Scotland Day22: Greenock

I am delighted to be back in Greenock where I have so many wonderful memories of my time as a student minister.  The filled roll at West Station Café is as good as ever – jokingly, I told the waitress I came all the way from America for it.  I recommend hard-fried egg, tomato, bacon and cheese, the mere description of which makes friend Charlie cringe at its artery-clogging capacity.  But trust me, if you like greasy fried foods, this is not to be missed.

Standing atop the Lyle Hill still manages to take my breath away; it is a sight that never grows old.  A bench bears a commemoration to a man, the memorial reading, “He loved it here . . .”  I can give this place no more fitting descriptor.  The Cross of Lorraine combined with an anchor commemorates the Free French naval forces who fought for their lands from Greenock in World War II.  On this day, it is as if the clouds opened to shine upon the scene and I wonder what exactly God is blessing in this moment.

Friend Stuart and his faithful companion Jura, a wonderful gal of a dog in her old age catch me up on all the happenings since last we met.  Cameron, Rachel and Fraser just grin at my awe at the changes time has brought to them – even three years is an eternity in the life and framework of the young and they are barely recognizable from when last I saw them.

Christine and Charlie regale me with tales of their own travels and when I leave, Christine presses into my hand a wooden angel made as dedication to God by a Catholic man and I am more moved by her gesture than my words can say.

Alison feeds me, houses me, walks me briskly round the Esplanade, and generally nourishes my soul.

There are more friends to see, but they’ll have to await another time.

For now, I stand in front of the tenement building where I lived, occupying the top right flat (auspiciously now for sale) and just soak it all in.

Scotland has always been good to me.

Lucky, blessed, am I.