Claimed At 4

I would never condone violence of any sort and certainly not in the playground, however I do recall the phrase 'claimed at 4' and the human ring that was then formed at 4 with the chants of 'fight,fight,fight'. Looking back these were no more than aggressive tickle sessions and not even handbag sessions. My only 'bout' was in the late 60's. I clearly had pssd the aggressor off with some form of tomfoolery, but during the day the prepubescent testosterone shout went out 'claimed at 4'. My solo bout was with William 'Wum' Dodds. Having entered the gladiatorial ring and having passed my school bag to Scott 'Rambo' Gardiner, the bell was sounded and as Wum approached, I fell to my knees and instigated the famed Longy tears. Not one slap, not one tickle, not one foul mouthed adjective. We had a victor and we had the defeated crawling home with tail between legs. Appreciate there may have been more aggressive sessions and the occasional bloody nose or cauliflower ear but never any more and certainly, unlike today, no additional weapons allowed. Anyone else 'claimed at 4' and hopefully no-one recollects my 100% defeat record.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

A few truwynites delved into their grey matter and recollected a few Halloween memories from days of old. Dookin' fur apples and treacle scones on a string were the most popular memories. Our western colleague nee McGill remembers the queues in the Rectory hall where kids went through their party pieces. No one liners in those days; fine recitals, songs and complex jokes were the order of the day. Kids definitely expect more for less now and on occasions verging on extortion. Hats off to the families that still put something into the costumes and performance. To the others you deserve the egging not my neighbours window. The sconning was a particular favourite of mine and as Messr Scoular recalls it was the large treacle or soda scones dangling on a piece of string and covered in treacle or syrup. Scone had to be a couple of days old to ensure it was robust enough to take the dangling. With hands behind back you had to take a mouthful, but often just had the sensation of the sticky treacle/syrup running down the cheeks. Can remember doing this at the 28th Scouts hall and also in the basement of 107 Templehill, one of my previous residences. Also the dookin' fur apples. There was the posh version of dropping a fork from your mouth from a stool or the big boy version of head in the cold water and trying to bite and retain the apple. Only problem with the latter was the later the night went on the more the cold water was warmed up by prior contestants snotters.

Something for the Weekend

One of my earliest memories of becoming a 'man' was the fortnightly visit to the barber's at the bottom of Templehill. Chose that one as it was almost directly below the Duxess of Dow's residence and always hoped some of her brain power would transmit to my brain with less locks. Alas that only ever happened in Star Trek. I can still remember the sirenesque red and white pole guiding me into the wonders within. The smell of soaps and lotions and the hundreds of slick brylcreemed photographs indicating what I would look like at some point in future life...never did get that AC look. Magazines on sports, motor cars and gardening adorned the waiting area, as you awaited your turn for the throne. Large wooden chairs with leather finishings and some dental contraption to bring your head to the skilled craftsman's blades. Oh the joying of watching my curly locks hit the floor while listening to old men talking about Troon Juniors, latest fishing trip or just general banter. Probably also heard my first swear words there, but can still recollect the smells and the general vibe. Something for the weekend sir.....yes a large slice of banter and introduction to manhood and a decent top, back and sides for my Saturday cinema club rendezvous.

Goldy Locks and the 3&2

Every now and then a monumental upset comes along; Joe Dolce/Ultravox, Berwick Rangers/Vintage Rangers, Will Young/Gareth Gates, Bill Rogers or was it Buck winner of the claret jug. But cast your mind back to the mid 70's, when our very own Douglas 'the golf punk' James was drawn against the silky scratch soon to be professional Iain Mossman in the annual Marr golf competition. Clearly Douglas was taking things seriously, or as seriously as his nature allowed, and arranged some pre match preparation with his close team (Gardner et al) with a game at Shiskine on the Isle of Arran. Whilst the scoring was unmemorable with a level round (level being 6 at every hole) it was remembered for a feat that had us clambering through the McWhirter twins latest publication. At the very first tee, after a less than Bubba warm up, the starter announced his arrival 'On the tee Douglas James'. After Dougie removed the cobwebs from the hickory shafted driver, he placed his gutta-percha, almost round ball, on his favoured yellow tee. Back the club went, slightly off line, and then as it reached the top of the swing on came the Nureyev twirl that maybe didn't produce that extra energy but was a delight to watch. As his downswing went to transition and the golden locks flowed in the wind he released the ball, followed by a Bruce Forsyth soft shoe shuffle. There was a meeting of hickory with gutta and unbelievably and to this day never repeated, the ball travelled at a 90 degree angle straight through the open window of the starter's hut. Truly memorable and to this day, the only recorded shank with a driver since golf began. Many have tried to repeat, but none have succeeded. Anyway back to the main event and at 17.07, Dougie with his hickorys held in his pencil bag and Mossman with his resplendent pro bag head for battle on the 1st of the Fullarton. Unfortunately Henry Longhurst's recollection of the actual match have long since disappeared, but hands were shaken at the 16th with Douglas James victorious after a stunning short game display. As Iain headed to pop the victory balloons in his residence that overlooked the 18th, Dougie came into the clubhouse to a guard of honour provided by Jean White and her Bentinck Ladies, junior section. No over zealous celebrations or visits to Gordon Cunningham's to stock up for next game, but off he disappeared into the setting sun, golden locks silhouetted by the oncoming sunrise over Lady Isle to eagerly check his almost as famous box full of singles. DJ did not go on to win the trophy, but his victory is engrained in history and is regularly toasted by Messrs Gardner and Longmuir. Footnote from the man himself - Sadly I went on to lose the final to Drew Howie who lured me into trying to drive with hands in swapped position on the 16th! I couldn't resist the challenge and if I'd pulled it off he would have been a broken man! But better than beating Mossman in that semi was beating big bad mad Stuarty (the ripper offer of SG's blazer arm!) in the semi the following/preceding year (bit foggy there); I sank a 20 footer on the 17th to stay in it and beating him was sweet revenge for all his mental 'capers'. Based on true events.

Albatross

Wonderful memory from the kilt man; Eric Balish; - My elder sister was in fact the last pond master / mistress prior to closure. All very emotional. Apart from her getting to wander around underneath the pool brandishing a spanner - she was always a pretty handy mechanic and became amongst other things a refrigeration engineer whilst living in France (story for another day) she had the benefit of having the keys to the beloved pond! This enabled a midnight swim on mid summer day with the pool staff only weeks prior to ultimate demolition - my beloved friend Marion Bennie was there of course. What a laugh with Rod Gorwood leading the charge in the skinny dipping... it was altogether an awesome experience . it was a warm balmy evening and the water had heated up as there had actually been a few days of hot weather! We left the pool and walking along the shore with the sun rising barely before it had fallen was absolutely amazing. one of those days / nights where being young and alive and all fired up makes you feel indestructible and where anything is possible. Joy. One of the hundreds of memories I have is the music of course. To this day Fleetwood Mac's Albatross transports me instantly to Troon pool, the sun balcony - memories of Alison Gunn diving off the top board and the hysterical screams as folks boing off the springboard in the far right. This was broken and almost dinged me as it crashed on to the water with Evo Lunardi loking distinctly bemused and somewhat sheepish.. The families Storer, Bennies, Balish Harvey, Assur and a few others there each morning as the pool opened - often as earlier reported to emerge like blue prunes chittering and getting a digestive stuck between our teeth to stop the porcelains clacking like demented wind up dentures... So Albatross is one of my top 3 of all time with Troon pool being one of the happiest stores of indelible memories.

The Pool

The Pool

Up on a Saturday at quarter past nine and down Titchfield Road to join the lively line/
At that palace that sat at the bank on the west, with my buddies who were at best casually dressed/
Over goes the four pence we enter that place, that lit up even the dourest face/
The sense of excitement and a sun soaked sky, the next couple of hours would fair fly by/
Off to the locker chamber to publicly derobe, then thrust the remnants into my wiry wardrobe/
Off to the main event with my under nourished pecks, past the seagulls parading on the upper concrete decks/
There it was that luscious blue just like a siren's call, only 4 more steps and into my saline bath I'd fall/
Was the inviting liquid a product of the sea or the remnants of another Muirhead buggers pee/
The masses had all gathered like the opening of a sale, including that lass I fancied with the body of a whale/
I would take the baby steps with little male bravado, but others flipped and vaulted in like some western desperado/
That gulp of air, that salt sensation, that hypothermia feeling, that bomber jump, that splashing ned that got my blood a beeling/
The arses that were smart from the top board they would dive, while I doggy paddled like gusto just to stay alive/
There was the Bennymeister her breastroke was pure Spitz, then something floating by me that really was the pits/
45 minutes will do us in this oasis down in Troon, as we leave the pool resembling the wrinkliest of prune/
The morn is not yet over, there's an occasional frantic yelp as a bare arse receives a Dundonald wet towel skelp/
Then off to the 5 star restaurant for the machine produced cup of soup, that was made of molten lava and a serious amount of gloop/
As I survey the sandy remnants of my first meal of the day, I head for that dreaded exit with a feeling of dismay/
Come on matey it's not so bad don't look like the joy has gone, take your shilling left and treat yourself with a famous Venice cone/

And the Beat Goes on

Far too rich a Facebook conversation to leave out. Mr Neil Pakey. --- Our musical influences is an interesting one, you don't like everything you hear but i am indebted to the following, who shared musical taste with me....quite diverse but i guess it makes the dna what it is.... Brian Paterson - Crime of the Century, Physical Graffitti....i have been hooked on Zeppelin ever since and re Supertramp still get caught singing 'i can see you in the morning when you go to skool....' Dougie James - Joy Division....we had George Murray at Marr inviting us to bring in our musical influences and reasons for them, i was lining up Vangelis, in came Douglas with JD....blew me away and Vangelis went back into the box for a few years, guess we were older about 16/17 when that happened...dance dance dance to the radio..... Alan Fergusson (big ferg) and Mike Tucker - Genesis, Lamb Lies Down on Broadway....cool was Peter Gabriel even if he did dress up as a daffodil, can still sing all of The Carpet Crawlers after 4 pints...if only someone would listen Chris Shoring - try tapping your foot to this he challenged me when he first played the Next album by The Sensational Alex Harvey Band. My mum wasn't too impressed by the lyrics but what a great record that has everything from rock and roll, blues, and the rudest ballad about poor soldiers in wartime having to queue Ranald Anderson - Dirty Deeds done Dirt Cheep, AC/DC - Ranald ended up in the clink i remember but not before he taught me a lot about life and ac/dc. Took my 2 boys to see them last time they played Manchester, they still talk about it.....if you're having trouble with your high skool head......here's what you gotta do.... Bob Dylan - Hard Rain - Boys Common room anthem music at Marr courtesy of Stewart Allen who wouldn't let anything else get played...music to watch Miss Hill to Gong -Angel's Egg - Fraser Miller....another Marr choice but Fraser brought some odd music in and i loved it. Other oddety at the time was Nektar but i sold my albums at a car boot sale jimmy Tucker - anything by the Corries...well it helps round off the ecletic taste and Mike's dad always had his Corries collection to hand David Bowie -Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs, this was my sister Alison who had these...until she went out anyway....still love that guitar riff to Rebel Rebel Robert Longmuir -Wuthering heights, Kate Bush...she became popular very quickly but it was Longy who first saw the talent, awesome! So i still have my vinyl active on the turntable for all the above and their follow up works too....and thanks to those mentioned above!