I was recalling a family meeting in my mother’s house at the Knock many years ago, while I was still living there. I was thrown out, but that was normal. As I was putting on my shoes and jacket I got the gist of it.
My brother had a solicitor willing to rip up a will where all the witnesses were dead, and the client was dying. All he had to do was get a signature, and the estate was his. Should he? Or should he not? They were all in favour, and my mother, when she knew who should get the money, was adamant that the bloke was an idiot customer of her’s. (She told everyone that I would never accept money. Legal money I have always accepted, but she was never legal)
The will was New Pitsligo, Aberdeenshire, and made out entirely to a Mr D. Milne, Grange by Keith. He would have been very rich today, whoever he was. My mother thought little of him anyway.