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I was listening to the radio the other day – a classical music station from somewhere in the world is playing at various times of the day – and I heard a word I’ve wondered about for quite a long time. Since I was in university in fact. The word is ‘branle’, which refers to a line or circle dance common in Renaissance Europe, or the music written for it. In English, it is commonly pronounced ‘brawl’. Which has always set me to wondering – is it actually related to the English word ‘brawl’?
A bit of digging on the internet has revealed some clues. The original word – branle – comes from the French verb branler, to shake or brandish. In English, as a verb it came to mean ‘To agitate, toss about, bandy’ but wasn’t frequently used. It was more often used as a noun, referring to the dance. There are instances of the noun also being used to mean ‘Wavering, agitation, (?) confusion’.
 A Walk in the Snow How does this relate to ‘brawl’, which would seem to have no connection to a dance from the courts of Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries? The Oxford English Dictionary tells us that one meaning of the word is possibly from the French ‘branler’, to move from side to side., and indeed one of the definitions of ‘brawl’ is ‘a particular pace or movement in dancing’. This shows that from the late 16th to mid 19th centuries ‘brawl’ and ‘branle’ can mean the same thing.
Yet if you dig a bit further, the earliest uses of ‘brawl’ in English appear in the 1400s, with pretty much the same meaning it has today, of ‘to quarrel noisily’ or ‘to make a disturbance’. The word has an uncertain origin.
So, during a certain period of the English language, ‘brawl’ and ‘branle’ were synonymous, but at the same time ‘brawl’ could also have its other meaning of quarrel or disturbance. But it isn’t farfetched to surmise that the meanings mingled somewhere in the mists of time, as ‘to make a disturbance’ and ‘to agitate’ are not too distant in meaning.
As keen observers will see, the gansey has reached that awkward toddler stage of tottering on its feet, unsure of how long it will be able to stand upright before falling down plump on its backside. The branle of the ribbing is complete, wavering back and forth on the ribbing, knit two steps forward then purl two steps back. The colour revealing its beauty now there is a good chunk of it – a deep soft hue of pinky-red that is neither girlishly pink nor brashly red.
 Two Ravens The weather, too, has been leading us a merry dance. Here in Wick, we had a coating of an inch; further north in Thurso there was more, and Orkney had up to eight inches. On the days without snow, there were gale force winds. But the aconites and snowdrops are now blooming with abandon, and other plants are peeking through the soil. Caithness is so ready for spring.
 “C’mon, Pete, it’s time to get up!”
“Don’t wanna. Let me sleep . . . zzzzz.”
“They’re waiting for you, Pete!”
“Don’t care. It’s cold out there.”
poke poke poke
“All right, all right, I’ll get up. mumble mumble . . . Crikey, it’s bright out here! Where’s my breakfast?”
This scene, oft repeated, could easily apply to any teenager throughout the land on a Saturday morning. But this time, it’s that poor groundhog, Punxsatawney Phil, and all his fellow weather-casters – Ms G in Massachusetts, Stonewall Jackson, Essex Ed and Otis the hedgehog in New Jersey, Malverne Mell and Great Neck Greta in Long Island, Staten Island Chuck in Staten Island Zoo, French Creek Freddie in West Virginia, and many others – who have been disturbed from their winter’s sleep to predict the coming of spring.
 St Fergus’ through the hawthorn The tradition originates in German-speaking areas of Europe, where Candlemas – the Christian feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple – was marked with a ceremony similar to Groundhog Day called Dachstag. The luckless predictor in this case was a badger, or Dachs. German settlers in the US, particularly the Pennsylvania Dutch, continued the tradition, substituting groundhogs for badgers.
Alas, these rodents are not particularly reliable. Punxsatawney Phil’s success rate is 39%, and only 30% over the past ten years, according to NOAA. Perhaps a young person would be more accurate. Potomac Phil, in Washington DC, changes it up a bit. A taxidermic groundhog, he also predicts six more months of political turmoil and gridlock, as well as predicting the coming of spring. The politics in Washington is probably easier to predict than the weather.
 Gorse To roughly coincide with Groundhog Day, I’ve started the next gansey. This one is for one of the museum volunteers, and is in the cheerful hue of Frangipani Crushed Raspberry. It’s a shade of deep pink, and will probably look more red when it’s knit up. The pattern, which will be on the yoke, after 4.5 inches of ribbing and many inches of plain body, will be Donald Thomson of Thurso, from Rae Compton.
How do I know all this? I knew who the next recipient was, and that the colour and size had been worked out, but where was this information?. I looked high and low, under and over, and finally found Gordon’s rough notes for it. Honestly, it was like finding the Holy Grail. The sheet contains everything I need to know to get started – the pattern, the measurements, the length of ribbing, and most importantly, the number of stitches to cast on.
And casting on should be simple, correct? In my case, no. It did not go to plan. I could not believe it when a couple of rows had been completed, only to find that there were 50 – yes 50 – fewer stitches than needed. There had been a twist in the join, too. To rectify the cast on, I unpicked it back to the starting stitches, added the 50 stitches needed, untwisted it, and counted multiple times. The moral is to avoid anything that needs brainpower after 8:00 p.m.
 Hawthorn
 It’s a treacherous, undependable thing, this hind-brain of ours. One moment you’re feeling reasonably fine, and the next you’re weeping while you hang up your socks. Which is where I found myself recently, after blocking the latest gansey. It was unexpectedly emotional. It makes no sense, of course. I’ve blocked dozens of ganseys over the years and haven’t shed a tear. This time was different. This was the last piece of knitting that Gordon worked on, and there is a desire to cling to it. But that would be denying it its purpose. When it’s dry and unpinned, I’ll carefully fold and send it to its new home – keeping a thing won’t change the past or further the future.
 Willow in the Marsh So here it is in all its glory. Mrs Laidlaw is a classic and with good reason. It’s a cracker. The vertical panels of trees bordered by triangles provide a satisfying texture, with a complex play of light and shadow. The change of knitter is imperceptible on the second sleeve; if I didn’t have the photos, I wouldn’t be able to find the transition. The only significant difference was in the cuffs at the bottom of the sleeve. Even with the same number of rows, the cuff on the first sleeve is about 3/4” longer; my row gauge on ribbing must be tighter. To correct this difference, I’ve used T-pins to pin it to lengthen it to match.
 Flotsam in the landscape The other theme of the week has been the wind. It’s been nearly incessant. Although it’s sunny and calm today, there’s more on the way. It’s been booming and whistling around the house practically all week. At the beginning of the week, it was strong enough to blow down twigs and small branches. By mid-week, it was necessary to lean into a headwind to make any progress. Another day, schools were shut, and ferries have been cancelled too. But thankfully here in Caithness we haven’t been as badly affected as elsewhere. I’ve fully enjoyed today’s respite before the next wind- and rain-filled onslaught.
 First Flowers of Spring And finally, the signs of spring are evident to even casual observers. I was very pleased to find this small clump of winter aconites on my walk a few days ago, with their cheerful yellow cups and Kermit collars. Today, I spotted some snowdrops, up from the ground and ready to bloom, at the base of a hedge near the bridge. The roses are starting to burgeon in the front border – I’ll have to think about pruning them soon.
Roll on Spring.
 It’s been a cold week in Caithness. The snow first fell on Sunday night, firing a warning shot across our bows with a dusting of snow. Then it crept off to plan further attacks. During Monday, the flurries roamed over the county, like a band of guerilla fighters, or a fluther of jellyfish with long, trailing strands of snow. The snow varied from icy pellets to fluffy globules spinning down to rest on the trees and fields. By mid morning the weather was a bit more determined, veering between sunny and calm to snow showers of blizzard proportions. The weather was sending such mixed messages that I decided to stay in, and felt a bit cheated by afternoon when the flurries petered out and then ceased.
Passing Snow Shower More snow fell overnight, sliding in with stealthy unloadings, fly-tipping their cargo when we weren’t looking. But the winds had been slight and the trees had that upside-down, magical look of a fairy land that only happens when it snows. When I ventured out in the morning to enjoy the snow, there were a fair number of people out doing errands or enjoying the snow with their snow-day children. Some were sledging on any slope they could find, but I didn’t see any snowmen. On one path, there were drifts nearly up to my knees.
 Drifting on Lovers’ Lane More flurries came and went over the next few days, leaving an accumulation of about 8 inches. Birds sat in the trees and bushes fluffed up like newly shaken down duvets. The snowdrops were hidden under the snow. Then yesterday, the weather warmed, and there was rain Instead of snow flurries. With the melt, icicles started to form on the house, and the trees lost their tracery. The lying snow ceased to sparkle and became waxy and dull. As I write, it is about half gone, disappearing into the ground, like spilled coffee on a carpet.
The gansey is coming on apace. The cuff, all six inches of it, has just been started, and should be finished and blocked by next week.
 In other news, the above photo appeared in the local paper a few weeks ago, and I forgot to include it here. By way of explanation, each year the Wick Heritage Centre has an open day on 2 January, and Wickers come along for a mince pie and a natter. One of the activities is to have your photo taken in the ‘Johnston Studio’, where props from the original studio are usually on display. There’s vintage clothing to don too, to give photos a true old-timey look. This year, four of the ‘boat crew’, who sail and maintain the museum’s fishing boat Isabella Fortuna, had their photo taken wearing ganseys that Gordon donated to the collections.
Regarding the link to Gordon’s Celebration of Life service, I don’t yet have a link for the ‘official’ video. But one of the helpful ladies at Gordon’s work has put together a video containing the pre-service slideshow and the audio. The slideshow was paused during the service, so in many ways this is better as you’ll see more than the celebrant and the backs of heads. I hope this link works, let me know if it doesn’t.
The snowdrops haven’t grown much over the past weeks, but just seeing them is hopeful. Other plants are budding too – the hydrangea peaking over a neighbour’s wall, the greening iris leaves along the path, the shoots of daffodils, the roses next to the house. The river is still high, but the path is no longer impassably, deeply flooded. In places the path is covered in a wrack of grass stems, trodden down or intertwined with other grasses or wire fences. As a further sign of the change of season, the birds are starting to sing, and the crowns of the black-headed gulls on the river are changing to a dark brown.
 Snowdrops peeking Over the few days following the service, Gordon’s brother and I went on some drives around the county, visiting tourist hotspots and notspots. One stop was at a cold John o’Groats, because you can’t not visit when you’re this far north. It’s a pleasant drive to get there, passing dunes, bays, brochs, and bogs, finally cresting the hill a few miles away to see Orkney spread out before you, but the place itself isn’t that interesting.
 Rainbow at Camster Another stop was Camster Cairns, where the skies were steely dark with approaching rain. With the sun behind us as we faced the cairns, we were welcomed with a full, double rainbow. We didn’t get close to the cairns – the boardwalks were treacherously slippy from overnight frost. Our final stop of the drives was at Sarclet, one of Gordon’s favourite places. Much of the drive that day was through gatherings of fog, disappearing and reappearing on a whim like playful spectres, but at Sarclet it was clear. The sun was near setting, with a beautiful pearlescent light over the cliffs and sea.
 Sunset at Sarclet The list of ‘things to do’ to settle affairs is slowly being ticked off. As in the sense of, ‘I’ve marked these things as completed’, not ‘I’m so ticked off’ or ‘ he has been ticked off for misbehaving’. I’m following the principle of ‘one difficult thing a day’, which can include going to the supermarket, where memories abound. So many things don’t need to be purchased any more . . . but it is getting easier. Difficult things can also include writing Christmas cards, making phone calls, preparing and sending paperwork. It’s a bit whack-a-mole at times, where one task is completed only to have another pop up. But the mountain is being eroded, one grain of sand at a time.
In gansey news, good progress has been made on the sleeve. I’m nearly down to the cuff, where six inches of ribbing await. I’m still trying to figure out Gordon’s notes. It’s an ongoing puzzle, and this week I found I’d misinterpreted them, thinking there were far more decreases. One penny dropped when I realised that a circled number denoted the number of rows, not the number of stitches. Everything will make sense at some point, but at the moment I wish he’d left a key to the symbols!
As a final note, thank you so much for all your lovely, supportive, and heartfelt comments. I can’t possibly answer them all individually, but can only say to all of you how grateful I am for your support and confidence as I continue the blog.
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