Katies Tales From 'Echos of another time'
By Hazel McIntyre

“Who was she entertaining this evening... Lawrence of Arabia?” my brother asked when he heard that we had been to see Katie. Katie lived in a remote end of the Parish, with her husband Pat and her elder sister Margaret, who was deaf.

Katie’s house was like a magnet to us in the early teenage years. She told wonderful, romantic stories about beautiful glamorous people, where she was always the central figure. The events were glittering affairs set in romantic places like the south of France, Paris, or Rome.

In her youth Katie had worked for a wealthy family, and travelled with them around the world. The most striking thing about her were her dark glowing eyes, that expressed every twist and turn that her stories took. Hanging on the wall of the parlour there hung a portrait of Katie in her youth. “I was just twenty when that was painted. He was a famous artist who painted portraits of the rich and famous,” she often told us.

To her neighbours, Katie was a bit of an enigma, with a head full of romantic nonsense that bore no resemblance to the real world. They would say things like, “it’s good for her, that she has nothing better to bother her.” Katie must have been aware of this, because when a neighbour came in unexpectedly in the middle of one of her tales she would promptly change the subject and say. “Isn’t it awful how the eggs have gone down in price,” or some such mundane comment, leaving us high and dry, not knowing what way the story would end. With the atmosphere completely changed, we would usually decide to leave, and hope that she would take up where she left off at a later date.

Katie’s life changed completely when Pat had a sudden stroke, which left him partially paralysed. Katie took on the task of nursing her husband and running the farm herself, for which she won the admiration of the entire community. These changes in her life put an abrupt end to her story-telling, much to our sadness. We missed those happy entertaining flights of fancy in Katie’s cosy kitchen; the cups of tea drank from delicate china cups, and the dainty wee buns that were part of the sense of occasion that Katie created for us.

Many years later while on a holiday we gathered again in Katie’s house. “I have never forgotten the happy hours we spent here,” Hanna said. “You were a great story-teller.” Looking at us with a grin she said, “Aye, I suppose I was. Most of it was from my imagination. But some of it was true. Few of us get the life that in our youth we hoped for, and expected, but most of us I dare say get the life best suited to us.” Then she said quietly. “Always hold on to your dreams and fantasies, for they see you through the dark days.”

Before we left, she showed us the contents of her black trunk. To our amazement it was full of beautifully made silk evening dresses. “Now, I want each of you to choose one for yourself. There is bound to be a special occasion in the future when you will need one. And these dresses will never really date, they will always be in fashion,” she assured us.

We thanked her kindly, and as we made our choices, we could recognise each gown in turn from Katie’s stories, and wondered again how much of what Katie told us was factual, and how much was fiction.

When the time came to leave with our treasures, she accompanied us outside, and as she passed the hen-house she said, “I must go in and see how my rooster is doing on the sitting of eggs.”

“A rooster sitting on eggs!” Looking into the hen-house, sure enough, there sat the rooster. “Oh, aye. He broke his leg, and I couldn’t have him sitting around all day doing nothing,” she explained.

Katie’s talents went away beyond imaginings.


Back