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Patricia Bridgen Farley was a Wren (Womens Royal Naval Service) stationed at Portkil, Near Kilcreggan, Scotland during World War II, living in a house affectionately known to the group of Wrens that were based there as 'The Barn'. The Wrens came to be known as the 'Barnites'.
After living in Scotland for more than three years, it wasn't too surprising that I would pick up some dialect or slang. My mother pretended to be annoyed when I addressed women as 'lassies', and males as 'laddies', or used the expression 'dinner fast yourself'. meaning don't worry. But she was perturbed when I answered 'Aye', or 'Nae', when I meant Yes or No.
Nevertheless, I picked up something else that has lasted over fifty years, a love of that historical, beautiful country across the River Tweed, with its rugged mountains and rolling lowlands and, above all, its honest straight-forward people.
One of my favourite places is Loch Lomond, known to most everyone for the old song about taking the high road to that lake. I also have a favourite memory of a day I spent there in the company of a sweet, gentle-voiced American naval doctor from the Portkil hospital.
I had met him in the late '44 after he was transferred from stateside. He was one of the newcomers. We enjoyed each other's company, and a passing romance with tender kisses and embraces, but nothing ever happened to mar my engagement to John (my future husband), or the doctor's commitment to an American nurse, called Pamela.
As the song says, it was just one of those things. It was nice to have date to go to the dances with or to the movies, and I did eat more meals at the officers' mess after I got to know Steve.
By the end of May '45, we knew that the Rosneath base and the hospital were due to be closed., and we also felt that there were not to many days left for the small group of Wrens at Portkil. The weather was wonderful, the fragrant heather was blooming on the hills, and the mood was upbeat.
VE Day had been celebrated and there was peace in Europe. Steve happened to mention that he really hadn't seen much of Scotland since arriving. I suggested a trip to Loch Lomond. Steve was most enthusiastic, and so we agreed that I would ask for a day off, and he would arrange his schedule accordingly.
Two days later, we were up early, both in uniform, walking long the coast road to the ferry. Little did we realise it would be the last time we took the familiar walk together.
We had been along the path on innumerable occasions, including once when we had tea at the red teahouse in Kilcreggan, with Steve charming the ladies with his American good manners. We boarded the paddle steamer at Kilcreggan and sailed on the Clyde to Helensburgh.
The sun was out, not a cloud in the sky. I couldn't believe our luck. We could see the mountains beyond Gourock but I knew it wouldn't rain. (There's an old saying in those parts that, if you can't see the mountains, it's raining; if you can see them, it's going to rain!). My only regret today is that I didn't take my camera with me to record the happy trip.
From Helensburgh, we boarded a local train to the head of Loch Lomond. The largest lake in Scotland, it's situated on the southern edge of the renowned Scottish Highlands. Rugged mountains surround it in the north which become softer, wooded hills in the south. Little islands dot the lake like large confetti.
We then went aboard a small steamer, which travelled around the loch in a leisurely manner, stopping at some of the many villages, which nestle close to the shore. The boat was not crowded, not too many people had time for holiday trips. Most of the passengers had been shopping and were returning home to Helensburgh or Dumbarton.
Steve and I either sat on deck or leaned over the rail, watching the boat carve a path in the deep water. We stopped at Luss for a quick lunch at a shore-side restaurant. The sun was so warm that we removed our shirts.
Steve was an easy man to talk to but we didn't need much conversation. It was perfect. Looking up at the steep hills, it was hard to imagine that a world war had been going on for almost six years. We could see Ben Lomond rising up above the other mountains in the north.
Unfortunately good things always have to come to an end. The steamer docked and we disembarked, walking over to the train station. Soon we were back in our own territory, and wandered up the hill to the officers quarters at the hotel. We went inside and Steve cooked some wonderful scrambled eggs and toast for the two of us to eat on the sofa.
Neither of us wanted to break up our contented mood but it was time for me to get back to the Barn. Steve walked me home and we kissed good-bye, each saying what a wonderful experience it had been and one that we would remember forever. I really hope he did - I know I have.
The next day, I was told that four of our doctor friends had been issued orders for return to the States and Steve was one of them. We stayed up late and went down to the Fort to get a good view of the Clyde. We waved to any ship that was moving towards Dunoon and out of the Firth, hoping that our friends were on board and trying to wave back.
I remember Stevie, a fellow Wren, in tears, so upset about her doctor friend who was also going back. It would be many years before he was free to marry her, but it did come about.
It had been a simple pleasure, that journey to Loch Lomond, but those are always the best.
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