Back to the sidelines

It's been a while since we were up at the crack of whatever you call it in order to watch grandsons playing football, whether in the south of England or the middle of Scotland - all these chilly mornings in the mud, even earlier when they were younger, egging them on from the sidelines. Today that particular normality was resumed, except that (as the eagle-eyed will have spotted) we were watching rugby. (More players, different goal posts...) Both boys were playing for their school, Stewarts Melville (aka StewMel), against teams from Heriot's (their grandfather's old school) in roughly the same part of town near the Botanics at slightly different times. I have a problem with rugby: I find it exciting to watch, say, the Six Nations on the telly, but cringe from seeing the effects on boys as they are thumped on the head or floored by a blow to their backs and lie whimpering on the muddy ground. (There were three boys I worried about for the whole of a second half). Our side didn't win - though the scoring is even more opaque than for the adult game - and Alan, who's a brilliant footballer and has just taken up rugby, was not at all pleased with his own side ...

And while on the subject of being an onlooking grandma to a tall grandson who changes every time I see him: Yesterday he was taking part in his school's Remembrance Day parade, which we saw from the gates but with some difficulty because of the sun. I watched him leave the house in the morning, in his fatigues and large boots, marching off along the road with his rucksack on his back, and was struck with a terrible pang thinking of boys hardly older than him (he's almost 14) setting off to war, as I remembered the grave of a 16 year old soldier that I saw at Delville Wood
on the Somme.

Back at the house by midday, we finished packing up, had a quick sandwich, and were off by 1.30pm to drive home before it got dark. We left Edinburgh in bright autumn sun shining through the leaves that had survived the gales of the last two days and drove as it were into the shadows of Mordor - just past Glasgow Airport the skies were dark and lowering, and in Dunoon the roads were wet and puddled. 

As I unpacked and put away, it felt as if we'd been away for far longer than four nights. We have a life to get on with here, but sometimes I feel too far away from so much. But on a brighter note: our daughter-in-law had decided it'd be too much to make dinner when I got home, so she made a fish pie for us and all I had to do was heat it and eat it. 

So life felt better again ...