An Edinburgh Siever

To me born and brought up in Edinburgh, this drain is a siever, pronounced sy-ver. To his Lordship born and brought up in Dundee this same drain is called a cundy.

These old iron sievers remind me of my childhood when children were exhorted never to stand near or over one lest we got scarlet fever. Why scarlet fever, I'll never know.

It also reminds me of the time my little brother then aged about 7, found a penknife in the street where we lived.
It was the sort of penknife that Boy Scouts were prone to hang of their belts, to be used for whittling wood or taking stones out of horses hooves - that sort of thing.
It was big with a black knobbly handle and was an exciting find for a small boy.

For some peculiar reason my mother let him keep it, with the proviso that he didn't use it to harm anything or it would be disposed of down the adjacent siever.
These were the days when children were allowed to dice with death and danger as they saw fit.

He of course, as is the wont of small boys, was not about to just hold his new found toy, he wanted to use it and do a spot of carving on the wooden front gate.
He was caught in the act, and quick as a flash, my mother was out of the house, removed the knife from his hands and dropped it down the siever.
She had had scarlet fever as a child so didn't need to stay away from drains.

I can't remember anything being said as she performed the act, as he looked on aghast.

Sometime later, my mother also thought fit to pour the poor unfortunate tadpoles who were too slow in growing their legs down the siever on the day we moved house.
These were the days when animal cruelty was not high on the list of unacceptable behaviour.

I can't remember anything being said as she poured, and we watched horrified.

Lest you get the wrong impression, she was a great mother, and never once did she threaten us with the naughty step or being flung down the siever if we were misbehaving.