Rosemount Rainstorm

By Rachel H Grant

The wind tousled the old woman’s hair, turning it in to a bird nest. The local residents of Rosemount in Aberdeen called her the Rosemout Wifie, or, less flatteringly, the crow crone.

Every day, like a senile soldier the Rosemount Wifie walked along South Mount Street, then Rosemount Place, finally arriving at Victoria Park. There, like an avian godmother, she fed the local birds, throwing seeds joyfully and watching them feast with a crooked smile on her feather lined face.

No one knew just how old she was, or where she came from. However, each day she appeared, sometimes limping up the street, but always with a child’s simple smile on her face.

As if her behaviour was not bizarre enough already, on her way up South Mount Street, she would stop to salute the spirits of wind and rain on the Rosemount Square building. Perhaps she considered the solitary spirits as friends.

At Victoria Park, the Rosemount Wifie would sit in her usual place near the fountain and throw bird seed like confetti in to the wind. Pigeons and crows assembled, an army of birds meeting their queen.

And so days fell like dominoes, time sinking down the well of mute memory. No one disturbed the old woman in her daily travels, until one day at autumn dusk. The Rosemount Wifie approached the Victoria Park fountain as usual, when an unruly group of boys flew towards her like angry birds, flapping their arms in hostile hilarity.

The Rosemount Wifie froze in timid terror. Two grey clouds suddenly descended, twirling like drunk ballerinas. Torrential rain attacked the boys, while a vicious wind stopped them in their tracks. Battered and short of breath, they turned and ran away.

Then the clouds fell to the earth, taking shape within the fountain. Two warrior women appeared. The Rosemount Wifie stared, stupefied.

It was the Spirit of Rain and Wind.

Then they were gone, as if no more than a figment of her frail imagination.

The next day, she stopped for several minutes at Rosemount Square, staring at one bas-relief spirit above and then the second one just round the corner. The Spirits of Rain and Wind were silent and still, as always. However a smile of secrets played with the old woman’s lips, her invincible imagination at work.

Some months later, the Rosemount Wifie did not appear one day. Or the next. Pigeons and crows flew around the Victoria Park fountain, seeking their friend. However she had flown away, never to return.

The Spirits of Wind and Rain continued to entrance curious passers-by. However, if you were to go even further round the corner of Rosemount Square, you would see a new spirit on the wall. A faint impression of a long haired woman on a broomstick with birds around her, long hair floating over her back like wings. And then if you were to glance upwards, you would see the crows and pigeons on the roof of Rosemount Square, seeking a friend departed, a birdsong of loss in the air. Stand for a moment more … and there, did you see the bas relief woman move her hand? Look a little harder, did she wink at you?

So welcome to Rosemount, where spirit angels sing in the rain and dance in the wind. Birds fly above like an angelic army of protection. And no stray soul ever walks alone.