This is a building in Hawick which is still there on the bridge by the river Slitrig. My great grandfather worked on the building of it, with his brother. One day they loaded too many stones onto the scaffold and the scaffold gave way. They both fell into the river; my great Grandfather landed on his brother and killed him.
It was a family story which was always told in this matter of fact way, no indication of the aftermath and what anybody felt. These were the facts.
Colm Toibin writes about becoming the custodian of his family history, once his parents had died, that the stories of his ancestors were his inheritance, that they now belonged to him and he had the license to use them.
I was thinking of those Mexican votive paintings painted by the victims and survivors of terrible accidents and offered to their chosen Saint or Virgin Mary as thanks. I thought I’d paint my secular version.