Wemyss

Three boys at a table look too young to be in the pub.  They have fresh faces and moppish hair.  On the back of their chairs are hanging Barbour-style jackets.  I approach to ask my question.  They are bright-eyed and seem keen.  'My one's the best one', says the boy sitting furthest from me.  His hair is dark and forms a floppy fringe.  He is wearing a patterned woollen jumper.  I have to ask him to spell it for me twice.  I leave them to their fun.