More items from the Retro Roamer columns of 30 years ago
Congratulations to two small boat owners (it’s the boats that are small – not the owners) who have both named their Loch Linnhe craft ‘Roamer’.
A gale swept and rain lashed Claggan Park on Saturday. In the grandstand, I suppose it just had to be Neeny Ross who came out with the words: ‘I’m only here to escape from Hurricane Helen’! As a measure of the ferocity of the weather, it has to be said this was a first under-cover manoeuvre for Neeny who can usually be seen under an umbrella on the terracing.
Public notice: Muir-Duncan. Eventually, at the Railway Club, Inverlochy, on Saturday last, from Crombie to Dally – a half of whisky. The first in six years. Both recovering.
Names cannot be used in this item because I’m sure to get someone’s goat. It appears messages were flashing all round ScotRail’s electronic listening systems at the weekend, to the effect that a billy goat was wandering on the line between Spean and Roy. Higher authority and local officials had to go goat hunting. All drivers and guards were instructed to keep a keen lookout. Meanwhile, the wags were enquiring as to whether the goat was just out for a dander and looking for Paddy McGinty. A query from an unknown source as to whether the goat was wearing railway uniform received no reply. However, the goat has never been seen again – leaving officialdom on the horns of a dilemma.
Quite a few gems in the tourist office – apart from the staff, that is. ‘The internal Register of Visitors’ Queries’ continues to provide much mirth. Such as ‘Excuse me, where is Fort William’?; ‘Where do you catch the train for Ben Nevis’?; ‘What are the big hairy things, with horns, in the fields’?; ‘What time does Ben Nevis open’?; ‘How can I get a bucketful of snow back to the States’?; ‘Where exactly is the Opera House in Mallaig’?; ‘Where, in your area, am I most likely to catch a Red Admiral butterfly’?; ‘Is the bridge to Skye at Mallaig or Kyle’? Possibly the most crazy query received by tourist office staff was from a ‘towrist’ standing under the sign which reads ‘Information’ who enquired: ‘Excuse me – where’s the tourist office’?
I note the region’s land and administration department has advertised a compulsory purchase order for the car park and service area at the Station Hotel. Now, I know the region has been taking its time in providing the ‘service road extension’, but I didn’t realise it was that far back. I then spotted this little regional gem. ‘Highland Regional Council invites applications from contractors for works at Inverie Primary School, Moidart’. Everyone in Lochaber, including primary school pupils, knows Inverie is on Knoydart. So, why doesn’t the region? As Lochaber District Councillor Alister Rodger said at last week’s development committee meeting: ‘The Highland Regional Council starts in Inverness – and ends in Inverness’.
Katie from Caol started to make a pot of soup one day last week. Discovered she had no parsley. Norrie was away out and Katie hadn’t time to run over to the Co-op. So, for once, the soup would have to be parsley-less. After putting the pot on the stove, she nipped out to the phone box to give her daughter a ring. On entering the kiosk, Katie couldn’t believe her eyes. There, on the wee shelf where the directories used to be kept, was a cellophane-wrapped bunch of parsley. Providence or coincidence? Katie had a quick look round and, as there was no-one about, she decided it was, indeed, ‘providence’ and went back home with the parsley. By this time Norrie had returned. ‘I’m just back from the phone box and you’ll never guess...,’ Katie began. Norrie interrupted her then. 'Oh hell, speaking of phones, Jan gave me a bunch of parsley from the garden, knowing how much you like if for the soup and I left it in the phonebox!’ Norrie eventually found out why Katie fell about laughing. And the providential parsley certainly sooped up the soup.
Group of Caol Primary School pupils at the Fort v Clach game at Claggan. It poured most of the time, so they all sat in the stand with their respective families. Midway through the second half, one wee fella inevitably wanted a wee wee. The pavilion was pointed out to him, with the explanation the toilets were at the side. Off he went. He came back shortly after, looking a bit distressed. ‘I wasn’t able to go in,’ he announced, near to tears. ‘The door has a big ‘G’ on it.’ Fortunately, before there was an accident, his dad convinced him that the ‘G’ was for ‘Gents’ and not for ‘Girls’, as on the door of the school toilets.
Elderly housewife doing early morning shopping. Betook herself to Menzies. There was a demonstration in there, with a lassie handing out samples of special biscuits. Iced and crunchy, they were. ‘Would you like to try one?’ The reply from elderly shopper was: ‘I’d enjoy it better if I had my own teeth.’ Back came the lassie: ‘Whose teeth have you got, then?’ Not to be outdone, the housewife replied: ‘They’re my fatherin-law’s actually.’ Bearing in mind the lady was of advancing years, it must say wonders for her youthful appearance that the lassie responded in all seriousness: ‘They’re not, are they?’
Meanwhile, across the street in Low’s, another cameo was in progress. A French ‘towrist’ came in - there are a lot of them about just now. He espied Bob Christie in his eyrie and beckoned to him. Bob came down courteously. Said the cross-Channel customer: ‘Have you batteries?’ However, he pronounced it ‘butteries’. Beaming, Bob escorted the Frenchman to the bakery fixtures. ‘Here you are, Monsieur, a packet of butteries.’ Monsieur took a look then said: ‘Non, non, butteries for my radio.’ Exit Bob. Bemused, bewildered and butteried.