Farewell, Bobby

‘I am very ready to die, Cr Ziller.’ Ilom Dolince smiled. ‘I’ve lived four hundred and fifteen years, sir. I’ve seen the Chebalyths of Eyske in their Skydark migration, watched field liners sculpt solar flares in the High Nudrun, I’ve held my own newborn in my hands, flown the caverns of Sart and dived the tube-arches of Lirouthale. I’ve seen so much, done so much, that even with my neural lace trying to tie my elsewhere memories as seamlessly as it can into what’s in my head, I can tell I’ve lost a lot from in here.’

Bobby’s funeral today at Cardross. I collect Owen, who is suffering from a trapped nerve in his leg, and then drop the electric piano at Megan’s. Claire meets us there - a 2 car expedition, because she’s heading off to Kinghorn afterwards.

Cardross is unchanged since Anne’s funeral, but the Calders have opted for upbeat, carnival-style music. There’s a good turnout with a posse from Kintyre and relatives flying in from down south.

Bobby’s coffin is adorned with spitfires in recognition of his time in the RAF. Catriona officiated - it’s a hat trick - the wedding and two funerals in less than five years. [Edit: Claire reminds me that another clergyman officiated at Anne’s funeral. No hat trick, Catriona]

The reception is at the nearby Ardardan tea-rooms. We pull together a large table of the Duncan clan - only Angus is missing. There’s lentil soup, sandwiches and cakes, tea and coffee. There’s no alcohol at all, which would have disappointed Bobby, but it makes it safe to drive away.

On the way home, I drop in on Bill. He’s on his way to visit Jeanette in Greenock, but it’s good to catch up even briefly.

Back home, I light the fire, eat leftovers, and watch old movies. Tomorrow - much gardening.