Bulawayo Morning Mirror Edition 1155 - 22/7/2026

A Somewhat Close Encounter With The Gallows.

Our Ancestors were of the dreaded Black Douglas Clan In Scotland In The days of Bonnie Prince Charlie.

We were in fact related to Lady Flora MacDonald who was someone rather special to the Wee Prince (Here I must give a conspiratorial nod nod...wink wink...!!)

Och Aye, can you just picture those braw Scottish Laddies, racing across the heather, kilts- a- swirling, sporrans- a -twirling, in hot pursuit of the Laird's prize sheep!!

But although we reformed many centuries ago, I am convinced however our family was definitely the working class variety.

"Between Stairs" Did I hear you say with your eyebrows ever so slightly raised Not at all, just plain sheep stealers, miners and artisans, carpenters and the like. And of course we are very proud of that because some of the world's best people were carpenters, were they not!!

Miners of course in the finest sense of the word. Great Uncle George was of course Minister Of Mines In Rhodesia in the forties I am proud to say, and his Great Grandnephew Gary is possibly the most sought after gold metallurgist in the whole of Australasia today.

So with all this ancestral smell of sawdust in my hair, and the longing to feel a wonderful piece of raw wood between my non-calloused palms, I took it upon myself to take to the screwdriver and drill with relish.

It was academic really. After all just four holes to be drilled, one wall just out of reach even on tip-toes, four screws, and a beautifully painted sign, to be hung on said wall.

Now I don't get baffled easily. Instead of downing tools and heading for a wine bar, I faced each problem with pragmatism and fortitude. In fact once I get the bit between my teeth (no pun intended) I rarely give up until either I am dead, or the wall has fallen down.

Not one of my dastardly thieving working class ancestors though, had thought to advise me that one's drill bit needs to be the same size as one's screw. That one's screws need to be the same size as the holes in the sign....was also not mentioned.

Now all we really needed were four holes, but after many hours, seven had to suffice, and a liberal stuffing of the new love of my life, a compound called 'screwplug', hey presto, in go the screws in a jiffy, and voila, a perfectly hung sign.... (and as long as no one ever takes it off again, you are safe.)

The Wee Prince would have been proud of me.