"Sex Montibus!" said Milly, staring at the impossible view, and then switching from Latin to our commoner tongue: "where the fuck did them ither three come fae?" and in front of us they loomed, towered, rose magnificently – seeming to stand alongside the originals, but grafted on, identical in shape and form, cheek by jowl; I rubbed my eyes, to rid them of the double-vision, but when I looked again, they were still there; Isa had been gabbling on her phone, calling all the emergency services and as I heard her, I realised that there must be casualties: "the South side of the bypass, all the housing up Dingleton Hill, at the old Dingleton Hospital site, OMG! what about the Borders General?" but Isa held up a finger to silence me, then turned: "the BGH is okay – but we'll need specialist search parties, Mountain Rescue and probably Mines Rescue; yes, I'm heading towards the Cop Shop now, patch me through as soon as you can," she ended the call and told me and Milly to hurry as she ran down to The Greenyards and cut across to the unmanned Police Station; tapping the keypad and opening the door, she turned to me and said: "sorry, Teri, we're going to be running a rescue operation from here, essential staff only, go home and check our Aunties are ok and make sure the rest of the family are accounted for – you know what they're like about heading out for walks without telling anyone where they're going," and she kissed my cheek and closed the door behind herself and Milly – it felt exactly like what it was: being shut out of the most dramatic, unbelievable, totally unreal thing that had ever happened right on my doorstep, like a pair of wranglers consigning an old nag to the knackers' yard – our three Eildon Hills had identical Siamese Twins, sorry, Triplets! well, I wasn't going to quit, so, like an onager, acting entirely on my own volition, I headed straight to the Sorting Office, behind the foremer Post Office in Buccleuch Street, arriving just in time to see – and hear – Whistling Jack, our regular Postie, coming out, whistling Scotland the Brave: "stop!" – – I cried, rushing up to him and, somehow, bustling him back inside, where Maisie, who did most of the sorting, stared in disbelief! forgetting all about what had happened above the town, I asked him about the postcard from Berlin he had delivered this morning to Debbie Downer's mother; he was immediately havey-cavey, humming and hawing, crossing his arms and staring up at the ceiling, whistling a few bars and then, suddenly, the other shoe dropped! Jack snapped his fingers and led me across to one of the huge pigeon-hole cabinets that stood against a wall: "this is the ane fer letters an cairds, Teri," he said, "yer mair muckle heavy items like books an manuscripts," with a wink to let me know that he was indeed referring to the packages I regularly receive, "they gauns ower there," pointing to where Maisie was working, "weel, see, it wis cause a caird slipped atween thon gap, an a pult oot the cabinet tae retrieve it an there wis another ane, sae Ah pit them baith in the hole fer the Downer's street – it wis only when Ah wis walkin up the path that Ah noticed the stamp an the Swastika – that fair hud me flummoxed, bit ye ken Donnie's intae aw thon stuff, so Ah thocht it must be fae ane o his pals – Ah only saw it wis postmarked 1939 as Ah wis haunnin them tae Jessie – Ah hope they've no complained aboot late delivery! Ah wisnae here in 1939 – Ah wisnae born even an tho she's in wi the bricks, even Maisie dusnae ken owt aboorrit!"