My Story

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This memorial is for my Grandad, Jock Robertson who lived in the beautiful seaside town of North Berwick in East Lothian, Scotland. Grandad was very much the pivotal centre of our family and he left a huge void when he died.

When we were kids we used to stay with my Gran and Grandad in their little cottage with the orange tiled roof at the foot of North Berwick Law. At the bottom of the garden was my Grandads black creosoted shed with his huge array of tools in wooden boxes. Grandad was a bus driver and each afternoon the bus would pull up outside the cottage and he would come in for his lunch. Granny was a superb traditional Scottish cook and Grandad would get home-made potato soup and lunch made with fresh vegetables out of the garden.

My Grandads garden was beautifully kept and when he visited us I remember him bringing huge bunches of crysanthemums with him out of the garden.

With the Law on one side and the park and glen running down to the beach on the other. It was an idyllic Scottish scene. Thinking of my Grandad also immediately brings back memories of the Massed Pipe Bands playing in the park at the top of the road and practised putting on his lawn into a hole he'd cut with a tin can.

Grandad took us all everywhere and we happily followed him around the beautiful environment that he knew inside out, that was so much a part of who he was. There was no-where in East Lothian my Grandad couldn't get us into for free; he knew everyone. All the local castles and sites were open doors to us.

In my life I try to be as straightforward and truthful in my dealings as my Grandad was. I feel he is the anchor for my morality and a part of him will always live in me.

For the example he set on how life can be, I'll always be very grateful.

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