'It was for me!'

In 1991 we moved to a large house set in three acres in the middle of the Scottish hills, miles from anywhere. My husband Francis, a lifetime member of the Morris Register (for Morris cars), had volunteered to host the annual Scottish holiday, a Whisky and Castle Tour. We were going to have twenty-three vintage cars, assorted tents and campers in the grounds, and a dozen people living in the house along with our family, for about a week. And a great, though soggy time was had by all - it was a very rainy July. On the first day, a few cars and tents had already turned up and were being taken care of by my husband, children and a few friends. As I was getting the house and food ready - I had offered dinner for everyone the first evening - I remembered that I hadn't made an orthodontist appointment for my daughter. I was to have rung Aberdeen Royal Infirmary days before. So I picked up the phone and dialled the number which was eventually answered by a gruff "Hello." "Ah, that's not the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, is it?" I asked. "No, it's a phone box somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Scotland." “You don’t sound very Scottish,” I said. “I’m not, I’m from Luton, on holiday.” And where in Scotland was he? "Dunno. I'm lost." I said I hoped that he was soon found and that he had a lovely holiday, and hung up. I thought about it for a minute, looked at my list of the people coming for the Morris Week, and pressed the redial button on the phone. “Hello, are you Eddie from Luton?” Stunned silence, then a strangled “Uh, yeah. But…” “You’re driving a Morris Eight Tourer and your wife Anne is driving a modern car towing a trailer tent.” I heard him shout “Anne! Anne! She knows who I am!” Then to me “Are you a witch?” "No, I'm Carol, it's my house you're coming to. I've got you right here on my list.” "Where are you? Can you see me?" "I'm standing in my kitchen. But if you are where I think you are, you're about half a mile from me. It’s the only phone box on the Dufftown Rhynie road." "Where's that then? I've got this map - here, I'll hold it up to the phone, take a look." "Forget the map. Did you pass the pub on your left about half a mile ago?" I asked. "That was a pub?" "So you're in the lay-by across from the phonebox, and there's a tumbledown shed with a corrugated iron roof. Can you see the church on the hill across the valley, or the bridge?" "Lady, there's nothing around but hills and scenery – no church, no bridge. But you're right about the shed and corrugated iron." So I gave him directions - carry on about thirty yards, over a hump-back bridge, take the right hand turn after the bridge, follow that road down the hill, our drive is just at the bottom, my husband will see you in three minutes. He was driving in three minutes later. Eddie tells the same story. "I was driving along looking at the map. It says go through the village. What village? Then there was this lay-by and I pulled in and Anne pulled in right behind me and we were looking at this map. There was this phone ringing across the road, and I said 'I'll answer it.' Anne goes 'Why bother, you silly fool, you're lost and about six hundred miles from home.' But I said, 'It might be for me.' And she says 'You don't know where you are, and nobody else does either, you silly twit.' But I said 'You never know, it might be for me.' And it was for me!" Carol