strangers

When our cousin Krysia died in 2009, my sister and I were trusted with the task of clearing out her home in Elgin. There were photographs in the loft, so I took it upon myself to sort, order and place them in albums. The photos documented Krysia's life and also that of her parents, Jessie (née Logan) and Andrew (Alfons) Dabrowski.

These photographs are Jessie's, my fathers sister, born 1913 near Elgin, Scotland. Jessie trained as a nurse and while nursing during WWII met her husband to be, Alfons, a badly wounded Polish soldier. Apparently, it was love at first sight.  

The stacks of photographs were sorted into two piles, one familiar people and places and another for strangers. Below are the only images I kept of strangers, something in their expressions, fashion, informal and formal poses fascinated me and I keep them in a large decorative glass that belonged to Jessie. Some have the handwriting of the sitter on the back, to Jessie or Jerry as she was known.

What became of these friends of my aunt, did they know her little brother, Robert? My Grandmother Alexina? Here they are now, gathered together and presented to you, an insight into Scotland in the 30s and 40s, their link - Jessie Dabrowska. 

robert

My father, Robert James Logan died on this day in 1990.

walk

A walk, there and back, along the disused railway from Elgin to Lossiemouth.

father

I've just returned from a fleeting visit to Elgin, Moray, a wonderful part of Scotland. Almost 6 years ago I met my cousin Shelia at my cousin Krysia's funeral in Elgin, and yesterday I visited Shelia's home and the hours flew as we chatted and discovered a shared interest in family history. Out came a tin of old photographs and amongst them were these of my father as a young man before WWII. I've seen the first one before, a dapper chap who earned his nickname 'the cock of the North' but the other two are new to me and it gladdened my heart to see my dad as a smiling teenager, tanned and strong, surrounded by friends and his brother Alexander, Shelia's father. 

These photos date from the 1930's and show the young people potato picking.

scotland

Last month I visited the places my father and his family came from: Elgin, Bernie, Lossiemouth and Burghead. These villages and towns are by the Moray Firth, along the North East coast of Scotland. The Moray Firth delineates the outermost edges of habitat for dolphins to survive (but not thrive) and the Aurora Borealis has been seen from this coast, it is a beautiful place. If you drew a straight line east from Elgin you would arrive at the southern tip of Norway, somewhere I was lucky enough to visit last year and the echo of Scotland was apparent in the landscape (and visa versa). I feel a strong connection to these lands and have a sense of home and belonging when I'm there. This trip was about creating space to be in, look at and experience by walking around and about. This time I was drawn to historic religious buildings and the particular vernacular of this region, structure, history, solid things that will outlive me.

I've visited this region of Scotland since I was a toddler, the agricultural landscape is in my blood somehow, the towns, the lanes, the skies, the deep rich soil, the scattered farms, the distilleries. To be there helps me in my understanding and communication with those who have gone before, my flesh and blood. Though it may sound romantic it's not particularly, I can understand that it was a hard life for them eking out their livings in these places and surviving two world wars. The other side of the coin is that they must have also experienced beauty in their lives and lived the spirit of these landscapes. They would have felt its power and their own power too.

Looking up from Elgin Cemetery

Elgin Cemetery - in memory of their children

Elgin Cathedral

Elgin Cathedral

Elgin Cathedral

Cathedral tombstone

Spynie Palace

 View towards Lossiemouth from Spynie

 Elgin

 Elgin

 Burghead

 Cooper Park, Elgin

   Pluscarden Abbey

dad

A days walking ritual from Elgin to Lossiemouth and back in forgiveness and in honour of my father Robert Logan.