Braco Coffee is in the pretty little of village of Braco (pronounced break-o) population about 500. You would be forgiven for thinking that nothing much has ever happened here but you would be wrong.
On the outskirts of the village lies Fort Ardoch, a long abandoned Roman fortification. There’s only grass covered mounds these days to denote where the walls once were. 
Once while walking by the river we could hear distant commands “sinister dexter, sinister dexter.” Eventually it got much louder and a platoon of marching Roman Legionnaires appeared. They were in full costume and carrying spears with a commanding officer at the front giving them their marching orders. We spoke to them and apparently this is what some men do instead of going to football on a Saturday afternoon. They just march around for a bit, then go home again. We don’t understand either but they seemed very happy.
Damned cows!
But never mind the Romans, more importantly, my mum lodged here during WWII when she worked in forestry.
My dad was in forestry as well and Braco is where they did all their courting. Apparently on one of their dates my dad left his BSA motorbike in a field. When they returned (from wherever they had been 🥴) the straw stuffed saddle of the bike had been eaten by a cow. We tell you this to illustrate the fact that without this wee village this blog might never have materialised. Unthinkable, we know. 
Somewhere as salubrious as Braco Coffee wouldn’t have been available to dad back then hence mum’s invite to a field. Even if it had been, words like “cuppocinno”, “americano” or “flat white” would have been absolutely meaningless to them. We pass through Braco quite often and have had this place in our sights for a while. The clincher came when the Laird reported the cakes as excellent though he wasn’t sure about the scones. Obviously we had to check!
There was a steady stream of people coming and going so we had to wait a wee while to place our order at the counter. 
Normally these cafes are staffed by young girls but here it seemed to be all young lads. Anyway, it didn’t take them long to have us sorted with our coffees and a fruit scone. There wasn’t any cream and the butter and jam was all prepacked but the scone itself was really good. We thoroughly enjoyed it. Not quite topscone but close.
Memories
Afterwards I took Pat a couple of hundred yards along the road to the Pack Horse Bridge. It’s tucked away behind the more modern road bridge over the river Knaik. Pat was surprised and swore she had never seen it before and wasn’t even aware that it existed.It was built around 1650 and must have been the main crossing point for the river for many years. It’s only about four feet wide with very low stone parapets so it must have been interesting taking horses over it.
When we got home I looked up my photo library because I was sure that I had photographed it in the past. Sure enough I had a picture from 2006 … with Pat and the rest of our family standing on it. Such is our memories these days!
Travelling
As if that wasn’t enough Braco based anecdotes, here is one last one … promise. Given the problems in Gaza and Israel’s genocidal tendencies it made me think of a conversation about Braco when I was a mere sapling. My brother and I were working for my dad during school holidays when one of the elderly estate workers joined us while we were eating our packed lunches. He told us, when he was our age he was an estate worker in Braco with a 7am start to his working day. At that time he lived six miles away in the village of Muthill. When we asked him how he got to and from his work he said in his broad Scottish accent “oh aye, I just travelled“. Puzzled we asked if he maybe cycled or got a bus. “No” he insisted “I travelled“.
Misunderstanding
After some more probing it eventually dawned on us that by “travelled” he meant he walked. He walked six miles to his work in the morning and six miles back again at night. We hadn’t thought of that! The only reason I’m telling you this is that it was the first time I became aware of the vagaries of language. There we were, all speaking the same language but totally misunderstanding each other.
It’s why I’ve always been amazed by the EU, a union designed to stop wars but consisting of countries speaking twenty four different languages. Prior to the EU these countries used to fight like ferrets in a sack so the room for misunderstanding was immense. And yet it has been phenomenally successful at what it was designed to do. Maybe they should make Israel a member … after all it’s in Eurovision but we’d far rather they find some other solution.
FK15 9PX tel: 01786 880 333 Braco Coffee
///magnets.poetry.showering
