Joining the line of people at the main gate, they could see the huge field busy with onlookers and above their heads the tented royal stand.

‘I could do with some refreshment,’ Maggie said, taking off her warm jacket. ‘Robert, get Marion and me a cup of tea, please? My mouth feels like a desert.’

‘Would you not rather have a nice cold shandy?’ he asked, rubbing his hands hopefully. ‘I can see the beer tent.’

‘Oh, be off with you.’ Marion laughed. ‘And yes, get Mother and me a shandy each. We’ll be over by those wee girls doing their Highland dances.’

Marion took her mother’s coat from her and together they walked through the happy crowd, the men in kilts, the women in tartan dresses or summer frocks.

They managed to nab three deckchairs from a departing family and got themselves comfortable to enjoy the Highland dancing. The girls were no more than twelve years old, moving their nimble limbs with precision and speed, kilts flaring. Marion saw several proud families beaming their support.

Maggie gave her running critique. ‘Now when I was dancing for the Kilmarnock team, we’d be disqualified for that sort of step …’

Marion wasn’t listening; she was glancing around for any sight of the royal party.

When her father arrived with the drinks they moved on, at Marion’s suggestion, to watch the muscled hammer throwers in action.

From there, Marion could see a little more of the royal stand. She saw the waving plumes of the feathers in Queen Mary’s hat first. Regal and upright with a bouquet of heather in her lap, she was tapping her feet to a group of six pipers. Next to her, the King was watching and applauding the long jump competitors in front of him.

Marion scanned the rest of the royal party but there was no sign of the Duke and Duchess of York or the Princesses. She had her hopes of introducing Lilibet and Margaret to her parents, but beyond that, she was also desperate to see them again, to deliver hugs and ask how their holiday had been.

She sat back in her deckchair and gave herself to the pleasure of the sunny day shared with her parents, and to the fun around her.

There was the tug-of-war, running races for children, cabers tossed by men who were bigger and brawnier than any man she’d ever seen – and finally, as the sun began to lose its heat, there was a massed band of pipes and drums, marching in intricate patterns to ancient battle hymns.

Robert, on the outside of three pints, stood and sang as loudly as the others around him. ‘Get up, Maggie. Get up and sing!’ he told her, and to Marion’s astonishment, Maggie did just that, with tears in her eyes.

The cheering and applause when the performance was over was deafening. ‘’Tis a great day to be Scottish,’ Robert yelled, hugging Maggie to him.

‘Aye.’ Maggie laughed. ‘It’s wonderful.’