Nil Desperandum

McTavish glared at the approaching water board men. “You won’t change my mind. I was born here as were my father and his father before him and I’ll die here as did they.”

Mrs. McTavish shrugged her shoulders, more at the water board men than her husband, who she knew would react this way.

“So be it.  We did warn you,” said the head honcho. “The dam will be built even if it is over your dead body, Mr. McTavish. This valley needs the water and the men here, they need the work.”

And so it came to pass. The dam was built. Mrs. McTavish packed her bags and left. McTavish rowed her ashore, so she could catch the bus that would take her to her sister’s house.

“Goodbye, Aggie.”

“I’ll write.” 

The water rose up to Donald McTavish’s door but not beyond it.







Anthony Sandy lives in Scotland with his wife and two dogs, writing wrongs, photographing quirky things, drawing odd art and making montages. http://shallowhumour.weebly.com