The Bomb

 

Gullane Point

Let's start with the bomb. Yes, that kind of bomb. This is not another terminology lesson. We are talking about the kind of bomb that explodes. That is what we happened upon today. We joined the hill walking club on a walk along the coast of the North Sea; technically, since there were no hills, it was just a walk, not a hill walk. Anyhow, our path oscillated between the firm hard low tide sand and the path along the dunes. We went for miles point-to point with a bus ride at each end. It was spectacularly scenic. The wind was unusually calm for Scotland, and the sun frequently greeted us from behind the intermittent clouds.

It was along one of the dunes near Gullane Point that we happened upon a man and a woman frantically waving and shouting as we approached their location. Perhaps it was because the wind had momentarily picked up that we had a hard time making out what they were saying. But their body language was unmistakable; they were in distress. Some of us stayed back while others of us continued to approach the frantic couple. Strangely, that approach only seemed to amplify their distress. Come to find out, he was an off-duty member of Her Majesty's Coastguard; he had found what he suspected was an unexposed WWII bomb poking out of the sand but a foot away from our path. Those of us who had approached sheepishly apologized for ignoring his warnings while the others circled safely around.

After the walk was over, but before we boarded the bus to go back, we happened upon a pub where we each gave our differing versions of what happened. Got to love Scotland. The Darwin awards were mentioned. By the time we finished that discussion, I doubt there was much truth left in the version we all agreed we liked.