Due South - Mark Entwistle


Thursday, February 8, 2007
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Due South
By Mark Entwistle
The Southern Reporter
Selkirk, The Borders Scotland

What do you get your wife for Valentine’s Day?

Go into any news agent or card shop at the moment here in the Scottish Borders and you’re practically guaranteed to see guys standing about in front of the racks of Valentine’s Day cards looking sheepish as they muse over the sentiments inscribed inside.

Along with Christmas and birthdays, Valentine’s Day on February 14 is one of the big card-selling times for retailers and these range from the small and relatively plain to cards more the size of broadsheet newspapers, in the shape of teddy bears and giant hearts.

Florists are also getting set for a busy few days, as partners, boyfriends and husbands try and work out the difference between lilies and roses, bouquets and floral baskets.

Since my wife is currently working in a local florist’s shop, I get regaled in the evening with tales of oasis, arrangements and wreaths.

Normally I always give my wife a bouquet of flowers at this time of year, because I know she loves them, especially at a time of year when her garden is looking a bit drab in its winter cloak.

But with her job in the florist’s shop, that might seem a bit unadventurous!

So, I’ll have to think of something a bit different. However, I like to think I make my wife feel special all year round and not just on Valentine’s Day.

It’s a pity I can’t write poetry like Scotland’s national bard, Robert Burns. He actually used to visit a hotel here in Selkirk on occasion, just yards along the street from the office where I am writing this.

But until I can do better, we’ll just have to make do with the words of one of his most famous odes to love - “A Red Red Rose” - for all you Holly Springs romantics!

A Red, Red Rose

“O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile.”

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