The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
Picture of the day
Sprucing up the sign
“I read with great interest the article in Thursday’s Courier about the Wallace Land o’ Cakes sign on the corner of Dura Street and Eliza Street in Dundee,” emails Neil Quinn.
“It was painted about 80 years ago by the well-known Dundee sign writer Stewart Hutchison. About 35 years ago, the sign had faded a bit and I was asked by Mr Wallace to repaint it, which I did using photographs to make sure it was identical. I was used to painting the Wallace monument as I painted it on the Land o’ Cakes vans and it was just a matter of scaling it up.
“After the bakery had moved and the property was being redeveloped, the sign must have been damaged and I was asked to repaint the sign by the developer, but I was a bit old for climbing around on scaffolding and passed the job on to fellow signwriter Stewart Wallace who carried out the work which is the sign you see today.
“Whether the sign was repainted between the original and my reprinting I could not find out. I asked Mr Wallace, but he had no idea.”
Strathardle landmarks
Willie Macfarlane of Wolfhill emails: “Following the very interesting stories about Kirkmichael and the Strathardle area, a former colleague (once a Glenner himself ) and I have been reminiscing about how well populated the area must once have been. Our conversations have certainly helped to while away many a long hour during this lockdown period.
“Between us we have uncovered quite a lot of information, not least a map of the Strathardle area which we found on the Mount Blair archive site. This highly illustrated vellum map, showing all the various landmarks and bridges over the River Ardle, was created by the local Kirkmichael village constable, Edward Currie.
“Before joining the Perthshire County Constabulary on April 11 1855, Edward – a married man and a native of Lochgilphead – was employed as a shoemaker/prison assistant and was living in Brown Street, Blairgowrie. Coincidentally, Brown Street in those days was also the base of the local Blairgowrie Burgh Police and it is believed that the burgh gaol stood close by.
“Edward Currie served as the County Constable at Kirkmichael for 22 years and, with his ever-growing family, lived at Balnald Cottage (now known as Willow Cottage), close to the Cateran Trail. With the permission of the owners, and at a cost of approximately £5, a small holding cell
was built and attached to the rear of the property. How often it was used is anyone’s guess.
“It was highly unusual in those days for a constable to serve for so long at one police station – low wages, appalling living conditions and, not least, a fondness for the bottle usually bringing many a promising career crashing down to earth. Not in the case of Edward, though, and it is very clear from the methodical way in which he has prepared the map that his attention to detail was sound.
“In 1877, Edward and his family moved away from Balnald Cottage and, as far as I can ascertain, he was not posted to any other police area. He later became a store keeper operating a business from somewhere in Lochee, Dundee. Predeceased by his wife Jessie, when he died in 1905, aged 81, his death was registered by one of his daughters.
“I wonder what became of the Currie family and for what reason Edward decided to forsake the County Constabulary and the community of Strathardle?
“More importantly, I wonder if any of his descendants are aware of the most precious gem of a map which he left behind him?”
Film or play?
A reader has asked if anyone can identify a TV play or film he saw any time between 40 and 60 years ago. It was a Whisky Galore-type setting, with a boat in danger of hitting rocks near a village, and the only impediment to the islanders’ potential acquisition of the abandoned cargo was the local minister.
“Villagers and minister were all in the church hall when word came that the boat was aground and the crew safe. There was a charge towards the outside door when the minister, who was up a ladder, shouted ‘Stop’. Dutifully, his flock stood still, fearful of what was about to happen next. Slowly and imperiously he came down the ladder and walked to the door, whereupon he broke into a run, shouting: ‘Now we all start equal!’”
Original door
“May I add to the comment in last week’s Craigie column where a reader said he was a rep for the whisky industry in the early 1950s,” emails Susan Simpson. “He missed out George Morton, the whisky blender and bottlers, who had premises in Dock Street.
“My father, James Morton Elvidge, was the managing director of the company which mainly produced Mortons Whisky and OVD Rum.
“I’ve included with this email a photograph of the original front door, which I have in my house. A blast from the past.”
Episode 66
Lilias gazed at Mateo, her eyes full of good humour, daring him to disapprove. Her openness about such things would have embarrassed him at home. Here, he was beginning to understand it.
She was reserved and dignified when she needed to be, and cautious in her dealings with the strangers. He sensed that if they overstepped the mark with her, she would retreat. All the same, she seemed to expect frankness about these matters of life, death and courtship, both in herself and in others. She was full of a sense of fun and sometimes it bubbled to the surface in spite of anything she could do to contain it.
Nobody reproached her for it. Perhaps this was because of her position in the community. Her mother was dead. She had no elder sister and it was clear that she was the apple of her father’s eye. Mcneill relied on her and had given her a large measure of freedom and responsibility.
She was a young woman of consequence in this small world of the island, and being quite outspoken seemed to be part and parcel of her authority. It discomforted and attracted him in equal measure. He thought that here was a young woman who knew her own mind.
His own father would certainly have quelled any such behaviour with a glance and a harsh word, but Mateo found himself admiring her. He supposed it to be unusual, even here. He liked her. He had never been so openly friendly with any woman before.
The Spaniards had never seen anything quite like the celebrations at Samhain. To Mateo’s eyes, they seemed to be savage and unchristian: nothing like the autumn festival in La Laguna for the statue of Christ that had been brought to the island by the Archangel Michael himself.
Well, Mateo was sceptical about that aspect of the story, but the statue of the crucified Jesus of Nazareth, in wood, both venerable and disturbing, was so extraordinary that it might as well have been made by angels, an image of suffering so profound that it was impossible to see it and remain unmoved.
Now, he had witnessed so much of the real thing that he could attest to its accuracy, even while thinking that he wouldn’t be unhappy if he never saw it again.
At the end of October, the wind and rain that had been constant throughout the month abated, just in time for the return of the cattle from the shielings: compact and sturdy beasts in black and dun, very like the horses, the garrons, which were compact and sturdy too.
The climate and the terrain seemed to demand a measure of toughness if beasts were to survive. Beasts and people both. Bonfires were lit on the high hills, and those returning brought flaming brands down with them, and carried them sunwise around the houses, although carrying any torch around Achadh nam Blàth was quite an undertaking since the house was so big, the land around it so uneven.
There were, besides, windy corners where the torches were in danger of being blown out, which was thought to be unlucky. When Mateo asked why they did this, he was told that it was “for protection”. They sang as they walked and Lilias translated for him.
‘May God give blessing to the house that is here,
May Jesus give blessing to the house that is here,
May Mary give blessing to the house that is here,
May Bride give blessing to the house that is here,
May Michael give blessing to the house that is here.’
So the Archangel Michael was known here too.
“Everything must go with the sun, not against it,” said Lilias. “Did you not notice? When we women are waulking the cloth, we pass it sunwise as we sing. Even the boats when they are brought onto the shore or when they are launched must never be turned against the sun.
“Our houses are blessed by fire in the name of God and his angels, but it must be sunwise. The stones on the querns must be turned with the sun, otherwise the grain will go bad.”
“And you believe this?”
“Why would I not, when truth?”
There seemed no answer to this strange combination of Christianity and something older, so Mateo simply assented. This was a powerful invocation and who was he to quarrel with it? He had been at sea for long it is the God’s enough to know that all voyages were mired in superstitions and heresies. If, on the island, these extended to everyday life, then perhaps it was necessary.
Later, there was feasting in the great hall, to which he and Francisco were invited as guests, along with a great many islanders. Lilias told them that the empty places set at the table were for the souls of the dead who might visit on this night.
After the meal, there was singing and dancing. Stories were told of which Mateo understood not a word, but the sounds washed over him and it seemed to him that they brought their own strange and vivid images to his mind, of ancient battles and long-ago quarrels and loves lost and won.
It seemed to him that the songs were sadder than those of his island, and it occurred to him to wonder if it had something to do with the dark time of year, the absence of the sun, which was such a constant on his island. The long dark nights were difficult to bear and he’d been told that the days would grow shorter still. No wonder so many prayers and songs were invocations to the sun for its return.
“But the days are much longer in summer,” Ishbel told them. “You wait. There’s hardly any darkness at all in the middle of summer!”
He found it hard to believe, but he knew that it must be so. It was different from the world he had left and lost, although it didn’t make it any more comfortable to endure.
Late in the evening there were games of which, again, he understood almost nothing. Francisco had taken himself off to bed, well fed and as happy as Mateo had seen him since they left home.
“I think I might sleep soundly for the first time in months,” he said.
For himself, Mateo felt wide awake and animated. He had been sitting at some distance from her, but once the meal was cleared away, he had slowly but surely edged closer to Lilias.
It discomforted and attracted him in equal measure. He thought that here was a young woman who knew her own mind