A Cautionary Tale
11am – Running Girl and Mrs B’Dass picked Spook up to go to Skye to run the Glamaig hill race at Sligachan. Climbing Kev was driving but getting dropped off at the road that goes up and over a very steep mountain pass to Glenelg. From there he was going to take the wee turntable ferry to Skye and meet them at the Sligachan Inn. How they laughed once he was out the car, and told each other that they’d pick him up in Broadford on their way home as there wasn’t a chance he’d make it all the way.
I’ve done the Glamaig race once before, but only after the first 2 attempts were aborted when I just looked at the hill, declared it unsafe, and refused to put my running shoes on. On my 3rd attempt I was successful and learnt quickly to keep my head down while climbing the very steep slope where debris from above can come scaling down. A local Lochaber woman once had her collar bone broken by a fast falling rock. About half way up the hill and past the danger zone, a young girl played The Dark Island on the pipes, held firmly by her grandfather as the wind blew its best, the view below opening up from the mist. I love the pipes and although the song is about Benbecula on the Outer Hebrides, it resonates beautifully on mystical Skye and instantly made the race special. On the return journey, there’s a point where you are in a bog with a rise of land ahead that disorientates you and hides the finish line, so with no other runners or a finish line in sight, it’s easy to go off kilter to the right and end up running along the road to finish the race - as I had to do - instead of straight into the Sligachan Inn. I was happy to stay at home this year as I have hung up my running shoes.
Spook is very familiar with the race and so managed to navigate his way straight to the bar, where Mrs B’Dass had already got the beers in as she’d beaten him soundly on the way down the hill. Running Girl came in next and they discussed having a quick pint before having to go and rescue poor old Climbing Kev – he hadn’t even taken his bike with the engine. Despite having some sympathy for him, they’d abandoned the idea of a quick pint and had just put up another round of beer when they looked out the window to see Kev cycling slowly past, looking straight ahead - with his finger raised in an impolite salute.
Running Girl may have felt a little guilty at not having had faith in her husband so agreed to be the sober driver. Kev couldn’t quite believe his luck and as he knew he was in very bad company, there was always the chance of further hostelries on the route home. Cluanie Inn was always a favourite for Spook on the way home from shinty games and Invergarry Inn was often too tempting to drive past. Running Girl had assured me she’d get Spook safely home…….
I’d made contact at 5pm. Would he be needing his tea tonight? I do love a night off from making the tea. But yes, he’d be starving when he got home, so tea would be great.
7pm Message from Spook ‘ Had great day, just leaving now.’
10.15pm. Message from Running Girl. ‘ Have done Claunie, now in Invergarry. Just a heads up – Mrs B’Dass has invited him and Kev in for a dram.’
Return message from me. ‘Tell him he can make himself an omelette when he comes in - I have to get over this stupid Highland Wife habit of making his dinner.’
11.35pm Message from Spook. ‘I am at Mrs B’Dass’s.’
And there begins a tale not so different, in parts, from the Tale o’ Tam O’Shanter….
Climbing Kev, a potential Souter Johnnie but captive in his wives car, was taken home whilst apologies of a failed mission were sent to myself.
Meanwhile, in the B’Dass household – a most congenial place of Highland Hospitality - the drams were poured, and the music requested. Nae piper or fiddles here –
“Alexa! Play Spooks favourite music.” Cried Mrs B’Dass.
“I’m sorry, I do not know that one”
Mrs B’Dass decided to try something more specific.
“ I love Queen,” she said.
“ I love Queen,” he said – “I’ve been to see them 3 times!”
“ Alexa! Play Queen songs.”
Now, Mrs B’Dass is a most effervescent person. Hill running coming almost 2nd to her love of dancing around the room, taking in seats and tables and perhaps a handstand or two. Spook adopts a slightly more reserved and robotic style - only bending backwards and forwards and is somewhat lacking in fluid hip action but makes up for it in enthusiasm. Songs were interpreted and acted out, Alexa playing the role of Auld Nick the Devil; Brian May and Freddie Mercury replacing hornpipes, jigs and reels with their modern tunes and ballads. As drams were consumed, Alexa loud and louder blew, the dancers quicker and quicker flew, they reel’d they set, they cross’d they cleekit, until a voice came through the modern Auld Nick..
“Can you please turn the music down? I have work in the morning!”
Mini B’Dass who is 16, was trying to get some shut eye upstairs and knows how to speak through Alexa using her phone.
The effect of this was to make the mirth and fun grow fast and furious, Mini B’Dass to stick ear plugs in and delve deeper under the duvet – she understood that the pleasures below were like poppies spread, you seize the flower, it’s bloom is shed, or the snowfall on the river, a moment there then melts for ever, or like the borealis race, that flit before you can point their place. This too would pass, and she would have a mountain of brownie points the next time she was late home - and could be gleeful in the following day’s remorse.
Making his way up the road at this very late hour was Mr B’Dass, having spent the evening at the nappy getting fou and unco happy with his shinty team mates – him, the ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie having recently gone back to playing shinty in his 50’s. Monies the time he’d chased that Spook around a shinty field, caman in hand with a bloodthirsty cry.
T’was a bit of a walk up that road in the dark, alone with his thoughts and memories. At some points singing a wee song to himself, and at others muttering under his breath :-
“I’ll show them I’m not too old for this. I’ve still got what it takes. I can clatter the opposition as well as the next man.” As he glowered about him for bogles and potential enemies who might be hiding in the bushes.
And as he approached his household, he saw that it was all in a bleeze. (I’d say that this is most likely on account of the very shiny floors that no matter what time of day or night you turn up are always highly polished and dust free.)
Full of whisky, he feared no evil as he took a peek through the kitchen window. And wow! What a sight! Nae witches and warlocks in a dance, but his ain good wife and his neibor – Spook, with life and mettle in their heels. Whilst up the road, Spooks wife was nursing her wrath to keep it warm. “I’ll teach him not to tell me when he’s not needing his tea!” She huffed at 3am.
Mr B’Dass glowered, amazed and curious - what sounds had them dancing so freely? He minded the tale of Tam O’Shanter who’d spied the young Nanny in her cutty sark made of fine Paisley yarn and couldn’t help but admire his beautiful wife and thought his eyes had been enriched. He couldn’t hold back any longer and burst through the door!
No cries of “weel done Cutty sark.” No stopping of the dancing, no instant darkness. Without a word of greeting………
Mr B’Dass joined in the dancing, his shinty days far behind him. Cutty Sark seeing her chance, as if he had indeed made that cry, cart-wheeled off to bed leaving her husband to control the devil and keep up the hospitality.
Spook got home at 5am and claimed to his sulky sullen dame that he’d had the best day ever!
(She’d always known he was a skellum, a bletherin’, blusterin’ drunken blellum, so actually, she was fine.)
Now – Tam O’Shanter is a cautionary tale, and so is this. Each man, woman and mother’s son take heed. Whenever to drink you are inclined, or Cutty Sarks run in your mind. Think! Of Mini B’dass biding her time, and ready to remind you of this, when she’s crossed a line.
GLOSSARY
Cleekit – linked together
Nappy – strong ale
Fou – drunk
Unco – very
Drouthy – thirsty
Cronie – friend
Monies – many’s
Bogles – hobgoblin
Caman – shinty stick
Bleeze – on fire, brightly lit
Cutty sark – short shirt
Skellum – worthless fellow
Blellum – a babbling idiot
Below is a link to Robert Burns wonderful tale as well as an english translation
http://www.robertburns.org.uk/Assets/Poems_Songs/tamoshanter.htm
Painting by Alexander Goude