A Cup Half Full by John McKinlay
We had planned it all week, and the children were fairly bursting with excitement, ticking off each work/school day, praying Saturday would arrive sooner than the calendar promised. "Is it today yet?" our five-year-old, Angela, would keep asking, while big sister, Susan, would chide her gently in words that echoed our own: "Be patient, you make the time drag by going on about it all the time".
My wife and I smiled as the excitement became almost feverish.
In truth it was a simple enough idea, possibly even strange to some in this age of expensive electronic entertainment. We had days filled with little adventures in the countryside every other week-end with the irrepressible Uncle Bobby and Aunt Joan and their two boys, Garry and Scott. The children all loved it, treasuring each memory as if it was their last. And these days were no less prized by the adults, anxious to spend time with the family after a hard week at the office.
This week the target was the Campsie Hills, north of Glasgow.
When the great day finally arrived, the children were up before us in the morning, but the sounds we heard were not the unrestrained joy we expected.
It was raining steadily, and there were bursts of wild, savage downpour. Our hearts fell. "Maybe the rain will ease off by the time the others arrive,"
June offered, in the forlorn hope of cheering them up. But they clung on to the idea anyway.
Every few minutes they were back at the window, but the water flow from the dark clouds never seemed to let up. If anything it seemed to get heavier.
We resigned ourselves to a day at home instead.
Then the whirlwind that is Uncle Bobby and Aunt Joan arrived. "Och it's hardly raining", he lied pouring out his very individual brand of unrestrained optimism. "Aye, get your coats, your wellies, and your woollie hats, and we'll go and make a day of it".
The children were up for it immediately. I was the one who took a bit of persuading. "Look at that, the rain's going off a bit," Bobby appealed.
"Ach, it'll be a great day".
And so it was that we packed the two cars with portable barbecues, coke, sausages, hamburgers, rice, potatoes, pots, pans, biscuits, sweeties and we were off. As we pointed the vehicles towards the Campsies, the rain was our unrelenting companion. Yet the children were blissfully unaware that it was still there. "What a wonderful adventure this is", was the gleeful emotion that shone from their eyes.
We parked beside an old stone bridge, quickly creating a shelter of sorts, made up of three golf umbrellas and sundry other covers. Under them the two barbecues were soon lit, while we sang "Dancing in the Rain" "Roamin' in the Gloamin'", and a few other apposite melodies made up on the spot.
The deluge continued, but by now even the adults hardly noticed.
The children made their way to stream under the bridge, just 10 feet away.
They built boats from paper cartons and pieces of wood and twig we found on the ground. Dams were formed and pirate raids on coastal villages left no one injured, but much buccaneering adventure found. The water bubbled and frothed, twisted and dived, tumbling the little boats this way and that. It was no more than nine inches deep at its deepest, but to the children it was the Pacific and Atlantic all rolled into one.
Finally the rain appeared to ease. Or was it just that the joy of the day was overcoming the worst that the weather could throw at us?
Soon we were all stuffing into the best open air barbecue food you could taste, lemonade and soup for the children and hot cups of tea for the adults. Unfortunately, the roof of big umbrellas allowed through drips which giggling children dived this way and that to dodge.
At last our happy chatter was interrupted by a silence of another kind. The pitter-patter of rain on the umbrellas had finally stopped. We jumped up and down in our delight, our infectious enthusiasm witnessed only by a few dozen clearly mystified sheep. Even they must had thought us mad.
Stowing the rubbish and the pots and pans into the cars took only a few minutes, then we set off for a gentle hill walk over the Campsies, binoculars at the ready for wildlife spotting - in the air or on the ground.
There was also the wreckage of a Second World War German bomber to be found, if we had a clue where to look. We trekked for an hour or two, during which the rain returned intermittently. We barely noticed it.. We were adventurers.
It was back to our house for a change of clothes, more warm beverage, stories for the children as their ruddy cheeks glowed red before a warm fire, and they chatted excitedl;y about the day's events. They fell asleep where they were, covered in extra blankets, smiling at the memories of a wonderful day.
Now if we had looked at the weather forecast the day, we would have been forewarned and might have changed our plans. And that would have meant we would have missed a truly wonderful day with the children, one they still talk about to this day.
Bobby and Joan's irresistable enthusiasm and good humour, coupled with a "never-say-die" approach to life in general, turned what might have been a disappointment into something very special.
The lesson is that if you live life with a fullness and generosity of spirit you overcome obstacles, rather than succumb to them. Your cup can be truly half full, not half empty.
Twenty-five years later, it is one of many days in their company that bring a warm glow to all our hearts. Memories that will last for ever.
Ends...
