All posts filed under: memories & autobiographical

the magpies

  I know that when I was born the gods that purvey for such things had run out of all sorts and manners of clay, and so they had no choice but to shape me out of a magpie. At least that is what Auntie used to tell me – that, and that I had somehow turned out just like Nan. – Why, was Nana made of magpie too? – She too was fashioned out of a magpie, girl… Why, she is the original magpie! Next to her, all other magpies are but pale and hopeless reflections. – Even me? – Even you, girl. You’ve got a lot of bread to go through before you can fill her shoes, that’s for sure, but you’re sure giving it one hell of a good try! You show real promise. Like Nan, like child. Magpies, one and the other. – And you, Tattie, weren’t you made of magpie too? – Me, I’m the palest of them all. My magpie hasn’t got the time, and she’s seen so much …