A photo of my Dad looks back at me from my desk in my home office.
He sits in rainproof gear and back pack with a big smile on his face on the top of the Sgurr of Eigg. It was chilly and drizzling that day but we had climbed the Sgurr in the morning and were now examining the remains of the Iron age fort at the top and admiring the views periodically visible through the mist. After a sandwich and crisps lunch, we would walk down the other side of the Sgurr talking animatedly about the Iron age, geology and Scotland. Half way down, I would step inadvertently into a hidden crack in the peat and have to endure a smelly, wet and very darkly stained foot and leg all the way back to the caravan we were staying in. By the time we got back we were drenched but who cared?
It was probably one of the best week’s of my life if I am honest. Dad came to stay with me for the last week of my six-week stay on the Island of Eigg off the west coast of Scotland. I spent a couple of days walking him around the Island looking at and discussing the Geology. We visited the local dance a couple of nights and I saw my Dad attempt Scottish country dancing and really enjoy it. We went out on a local boat pulling lobster pots and we sat and talked while admiring amazing and wild views. Idyllic.
We always said we would do it again sometime. We would often discuss the idea over the years. But we never did. Somehow time rushed by and though we did spend many hours together on the odd day trip in Yorkshire or Texas and spent several years researching family history, we never did return to Eigg or spend that week together. I wish we had.