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!

Baywatch Beauties

A classic picture from early 70's of the lifesavers that used to scour South Beach to ensure the migrant/vagrant bathers from Glasgow were protected from the killer basking sharks that were often seen off the shore. The bags on the shoulders contained the skimpy swimwear that was required which were in the various house colours of Crosbie, Fullarton, Welbeck or ???. Wow we were lookers and sported some lovely hair styles.

Cream of the Crop

Another from our intrepid transatlantic reporter. I also remember the 1/3 pint milk bottles we used to get every day. They had silver foil tops on them and the milk was always warm …but good! The cream always rose to the top of the bottle. One day in Miss Donaldson’s class we were to make butter so we had everyone skim off the cream from their milk bottles into a jam jar and we passed the jar around the class to shake it. Eventually the cream turned into butter!

Frosty Glance

A little tale from Wemyss Gardens answer to Alex Ferguson, the one and only Mike Tucker - Does anyone remember the Foster Grant Sunglasses man? It was a big thing at the time. The Daily Express sent a man out to various sea side locations in Scotland (you had to buy the paper that day to see where he was going). Once or twice he came to Troon and word spread. The idea was to spot the guy who would be wearing Foster Grant sunglasses, approach him (with your copy of that day's paper) and say 'you are Mr Daily Record behind those Foster Grant Sunglasses. He would then give you a free pair of sunglasses. I got at least 2 pairs and I'm sure Neil Pakey probably got more!

Tales from a Pearly Queen - Can you Adam and Eve it

At long last a transatlantic session from the Broon nee McGill - Our P7 trip to London holds many memories. We were to get the train from Troon late at night and then we had to change trains and get the overnight to London. We had all been told to take sandwiches with us for a snack that night. I took curried egg sandwiches… but everyone was pleased as I had them eaten about 10 mins after leaving Troon! There were about 50 of us on the trip. I was sharing a room with Helen Donaldson. When we got to London the water tasted disgusting so Helen and I had the bright idea to brush our teeth with Cremola Foam! Can’t think why I have so many fillings! I was also very excited as I was going to be allowed to see my brother Peter who had been living in London for about 4 years. I had given him the address of the hotel but without the advantage of GPS and cell phones in those days he had gone to the wrong hotel. I remember Helen’s aunt sitting with me waiting for him but he never showed. I was really disappointed. On the way home from London on the train I had my first romantic rendezvous with Derek McNabb in the toilet of the train. We just giggled as I remember as we both thought it was very daring! Not romantic at all! Other memories of that trip were not everyone getting on the same train in the underground, a fantastic trip to Longleat Zoo, someone fainting at Madame Tussauds wax museum – can’t quite remember who, the heatwave and playing rounders in Hyde Park. The teachers deserved a medal for that trip. I was no longer afraid of Mr. Robinson after that trip. I had always been petrified of him but he was really fun that week.

Top Tappy Tawse

As we all remember we were raised in a world or corporal punishment until the European bureaucrats or common sense prevailed in the early 80s. There was almost a daily reminder of the crack of Lochgelly leather on Truwyn flesh and the occasional whimper post event. There were certainly a few black belts within Marr who had Mcilroy precision (golf not timekeeping) each one a really decent guy. My recollection on Tawster of the Year nominations were; Alan Caldow, Mr Hepburn, Douglas Cotter and Derek Mathieson with Steve Mackie and Miss Cush facing relegation. My only encounter with leather was on the occassion I tugged Steve Mackies sports jacket during a reading of Cider with Rosie and unfortunately ripped the back of his jacket. As he summoned me to the front and reached for his desk drawer, the famous Longy tears flowed and looking into my tear stained eyes he relented and sent me back to my seat with a punishment exercise. So never experienced the leather on flesh. These wonderful guys above were only working within the rules and although would be unacceptable today was rarely dished out without justification.

Mad Mac - Beyond the College Dome

WHERE ARE THEY NOW

In the early 70s I was blessed with meeting a mad Aberdonian, Glen MacMillan who moved to Troon and resided in the Green Dome for most of our secondary. This quiet often moustached genius had a razor sharp wit and as well as introducing me to Queen and later Costello kept me laughing with his Jack Deeesque humour. He clearly used all these skills to propel himself into the entertaining world of Actuaries. Last seen residing in Dunfermline and actuaring in life companies in Edinburgh. Have so many great memories but his party piece appeared to be his hulkesque ability of transforming mid party. As the midnight hour approached on the party scene, Mad Mac having had one too many always seemed to morph into Norman Bates and could be seen running round the party with an acquired bread knife from the kitchen. Although fuelled by that one too many Moscow Mule it seemed to be triggered by puppy love or more likely someone removing Costello live at El Mocambo from the turntable. Mac wherever you are Haste ye Back.

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby

Right Bert has thrown down the gauntlet. 2013 our Ruby anniversary could we top the previous reunion....don't know and need the Pakey's and Henderson's of this world to raise the bar on the logistic stakes. Apologies but like Slade at Xmas here is a golden oldy remastered. Room 19 or 20, it disnae really matter coz we’ll gather in a ruby union to share in the patter. The ghosts of auld nick and teachers of old will bring memories back worth their weight in pure gold. Were we monitors of milk or tennis ball supremes how many of us achieved our 10 year old dreams. It was a fair guid time if you avoided an impaling from the now rusty spikes at the top of the railing. Tatties and mince and semolina glupe goldfish and chips and watery soup. Prefabricated toilets and innocent bikesheds a jannie with sawdust and guys with no bald heads. Success through Effort was embossed on our blazers there was very little then that would appear to have fazed us. Teachers like Donaldson, Smith, Govan and Dale put in all their efforts to ensure we didn’t fail. So roll on next year when we’ll stroll roon the toon and remember the days of our schooling in Troon. Some we have found, some we cant trace and some will look down from a fantastic place.

Kiss, Cuddle or Torture

Bert P was asking about a TP reunion next year and highlighted it would be our Ruby anniversary from moving from Troon Primary to Marr College. Got me thinking of the choices available for the rite of passage. The whins, the bin or the bog. The whins was the hill that faced the railway where seniors would take a sprog and with one taking arms and one legs there would be a 1,2.3 and then a lad propelled down the hill straight into the prickly whins below. The bin was the metallic structure on the wall that housed the bins, again a sprog would be placed in bin, legs astride of the rusting metal and then the seniors would push and pull the legs, leading to many a watery eye. The final option was the jobby hairwash, with a sprog being frog marched into the medieval sandstone lavatories and head placed down the armitage shanks and plug pulled. Fact or Fiction? I certainly witnessed 2.




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The Exclusive Gowf Club

Well another classic Ryder Cup just finished and was lucky enough to share with a TPr that I hadn't seen in 30 years prior to our reunion, that famous blue nose David of Orange Griffiths. It also got me thinking of where the bug started in the '70s in the shire of Truwyn. Who was the fairest of us all. I certainly fell into a cross between Bubba Watson and Maurice Flitcroft with more Maurice than Bubba. As a recent partner at a corporate day suggested; Bob you play swish f..k rather than golf, cause at every tee all I hear is swish and then f..k. My top 3 class acts were in no particular order; - Craig Armour with that slow smooth swing and the posture that was in at the time of sticking out his arse as if he was doing the business. A class act and probably the most consistent but did come from a fine line of golfing blood - Gary Hutcheson, the Hubert Green of our time with his magical short game, silly bunnet and the tongue aerodynamically sticking out his mouth - Graeme Johnstone who again had a smooth swing and left his best for his later years. was always way up in the stats for fairways hit Some other mentions both the Alans, our dearly departed AC with his red Wilson bag and low ball flight and big Alan who had a graceful swing for such a giant. Talking about giants McGarvey was just too tall but a master with the bronty rustler around the green. Tony Symmons for his driving and ball placed 1 foot ahead of his left foot and his skill of resorting to recalling his grannies departure when he was being beaten. Many other memories Norman Templeton's constant purple outfit and Alan Burnetts bunnet. Great times and maybe one day a Fullarton George Mills/Peter Howie classic. Who have I missed?

Our Antipodean Raconteur

I am writing this on my last night in Trywn before heading back to Australia from my mum’s place which some of you may remember as the new year’s party central 1977-80.
It’s been a great visit to the old stamping ground with an opportunity to catch up with some Trywn identities including of course the Freddy Mercurial , Bob Longmuir at the Trywn tales corporate HQ in Elderslie. Bob has been kind enough to invite me onto TT (possibly on the strength of my White Deer of Arran report for the T&P in 1976), as special foreign correspondent offering unreliable memories to an audience that actually gives a Castlemaine xxxx, about the goings on in deepest, darkest Barassie Street all those years ago.
I can still see that gaunt gothic figure of Auld NickyPants stalking his prey like so many knock kneed gazelles at a waterhole, as we larked around in the boys lines after lunch break and playtime. Yes there he is Auld Nic exercising his time honoured ‘sneak up and slap on the back of the bare leg’, technique on the greatest larkee of all- Bobby McBean. Our Bob was oblivious to the approaching danger, whilst executing his favourite party trick –The Lizards Tongue. For those of you have forgotton the LT or are unfamiliar with the technique the recipe is as follows-
1)Bung about 10 -15 pink Trebor chews into mouth;2) Chew until saliva is sticky and thick;3) Bend over until nose is approximately 3 feet off the ground; 4)Ease gooey, pink saliva downwards until the tongue nearly hits the ground;5)Suck and retract tongue. 6) Repeat until saliva hits the ground or knees are taken away by hefty blow from Headmaster or henchperson. A great crowd pleaser back when kids didn’t need Playstations, i Pads and the like.
Another classic was when Bobby, sitting on benches outside Nic’s office, (possibly ahead of another disciplinary hearing), decides to liberate a goldfish (let’s call him Willy) from the School tank for a bit of freestyle in a puddle in the playground. I still remember seeing him hunched over, prodding Willy with a stick as the shadow of Auld Nick, eclipsed his wee moment of reverie in the watery Spring sun. Look out Bobby he’s behind you!
I was saddened to hear about the passing off that true TP champion Marion Bennie. I seem to recall her deft execution of the breaststroke at swimming lessons run by her dad in the glacial waters of the old Troon pool between April-June each year. Marion may well have lifted medal or two at the School swimming galas back in the days of wet towel flicks, salty nutritionally deficient soup in plastic cups, goose bumps and chittery bites. Mabye so, maybe no, but nobody could dispute her form in the Burns recitation and decent human being departments.


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