A Bonny Wee Lassie

CHAPTER FOUR - A Little Hanky Panky

At an even earlier time and place, Betty told me, she had a Great Aunt Agnes ("We called her Auld Aggie when she couldn't hear us, which was most of the time. Daft old cow wouldn't use 'er 'earing aids, would she?"). Apparently Great Aunt Agnes was not only mostly physically deaf, but also totally deaf to good and well-meaning advice... like basic good manners.

"Aye... she was a right eccentric auld girl, that one," and Betty's lips tightened in her most disapproving and judgmental fashion. She rolled her eyes most theatrically, sniffed her disgust, looked over her shoulder (even though we were alone in the car at the time) and then, in her customary 'stage whisper' described the old Aunt in eye-rolling detail.

It seemed Auld Aggie had come from a wealthy family (all now deceased) and chose to continue living in the fast deteriorating family mansion. Sadly her mind had gone with her family and she wandered the streets with filthy, matted hair and equally appalling ragged clothes.

If I'd had trouble keeping a straight face with Betty previously, this tested me to the utmost limits of self-control. You see, many long years before, when my sister had been working as an apprentice in the Florist Department of a large city store, she had described Auld Aggie perfectly as the fearfully grotty, eccentric old lady who left her calling card in the next department in no uncertain manner.

Alongside the fragrant flower display was the beginning of the Haberdashery section - featuring a large handkerchief counter. The little old lady had been short-sightedly peering at the myriad displays on the other side of the aisle, filthy specs balancing precariously on the tip of her nose (a genetic thing, seemingly). Then she turned and found her attention fully captivated by the handkerchief counter.

In those days, the top of the large hankie display counter was made of countless open glass sided 'boxes' - each containing different stacks - from plain, to delicately embroidered pastel-coloureds, to exquisite lace-edged and exorbitantly expensive varieties. Our little lady perused these 'treasures' at great length, picking up one, peering intently at it, putting it down again - repeat, repeat.

Due to her decidedly impoverished appearance, a careful eye was unobtrusively kept on her, to ensure no stock 'disappeared'. Staff had been alerted by the pre-arranged signal - "Oh dear... mealybugs again! Better check all the plants VERY carefully" - and all knew mealybug was the codeword for another kind of sucking pest - a shoplifter.

But... nobody needed to have worried about theft. That was the last thing on the little old lady's mind. What she actually did, was pick up a particularly beautiful 'hankie', take a deep breath, and BLOW her nose - HARD - into its delicate depths. And then she put it back in its exact compartment - and walked away! After a collective gasp by all who had witnessed the event, they say you could have heard a pin drop (or in this case, maybe a petal?)

I swiftly decided discretion was most certainly the better part of valour, and chose not to enlighten Betty about the unmistakable Auld Aggie's day-tripping in the city. Some things, after all, should never come out of the linen press.