�y��vlog

Serious money may well be made around 100 miles to the north, near the village of Tyndrum, where there really is gold in the imposing hills, or braes as they are called in Scottish.

We didn’t have a clue about the loch and the brae and the rye, but the music never failed to bring tears to our mother’s eyes and we were twisted enough to really love that.

On the front of the yellow cigarette box is a poem by Robert Burns that Gram likes to sing to an old Irish tune: Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes.

Burns fell early into his hands, and the ambition was soon formed of transferring the braes and byres of Scotland to the hills and folds of New England.

And see not ye that bonny road, That winds about the fernie brae?