HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS?

We went at the end of May. A spur of the moment thing.Freddie Laker's Charter flights were in their heyday. 

Special attraction was a free rental car for a week if a child under twelve was part of the family group.

As soon as we were in flight, attendants served chocolate bonbons filled with fruit flavoured ice cream. Alcoholic drinks were free.

The car was an orange Ford, handled like a tank and comfortable like an orange crate. We had to return it mid-week because the driver's window didn't  close. 

It didn't dampen our excitement. So much to see,so little time.

We toured the Isle of Great Cumbrae in a taxi. 

All around then over the top. In Scotland, the land rises

In every direction. 

Even looking out to sea,snow topped peaks on islands form the horizon. 

We drove through a wooded area carpeted with

bluebells. A single bell on a stem rises inches above the foliage. In a mass, like a cloud shifting in the breeze they fill the air with scent. 

I'd never noticed that when I was growing up. I was

commenting to the kids on powerful scents of the wild flowers.

The  driver joined the conversation . 

"It's the salt air" he said. "You don't have that in Canada"

He had been  a resident of Calgary for several years.Emigrated. His marriage failed, he divorced and returned home to Millport. It's the only town on an island that can be circulated and crossed in less than two hours. He grew up there. Driving taxi was his livelihood. 

So many memories were crowded into that short time in Scotland. 

One of a scented dell with a translucent cloud of bluebells in the shade,swaying in a breeze and a man who travelled half way around the world only to return home to where he belonged.