Juney had been my best pal since she wis moved into my P7 class. We jist clicked. Oh the fun, whizzin doon stairs on the lid o my mam’s leather pouffee, crashin into the wa at the bottom, bawlin oot the skylight windae, three fleers up, at strangers, and hurtlin doon the Skatebowl in oor roller skates.
Juney wis 11 first, then me. Bein 11, we wis far too aul for Hopscotch, or skippin ropes, an as the school holidays approached, we tried to think o a grown-up sorta day oot. Juney could mine this place she said wis amazin, jist a short distance oot the road, and we could easily reach it on oor bikes.
So, next day, bright an early, off we goes, cyclin oot the busy A90, Kirktown Brae. A picnic of jam and loaf, and Dairylea triangles in my bag. Juney wi her new pink Racer, an me wi my Raleigh Shopper, in among the cars, lorries and buses.
After aroon a mile and a half, Juney stuck oot her right arm. We cycled up a high brae, past farm buildins, to a long two-track road, walled aff by trees. Juney jumped aff her bike an disappeared into a thatch of gorse, and hedgin. I laid doon my bike an followed, catchin up wi her, jist as she reached an openin. Juney looked roon at me, grinned, an said
'Ta-dah. Reed Loch.'
I’m like wow. Jist wow. Red Loch. Spreadin oot in front, great wide, silently watching us. Trees all aroon, some hangin ower the dappled, mirrored surface. Absolute serenity, taks yir breath awa. Juney ran to the jetty. We jumped on an sat doon to hae some of oor picnic.
Gulpin doon juice, I pulled oot sandwiches, as Juney pulled aff her rubber boots an dangled her feet in the Loch. 'Ooh it’s freezin,' she squealed, her mouth full of loaf an jam. I reached back to get my bag. but overbalanced, ploppin like a pebble, into the Loch. I stood up quick, it wis up to my waist. Juney gigglin.
'I hope there’s nae monsters in here,' I shouted, dichting my een.
'There’s nae sic a thing as monsters,' said Juney, runnin along the jetty. She did a horizontal dive into the watter, emerging like a mermaid fae the deep.
'Fit’s at behind you,' I shrieked.
Juney shot up in the watter, swam over in a frenzy, then turned roon in sheer panic. She’s gan, 'Fit, fit’s behind me, fit… '
I’m doubled up laughing. We started to swim in circles an splash aroon. Fitty-ups, backflips an divin under. Fillin Juney’s boots up wi watter, pourin it ower each ither’s heids. Fair enjoyin oorsels.
Afore lang though, we started to shiver. We climbed oot, an lay flat on the warm jetty, watchin the cotton wool clouds sail by. We wis gettin thirsty. Oor juice wis finished, so we packed up an headed through the trees, to oor bikes.
I reached my bike first. As I bent to grab the handlebars, I caught a glimpse of something in the trees. Curious, I crept over for a better look. Almost hidden, at the end of an overgrown drive, wis an aul steen cottage. Hid seen better days an looked abandoned. Juney came ower to stand aside me. 'Fit are you lookin at,' she said.
'I think I’ve found us an abandoned hoose,' I replied, wi a shiver of excitement. The perfect end to oor day oot. 'Let’s go for a look. Maybe hidden treasure, or,' I put on a scary voice, 'a deid body.'
I took a few cautious steps. Juney close behind me. Nithing. Naebody. Getting closer, I noticed the grimy, torn screens, a windae boarded up. A broken spoot. I looked up. Nae rick comin ooto the lum. Juney held on to my arm as we tiptoed ower. Juney bent, peerin in een o the filthy windaes as I crept up to the front door. Nae door handle, jist a hole. I pushed the door slowly. It creaked. I held my breath an waited. As I beckoned Juney ower, a loud scratching noise started up.
Juney gripped me. 'F-fit’s at?' She wis feart.
'I d-dinna ken,' I stammered, as heavy breathin filled the air. We backed awa, somethin nae right here.
Suddenly. Fae roon the side. Two massive Dobermans. Racin full pelt towards us.
Juney froze. I’m sprinting, screaming at her, 'Guard dogs, Juney. Run for your life!'
The beasts, powerful and barking. All shiny teeth and foam. Gaining on us fast. I got to my bike an peddled like mad, the shopper basket j-j-judderin up-p-p an d-d-doon on the bumpy track. I looked roon expectin to see Juney, on her bike, right next to me. To my amazement, Juney wis barrelling after me on foot, terror on her face. I screamed, 'Far’s your bike?'
She’s pechin, her soaking boots squelch-slap-squelch-slap. 'I, huh-huh, didnae hae time, huh-huh, to pick it up'.
Jist then, I noticed the barkin getting farther awa. I slammed on my brakes. The dogs had been halted by long chains, at the end of the drive. They lunged an bayed. Juney saw too, an stopped, huffin an puffin, holdin onto my bike.
'I’ve never run that fast in rubber boots.' She looked roon at the dogs, swallowin hard.
I’m in shock. We wid’ve had nae chance, for sure, they would’ve ripped us to shreds. We jist wanted to get the hell awa but Juney’s bike was still lying there, and no way wis she gan hame athoot it. The dogs hidnae moved. They wisnae gan awa if we didnae, so we went and hid. The dogs scratchin aroon, stoppin every noo an again, lugs pointed. Eventually, they slunk off. We wis affa glaid to get hame.
Forty years hiv passed and we still laugh aboot oor adventure at the Red Loch.