All rhodos lead to....

....Glendaruel (Argyllshire), where I spent much of my childhood.

The moment I get out of the car, I'm transported back to the 70s....everything, from the scent of wild garlic in the woods, to the hymnbooks in the wee church, is exactly as it was when I was young.

I half expected to see my mother wandering through the field with some bluebells she'd picked; or Cailleach, our cairn terrier, trying to escape her lead to chase some rabbits.

I wish I could go back for a while, to help my dad as he built a treehouse for us, or to splash once more in the stream with my cousin...

My parents, my cousin, and the dog have all long gone now. But the rhododendrons, and the ghosts of happy times, will be there forever.......