The Glen

[Gerry]

I was standing in the hot shower one morning just letting the jet hit the back of my head and letting the hot water travel down my aching spine given relief from the pain as in penetrated. I was tired after a restless night and I allowed the hot water to wash away any thoughts buzzing about in my brain.

Then into the steam filled silence came a memory of a weekend long ago when I was just a young teenager with a few years of scouting knowledge under my belt. A great giant of a man who taught us geography was the unit leader of the new group in the school and I’d been volunteered to be his assistant. This was our first camp and he’d taken us to the woods by his home in Malin for a survival weekend. I liked the idea of roughing it ten yards from the Cyd’s homely kitchen. She was a great cook and I knew she wouldn’t see us starve.

One of the Daddys “helped� his so build his survival shelter with some bits and pieces he had in the back of his truck. When I came back to see how he was getting on there was a facility that the field hospital in Basra would have been proud of. Clear polythene sheeting stapled to a sturdy frame of four by two rafters pre-drilled and firmly bolted together. Yeah Rupert wasn’t going to get wet.The weather was so kind to us that weekend Rupert and the rest of us never needed to enter camp Basra and spent our sleeping hours huddled around the glowing embers of eternal camp fire.

The next morning just after dawn Eddie took us over the hill behind his home to see his special place. Once out of the small pine shelter belt the ground opened up bleak and wind swept. Nothing was brave enough to grow above three foot tall for fear of the winters gales that would slash them to the ground. The very heather clung to the rocky soil for fear of it’s life.

Once at the summit the beautiful glen unfolded below us. It was a huge hollow cupped in the hands of the hills on all sides and here the heather had grown brave and flourished. Eddie led the way down the gentle slope struggling through the growth that was waist high. No mechanical beast had ever violated these virgin slopes.

We started to follow a tiny stream that had cut a path into the red brown turf twisting and winding downwards. Eddie held his big arms wide like an eagle about to fly and we stopped to look. Just feet in front of us was what Eddie had brought us all this way to see.

A Glen within a Glen. That tiny stream had over the millennium cut deep into the softer soil that fell vertically before us. The trickle of summer rain sprayed like a fine mist onto the pool far below. The secret glen was sheltered from all winds and was more vibrant than any artist’s pallet. Every nook and cranky was filled with tiny flowers basking in the summer sun.

Then like Butch and Sundance Eddie launched himself into the deep pool far below and I could hardly believe it was me that was sailing through the air after him. The red brown water was so refreshing it was the finest shower I’d ever enjoyed.

By Gerry Temple