The end of October IV

Octobers past

Excerpts from Scottish Review diaries of
October 1998 and October 2000

Wednesday 11 October 2000
630am
Wake to hear that Donald is on life support. The heaviness one feels echoes waking up to hear of John Smith's final heart attack. After John Smith this is a Sunset Song too many. The Dewar tribute at the Smith funeral still rings in one's head, that staccato rasp, poetry molto vivace. But unlike others who only play with words, Donald took over the practical job for his buddy. It has cost him.
     The leaves here in the West do their autumn alchemy, spreading their colours between the roofs of the town. Any day now the Equinox gale will tear them down. For a couple of days the streets will be carpeted in gold before the rains come and darkness falls.
Afternoon
Donald switched off.
Ian Mackenzie

Tuesday 20 October 1998
This is the day of Patricia Maxwell Scott's funeral. A great crowd there, including all the Edinburgh literati. Afterwards B and I went to the inn at Gattonside where we had reservations for lunch, but found it closed (in spite of their having taken our reservations). So we went into Melrose and lunched very well at Burt's Hotel. Drove home in pouring rain.
David Daiches

Sunday 25 October 1998
A perfect autumn day, with the sun shining through the slowly turning leaves of the Rothesay Gardens trees. To the stationers for Scotland on Sunday, which I spent much of the rest of the morning reading. One of my colleagues at the University of Sussex, years ago, suddenly gave up the habit of buying a Sunday paper and spoke of the enormous sense of liberation at finding the whole morning free with no ploughing through a massive newspaper. I suppose it is rather a waste of time going through a Sunday paper, all very ephemeral stuff, but after all life is an everyday affair.
     A walk in the gardens with B in the late afternoon.
     Put the clocks back.
David Daiches

Tuesday 26 October 2000
A day visit to the east. Edinburgh is itself again. As someone afflicted with a summer illness wakes up, shakes his head, jumps out of bed, thinks 'So this is what it's like to feel well!' and strides back into a forgotten world of vitality, so it's a refreshed Edinburgh that meets me. A tingling wind tears at the face. The Princes Street pavement is alive, waving up and down. Plate glass windows throw glinting images. Atoms in the walls hum and sparkle. The sun shakes its pale fist. People are not walking, they're bouncing. University terms have begun. Concert seasons have started. Parliament is noisy. The working year – October to May – is heading out of the estuary. The wind stiffens. I walk west, my feet clanging on the deck. To port, the Castle lies low against the blanched sky, promising protection from rough weather ahead. Now, the winter.
Ian Mackenzie

Saturday 31 October 1998
Still cold and dry. Today is the anniversary of my mother's death, and I went to the special memorial service in the synagogue.
David Daiches

David Daiches, the historian, critic and scholar, died on 15 July 2005 at the age of 92. Ian Mackenzie, the broadcaster, minister and writer, died on 31 October 2006 at the age of 75.