Arrival of Indiana Jones created a buzz second only to the monthly visit of the tea and cake van
WHO says nothing much ever happens in the country? Last weekend, every passing lorry and car was scrutinised as it passed through the village, in case Harrison Ford was hiding in the back seat beneath a tartan rug. News that he was heading our way to film a segment of the fifth Indiana Jones movie created a buzz of anticipation second only to the monthly arrival of Rington’s tea and cake van.
Sightings of him earlier in the week in Bamburgh and its locale had spiked blood pressure, as had the sound of explosions from the castle. Even so, when I saw that the road to the magnificent Leaderfoot viaduct, a couple of miles from Melrose, had been cordoned off by traffic cones, I assumed it was for road resurfacing. How very parochial of me. It was, of course, in aid of a Hollywood film crew.
And where better, when you think of it. The viaduct offers a stunning backdrop, soaring on pencil-thin arches above the River Tweed. A few metres away is a now disused 18th-century bridge, thought to be built on the spot of a Roman bridge, when there was a garrison teeming with centurions at nearby Newstead.
Also alluring, for a man of Indiana Jones’s taste, is evidence of iron age settlement all around. With an abundance of ancient history underfoot, much of it discovered by the Edwardian amateur archaeologist James Curle – later described as “Scotland’s own Indiana Jones” – the present-day adventurer had found his spiritual home. [Note to Scottish filmmakers: Curle, a Melrose solicitor, would be a great subject for a film.]
Yet it would appear nothing of an academic or intellectual nature occurred while Ford was here. Not a trowel or spade was to be seen. As the film crew armed themselves with camera cranes, booms, jibs, clapperboards and got to work, a stretch of the A68 was closed. Crowds that had gathered hoping for a glimpse were urged to move along.
There wasn’t much to see, but what little there was soon found its way online: a bicycle, a water cooler, Harrison Ford and Toby Jones kneedeep in grass. If they were acting, it looked effortless, though also a little underwhelming. We had been expecting a glimpse of Ford catapulting off the viaduct or pedalling after the enemy along its parapet.
Nevertheless, it was gratifying to see him in his Raiders Of The Lost Ark garb. With battered fedora, untucked khaki shirt and coiled bullwhip clipped to his belt, he could have passed for a regular borderer. There’s a shop in Kelso that sells all of this gear. Perhaps that’s why the Hollywood scriptwriters chose this location, because they knew he’d blend in.
But since the good folk of Melrose, like sniffer dogs on the trail of drug mules, can instantly detect incomers from Walkerburn, let alone Wyoming, there was no likelihood of him going unnoticed. As Saturday wore on, those idling in the town square expecting him to hove into sight any minute grew restless. People were observed letting the Peebles Express drive off empty, simply using the bus stop as an excuse for loitering.
Not since the Proclaimers moseyed into town has there been such a frisson of anticipation. I was speaking at an event at the tented Borders Book Festival that night, at the time when the Reids’ performance was due to start. The organisers were worried speakers would have to compete with Sunshine On Leith but secretly I would have liked that.
It didn’t happen, but as I made my way to the festival compound about
It was gratifying to see Harrison Ford in his Raiders Of The Lost Ark garb. With battered fedora, untucked khaki shirt and coiled bullwhip clipped to his belt, he could have passed for one of us
4,000 folk were flocking into town, barely making a sound. These so-called revellers reappeared after the concert, some in search of a nightcap. They found rather a chilly reception in certain quarters. Before the full exodus hit the high street, you might have heard bolts being shot and padlocks snapped into place, the ten o’clock witching hour long past.
For Harrison Ford, however, all shops and bars would have opened their doors after closing, had that been required. Did he sample the delights of the delicatessen, with its oozing French cheeses, or the chocolatier, who emerges from the back shop as if she were Willy Wonka? I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.
On Monday morning, however, there were reports that he had enjoyed a shopping spree, bagging whisky in the wine shop and Scotch pies in the butcher’s. Believe that as you will.
When Alan asked one of the butcher’s colleagues if he’d taken a photo of Harrison sinking his teeth into one of his now-even-more-famous pies, the young man offered to take Alan’s photo
Melrose is no stranger to international superstars
instead. Rather than bridling that he’d just gained 10 years, he was flattered to be told there was a slight resemblance. Shopkeepers know how to keep customers happy.
Not that Melrose is any stranger to international superstars. Another butcher features in one of JK Rowling’s Cormoran Strike novels, and there’s a notice among the venison pies in the window to prove it. It also seems entirely possible that Sean Connery once strolled by, since his son has a country place in the area.
Now, I know some – such as Alan – would have been more gratified to see Ford arrive in his other guise as Jack Ryan, the spy, come to ferret out enemy agents masquerading as caravanners, or foil a terrorist plot centred around Scottish Borders Council’s headquarters.
But to my mind, with his heathertramping gait and backyard appearance, Indiana Jones is a better fit for the area.
And, should he ever grow tired of acting, he would have no difficulty finding work in his original trade. Such is the demand for joiners to fit kitchens or build staircases, he’d soon be overwhelmed with orders. Where the Yorkshire cabinet-maker Robert Thomson carved a mouse on all of his work, perhaps Ford’s signature could be a fedora.
By the time of the film’s release next summer, when the viaduct gets its moment in the limelight, Harrison Ford will be an unthinkable 80.
Where better, then, than Hoolet for him to hang his hat? Those who cannot personally recall gathering around the wireless to listen to Neville Chamberlain’s announcement of war with Germany are considered mere striplings, useless when it comes to a pub quiz except for questions on popular culture post-1970.
Bullwhip or no, I can assure you he’d feel right at home.