Softly Shouting

Note to self: Research vegan recipes Talk to Sean Water geraniums The phone call came out of the blue. ‘Mum, I need some rest and recuperation.   Can I come home for the summer?’   What else can a mother say but ‘of course, you will be very welcome’. Aoife had studied hard for her uni exams and had not had the time to look for a summer job.   I strongly suspected the wish to come home had something to do with money too.   I went into full motherly overdrive.   If only she hadn’t become a religious vegan, therefore potentially making every family meal a deadly warzone.   Rick can’t abide grub without dead animal and Sean enjoys stoking the fire.   I will be the peace maker, as usual.   Nobody asks me what I like.   For the next six weeks I will need the cooking skills of Ottolenghi, the diplomatic skills of Ghandi and the inner peace of the Dalai Lama.   I rush out to the supermarket to get vegan supplies: oat ...

Mum’s gone off the wall, if you ask me.   For years and years she has been going on about how I can tell her everything; ‘and I mean EVERYTHING!’ she’d say in capitals.   And then when I tell her that I’m off to Greece with Harry this summer she went absolutely ballistic.   Well, that was after I explained that we had booked into a hotel; one room; one bed.               ‘You are too young!   Have you thought about contraception?’               ‘We have Mum.   I’m on the Pill.’               ‘So you’ve…’               ‘Done it, Mum.   Yes, we have.’ ‘How long have you been on it?’ ‘For just over two months, and it really works well with me.’     ...

I’ll teach you how to slice meats, he said. He showed me how to secure the ham and how to regulate the thickness of the slices.   Then he stood behind me, his body closely pressed to mine.   I could smell his aftershave, something with almonds in it, along with something bitter.   He put his right hand on mine, on the handle that secured the ham.   His left hand switched on the machine and then supported my left hand.   We moved as one body. His breath tickled my ear.  Six times.   Six slices. For lunch, he said. He was my boss.   I had a summer job as a deli assistant in a shop on the boulevard.   The last girl had left without warning.   He was happy that I could start so soon.  It was the relative calm before the lunch would break out.   I stood between the hams and the sausages, the cheeses of which I yet had to learn the names and the tins and packets with exotic ingredients. He came to stand...

The judicial system in Scotland was based on accusations made directly by someone who had experienced wrongdoings. Modifications to this system made it possible for a public prosecutor to initiate legal proceedings, but it was ultimately up to the Assize to find the defendant guilty or innocent. To find a defendant guilty, the Assize only needed to get a majority, even in cases where capital punishment was the statutory norm. An Assize could choose to heed or to ignore the directions of the judge and in this case, they may well have done. We don’t know whether the accused had any legal counsel. Although the right to a defence counsel seemed to have been acknowledged as early as 1587, this did not apply for the Privy Council courts. Certainly the proceedings don’t mention anything of the sort. Those who had the tenacity and the means to appeal could end up in the High Court in Edinburgh and would have had a larger chance to be acquitted. None of the accused in the Crook of Devon t...

‘I felt his hands go through me.   Honest!’ ‘Have you seen his eyes?   He can see in your soul, he can. His hands were so warm when he laid them upon me and I have never had any more headaches since.’ ‘He felt my pulse and it was as if there was an electric current going through me.’ Miriam sat at the table and wondered whether or not to go ahead with it.   She, an educated woman, a professional.   That she should willingly subject herself to such a palaver. One of the women turned to her. ‘What are you coming in for?’ she asked.   She touched Miriam’s knee.   Miriam wanted to slap the hand away. ‘Well, it is kinda private, actually.’ ‘Ach, you are here now.’   The woman beamed.   She was wearing long, colourful skirts and numerous bangles and necklaces.   Had this been the Sixties, she would have been a Child of Aquarius.   Now, in the second decade of the Millennium she just looked out of place. ‘Oh but he is ...

In the Crook of Devon trials all the women (and the single man) who were convicted, had confessed to making a pact with Satan. He had asked them to be his servant, often promising that ‘they should not want’ or promising gifts of bread and ale. The accused would place their hand on their head and on the sole of their foot, to signify that everything in between was now belonging to the devil. All forsook their baptism, some received a new name and a few got a witches’ mark. They would meet with the devil, often in the presence of others, also delated in the processes. Most had sexual intercourse with the devil, commenting on the ‘coldness’ of his body. The emphasis on a pact with the devil is an interesting phenomenon. The concept of a powerful Satan sits uneasily with the concept of an all powerful God. Satan and God could not be equal and opposing powers; but at the same time, the power of Satan should not be underestimated. Many pamphlets, published in the 17th and 18th century...

It is a grey Sunday morning when Simon Farquhar steps out for a run.  He always runs on Sunday mornings when he is not in London.  Simon thinks it is important to keep fit.  Sitting in committee meetings and sessions during the week doesn’t do much for his blood pressure.   Neither does the cake sitting on the top step outside his front door.  Simon blinks and looks again.  A cake.  By the look of it, it is a plain sponge.  But what is it doing here?  He closes the door, reluctant to leave it open or to step over the cake.  Upstairs, Diane is fast asleep but he shakes her awake.  She yawns, shudders and removes her eye mask.   ‘Do you know why there is a cake at our front door?’   ‘Cake?  Outside? No.’ Diane turns back to sleep.   ‘Wake up honey.  It is important.  What if it is not a cake?’ That is enough to rouse Diane. ...

(this photo is taken from the Huff-post, I hope it is a hoax but fear it is not.  Notice the absence of an apostrophe between Queen and the 's'?  Not all Brits can spell the Queen's English.) So I have survived Brexit.  So far.  I went to bed at 10.30 after too much wine and woke up the next morning when it was done.  But of course it is not done, not by any stretch of the imagination.  Nigel partied, Boris stayed at home but the faultlines will begin to show in the next few weeks. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am Dutch, married to an Irishman and living in Scotland.  The Freedom of Movement gave him the opportunity to stay in the Netherlands and gave me the opportunity to live and work here.  Ours is truly a European Union. We met at Manchester Airport when I brought over a party of Hungarian enterprise consultants.  My office had obtained money from the European Union to assist people and organisations from the former Eastern Blo...

Now and then a glimpse of the harshness of 17th century life shines through the language of the court proceedings. Agnes Murie, as told in a sworn statement by Janet Millar, was helped by Henry Anderson, Janet’s husband, who was sowing barley. Agnes remarked that ‘Henry shuik the sheet (sowing aid) well enough yesterday but he could not do it this day’. Poor Henry ‘lost the power on ane of his sides’ and was unable to talk for fourteen days. Now we would recognise these events for possible symptoms of a stroke, but in the 17th century a serious and mysterious affliction like that was a very strong indication of witchcraft. Life was very precarious for most people. There was no guarantee that you would still be healthy the day after next. The thirteen accused were not the first in the Fossoway area. In 1643 John Brugh, living in the Fossoway Parish, was accused of being a warlock. He had been curing people and animals for some time in the wider area, using a charmed stone, put in ...

One day in the early spring, Isabel Rutherford got a knock on her door. We don’t know whether she had a husband, friends or children. We certainly know that she had enemies. Isabel was accused of witchcraft and confessed. On the 3rd of April she was tried and convicted for witchcraft. On 5 April, she was taken to Lamblaires, a field close to the Crook Mill. She was strangled and her body was burned at the stake. Were her friends and family there to say goodbye? Were her accusers there? We don’t know. Two other convicted witches were executed alongside her and more were to follow. The year is 1662; the place is Crook of Devon, a rural village in Kinross-shire in Scotland. 350 years ago, people believed in the existence of witches. This belief was so entrenched that in Scotland alone, thousands of people were accused of witchcraft and in many cases convicted and executed. Around 3,000 people were tried, although gaps in the records make an accurate count impossible. There could hav...