More Roamerisms from the early 1990s
All the locals perambulating Fort William High Street are scratching their heads because the new signs read ‘Please slow down – You are in a pedestrianised area’. I had a wander along the middle of the street on Sunday. It was a bit like the late 1940s and early 1950s when we, as members of the Viewforth Gang, could do exactly that on most days of the week, because there was very little traffic about. The main difference now is that you are inclined to incline your head most of the time, fearful that motors will bear down on you from both directions despite the alleged pedestrian priority. In fact a surprising number of locals are now using the pavements – or taking a walk along the middle – of Middle Street!
Bert Bissell was on his Ben Nevis pilgrimage with his Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team comrades. On the summit of the Ben the wind caught Bert’s trilby. And sent it flying away, like a frisbee, in the direction of the Red Burn. However, it was soon headed off at the pass, and ‘rescued’ by Alex Gillespie, who restored it, with a flourish, to the Bert Bissell bonce.
The members of Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team, aforementioned, were making an inventory of equipment and stores they’ll need for their Alpine training mission. The last item was ‘ a roll of cotton wool’. ‘Why the hell are we taking cotton wool?’ bellowed Mick Tighe, the team’s training officer. Back came the reasoned retort. ‘To stuff in our ears when you start shouting at us on the course, of course.’
The epitome of sartorial elegance made a guest appearance at an in-town function at the weekend. Resplendent in check jacket, black chinos, white shirt, new shoes – and monogrammed tie. None other than Willie Anderson, of LMRT, ken. Heads turned towards him from every direction. And everyone clocked the maroon tie with the initials WAWAWA emblazoned across it. Inevitably – and this, of course, was what Willie was waiting for – several people asked him how he had obtained the ‘personalised neckwear’. ‘Nae bother, ken,’ Wull replied. ‘I chatted to a rep from the coach company, Wallace Arnold, and I copped for one of their ties. C’way the Hearts.’
Back in Caol at the start of the shinty season, Duncan Shearer was good crack. First of all he reminisced about playing football as a Glenkingie Street youngster. ‘We were on the green kicking a ball about,’ said he. ‘And it went over the high fence into Hugh Dan MacLennan’s auntie’s garden. Seconds later three shinty sticks were thrown back from the other side! And they kept the football!’ Then Duncan remarked as to how, making his way to the Fort from Aberdeen, he was amazed to find that the journey from Spean Bridge to Caol was completed in just 10 minutes. ‘When I played shinty, and we had a game at Spean,’ Duncan recalled. ‘It sometimes took us five hours to get back home after the match!’
Ian and Jackie Latto made page four of The Sun on Monday. Rangers diehards, they had borrowed son Jason’s van to be on parade at the Copland Road end on Saturday, to harvest lots of rolls of the green, green grass of Ibrox. These were being turfed out to make way for the laying of the new pitch. You see, the Lattos have a mini Ibrox Park at Roy Bridge, and are currently experimenting with ways in which they can turn the turf into blue grass! Meantime, Ian and Jackie might like to know that, in 1967, when Scotland beat England to become champions of the world, I was one of the so-called ‘vandals’ who invaded the pitch to carry off lumps of the hallowed Wembley turf. I took the clods home in carrier bags, transplanted them – and painted them maroon. And a lot of good that did...!
Shades of the post-war Viewforth Gang versus Alma Road and Lundavra at the Town Park. Last week saw the grand INDOOR challenge football match between a combined Royal Bank and Corpach Shopkeepers side versus Safeways at the An Aird Multi-Purpose Hall. It was fought out with anoraks for goalposts. In our day we didn’t have goalposts either. Nor anoraks, come to think of it.
Aye, well, that’s me got the car parked (I’m not telling you where). So let’s drive right in at the deep end. The long-suffering Lochaber motorists won’t need to be told that the levying of parking charges for the facilities provided by Highland Region – primarily to woo the tourists – came back into force on Mayday. Two hours maximum stay in Viewforth, for example, costs you 40 pence. Two hours and a few minutes could turn that into £20.40 if you don’t display a valid ticket. No wonder Viewforth resembles a desert these mornings.
A Yank barged his way to the front of the queue in Fort William Tourist Centre. ‘Say, I only have one question. Is this town called Nevisport?’ His offbeat query was followed in rapid succession by enquiries from several of those whom he had queue gazumped. ‘When does the bubble car go up Ben Nevis?’ and ‘Where do we book for the steam train to Malaga?’ was another. Honest.
Margaret Traffic Warden must be the only woman in Scotland who is still darning her husband’s cotton socks. Aye, AA man Gordon’s socks get the full treatment and MOT service when their treads are wearing a bit thin. But Margaret’s now having a moan that her needlework is being hampered due to the lack of a darning mushroom which she can’t obtain locally for love nor money. So, if I’m right, and Margaret is the last housewife in the land who gives a darn, then I’m sure there must be a few redundant mushrooms out there, which could be handed over to Margaret on patrol in the High Street.