Save the Rhino
by Glenn Muir
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None
Description: A letter arrives from a well-known celebrity seeking a donation to a worthy cause.
Swearwords: None
Description: A letter arrives from a well-known celebrity seeking a donation to a worthy cause.
Breakfast usually consisted of a slice or two of toast and a steaming mug of tea. Unless, of course, it was a Sunday, we always had a cooked breakfast on a Sunday. Another thing that marked Sundays as different was the fact that we never had a mid-day meal (I assume that was because of the traditional long lie that caused breakfast and lunch to merge seamlessly into a brunch).
All that is by the by because the letter arrived at breakfast time on a day during the week. The letter was for the “ Auld Dear”. Now before I continue the story, a wee word about my dear Mither so that ye will get an idea of her character.
She had the knack of getting things a wee bit mixed up, misinterpreting situations and sometimes slipping Freudiantly. For example, she once complained about the knife she was using to peel the tatties: “This wee sherp knife is awfie blunt.” Apart from horse racing (on which she was an authority) she did not really “get” sport. An expertly placed penalty kick which sent the goalie the wrong way received the comment: “He didnae even try tae get that ba!” Cricket very seldom got much viewing in the Muir household, but the sight of a bowler putting a shine on the ball before his delivery caused her to shake her head and tut a bit saying, “That’s disgusting look at that yin scratching himself!”
We sometimes played Trivial Pursuit (Scrabble was a no no, more often than not she would toss the board into the air in disgust at me getting another fifty point bonus). Landing on a blue square meant that Mither had to answer a geography question.
Q. What are all Texans told to remember?
Without any hesitation she answered, “The Fifth of November!”
Anyway, enough of this digression, I was telling the tale of Mither’s letter. She carefully removed the missive from its envelope and proceeded to read it. Faither looked up from the racing page of the Daily Record, “Wha’s that frae?”
Apart from utility bills Mither’s only regular correspondent was her late fiancé’s sister (Mither had been engaged tae a Canadian airman during World War Two. He had been killed in the Dieppe Raid, but his sister and she kept in contact).
“Och, Bert, it’s frae some African boy.”
“Why wid some African boy be sending you letters?” Faither says.
“It’s yin o they wildlife charity things,” she replied.
With that she started to read the letter out loud.
“Dear Mrs. Muir, as a nature lover you are probably aware of the plight of the world’s rhinos. The five species of rhino that currently exist are being systematically poached out of existence.
The Northern White Rhino is already extinct and the remnant populations of the Southern White Rhino are under constant threat. Like Africa’s Black Rhino they are being slaughtered for their horns. The horns of the Black Rhino are prized by rich Arabs who have them made into ornate dagger handles, rhino horn is also used in traditional Chinese medicines.
The Great One-Horned Indian Rhinoceros is less threatened but remains endangered as a species.
The Javan Rhino is extremely vulnerable due to loss of habitat and pressure from Indonesia’s burgeoning human population. The rarest of all is the Sumatran Rhino, there could be fewer than five hundred individuals remaining.
The Worldwide Fund For Nature is involved in various conservation projects throughout the globe. It can only continue to do so thanks to the generous support of members of the public, people like you. Please give generously to this worthy cause and perhaps we can stop the rhino suffering the same fate as the dodo, the great auk and the thylacine. Do your bit to save the rhino before it is too late.”
Faither resumed his search for a winner, pausing briefly to ask, “Whit wis the African boy’s name?”
To which Mither gave the immortal reply, “Harry Se – Com – be.”
All that is by the by because the letter arrived at breakfast time on a day during the week. The letter was for the “ Auld Dear”. Now before I continue the story, a wee word about my dear Mither so that ye will get an idea of her character.
She had the knack of getting things a wee bit mixed up, misinterpreting situations and sometimes slipping Freudiantly. For example, she once complained about the knife she was using to peel the tatties: “This wee sherp knife is awfie blunt.” Apart from horse racing (on which she was an authority) she did not really “get” sport. An expertly placed penalty kick which sent the goalie the wrong way received the comment: “He didnae even try tae get that ba!” Cricket very seldom got much viewing in the Muir household, but the sight of a bowler putting a shine on the ball before his delivery caused her to shake her head and tut a bit saying, “That’s disgusting look at that yin scratching himself!”
We sometimes played Trivial Pursuit (Scrabble was a no no, more often than not she would toss the board into the air in disgust at me getting another fifty point bonus). Landing on a blue square meant that Mither had to answer a geography question.
Q. What are all Texans told to remember?
Without any hesitation she answered, “The Fifth of November!”
Anyway, enough of this digression, I was telling the tale of Mither’s letter. She carefully removed the missive from its envelope and proceeded to read it. Faither looked up from the racing page of the Daily Record, “Wha’s that frae?”
Apart from utility bills Mither’s only regular correspondent was her late fiancé’s sister (Mither had been engaged tae a Canadian airman during World War Two. He had been killed in the Dieppe Raid, but his sister and she kept in contact).
“Och, Bert, it’s frae some African boy.”
“Why wid some African boy be sending you letters?” Faither says.
“It’s yin o they wildlife charity things,” she replied.
With that she started to read the letter out loud.
“Dear Mrs. Muir, as a nature lover you are probably aware of the plight of the world’s rhinos. The five species of rhino that currently exist are being systematically poached out of existence.
The Northern White Rhino is already extinct and the remnant populations of the Southern White Rhino are under constant threat. Like Africa’s Black Rhino they are being slaughtered for their horns. The horns of the Black Rhino are prized by rich Arabs who have them made into ornate dagger handles, rhino horn is also used in traditional Chinese medicines.
The Great One-Horned Indian Rhinoceros is less threatened but remains endangered as a species.
The Javan Rhino is extremely vulnerable due to loss of habitat and pressure from Indonesia’s burgeoning human population. The rarest of all is the Sumatran Rhino, there could be fewer than five hundred individuals remaining.
The Worldwide Fund For Nature is involved in various conservation projects throughout the globe. It can only continue to do so thanks to the generous support of members of the public, people like you. Please give generously to this worthy cause and perhaps we can stop the rhino suffering the same fate as the dodo, the great auk and the thylacine. Do your bit to save the rhino before it is too late.”
Faither resumed his search for a winner, pausing briefly to ask, “Whit wis the African boy’s name?”
To which Mither gave the immortal reply, “Harry Se – Com – be.”
About the Author
West Lothian-born Glenn Muir is a fiftysomething postman working in Linlithgow. Previously a member of the West Lothian Song Writers Group, he is now with Quill, a poetry and writing group based in Bathgate.