Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Farewell, Jimmy Liddell
The hail and rain stopped briefly in Queensferry as hundreds of people gathered to pay their final respects to Jimmy Liddell, who died six days ago.
In place of the inclement weather, came the sun, and a lone piper at the head of the cortege. We all filed behind, in Queensferry tradition, and set off from the Bellstane, along the cobbled High Street, paying our respects to a man who gave so much to our community.
As the crowd of some 300 walked behind his coffin, workmen at the Burgh Hall stood to attention; and the Saltire blew proudly in the wind, fixed at half-mast in his honour.
And still the procession continued, to our right, the row of shops and terraced houses, to the left the Firth of Forth and our two bridges.
We walked Jimmy out of the Burgh, to the other side of the Sealscraig, before taking a short leave of him to pile into cars and minibuses bound for Warriston Crematorium in Edinburgh.
By the time we got there, the rain was lashing again and the crowds snuggled together to take shelter under the pergola and inside the waiting room. For others, an umbrella or a tree had to suffice.
Then, Jimmy's magic worked again. In the distance, a large tube of light shone through the clouded sky to cast a golden shaft on Calton Hill. Forever associated with Scottish Nationalism and the drive for independence and freedom, Calton Hill was lit up as Jimmy was brought into the crematorium; and the piper played Flower of Scotland.
It was clear we would never get everyone in to the chapel. "Another sell out Liddell production!" said the preacher, in reference to the many shows Jimmy produced over the years, all to raise funds for organisations and events in Queensferry, like the Ferry Fair.
And so, we stood where we could, in the lobby, the corridor, the pergola, and listened to the words about our dear friend.
It was difficult to let him go; more than a thousand people, all with their own memories of the man who worked tirelessly for his family, his community and his country.
Tich Friel sang Caledonia. The words were never more as poignant as they were at this point in time. The music, those words, will forever take our thoughts to Jimmy Liddell.
He has his freedom now, freedom from a short illness, but sadly, never lived to see the freedom he campaigned for, passionately, for his country.
Caledonia, it's everything he's ever known.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
The hail and rain stopped briefly in Queensferry as hundreds of people gathered to pay their final respects to Jimmy Liddell, who died six days ago.
In place of the inclement weather, came the sun, and a lone piper at the head of the cortege. We all filed behind, in Queensferry tradition, and set off from the Bellstane, along the cobbled High Street, paying our respects to a man who gave so much to our community.
As the crowd of some 300 walked behind his coffin, workmen at the Burgh Hall stood to attention; and the Saltire blew proudly in the wind, fixed at half-mast in his honour.
And still the procession continued, to our right, the row of shops and terraced houses, to the left the Firth of Forth and our two bridges.
We walked Jimmy out of the Burgh, to the other side of the Sealscraig, before taking a short leave of him to pile into cars and minibuses bound for Warriston Crematorium in Edinburgh.
By the time we got there, the rain was lashing again and the crowds snuggled together to take shelter under the pergola and inside the waiting room. For others, an umbrella or a tree had to suffice.
Then, Jimmy's magic worked again. In the distance, a large tube of light shone through the clouded sky to cast a golden shaft on Calton Hill. Forever associated with Scottish Nationalism and the drive for independence and freedom, Calton Hill was lit up as Jimmy was brought into the crematorium; and the piper played Flower of Scotland.
It was clear we would never get everyone in to the chapel. "Another sell out Liddell production!" said the preacher, in reference to the many shows Jimmy produced over the years, all to raise funds for organisations and events in Queensferry, like the Ferry Fair.
And so, we stood where we could, in the lobby, the corridor, the pergola, and listened to the words about our dear friend.
It was difficult to let him go; more than a thousand people, all with their own memories of the man who worked tirelessly for his family, his community and his country.
Tich Friel sang Caledonia. The words were never more as poignant as they were at this point in time. The music, those words, will forever take our thoughts to Jimmy Liddell.
He has his freedom now, freedom from a short illness, but sadly, never lived to see the freedom he campaigned for, passionately, for his country.
Caledonia, it's everything he's ever known.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
National Shame
Ten years ago today, a lone gunman with a history of unpleasant encounters with society, stalked through a primary school in the small Scottish town of Dunblane.
He shot dead 16 children and their teacher; he left 12 others seriously wounded; shattered the hopes and dreams of many families; and brought a nation to a halt.
It took a matter of moments for this misfit to carry out his cowardly act.
Within months, Scotland had new laws in place to ban handguns and establish a national register, a database listing all owners of firearms. On paper it showed swift response to a dreadful event. In reality, it is only partly implemented.
Ten years on, political promises now seem as postures. The legislation that provided for a UK-wide database has yet to be established. And although information is exchanged between the Scottish police forces, which is welcomed, there is no such system operating in the rest of the United Kingdom.
It is a national shame.
The leader of the House of Commons says he is commited to the national database. He says the Westminster government expects to see it rolling out across England and Wales in the summer, assuming that the pilot programme, currently being tested, is successful.
It's difficult to believe all this began ten years ago this morning, in a quiet Stirlingshire town best known for its natural beauty, architecture and friendliness.
Today, the people of Dunblane go about their business as they did on every other year since the shooting; determined that although this may be a milestone anniversary, it is no different to them whether one, ten or 50 years have passed. Except they still want the children and their teacher to be remembered, quietly, but always.
In gardens and woods, wherever you see snowdrops, remember this day.
In the windows, candles are lit in memory of the lives lost and the others still being rebuilt.
Mick North, whose daughter Sophie was one of the victims, is a veteran campaigner for a national gun register.
He succintly responds to those in the gun lobby who protest against his moves and say they have a right to undertake a sport responsibly.
Mr North calmly reminds them that it was his right to bring up his child; but that has been taken away from him.
The register must be implemented across all of the United Kingdom.
The quiet composure and dignity of the families closest of all to this dreadful event are to be commended, for they have shown strength and courage. It is shameful that successive governments have failed them and us.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
Ten years ago today, a lone gunman with a history of unpleasant encounters with society, stalked through a primary school in the small Scottish town of Dunblane.
He shot dead 16 children and their teacher; he left 12 others seriously wounded; shattered the hopes and dreams of many families; and brought a nation to a halt.
It took a matter of moments for this misfit to carry out his cowardly act.
Within months, Scotland had new laws in place to ban handguns and establish a national register, a database listing all owners of firearms. On paper it showed swift response to a dreadful event. In reality, it is only partly implemented.
Ten years on, political promises now seem as postures. The legislation that provided for a UK-wide database has yet to be established. And although information is exchanged between the Scottish police forces, which is welcomed, there is no such system operating in the rest of the United Kingdom.
It is a national shame.
The leader of the House of Commons says he is commited to the national database. He says the Westminster government expects to see it rolling out across England and Wales in the summer, assuming that the pilot programme, currently being tested, is successful.
It's difficult to believe all this began ten years ago this morning, in a quiet Stirlingshire town best known for its natural beauty, architecture and friendliness.
Today, the people of Dunblane go about their business as they did on every other year since the shooting; determined that although this may be a milestone anniversary, it is no different to them whether one, ten or 50 years have passed. Except they still want the children and their teacher to be remembered, quietly, but always.
In gardens and woods, wherever you see snowdrops, remember this day.
In the windows, candles are lit in memory of the lives lost and the others still being rebuilt.
Mick North, whose daughter Sophie was one of the victims, is a veteran campaigner for a national gun register.
He succintly responds to those in the gun lobby who protest against his moves and say they have a right to undertake a sport responsibly.
Mr North calmly reminds them that it was his right to bring up his child; but that has been taken away from him.
The register must be implemented across all of the United Kingdom.
The quiet composure and dignity of the families closest of all to this dreadful event are to be commended, for they have shown strength and courage. It is shameful that successive governments have failed them and us.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
It's my ball
Ah, the folly that is the governing body of the beautiful game in Scotland! It's their ball, they've taken it home and nothing, not least common sense, will persuade them to change their mind.
The almost dream ticket match grasped the senses and the spirit of the people of Edinburgh: a semi-final between Hearts and Hibs. We'd have preferred it to be the Scottish Cup Final, but that's where the "almost" comes in.
Still, can you imagine the streets of the capital? Thronging. Heaving. Bustling. Everyone out for a guid family game; and it will bring a spending boost to business in the city. Bring it on; and, naturally, let's play at Murrayfield Stadium, home of Scotland's rugby union.
The idea is sound. Rather than have 50,000 fans travel the 50 miles between Edinburgh and Glasgow on already busy road and rail networks, many people, perhaps surprisingly, would be happy to walk through the capital to Murrayfield. That's all part of the guid spirit.
It makes it a very Edinburgh-focused day. Our two biggest teams, in the country's biggest stadium; why, it could even take in another 15,000 people comfortably.
"Naw," said the Scottish Football Association. "Ye cannae dae that."
Incredible. Police in both cities supported the Edinburgh venue. As did traffic and travel experts, not least motoring organisations like the AA and the RAC. Environmentalists wanted it as well saying it would eliminate thousands of unecessary car and vehicle journeys, and free the central Scotland train services from additional bulge.
"Naw, ye cannae. We'll no' let youze," said the big man at the SFA.
He had, he guided us puir, ill-informed hacks, a concern expressed by Hibs. The Easter Road management was of the opinion that Heart of Midlothian would have an unfair advantage if the Edinburgh option was exercised. "Cos the Jambos huv played at Murrayfield, so they huv," offered the SFA.
Now hold back your splutters there, he was told, and in no uncertain manner, that few of those who would be playing for Hearts in the semi-final had been on the team that played European matches at Murrayfield a couple of years ago, so the argument was flawed.
"Hampden's better than Murrayfield," hissed the man from the SFA. "That's where a' the big fitba' games huv to be played, so they dae."
The gentlemen at Murrayfield stressed they fully understood that the SFA wanted to ensure the Cup Final is played at the national soccer stadium. "But this is the semi, and it's an Edinburgh semi, so it seems naive to go to the west. Tea?" offered the man at the SRU.
Hearts fans said the chaps at the SFA were a bunch of so-and-sos. Hibs fans began to see the sense of staying in Edinburgh; even their manager ended up saying he actually couldn't care less where it was played and had no problem with a Murrayfield semi.
"Naw," said the man at the SFA in Glasgow. "It's oor ba' an' we're gonnae play wi' it at Hampden, so's youze ur jist gonnae huv to dae whit we tell youze," he harrumphed, triumphantly.
Well, of course, perhaps I have taken a liberty with some of the language, but you get this tale of two cities: The draw for Scottish Cup Semi Final puts Edinburgh clubs Hearts and Hibs against each other; it's suggested it could become an Edinburgh Derby - played at Edinburgh's Murrayfield Stadium; some of the Hibs people grumble that it gives Hearts an unfair advantage - that doesn't stick; the SFA makes the rules and regulations and they said no. The game has to be played at Hampden.
Of course, there are a number of cost implications here: if it is played at Hampden, there's income for the SFA; if it's played at Hampden, there's the cost for 50,000 fans to get to Glasgow; if it is played at Murrayfield, that's an income for the SRU; if it's played at Murrayfield, that's a positive financial impact for the fans. Oh, and as you read earlier, business in the capital.
Some years ago, I recall walking past the SFA headquarters in Glasgow with my Gran. I saw the sign and asked her what it stood for. "Sweet Fanny Adams!" she responded.
Aye, and it still does.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
Ah, the folly that is the governing body of the beautiful game in Scotland! It's their ball, they've taken it home and nothing, not least common sense, will persuade them to change their mind.
The almost dream ticket match grasped the senses and the spirit of the people of Edinburgh: a semi-final between Hearts and Hibs. We'd have preferred it to be the Scottish Cup Final, but that's where the "almost" comes in.
Still, can you imagine the streets of the capital? Thronging. Heaving. Bustling. Everyone out for a guid family game; and it will bring a spending boost to business in the city. Bring it on; and, naturally, let's play at Murrayfield Stadium, home of Scotland's rugby union.
The idea is sound. Rather than have 50,000 fans travel the 50 miles between Edinburgh and Glasgow on already busy road and rail networks, many people, perhaps surprisingly, would be happy to walk through the capital to Murrayfield. That's all part of the guid spirit.
It makes it a very Edinburgh-focused day. Our two biggest teams, in the country's biggest stadium; why, it could even take in another 15,000 people comfortably.
"Naw," said the Scottish Football Association. "Ye cannae dae that."
Incredible. Police in both cities supported the Edinburgh venue. As did traffic and travel experts, not least motoring organisations like the AA and the RAC. Environmentalists wanted it as well saying it would eliminate thousands of unecessary car and vehicle journeys, and free the central Scotland train services from additional bulge.
"Naw, ye cannae. We'll no' let youze," said the big man at the SFA.
He had, he guided us puir, ill-informed hacks, a concern expressed by Hibs. The Easter Road management was of the opinion that Heart of Midlothian would have an unfair advantage if the Edinburgh option was exercised. "Cos the Jambos huv played at Murrayfield, so they huv," offered the SFA.
Now hold back your splutters there, he was told, and in no uncertain manner, that few of those who would be playing for Hearts in the semi-final had been on the team that played European matches at Murrayfield a couple of years ago, so the argument was flawed.
"Hampden's better than Murrayfield," hissed the man from the SFA. "That's where a' the big fitba' games huv to be played, so they dae."
The gentlemen at Murrayfield stressed they fully understood that the SFA wanted to ensure the Cup Final is played at the national soccer stadium. "But this is the semi, and it's an Edinburgh semi, so it seems naive to go to the west. Tea?" offered the man at the SRU.
Hearts fans said the chaps at the SFA were a bunch of so-and-sos. Hibs fans began to see the sense of staying in Edinburgh; even their manager ended up saying he actually couldn't care less where it was played and had no problem with a Murrayfield semi.
"Naw," said the man at the SFA in Glasgow. "It's oor ba' an' we're gonnae play wi' it at Hampden, so's youze ur jist gonnae huv to dae whit we tell youze," he harrumphed, triumphantly.
Well, of course, perhaps I have taken a liberty with some of the language, but you get this tale of two cities: The draw for Scottish Cup Semi Final puts Edinburgh clubs Hearts and Hibs against each other; it's suggested it could become an Edinburgh Derby - played at Edinburgh's Murrayfield Stadium; some of the Hibs people grumble that it gives Hearts an unfair advantage - that doesn't stick; the SFA makes the rules and regulations and they said no. The game has to be played at Hampden.
Of course, there are a number of cost implications here: if it is played at Hampden, there's income for the SFA; if it's played at Hampden, there's the cost for 50,000 fans to get to Glasgow; if it is played at Murrayfield, that's an income for the SRU; if it's played at Murrayfield, that's a positive financial impact for the fans. Oh, and as you read earlier, business in the capital.
Some years ago, I recall walking past the SFA headquarters in Glasgow with my Gran. I saw the sign and asked her what it stood for. "Sweet Fanny Adams!" she responded.
Aye, and it still does.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
Still Game
On the day Scotland triumphed 18-12 over the Auld Enemy at Murrayfield, a small group of friends gathered under the destination board at Glasgow Central Station.
They were having a day out; time to retell some classic old tales of glory; talk of days long past from an era that no longer exists; and laugh again like the laddies they once were.
They first met 35 years ago when they were at school together, and have evolved into a gang of characters somewhat akin to those in the BBC's longest-running television sitcom, The Last of The Summer Wine.
Like those characters, these four whimsical chaps enjoy their occasional days of nostalgia. Today, they expect nothing less than non-stop banter as they go Doon the Watter to Millport, one of Scotland's gems in the Firth of Clyde.
Unlike those retired gents on television, these Glasgow chaps are very active, they are still working in their own professions. It is just that they have seemingly decided not to wait until they are in their autumnal years of twilight to indulge in a second childhood. They want it now.
There is no suggestion of a yearning for the golden days of yore - they didn't really exist anyway, and one of the gang disliked school so much, he escaped from the system as soon as the law allowed.
No, it appears rather more that they simply enjoy being mischevious; laughing at playground jokes, making a play on words, or reciting some memorable sketch from Chic Murray on the stage of the Glasgow Pavilion, or Francie and Josie at the King's.
Or even indulging in a favoured impersonation of one of their colourful teachers: Smooth, Psycho and Jessie Campbell spring to mind.
They have mastered a technique of having at least three or four conversations between themselves. Simultaneously. And all at the one time. It would be little surprise to hear them indulging in five or six storylines at once, each jumping in and out of one story into another.
It is clear any of them could ask a question on the platform at Glasgow Central and get the answer, succintly put, on the ferry crossing to Millport. No offence meant or taken, but at the time the original question had been put, there was either a more interesting conversation to be had, or simply the sight of a lovely burd passing by.
They want a carefree second childhood. Life is tough enough in the real world, so with the blessing of their other halves - who, truth be told are probably delighted to get them out from under their feet for a day - these chaps indulge themselves in the headiness of guid auld Glasgow humour and enjoying the natural beauty of their country.
Oh, and they have also been seen visiting a range of hostelries for an odd dram or two, in the spirit of helping to maintain the industry.
Once they are together, it is likely that before long, one of them will concoct a plan to do "something". Those "somethings" can range from picking up a "wee rowing boat" to renting rollerskates, with which, presumably, they would scatter at will the population of Millport as they rush past the famous Crocodile Rock on the promenade.
"We could swim across," said one, to slightly bemused looks. Instead of responses that would rubbish the notion, it was more like: "How long do you think it would take?" And for at least several minutes, it was a serious proposition, no doubt partly to save the £2.75 return crossing on the Cal Mac ferry between Largs and Great Cumbrae.
"It was the High School that made us this way," said another. "It encouraged us to be individuals." "It was full of eccentrics, both the teachers and pupils," offered another. "You mean, nutters," said the third man, giving the gang a wizard opportunity to convulse with laughter.
But it seemed to have at least some margin of truth in it - the encouragement about individuals bit. These four very individual, successful professionals are happy with their hinterland and their ability to dip into schoolboy discourse, something they appear to have been conditioned into by their days at the High School of Glasgow in Elmbank Street.
"When did it close?" one of the chaps inquired. "Oh, it must be about 20 years ago or something like that," came a response that was met with incredulity by all. That was impossible, for it would make them all so very old.
"Actually, it was June 1976," said one of the four, prompting looks of shock, horror, and comments that sounded not unlike "smartypants", "know it all", "sook", followed by the obligatory falling about in hysterics like a pack of hyenas.
And it was from this illustrious conversation that another Big Idea was born: a reunion.
Could they perhaps go back to Elmbank Street, the site that was shut down by Glasgow Council 30 years ago to house Strathclyde Region and now some of their own offices? Maybe in the old Assembly Hall? They could rent it for a night...
No chance. Glasgow Council has mothballed what they call, in their Sovietski Speaksi, "Building Five". It is under "essential maintenance only" because of budget cuts. The chaps at Glasgow Council never did like what they believed to be posh boys at a posh school.
Not to be defeated, the focus moved west, just like the remnants of the High School itself where it was reborn at the side of the playing fields of Anniesland.The GHS30 Gathering will be held there in June, three decades after the gates closed in the city centre.
"Ach, maybe we'll no' bother inviting anyone along," said one of the gang. "We could just do our own thing and no' bother with the rest of them," said another. "Mind you, it might be interesting to see how they've turned out," offered one. "Aye, right!" came the collective response.
These four are regarded by families and friends as being among "the lucky ones". The self-deprecating put-downs and self-inflicted references to being a "saddo" because they all hang around together, go places and do things "after all this time", is a state of being that is, in truth, envied by many.
As Francie and Josie might say, a bit of neuralgia now and again is a grand thing. Especially perhaps this day, with its accompanying sound of the 1812 Overture.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
On the day Scotland triumphed 18-12 over the Auld Enemy at Murrayfield, a small group of friends gathered under the destination board at Glasgow Central Station.
They were having a day out; time to retell some classic old tales of glory; talk of days long past from an era that no longer exists; and laugh again like the laddies they once were.
They first met 35 years ago when they were at school together, and have evolved into a gang of characters somewhat akin to those in the BBC's longest-running television sitcom, The Last of The Summer Wine.
Like those characters, these four whimsical chaps enjoy their occasional days of nostalgia. Today, they expect nothing less than non-stop banter as they go Doon the Watter to Millport, one of Scotland's gems in the Firth of Clyde.
Unlike those retired gents on television, these Glasgow chaps are very active, they are still working in their own professions. It is just that they have seemingly decided not to wait until they are in their autumnal years of twilight to indulge in a second childhood. They want it now.
There is no suggestion of a yearning for the golden days of yore - they didn't really exist anyway, and one of the gang disliked school so much, he escaped from the system as soon as the law allowed.
No, it appears rather more that they simply enjoy being mischevious; laughing at playground jokes, making a play on words, or reciting some memorable sketch from Chic Murray on the stage of the Glasgow Pavilion, or Francie and Josie at the King's.
Or even indulging in a favoured impersonation of one of their colourful teachers: Smooth, Psycho and Jessie Campbell spring to mind.
They have mastered a technique of having at least three or four conversations between themselves. Simultaneously. And all at the one time. It would be little surprise to hear them indulging in five or six storylines at once, each jumping in and out of one story into another.
It is clear any of them could ask a question on the platform at Glasgow Central and get the answer, succintly put, on the ferry crossing to Millport. No offence meant or taken, but at the time the original question had been put, there was either a more interesting conversation to be had, or simply the sight of a lovely burd passing by.
They want a carefree second childhood. Life is tough enough in the real world, so with the blessing of their other halves - who, truth be told are probably delighted to get them out from under their feet for a day - these chaps indulge themselves in the headiness of guid auld Glasgow humour and enjoying the natural beauty of their country.
Oh, and they have also been seen visiting a range of hostelries for an odd dram or two, in the spirit of helping to maintain the industry.
Once they are together, it is likely that before long, one of them will concoct a plan to do "something". Those "somethings" can range from picking up a "wee rowing boat" to renting rollerskates, with which, presumably, they would scatter at will the population of Millport as they rush past the famous Crocodile Rock on the promenade.
"We could swim across," said one, to slightly bemused looks. Instead of responses that would rubbish the notion, it was more like: "How long do you think it would take?" And for at least several minutes, it was a serious proposition, no doubt partly to save the £2.75 return crossing on the Cal Mac ferry between Largs and Great Cumbrae.
"It was the High School that made us this way," said another. "It encouraged us to be individuals." "It was full of eccentrics, both the teachers and pupils," offered another. "You mean, nutters," said the third man, giving the gang a wizard opportunity to convulse with laughter.
But it seemed to have at least some margin of truth in it - the encouragement about individuals bit. These four very individual, successful professionals are happy with their hinterland and their ability to dip into schoolboy discourse, something they appear to have been conditioned into by their days at the High School of Glasgow in Elmbank Street.
"When did it close?" one of the chaps inquired. "Oh, it must be about 20 years ago or something like that," came a response that was met with incredulity by all. That was impossible, for it would make them all so very old.
"Actually, it was June 1976," said one of the four, prompting looks of shock, horror, and comments that sounded not unlike "smartypants", "know it all", "sook", followed by the obligatory falling about in hysterics like a pack of hyenas.
And it was from this illustrious conversation that another Big Idea was born: a reunion.
Could they perhaps go back to Elmbank Street, the site that was shut down by Glasgow Council 30 years ago to house Strathclyde Region and now some of their own offices? Maybe in the old Assembly Hall? They could rent it for a night...
No chance. Glasgow Council has mothballed what they call, in their Sovietski Speaksi, "Building Five". It is under "essential maintenance only" because of budget cuts. The chaps at Glasgow Council never did like what they believed to be posh boys at a posh school.
Not to be defeated, the focus moved west, just like the remnants of the High School itself where it was reborn at the side of the playing fields of Anniesland.The GHS30 Gathering will be held there in June, three decades after the gates closed in the city centre.
"Ach, maybe we'll no' bother inviting anyone along," said one of the gang. "We could just do our own thing and no' bother with the rest of them," said another. "Mind you, it might be interesting to see how they've turned out," offered one. "Aye, right!" came the collective response.
These four are regarded by families and friends as being among "the lucky ones". The self-deprecating put-downs and self-inflicted references to being a "saddo" because they all hang around together, go places and do things "after all this time", is a state of being that is, in truth, envied by many.
As Francie and Josie might say, a bit of neuralgia now and again is a grand thing. Especially perhaps this day, with its accompanying sound of the 1812 Overture.
Charles Fletcher
charles.fletcher@caledoniamedia.com
