I had to retype that twice, kept writing 'septic'

Grab a cuppa and I'll tell you a story.

My paternal grandparents moved to Australia from Glasgow, when they were in their early 20s and before my Dad was born. I remember long, long nights at Gran and Grandad's place, my Dad on the squeeze box and every adult present singing every Scottish song they knew (the more whiskey they drank, the worse the singing got, and someone would always end up crying). Deadly boring for us kids, we'd usually fall asleep in the front room and wake up to hairy faces carrying us out to the car (and that was just Gran!)

I have no idea if my grandparents ever visited Loch Lomond, but they must have had some sort of feeling for it, because they got particularly sentimental when Dad played that song.

Dad always said that he wanted to visit Scotland, but never did. Work, marriage, family - all the usual stuff got in the way and to travel that distance wasn't a cheap exercise. That didn't stop him talking about it though, and he used to say to me 'I'll take you to Loch Lomond one day, I'll take my squeeze box and you can sing'.

Dad passed away 11 years ago. By then he'd divorced my Mum and had married the local barmaid (true!). He didn't leave any instructions regarding where to scatter his ashes, his only stipulation was that he didn't want to be locked away in a cupboard.

So of course, the wicked step-mother, who was a right cow, locked him away in a cupboard (his ashes I mean, not him).

The old bitch died last year (ding dong!), and my siblings and I were quick to retrieve Dad from among her smelly old shoes.

But then we didn't know what to do with him. There were various holiday/fishing places around the State that he'd enjoyed going to, but none seemed special enough.

We were all together one day, talking about my brother's upcoming trip to Europe and the UK. He was talking about how Scotland was one place he was definitely going to see. Bingo. Take Dad's ashes and scatter them in Loch Lomond.

I'm sure he was supposed to get permission or something, but he just packed Dad up safe and sound in his carry-on luggage, and off they trotted.

He took some lovely pictures of the location and emailed them to us, and we were all happy because Dad had finally got to Loch Lomond. Very uncharacteristically for my brother (a big Aussie boofhead), he also brought back 10 small pebbles from the site, one each for various family members.

By the time the pebble collection got to me, there were 8 left. I took my time choosing one, it had to be the 'right' one. I finally chose the only rectangular piece of rock, with a long, flat top.

When I got home I went to put my pebble in a keepsake bag I have - a blue and white checked cloth bag, with ragged embroidery, that I'd done at school when I was 8 and had given to Dad just after he left home to marry the barmaid. I'd retrieved this bag from the wicked stepmother's home after she carked it - I never knew that Dad had kept it, and inside it was every letter I'd written him from age 8 to 14.

As I was putting the pebble into the bag, something made me look at it more closely. At this point, I'd like to say that I'm a hard bitten sceptic when it comes to 'other worldly' stuff. But there I was, peering at this pebble, getting a magnifying glass, peering again - and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. That's it, I thought to myself, I've finally gone bonkers.

I took the pebble to Scouse and asked him to put his specs on and have a good look at it, and to tell me if he noticed anything unusual about it.

He did notice something, and the most level-headed, practical man I've ever known got goosebumps.

Etched into the long, flat surface of the pebble, worn away in parts but still decipherable, was the word BETH.

Thanks Dad
Beth (SoS)

Whoa! Definitely goosebumps territory. That's what I call a sign!

Great story SoS.

I bet it made your brother feel a bit freaked out too when you told him.

Reading that certainly brought out my goose pimples but I really love to hear things like that. What a lovely story and how comforting for you.

A great story, and good on you and your brother for making that beautiful place, Loch Lomond your Dads final resting place

That reminds me that I must get dad out of my cupboard and scatter him somewhere by the sea. Well it is only a bit of him- my sister has the rest.
He loved Australia, and so my sister insisted I take some.
To me they are just ashes, and I didn't want to have them, but she is a sensitive soul who believes in the rainbow bridge and that we are all stardust etc. Haven't told her that I haven't done it yet, nor am I going to build a cairn of pebbles and take photos.

Each to their own. If I wasn't such a sceptic I would say it was a spooky thing with the Loch Lomond pebble, but my OH would just sneer at me.

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Thanks all for reading my rather long-winded tale. Molly, my brother doesn't believe me - he was sending all kinds of emails in reply such as "gotta go, I've made cheesy toast and I can't eat it until I've scraped Jesus's face off it". He's going to get such a slap next time I see him!

Caroline, I can fully understand the scepticism and I'm sure your Dad wouldn't want you to anything that you felt was false. You're a nice person to agree to your sister's wish that you take some of his ashes though, it obviously meant a lot to her.

Part of me still isn't convinced that this is anything but a coincidence, a rather eerie one, but coincidence none the less. But the letters are so clear, and the odds of this happening are so huge - I've shown it to two other people (without telling them what to look for) and they've seen my name also. So I'm just going to relax about it and see it as a lovely sign that my Dad is near me.

I'm glad that I loved him so much, and vice versa, otherwise it'd be garlic necklaces and crosses all round

Don't suppose on the other side of the pebble it told you which lap top to get.

No, unfortunately. Dad wasn't computer literate

Thanks SOS. It was more important to try to help my sister as she had been through a dreadful 8 months with dad's cancer and consequent dementia/hallucinations. She is still bad now 2.5 years later, not helped by having to have 2 of her many ferrets put to sleep yesterday. They apparently are also at rainbow bridge. (My poor dad would be surrounded by all her rats, mice, ferrets etc!!! He was an atheist too, though the dementia meant he changed his views.)

How perfect & simply wonderful.

Nice story.

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Your poor sister Caroline, she's been through the wringer. I hope she starts to feel better very soon.

Had to laugh about the company your Dad's keeping, I hope he was an atheist who liked critters!

Bloody cancer, the way it hits people so randomly. My brother was diagnosed with it a couple of years ago, went through all the surgery and treatment and is fine now. Yesterday, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. So it's a collective family deep breath, all pull together, and start again.

Sorry to hear about your sister.I hope treatment goes well for her.We have had our fair share of it,so hopefully that is it.No more thank you.