MY MOTHER


Shona Colman, formerly Jessie McGinty

Born - Glasgow, Scotland, 10th April 1922
Died - King's Lynn, England, 28th August 2012









My wee mum

As proud as could be at my
London City Airport exhibition, 1999.


As well as the McGinty lineage (from the Sligo/Mayo area of the west coast of Ireland)
we also have MacLachlans from Strathclyde and Morrisons from Lewis.



I remember hearing or reading many years ago the observation that the voice was the only thing which did not fail with age. There is a soft but clear voice - more than an accent - which can be heard throughout the west of Scotland and of Ireland. Anyone old enough to have seen the original Dr Finlay's Casebook will recall Barbara Mullen (as Janet) answering the phone - "Arden Hoose".

My wee mum was always tickled when I mimicked her voice with 'Arden Hoose' - a good ploy when, for example, school reports were being reviewed.




CLICK HERE
to hear an excerpt from 'Fingal's Cave'
(Overture 'The Hebrides' Op26 - Mendelssohn)

Above and below, the two pictures I was working on at the time of my mum's death.





Are you sitting comfortably?
CLICK HERE
to hear an excerpt from the
Berceuse (from Fauré's Dolly Suite, Op50)
then it'll begin

Often at international sporting events there is to be heard an awful dirge known as 'Flower of Scotland' - a quasi-musical thumbing of the nose at the English; once, long ago we gave the English a thumping (and let's conveniently forget they came back and thumped us ten times worse). Don't misunderstand me; it is the absolute birthright of every scot to feel, justifiably, superior to the English - its a form of compensation.

The long, cold, damp, windy winters, the unemployment, Scottish dancing, the 'parcel of rogues' and the rest of it - dreich! Open one wary eye from under the blanket of a murky morning and ponder "Could it be any worse?". Then like a sudden rush of sunlight after a thunderstorm comes the answer "Of course it could be worse! AT LEAST I'M NOT ENGLISH. (Jings and crivvens, crivvens and jings!)"

It has always seemed to me that a better way of having a laugh at the expense of the English is to shield your mouth with the back of your hand and say confidentially to your nearest fellow spectator "D'y'know that those soft southern ******** have never had stovies! C'n'y'believe tha, eh?"

In a deception as great as the Zinoviev Letter and the Trojan Horse combined scots have managed to convince the world, and very particularly the English that the Scottish diet is both unhealthy and extremely limited - chocolate bars in batter, porridge, kippers, kippers in porridge batter, and haggis in the morning, haggis in the evening, haggis at suppertime.

Queries regarding stovies made in English accents are skillfully fielded; "There's a chap oot here looking for Stovies. Stovies? Isn't that yon Polish grocer arrested up near Ardnamurchan for selling paint thinner as branded Japanese whisky?"

"Och, mun, whit are y' saying, noo? Stovies as you well know is the name of that hoosing estate aff the Shettleston Road that they're busy renovatin the noo."

"Not at all, not at all - its that big bottling plant chust the ither side o' Maryhill."

"Aye, yer right enough there. Listen pal, y'll need the 47 bus to Kirkintilloch, then the stopping train to Arbroath - changing at Raith, mind. Then y'll be whanting a cheap flight to Perth if y'can get wan..."

"Are you sure about that - all the way to the north east coast?"

"The north east coast? No, no, not that Perth - its the Perth in Western Australia y'll be whanting."

My wee gran made the best stovies that have ever been, and my wee mum made stovies almost as good. She also made cod and potato pie, pineapple upside down pudding, and tablet. Had Chopin (for example) ever realized he would never get the chance to eat my mum's cod and potato pie, pineapple upside down pudding, and tablet, he would have composed something as sad as this:

CLICK HERE
to hear an excerpt from 'Tristesse'
(Etude in E major Op10 No.3 - Chopin)










My mother always enjoyed the sight of a mackerel sky.
This mackerel sky came calling a couple of days before my wee mum died.
CLICK HERE
to hear an excerpt from
Rachmaninov's Paganini rhapsody, variation 18
(Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini Op43, 18th variation - Rachmaninov)


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