Messages

I think it's a peculiarly Scottish thing, but we are forever going for the messages. Even in these days of smartphones and tweets and What's App, there is nothing so fundamental than getting the messages ourselves. Our mums would go out for them, they would send us out for them, we would offer to get them for the old lady next door and there was even a special 'message bag' in which to collect them all. These bags were strong holdalls that would often last a lifetime with bodies and handles of leather, and if ever one needed replacing it was an event to rank with moving house!

I don't know the origin of this usage, but our everyday food shopping items have always been known as 'messages'. And it causes a degree of consternation among people who hear it for the first time. They tend to think we are all agents operating in an underground movement passing information along seemingly unreproachable channels (who would ever suspect dear old Miss Lees at Number 227!) for ends that can only be guessed at!

I remember once initiating a friend visiting from England into the local lingo many years ago but she didn't seem convinced. And on the last Sunday of her visit, she came to church with us and, lo and behold, towards the end of the service the minister gave the intimations which, as always, ended with, 'And there will be the usual rendezvous after the service'. My friend looked along the pew at me with one eyebrow raised. All I could do was shrug!