The Quarry – a childhood memoir
Oct 29th, 2009 by skadi
The biggest rocks in the bowl of the quarry were as tall as a refrigerator and as wide as a car: they were fun to hide behind, and many of the smaller ones made good seats. In the sunlight, they shimmered with golden specks. I liked to pretend I had found real gold and jewels in them, but the ‘gold’ was really a yellow metal in the rocks called iron pyrite. If I was lucky, I could discover larger chunks of the iron pyrite to add to my treasure hoard.
I would find another summer treasure in the tall raspberry bushes that burst in thick clumps between the boulders. These bore bright, pink-red berries. The prickly stems were worth the few scratches on my hands as I picked out handfuls of berries to eat. The biggest and ripest ones hid beneath the soft green leaves: they were the rubies of my treasure hoard. They smelled so sweet, and the velvety texture of the berries melted in my mouth, staining hands and tongue red with juice.
Just afer a rain shower, the raspberries looked especially enchanting. Crystal beads of raindrops decorating the berries looked like diamonds sprinkled over rubies. I always took time to admire them before cramming them in my mouth. The wet berries became so refreshing it was like eating and drinking at the same time.
Sometimes, while my older brother, Stephen, climbed the steep face at the rear of the quarry, my sister and I, giggling quietly with suppressed mischief, would run up the steep grassy hillside at the side of the quarry. If we could get to the top before Stephen we would hide inside the spreading branches of prickly, golden-blossomed furze bushes and wait. Grazing sheep had pushed their way under these bushes, conveniently making our ‘caves’. We found it delightful to spy Stephen finally hauling himself over the top, only to have us rush out on him and tease him. He must have been a good sport as I never remember his getting cross with us.
In those instances, a special treat was in store: My sister, Marya, and I would get Stephen to take us down by the other route: the magical Bluebell Wood. Only in spring did these wild hyacinths (Scottish bluebells) bloom all at once to turn the woodland floor from green to a solid blue haze of flowers, perfumed with their distinct burnt-sugar scent.
At the bottom of the hill, our parents awaited us. Our visit to the quarry was over; but not without three happy ‘pirates’ laden with strange, sparkling rocks, red berries, and bunches of sweet smelling wild bluebells.