waving. Beyond the field was a wood of deciduous trees. Just in front of the wood was the mine dump. It wasn't large nor did it intrude on the view, it was just there. The field sloped to the left at a shallow gradient but on the right, or top side, it increased quite suddenly and that's where the other children were sledging when it snowed and I met Tom Sawyer.

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Since the market garden was sanctioned and even promoted by Miss Kirkwood, Broon feels he will not be expected to make a major contribution on the Flower Show committee but Miss Kirkwood is determined he will do his duty and continue to be a leading figure in the community. It was he who talked to the other villages about having a premier league competition between the best from each village and they, especially the snobby Cluggie people will not allow him to let things just drift and melt away. Nor is Cluggie, in their opinion an appropriate name. One of the houses is called Dalriada and with several new mansions being built beside it, they feel it reflects the character of the village more appropriately. The locals still remember it being little more than a blacksmith's house and smiddy, or, as the Cluggies refer to it, a smithy.

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I've been taking my books to a local market and was asked if I'd be prepared to be a committee member. I agreed but it seems there are some reservations. One of the present committee read Best in Show and, while they enjoyed it, after reading the Flower Show Committee scenes, is worried the Market Committee will appear in another volume. Despite a firm resolve to avoid using friends and acquaintances as characters, traits and little idiosyncrasies are what make a character believable and the only knowledge I have of those comes from watching people. Broon, for example, is a conglomeration of many people and his attitudes and reactions come from memories of a mixture of people in the circumstances he finds himself in. I suppose it is the amalgamation of several people's personalities that gives each character complexity and depth. Jinks isn't always a joker, nor is Gillespie without some saving graces, he is married to Betty after all.

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