I feel bad for my little brother Jimmy, well I say little even though he is 79 years old and 6 ft tall. Yes, a whole foot taller than me. Anyway, I digress, the reason I feel bad is that Jimmy shares his birthday with a very sad event.
I was helping mum baking some bread when we heard the knock. She looked enquiring at me, then walked to the front door while she wiped her hands on her apron. I followed.
It all happened at the same time. As she opened the door, it revealed a tall man. He was wearing a similar uniform to my daddy’s.
The next few moments were a bit of a blur. A cry came out of mum as she fell on her knees wheeping. The poor man bent to pull her up. Mrs Beattie must have heard Mum’s screams, she opened her door and rushed to Mum. She gasped when she looked at the floor then and shouted,
“The baby is coming early. We better go to Simpson’s”.
The timid Mrs Beattie started barking orders and instructions at me and the big man who didn’t look that big then.
I can’t remember how long I had been sitting on that wooden bench next to the man when one of the nurses sked me to walk with her to meet someone special. I followed her into one of the wards. It had two rows of beds with screens around them. The nurse slid the curtains of one of the beds aside. There I saw them Mum was prepped up on the bed and in a wicker basket next to her was Jimmy. I didn’t know then if it was a boy or a girl. Mum was smiling but it was a sad smile. She ushered me to get closer. She held my hand and kissed me. She said, it was a boy and she named him James.
“But that’s Da’s name.” I said.
“I know but we will call him Jimmy”.
The nurse asked me if I wanted to hold Jimmy and I must have nodded because she picked him up and asked me to sit in a small chair and then placed him on my lap. She was very impressed when I spelt MacDougall on the lettered beads in the bracelet round Jimmy’s wrist.
I never felt that big as I did when I held Jimmy’s little hand. The big man had told me that Da wasn’t coming back. He had died a hero saving his friend on D Day.
The nurse said she was so impressed how brave I had been and she gave me the most delicious piece of tablet. I sucked on it in the car with Mrs Beattie and the big man.
Eating Scottish tablet became a tradition on Jimmy’s birthday. Every year on the 20th of June I turn to a boy of 5 for the few minutes while the tablet melts down my throat.