Kipper House Tales A Reminiscence of West Coast Life

FORSYTH HAMILTON - ARDRISHAIG • 1986 Photoset and Printed by The Michael

Press, Glasgow G5 9RT

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[ To Kate (McIntyre), the author's sister ] To my wife Margaret and our
family The Early Days (1) Ardrishaig (4) Fishermen and Kippers (6)
Stornoway Stories (7) Men and Memories (7) Never A Dull Day (12) Boats (13)
Nicknames (17) Fishing (20) Gardens (23) Lochgilphead Shops of The Past
(24) The Distillery (25) Yellow Fever (26) Cattle and The Canal (27) Boat
Races (27) David MacBrayne (28) Mid Argyll (29) Surgery Hours, Ardrishaig
(30) Minard (30) Mull and Insurance (30) Sunday School (31) Old Friends
(32) More Old Friends (34) Forestry and Fishing (36) Milk Carts (37) Ardris
Haig (37) The Canal (38) Birthdays (38) The Travelling People (39) Death of
A Notable Fisherman (40) The Spanish Tramp (41) Boats and Owners (42) Local
People (43) Coronation 1937 at Kilmartin (43) The Ardrishaig Seal 1925 (44)
Ron The Seal (44) The Great Swordfish (45) From The Islands (46) Ardrishaig
To New York (46) Epilogue (48) Glassary Parish 1828 (49) Local People (49)
Doctors Who Have Practised in Lochgilphead (49) Ardrishaig Shops of The
Past (50) The Gem (51) John McEwan - "Jonas" (51)

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PROLOGUE IT would be hard to say how many people over the years have said
to me that I ought to write a book. It's one thing having a yarn with a
customer at the smoking sheds where I've been turning out kippers for more
years than I care to remember, or telling a story at a wedding or a
ceilidh, but it's a gey bit different looking at a blank sheet of paper and
wondering what you can say that hasn't been said before. My answer always
used to be, ''Where am I going to get the time for writing with all you
folks wanting kippers ?" This time, though, I can't make that my excuse.
They tell me that Robert Louis Stevenson only became an author because he
was plagued with ill-health, and A. J. Cronin would have stayed at the
doctoring it he hadn't had a long illness. Well, it ever anyone but myself
reads this they might as well know that I, Forsyth Hamilton, only started
putting some of my stories down on paper because I fell off a roof and the
gutting knife went into my leg. So that's how I now find myself with time
on my hands to rake through my memories. So it you want to come along with
me to share them you are very welcome.

The Hamilton family I gratefully acknowledge the help of Allan Henderson,

my daughter-in-law Mary Hamilton and Diane Robertson in producing this book
—and, indeed, of the people of Ardrishaig. Tarbert, Lochgilphead and the
West Coast whose story this is and whose patience has been the rock on
which I have been able to build this reminiscence. The Early Days
YESTERDAY, 10th January 1985, there was a picture in the newspaper of a
lovely lady, 107 years young. She was born in the year that my grandfather
was drowned in Ballantrae, Ayrshire, leaving my grandmother to bring up
tour boys and a girl. Whatever hard times they had to endure, it finished
up that the Hamiltons were one of five families invited to move to the
village of Ardnshaig. The others being the Laws, Bruces, MacEwans, and
MacBraynes. The Crinan Canal had just been opened, providing a welcome safe
passage for seafarers who, prior to this had to sail round the notorious
"Mull 0' Kintyre." Ardrishaig was the then small village on the Loch Fyne
side, and as there were no houses at that time these families lived in
tents on the Fisher Row Park. Now, nearly two hundred years on, their names
are still known in the village. The canal was projected in 1793; however,
the street plans for Ardrishaig had been made, two years earlier, in 1791
with the village retaining that early pattern until 1960. The landward side
was then demolished and rebuilt, with the shore side buildings giving way
to car parks and open spaces in the 1970s. The Parish Church was built in
I860 on a prominent site beside the canal in direct line in from the
lighthouse.

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That is just a wee bit of background information, because I have no
intention of trying to write a history of Ardrishaig. It is the people that
make a place interesting to live in, and it is wee yarns about some of the
worthies of bygone days that I will be trying to record here. School didn't
have much attraction for most of us young lads. How could it ? Our minds
were more likely to be occupied with thoughts about splashing for sea-trout
and salmon, or catching lobsters, congers or saithe below the pier.
Ferreting rabbits on the braes, or trying to catch a hare at the Rocky
Riggens seemed more important than lessons to us with our boundless energy.
Our old lady teacher in the qualifying class used to be reduced to tears,
crying, "Boys, Boys, What is going to happen to you in the years ahead it
you will learn nothing in school?" Little did she know how well justified
her tears were to be, for thirty or forty of her former pupils were to go
off to the army, navy and air-force, never to return. One visitor to the
school that I remember was the King's doctor. Sir Clair Thompson, whose
grandfather had been the first canal manager. He asked the headmaster, Mr
A. Blue, who was the worst boy in the school. Mr Blue pointed at me and
said. "There you have him, the Duke of Hamilton himself!" The Royal doctor
came over to me and confided that he too had earned the same reputation in
his day. On one occasion he had made a boat out of three herring boxes,
coated it with tar and feathers and launched it at the mouth of the burn.
He then paddled out to the flashing buoy, whereupon his "boat" started to
sink and he had to be rescued by fishermen. When he returned home he was on
the receiving end of a good belting Sir Clair Thompson left 3,000 in his
will to the village for the funds of the AVIA, the Ardrishaig Village
Improvements Association, and the village hall. Mr Blue was a very stern
disciplinarian. Once when he had caught of us having a smoke in the toilets
he laid into us with the cane The strokes were interspersed with the
words : "If – The – Lord – meant – you – to – smoke – he – would – have –
put – a – chimney – on – your – head" ! A bi-plane landed at Brackley Farm
in 1928 and three quarters of the village population went up to see it and
helped to take down a fence so that the pilot, Wing Commander MacBain could
take-off. In 1931, some flying boats landed in the sea, out from the pier
at Ardrishaig, and the school pupils, not wanting to miss anything so
exciting, sat all afternoon waiting for them to take-off. This they did
just before school closed. We all ran to the school to collect our
schoolbags, but on the way out we met Mr Blue, who gave us each six of the
best for being absent without leave. We were thus remanded in school until
six o'clock to make up for the time we had lost. Another teacher, a Miss
Smith from Tarbert (Peter Pochie's sister), was also a great believer in
the belt. She once told me I had thirty-two mistakes in my French exercise
and since I apparently didn't look terribly worried about it she said,
"What have you to say for yourself, Hamilton?" I said the only thing I
could think of, namely that "I better just not bother going to France !" an
answer that earned me six of the belt from her and a visit to Mr Blue for a
follow-up of six of the cane. Life, however, wasn't all canings and
beltings, and they didn't disturb us all that much anyway. For even as
laddies our hands were pretty well protected with callouses from rowing and
hauling ropes. It has just struck me that "worst boy in the school" or not,
I have followed Mr Blue in many. if not all, of the positions he held in
the community— Member of AVIA, Chairman Village Hall Committee, Sunday
School Superintendent, Agent for the Shipwrecked Mariner's Society, Royal
Benevolent Society, and Boys Brigade—further to this I was a member of the
Home Guard before call-up to the RAF, ran the boy's boxing club, and am now
with the Ardrishaig Wednesday Club, which consists of fifty locals who
gather on Wednesday afternoons for a community get together. This includes
tea, cakes and of course, the odd bit of local gossip. After all, as one
lady member said to me, "What can you do with gossip, Forsyth, but spread
it".

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Grinlaw's coach in Ardrishaig One grand old character was our next-door
neighbour, James Jackson, who lived until he was only three months from his
100th birthday. I have managed to get a photo of him with his friend Andy
Grinlaw together with their guns.

Mr Grinlaw and Mr James Jackson In the year 1860, he was on a sailing ship,
on his first passage to America when they were- involved in rescuing the
crew of an American fishing boat. James Jackson was the first to volunteer
to man the rescue boat and 12 of the crew were saved. As a result of his
heroism, he was rewarded with a life pension and at the ripe old age of 99,
he received a visit from four American inspectors, who wondered if he could
possibly still be alive. I am sure this brave man deserves a place in the
Guinness Book of Records, as being the person to have drawn a pension, on
both sides of the Atlantic for the longest time. However, on writing to
them, I was informed that it did not tall under their list of published
categories. But I will pursue the matter further. He died in 1944, not long
after flitting to Lochgilphead to stay with his daughter, and said himself
that it was leaving Ardrishaig that would be the end of him. It was sad to
come home from the war to find this great old man gone.

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His daughter, Maggie Kinkey, as she was known, also lived near us. Her
husband had been called "The Beara," which might have been something to do
with his favourite drink' He worked in the local distillery where the wages
were paid on Fridays, one golden sovereign. The first time the pay was in
pound notes, he is supposed to have gone straight to Dougie Livingstone's
Anchor Bar, slapped the note on the counter and said, "I am the Beara. Pay
me a pound." You wouldn't see a lot in the newspapers of these days about
sex, divorce and so forth, but there were nevertheless, always a few
"goings-on" that rarely found the light of day. One story concern' a
certain kind-hearted lady who was a great source of comfort to the under-
privileged males of the village, with whom she would share her bed to
dispel their arrows. Word other generosity had leaked out to some of the
younger boys who decided for a prank to raid her boudoir when she was
engaged in such activities. The plan was to sneak in. pull back the
bedclothes and give her companion a skelp across the backside. Sure enough,
the plan was carried out, the blow was dealt, and to the horror of the boy
who had wielded the stick, the irate man who leapt out of bed was his own
father. He chased the boy out of the house and up the lane, clad only in a
pair of pink drawers, of the kind now known as "Long Johns," but which at
that time were called "Leasey Parleys," and were the under garment favoured
for wearing at the fishing in cold weather. "Leasey Parleys" somehow sounds
much more comfortable than "Long Johns."

The MacDougall brothers Donald, Archie and Peter I was at the fishing with
Donald MacDougall from Tarbert who was another memorable character. He once
pointed out a man to me saying—"You see that fellow over there, boy. What
troubles that man has had. Why, there's only the two afflictions he's never
had—childbirth and leprosy—but right enough he has the one serious
illness." "Is it cancer ?" "No, not cancer, boy. Just the laziness." Poor
Donald was killed in a road accident just outside Ardrishaig, nearly ten
years ago.

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Archie MacDougall The inhabitants of this part of Kintyre—the men of
Tarbert, Carradale, and Campbeltown—were never greatly impressed with
degrees or titles. They were more likely to judge a man by his ability to
shoot a net or steer a course, or handle a boat. I remember fishing at the
prawns, near Jura. alone with Willie MacAffer, or Willie Gorry, as we
called him, and old Doods sitting up in the bow shouting—"It will be a hard
job getting the price of a pair of nylons out of these 'crawlers!'" And a
hard job it was. Herring at that time were selling at £2 a cran for fish
meal. There are roughly 750 herring to the cran, which is a measure equal
to 37½ gallons, so there was an awful lot of work for all the money that
was in it. Once going into Lochboisdale we were greeted by the Harbour-
master, standing at the end of the pier shouting, "No Capstan. No Woodbines
And the water's off!" Not what you would call a very hearty welcome. Half
an hour later three Campbeltown ring-netters—Merrian, Tommy Tit, and Big
Dunkie Donald—arrived. When they heard what the Harbour-master had said,
they said, "Don't worry, boys. We've a half-bottle of whisky, so rest
assured the water will be on in ten minutes!" And it was at that. That same
Harbour-master was also the weather reporter. Most days he would arrive
down at the boats at about 2 o'clock saying, "No, No, you won't be out
tonight, boys. I'll see you all in the pub." "How do you know that, did you
hear a forecast?" we would ask. "A forecast! A forecast! And who would be
needing a forecast and the cows coming down the hill and the sheep turning
their arses to the wind for the last hour!" The thing is that he was always
100% right, and that must have been the only pub in Britain with a queue
fifty yards long, rigged out in oilskin coats and Wellie boots waiting for
opening time.

Fishermen setting up a ring-net at Silvercraigs, Ardrishaig

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The experts in the Minches at that time were the Mansons from Mallaig, they
had been taught how to work the ring net by the Campbeltown men—Old John
Short, the Hoodies, Mick O'Hara and Jock Warham, of whom a book has already
been written. There was no such thing as a golden handshake at the end of
your career in these days. All you could expect to get would be the skipper
giving you the DCM on a Friday. No, not a medal, just—"Don't Come Monday!"
Men were old and died at fifty with burst hearts and what they used to call
Armstrong's Patent, their arms pulled the length of Ailsa Craig, trying to
haul up sole ropes or just holding the fending-off poles to keep the boats
apart in a breeze or swell. I wrote this poem to fishermen twenty years
ago. It was published in the Campbeltown Courier in 1966. Being a modest
man. and Ardrishaig born and bred, I surrendered it under the name—A.
Pointer ! Away in the Highlands, there's the Island of Pladda, / Where the
rocks are so hard and the tide is so bad, The herring are spanning, for
spring 's in the air. / 'The ringers and trawlers have torn all their gear,
But this is the end of the financial year. / Many a man is grey-haired and
old, With mending and cutting, fasteners galore ! / The waterfall stands
like a monument bold, "You won't do well here" so I am told. / So the
struggle goes on between herring and bound, Between what you have caught,
and what you have sought. / Be it richer or poorer, you'd be better
aground. Faint hearted and hoping we shot her away, / Hoping she comes in
the gayest array. With a net full of spannies that would be better away. /
BA's, CN's and TT's have watched the Brown Heads for a century now, But
herring will come, and herring will go, / When men will work the shore no
more. At that time The Courier, along with the Oban Times and The Stornoway
Gazette were recognized as the "West Coast Men's Bibles."

Ardrishaig ARDRISHAIG was never wholly Highland from its earliest as a

village. At the making and the opening of the Crinan Canal in the year
around 1805 there must have been a large number of Lowland tradesmen such
as stone-masons,

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carpenters etc., settled in the village and district during the years of
construction. Names such as Dawson, Lawson, Duff, Chalmers etc. must have
come in these years. Another influx into the village was the Ayrshire
fishing folk in the years about 1820 with a big proportion of names such as
Bruce, Hamilton, Law, MacAlister among them. Another period of' entry was
the basing of H.M.S. Jackal, the fishing protection vessel, for the long
periods off Ardrishaig which carried a crew of about 60 personnel. Many of
the crew married locally and took up residence, with names Wyllie, Heath,
Cadwallader, Sloan and Mullin. The successor to H.M.S. Jackal was H.M.S.
Daisy which had a crew of six and was stationed here until she went ashore
and was scrapped about 1913.

Ardrishaig's Main Street In the Second World War Ardrishaig was a Naval
Base—H.M.S. Seahawk 1940-44. Again there were Customs and Excise Officers
attached to the Distillery who moved in and out as transferred. Generally
there were three Officers permanently located in the village, names such as
Boyd, Robertson, Davies, Leanfield, Walker come to mind. Fishery Officers
and "Tide Waiters" so called locally. Also stationed here—Murray. Lindsay,
Jeffrey, Melville to name some more. The above goes to show the build up of
the people during the past 100 years. The basic industries were herring and
small line fishing. The location of the Crinan Canal Workshops and the
Glenfyne Distillery with the small trades attached such as boat building,
smithy work, joinery and the rest of the crafts. In the early years of the
fishing industry the local fishermen who owned their own boats, smacks and
skiffs, used to engage men at the local fairs for the fishing season
generally from March to December and were paid board/wages. Mainly the
crews were made up from the boat owners, own families, some succeeding
father and grandfather. The general mode of fishing was with the drift nets
(and some ringnets). The Ayrshire fishing folk first came for bait for
their lines such as mussels and cockles which were abundant on the
sandbanks around the seashore and took the bait south. Afterwards they took
up permanent residence in the village, as Lochfyne was teeming with herring
and white fish in these early years. This was the beginning of the fishing
as a basic industry and it was pursued for more than 100 years, the peak
periods being around 1870-1920. The harbours contained from 60-70 boats
(skiffs and line-boats) and manned by 200 men and youths. No finer sight
could be seen on a summer evening in the sunset than the boats leaving for
the fishing grounds, with their brown sails set, sailing in a fresh freeze
of wind. In the early morning they would return to port having sold their
catches to carrier steamers which bought the catches out in the loch and
carried them to the Glasgow market, or taking their catch into the Pier
where local buyers. many of them Irish who came each season buying for the
Glasgow firms and shipping the herring by steamer lona or luggage boat to
market. Iona left at 5.45am each morning, and luggage boat at 9.00am. Two
of the old Irishmen were Danny Burnes and Mcuill. In the curing season
local buyers, supplemented by firms such as Pirrie and Davidson, Aberdeen,
and others, cured upwards of 2,000 barrels in a season.

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At the close of the season, which lasted from May to December, the boats
would haul up, except those who went south to the Girvan fishing on the
Ayrshire Banks in January. Others in the early spring got ready to go North
to the Loch Boisdale fishing in April, returning to prepare for the start
in June of the Lochfyne season. These crews fished mostly drift nets,
alternately with ring nets. At the close of the herring season when skiffs
were drawn up, those who followed the line fishing got their boats ready
for the white fishing, which engaged 60 to 70 men. Line fishing was a very
hard job, going to the ebb for bait, shelling the cockles and mussels,
digging for log worm. Most of the family had their particular job to do.
Each line boat had a crew of three or four men and the boats were handled
by oars although each had a small sail. On a still frosty night, with a
full moon, it was pleasant to hear the click-clack of the oars as they were
rowed in the tholes. The line fishing lasted from January to May. There was
hardly a silent hour all through the night that one did not hear the tramp
of sea-boots moving to and fro. Good catches of Haddock, Whiting and Cod
were caught and sold, average 2/6d per stone. In the month of May the
Mackerel appeared, and were fished by a few small boats. Young lads and a
few older men took part, the chief character being a local cripple called
Johnnie McPhail. The fishing grounds were at Brenfield, Creag a Ghual and
Craglan. Mackerel sold at 1/- to 2/- per dozen. The most remunerative years
of the herring fishing were in the early 1880's called locally the "Shoals"
fishing. Large numbers of new boats were built replacing and adding to the
fleet, and in these years the fisherman as a whole were prosperous. About
1900 there came a steady decline in the industry. the shoals of herring
becoming scarcer, boats having to be sold, men seeking other occupations,
on steamers, putters and Clyde yards. By the end of 1945 not a boat or a
fisherman was left in the village. The ring net fishermen worked with pairs
of boats, each boat having its own net. with a crew of four men. In the
early days the boats were propelled by sweep oars about 16 feet in length,
four oars to each boat and these were used in calm weather, when there was
wind. the sails came into operation, as when a spot of herring came to play
on the surface or on the sign of gannets diving or seeing the fish in the
water. Later the motor engine came into use and made a drastic change in
the handling: of the boats when surrounding the fish with ring net and
getting from one fishing ground to another. Drift nets were shot and left
to drift with wind and tide for a certain length of time, or were set and
held by anchors, in each case they were attached to the skiff. When hauling
the nets, the herring were caught by their gills and as they were taken
aboard were shaken from the nets into the hold of the boat. Each year the
crews who were not owners or part-owners, made changes of berths. Family
crews were constant, also part-owners. Some crews spent almost the whole of
their fishing life together. What about the characteristics of the
fisherman : Physically they were on the whole tall, average 5' 8" to 5'
10", well setup men, intelligent to a high degree with moderation in all
things, good church members and a high percentage of total abstainers
amongst them. They lived in the hope that next week, or next year would be
a better fishing period and made the best of the situation they found
themselves in. They feasted and suffered famine together but famine got
them in the end and they had to quit. Over the years there were many
drowning accidents. A boat went down at the Girvan fishing with the loss of
three lives and some were lost in Lochfyne. With reference to H.M.S.
Jackal, the fishery cruiser, an incident happened at Otter Ferry in which a
fisherman was shot and killed. Trawling for herring by the trawl net was
prohibited and a crew was caught in the act of doing so. The cruiser opened
fire to warn them when a fisherman Peter McDougall was killed by a bullet.
The mariners responsible for firing were tried but acquitted as doing their
duty. In connection with the herring fishing, boat building was long
established, the old type of smack being superseded by the Clinker and
Caravel type. Overall length 24-26 feet beam and 6-9 feet. Some of the
people who were boatbuilders were Walker, Jas. McLean, Archibald Munro,
Archibald McCallum and Robert Fyfe, all first-class tradesmen. McLean's
boats were of good design and good sea boats. His yard was taken over by
Archibald Munro and Donald Munro who were good at design and craftmanship,
these boats were ordered for owners as far as Campbeltown and

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Loch Broom. History records that when some of the Ardrishaig fleet were
operating out of Ullapool (all the open boats without decks) the East coast
fishermen present who had decked boats watched with admiration the handling
and skill as the Lochfyne boats tacked their wav into harbour in the teeth
of a gale and heavy sea.

A launch from Munro's Boatyard, about 1900 They were Munro built. The
village has from early times trained boat builders. The old Canal foreman
D. McArthur used to tell that he had been an apprentice building vessels at
the old dock, now tilled in, in the years around 1840. Archibald McCallum
built boats in a yard where the Public Hall now stands. Some or the boats
he built were the Lilly Mary and Sarah and the Cardross Castle. He later
became foreman carpenter with the David MacBrayne Steamer Company. Robert
Fyfe's yard was beside James Smith's smiddy—he built very fine skiff boats.

Peter Hamilton with son Neil and wife Jean

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Fishermen and Kippers MY teachers in the kipper and salt herring trade and
net-making and roping were my father. Uncle Sandy, their uncles—Peter
Hamilton, Stuart Hamilton, Old Bosan Dan Hamilton and Stuart MacAllister
Toody, there were so many MacAllisters they all had to be given a nickname.
My other uncles were Stuart Hamilton and my Uncle John Hamilton.

Peter Hamilton and John Ferguson This is the family of people who looked
after us in our young life : some body of men—they made sure you did the
job given to you correctly. They told me that the herring is the only fish
with the net marked clearly on his side. When you take out its gills you
have a complete gull with both wings and two legs; on the herring's head if
you look at a fresh herring you will see a coffin and inside the coffin is
a figure and the body in the coffin is our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
You may think about this, and wonder. As the master stood by the sea on the
shore of Galilee and he gathered the fishermen round him, he asked them to
follow him and he would make them fishers of men. Two thousand years have
passed since that meeting on the shore, the herring are still with us and
so are the men who go to fish them. Nearly all men who go to sea are God-
fearing men and good men to be with. The sea has claimed thousands of these
men, and if they returned they would still go back to it. A hundred years
at kippers—in that time we must know something about them. What is a good
kipper ? First you must have a good fresh herring caught from Lochfyne or
Kilbrannan Sound, split, cleaned, washed and salted with rock salt and some
dark brown sugar, being immersed in this lovely solution for one hour. They
are taken from this pickle and hung on tenterhooks for two hours to dry in
a well-ventilated kiln with a good vent on the roof to let the smoke out.
Lay a fire with side logs of oak as they will be the mainstay of the fire—
use clean wood to light the fire and some oak chips on oak sawdust to
contain the heat from the small kindling wood. These fish are so full of
fat the first heat will melt them on the hooks. These fish have all the
goodness in the world, vitamins from A to Z, they will do your heart good,
never mind your body, If we ate more of these great fish we would have the
heart rate down by 75%. The kippers in the kiln are like rolls in the
bakers oven—the ones nearest the fire are ready first, and after the first
tour hours take on a colour of pure gold; this is the acid coming out of
the oak logs going in to the skin of the herring. They are not only good to
look at bur a delight to eat. After a pair of good kippers you are ready
for anything; the goodness will stay with you all day. How often have we
gone into a restaurant and come out saving: "I never telt it did me any
good." A great deal of time must be given to making a good kipper, and the
main problem is the firing of them.

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We are talking about making good smoked kippers—not brown FK-dyed herring.
The EEC does not allow this dye to be used but I am afraid it is still
largely used and to make kippers on any large scale commercially, everybody
reverts to the red dye. They are taken from the kilns soaking wet so they
are getting sold we: for weight. A good kipper is dry and only its own fat
is damp. They call these dyed kippers "Jack the Rippers." Herring being
made into kippers should be fresh that morning, not lying overnight in ice
or anything else as the fat in the herring goes to a dull colour and this
greatly affects the flavour. An old Lewis man came to the door one day and
he said: "Are the kippers good," I said "Yes, " He then said: "Are you
sure?" I again said. "Yes." I was trying a pair of kippers as he came to
the door, so I said, "Sit down." Well, he ate a pair of kippers, three
slices of bread and a big mug of tea. When he had finished he said,
"They're good." To get any praise from a Lewis man about kippers or herring
they have got to be good. He told me a Lewis story for good measure. One
old Lewis man was walking past a house and he saw other Lewis men inside.
He said: "What are you doing in there?" "Oh, we are reading a book." He
said: "What is it about?" "Oh its about continents." "Well, will you tell
me. What does it say?" "Oh it says Lewis and Harris is a continent and we
arc drifting away from the mainland by halt a mile a year." "Yea, Yea. You
tell me. What about Skye and Mull?" "They are going the same way?" "What,
Islay and Jura with the big whisky distilleries?" "Oh, they are going half
a mile a year as well." "Well, well. My advice to you is to burn the book
today before Caledonian MacBrayne find out ! ! " Stornoway Stories I WAS up
in Stornoway at a wedding a few years ago. The old minister started the
service with a warning to the congregation, which consisted mainly of
unmarried men and women, being told not to tread the road to matrimony
lightly and how right he was. At the bride's house outside Stornoway we
arrived at 11 o'clock in the evening. On being shown in, we saw two men
lying on the floor with two sheep and two lambs running over them. At last
I said, "Are these men dead?" and one man said, "Och, no, they are from
Mull !" That seemed to be explanation enough. Another Lewisach died. He
arrived up at the Pearly Gates, was met by St Peter, who invited him in,
showed him round the place, then let him look over a large wall. He saw
about 2,000,000 men playing football. He said, "Who are they?" St Peter
said "They're football supporters. Celtic. Rangers, Manchester United and
soon. They're very happy playing here, " Then he showed him a big lake with
1,000,000 people. "Who are they?" "Oh, these are the Baptists, they love
dipping one another, and splashing about. They're quite happy." Then he
showed him a wall. He looked over and saw a large crowd of people. "Who are
they?" "These are the 'Wee Frees.' With that wall they think they are the
only people up here and they're quite happy!" I often wonder what the
Stornoway minister would have had to say if he had been officiating at a
wedding which took place in Kilberry many years ago. This tale was told to
me by an old lady who lived in Inverneill and had been a guest at the
wedding celebrations which went on all night, finally breaking up at 7am.
At ten minutes past eight the girl bride, who had danced till the end, gave
birth to a lovely baby boy. My friend, who acted as midwife, later said
that if we had waited another hour we could have been at the christening!
Before the introduction of radio and television, people used to appreciate
the yarners and story-tellers. and there was one old crofter locally who
must have been a prince at the trade. He had spent some of his younger days
in windjammers, and one of his stones was about a terrible gale that struck
them and they were three weeks on the top of the one wave. Another of his
yarns was that when he had been attached to the occupation forces in Turkey
after the '14-'18 war, in which he had served with the Argyll and
Sutherland Highlanders. He was going with this Serf girl. "Surely you mean
Serb," we would say. "No, no, a Serf girl. She had serfed her time in a
shop in Glasgow." Anyway, this girl had a brother who was the champion
jockey out there, and they had this big donkey derby coming along with the
prize of 10,000 drach for the supreme champion. This gave Donald the notion
to try his hand at the big prize because he had been quite good with
donkeys before the war. The donkeys lined up for the start of the big race,
and Donald, of course, was heavily backed by all the Argylls, after

13
him telling them all how good he was. But when the starter's gun went off,
Donald was left at the post. By the time he got the beast going the rest of
the field were about two furlongs ahead and it was obvious he was well
beaten. The pipe band, thinking how their money was gone, and them waiting
at the winning post to cheer on their man, struck up a lament. To
everybody's surprise, all the donkeys turned about and ran back down the
course alarmed by the wailing of the pipes. All except Donald's donkey
which eventually plodded up to win the race. Donald, of course, became the
hero of the hour, but the judges of the racing committee had him up before
them to explain how he had made such a bad start and still managed to win.
"Well," said Donald, "it was fair enough. I made a bad start because my
donkey didn't hear the starter's gun and I made a good finish because he
neffer heard the pipes because the bliddy animal is stone deaf!" Another of
Donald's interests was gardening and he used to tell about the night he was
wakened up with someone shouting in his garden, and when he got up to
investigate he found it was only some drunk man who had wandered through
the hedge and got lost in the parsley. He used to say that he planted his
parsley in kapok and when he pulled up the roots at the end of the season
he would get a pillow at the bottom of every plant . . . He had a cat with
one brown eye and one blue one, the former for seeing at night and the
latter for seeing in daylight. He always kept a telescope at the end of the
house, and he would be looking through it across at Kilfinan, five miles
away, and would turn to anyone who stopped near him and say, "There's the
farmer's wife at K-ilfinan feeding the hens. She's not in great fettle
today and they are only getting the household scraps." This was bait for
someone in the audience to say, "Surely you aren't trying to tell us your
telescope is so good that you can see what she's giving the hens five miles
away." Donald would reply with an innocent expression, "No, no, I canna see
the hen's meat, but I ken from the look on the wine's race." It was a
recognised form of entertainment for people to tell stories, adding arms
and legs to everything and exaggeration to the extent that all credibility
was gone. There is still a wee bit of it about vet. too, only now most of
the best yarners are in Parliament and getting paid for it. In my young
days a big annual event was a trip to Glasgow on the steamer for five
shillings, or the afternoon boat the same day to Rothesay for two-and-six.
One old lady on the outing with her son had bought a new hat for the
occasion and on the way back it started to rain. As the first few drops
fell, the son saw his mother haul up her skirt over her head. "Mother!
Your're showing off you backside!" he whispered to her. "This new bonnet
cost me 7/lld and I'm not getting it wet. My backside is 78 years old and
I'm past caring about it'" was her reply. One night when there was hard
frost, a car ran off the road near the house. After we had got it back on
the road and were giving the old gentleman who was driving and his wife,
who was accompanying him. a cup of tea, the old fellow told us he had
served in the first war with the 8th Argylls, and that they had included a
number from Ardrishaig. One time when the rations hadn't been getting
through too well they had "rescued" a cargo of sacks of foodstuffs from a
wagon going somewhere else. Next day when the officer came to inspect the
mess, the cooks had a big sign out. Today's Menu—Sago. When he had a look
at the meal he said, "But that isn't sago!" "I ken it isny," said the cook,
"It's semolina and we got eight bags of it last night. I can cook it. but I
canny spell it !" Another time he saw two men carrying a stretcher with a
green tarpaulin over it. He thought it was a bit peculiar the way they were
going so he stopped them and asked what they had on the stretcher. "It's an
infant, sir, just a poor infant." said the front man. So the officer called
over a sergeant and asked him to uncover the infant, which turned out to be
a small barrel of rum "liberated" from the rations, to be dished out before
the men went over the top the next morning. He didn't say they were
Ardrishaig men, and I'm sure they weren't, but there's a few not very far
down the coast that would find an unguarded cask of rum a great temptation.
Old Dan, the grocer, was standing at his shop door one morning with an
awful woebegone expression on his face, when the local lawyer, Mr
Macdougall came along. "You're looking gey sad the day, Dan." said the
lawyer. "Aye, indeed," said Dan, "and wouldn't yourself be looking sad if a
dog came into your shop and went off with a 6lb ham?"

14
"Do you know whose dog it was, because if you do there's no problem, all
you have to do is send him the bill and it he doesn't pay for the ham, you
can sue him." "Well, well," said Dan "that's fine, Mr Macdougall, because
it was your dog that did it." "That's alright, Dan, just you put in the
account to me at my office in the morning." Next morning, the account was
delivered to the lawyer's office by the grocer's delivery boy, who had to
wait for a minute or two before being handed an envelope addressed to his
employer. When Dan opened the envelope, instead of 12/6 payment for the ham
he found it contained a bill for 18/6 for legal advice. The same Mr
Macdougall was factor for a number of estates in the area, and one of his
sayings was,"Aye, man, the rent is having to go up, it's not like the rain,
forever coming down." One time when he was chasing up a farmer on Loch
Aweside for arrears of rent he said to the farmer, "Man, ye don't know when
your're well off. If I had a house like this in Glasgow or Edinburgh, or
even Dunoon, I would be getting three times the rent you are paying."
"Aye," said the farmer, "I don't for a minute misdoubt you, Mr Macdougall,
but if you just look down there at the Loch. Do you know that if I had that
in Hell I could get a £1 a glass for it, but you know fine that I can't get
Loch Awe down there anymore than you can get this house down to Glasgow or
Edinburgh." In these days of my youth the only people in the village who
were regarded as clever were the lawyers, the bankers, the doctors and the
district nurse and, of course, the school teacher, minister and canal
managers, and they were apt to exert their authority much more than they do
now. For example, one man had about £12 in the bank and went to see the
banker wanting to withdraw £8 of it. The banker asked him what he was
planning to do with it, and when he heard it was to buy a motorbike he told
him he couldn't withdraw that amount of money to spend on such an
inessential thing. Years later the man said to me that the banker had
probably saved his life, but can you imagine the bank manager of today
laying down the law to any of the young ones about what they can or cannot
do with their own money? The people in authority ruled the village and
there was little hope for any rebels who tried to buck the system. If your
father or mother died you had to make an appointment with the canal manager
or whoever your boss was, to get permission to go to the funeral, and you
lost a day's pay for going. Nostalgic memories there may be, but there was
an awful lot about "the Good Old Days" that wasn't all that good.

Storm at the south-side of Ardrishaig Men and Memories OLD Archie Ferguson.
the butcher, was passing along the front green one night and a crowd had
gathered to hear a man giving his testimony. He was busy proclaiming that
his name was in the Lamb's book, and that he was saved by the Blood. Old
Archie said, "It's in my book as well, and it is also for lamb!"

15
Most of the local tradesmen such as Mr MacGregor, the stonemason, Mr
Leckie, slater and plasterer (who took over Peter White's father's yard),
Bob McKirdy and 'Red Jock' his assistant, were all Lodge members. I'm sure
the help they gave to the Mid-Argyll community is to this day unknown. Bob
and Red Jock, along with Mr Sinclair, the Burgh Officer, knew every pipe
bend and twist up the brae or along the back street. The main contractors
in Lochgilphead were the Carmichaels, a household name through Argyll and
the Isles. Over the years they must have employed thousands of people.
Jimmy Carmichael once said he had an Irishman as his ganger when wages were
10½d an hour. He said to Mr Carmichael, "Never mind the money just give me
the authority." One of the football greats was Neil Dewar who played for
Scotland. On one occasion before the war he played in front of Adolf
Hitler. The British Ambassador, Mr Henderson, promised the team a bottle of
whisky if they would give the Nazi salute to Hitler. Nell and his mate from
Third Lanark said they would consider it for five bottles ! I don't think
they got them. The French team called Neil Dewar 'De War' and he was
certainly our hero in these days of the small wireless set. Up in the old
attic where my uncle Sandy stayed,' the wireless was tuned in to Daventry
and everytime it squealed he said, "That's the Germans at it again !"

Fishing boats off Ardrishaig's break-water My Uncle Sandy and my father

lost about £20,000 on the supply of salt herring to the German commission,
along with the other herring curers in Ardrishaig, Tarbert and Campbeltown.
No compensation or commission was ever given to these people, therefore I'm
quite sure the German Government is due me two Mercedes cars at the present
exchange rate.

Bloodhound

16
I was working with the afore-mentioned Neil Dewar on Crinan boats slip in
1962 when the Bloodhound came through the canal. The papers got hold of the
story and the pressmen arrived over to ask us about the kipper gift to the
Royal Family. Three of us were standing together when the Daily Express
reporter asked which one of us was Forsyth Hamilton. My neighbour said he
was, but would only talk if given a five-gill bottle of whisky, as he
claimed the reporter was well paid by his editor to get a good story. Then
Neil said he was Forsyth and would be willing to talk for a half-bottle.
Just then a door opened and Mr Wilson who owned the yard appeared and told
the reporter who he was. The reporter asked him it he could verity which
one of us was Forsyth Hamilton. He immediately pointed to me and put the
poor man out of his misery. Neil's last great trip was sponsored by Crinan
Hotel where he worked in the last days of his life. They paid his tare to
the World Cup. This was a marvellous gesture on their behalf and it was the
last great talking point with Neil how much he enjoyed it. All his life he
showed a great interest in young people and helped all the young clubs.
Lochgilphead had many good players and I'm sure even today they would be
able to have taken on any club. Jimmy Shankland played centre-half and was
almost unbeatable. It you passed him you were likely to meet Mr Cameron and
all the good forwards i.e. the Fletchers—they could field a team of their
own. Most of these men had nicknames otherwise you would not know who they
were. There was always a great rivalry between Ardrishaig and Lochgilphead
whenever the teams met, but even greater was when Lochgilphead met Tarbert.
Tarbert is one of the most beautiful villages in Argyll. As one old Tarbert
man said, "If you want to see flowers, come to Tarbert when the whins are
in bloom !" And another old fisherman said, "I like to see all the gardens
covered in snow, then they are all equal." Something in that. Ardrishaig
being the centre with the pier and canal, had two daily boats going to
Glasgow and two cargo boats. So you can see the amount of traffic that was
going through the village. Many a person standing in the street has looked
up and seen a large pole or mast of a big yacht sailing up or down the
canal. It looked as though you were seeing things. Horses and carts, also
lorry carts trundled up and down to Lochgilphead everyday, carting all the
goods. One story concerns a lorry cart arriving from a firm in Glasgow to
go and collect an organ a Lochgilphead lady had got for her daughter at two
shillings a week. She had fallen down on the payments and they wanted it
back, so the carter called on the lady and told her about the letter from
Glasgow. She said, "It is a dreadful pity as the lassie has just learned to
play When He Cometh. "Well," he replied, "she will need to practise When He
Goeth for 7o'clock in the morning !"

The Columba arriving at Ardrishaig The Columba, the great Clyde paddle
steamer, ran from the Clyde to Ardrishaig every day for 58 years. Some
first-class machinery to keep going all that time. Many people must have
travelled on the Columba and the lona in all these years of service. The
locals could go to the pier with a can or bowl and get it filled with the
best roast beef fat for 3d, and they used it as a spread instead of butter.
In these far-off days nobody had faulty hearts, and everybody in the
village would be eating salt herring or salt meat, peuchtie or saithe. All
the new diseases have come with modern living.

17
Ardrishaig's south-side and the Columba at the quay Anyway, the arrival of
the Columba was a great event and it connected up with a little steam boat
at the fourth lock that took you to Crinan at the other end of the canal.
In the summer, you connected up with the Grenadier which took you to Oban,
then from Oban to Fort William, then on through the Caledonian Canal to
Inverness, cutting Scotland in half. Young men carried the passengers'
luggage from the pier to the fourth lock, about a third of a mile. If you
were lucky you got 2d or a wealthy man might have given 6d. The boys used
to run along the bank following the Linnet as she steamed along the canal
to catch the pennies that the passengers threw on their way to Millers
Bridge at Lochgilphead. The canal people did not like this and they tried
to discourage it, as they were afraid somebody might fall in the water.
They also tried to discourage the sale of milk straight from the cow at
Cairnbaan locks and even brought out a poster to the effect that it was
wrong to sell milk to passengers. A photograph taken at the time of this
poster has two ladies on it, mother and daughter. The daughter's son,
grandson and great-grandsons and great-granddaughters are still living in
the village and all the canal managers who were God in their time have all
passed away. Many people have come to the village and think they are going
to change everybody, it is the same everywhere, but I think in the end they
go their way and we go ours. One old lady in the village said to me many
years ago, "When you get to my age the years go by in fives." One boat
built in Ardrishaig about 100 years ago was built of good old pitch pine.
We bought it 14 years ago and it is moored at Crinan Bridge, sleeps six,
has two cabins, galley and salon. She was built by the carpenters of the
canal and is as sound in body as if she was built yesterday. We give the
use of it to Guides, the Sunday School and the Youth Fellowship, they all
seem to enjoy a day on this fine old boat. All sorts of crafts have used
the canal including Alan Villiers of sail-ship fame and two-man submarines
used during the war to help sink the Tirpitz in the Norwegian fjords.
English tourists coming to Argyll love to visit Inveraray Castle, not least
for the great beauty of the setting of the castle and all the lovely rocky
peaks surrounding it. If you are coming from Glasgow, you see the village
before you see this lovely castle building; if you are coming from Oban or
Fort William side you come through a large archway and immediately you are
in Inveraray.

18
Inveraray in 1890 My cousin, John Hamilton, was Secretary to the Duke of
Argyll, the present Duke's father. The first time I met the present Duke
was down at the kippering shed garden. I said, "Good afternoon. Sir, "then
he told me he was the young Duke, so I said, "I'm pleased to meet you, your
Grace." He had been down at the shed and left two large salmon to be
smoked. My father-in-law, Jock MacArthur, asked him who he was and he said,
"I'm Argyll." Jock looked at him and was going to say. "I am Lord Lampton."
I just arrived in time to stop him for Jock thought he was just having him
on. The Duke had a very bad fire in the castle and he asked everbody to
help, so I sent him up 50 pairs of kippers to help with the sale they ran
in the grounds. Maybe only a small contribution, but it everybody helps and
gives something, a little becomes a muckle, or a lot. The castle gives a
lot to Argyll and so do the Duke and Duchess, long may they live in the
castle. The Queen sent Margaret and myself an invitation to the garden
party at Holyrood House in Edinburgh. As my oldest boy was ill at the time
we were unable to attend, so we sent a note to apologise. The following
year we received another invitation and this time we were able to go to
Holyrood House. What a beautiful day it was with all the ladies decked out
in their finery and the men sporting new suits, many with their bowler
hats.

Margaret Forsyth with some kippers

19
I think about 3,000 people were there that very memorable day. Looking at a
large crowd like this is like looking at a sea of races. Suddenly out of
the crowd came a man and his wife walking over to Margaret and myself. Who
was this but Archie Paterson and his lady wife from Carradale, Argyll. He
greeted us with, "My, it's good to see a kent face in a large crowd like
this!" We carried on walking to the marquee to try the strawberry tarts and
cream horns. The Queen looked radiant and seemed to be in great form as she
went round all the people who were in wheelchairs and had a word with them
all. Her bodyguards looked resplendent in the Archers uniform. If you have
not been to this great gala you have really missed something in this life.
However, I know you cannot buy a ticket to get in, you have to be invited.
The aforementioned Archie Paterson is a nephew of Dennis Macintosh whom I
have known all my life. He was a fisherman, writer and playright and
produced a play called Spindrift. Duncan MacRae was the main actor in this
finishing story about the West Coast which I saw in the Citizens' Theatre,
Glasgow. Dennis's friend in the writing world was the lady who lives in
Carradale House, Naomi Mitchison, or to give her full title. Lady
Mitchison. Her husband was Lord Kettering, a great Labour MP, and a great
help to the people of the West Coast. She called on me one day for kippers
and it was Election Day. She said, "I hope you are not voting Tory today,
Forsyth." So I said, "I'm voting Liberal," She said, "You are a damn site
worse than all the Tories put together!" But we are still good friends and
she sent me two lovely plants last October, with her daughter who had been
up on holiday with her. Jim Callaghan and most of the Labour cabinet have
been staying at Carradale House over the years. I wonder how many plots or
plans have been started from these quiet parts of Argyll. I don't know what
she will say when she hears I am writing all this story about Argyll and
the fishing villages, but I feel if we do not get it down now it will all
be lost. We lived with a man who was a century old; his father and
grandfather were also born in the village. When Queen Victoria landed at
the slip steps in Ardrishaig holding her infant son, they called to her to
lift up the boy so that they could have a look at him. A century later we
saw her great-granddaughter and great-grandson going through the canal to
sail on the West Coast in the yacht Bloodhound.

Neil MacEwan at Ayr Harbour Neil MacEwan was born in the village about 92
years ago. His first job on leaving the school was building Scotnish House,
with Carmichael's of Lochgilphead, where Stewart Hamilton, my uncle, was
foreman. Neil and three others were staying in lodgings with an old lady in
Tayvallich, and they all shared one bed. Neil slept in the middle and if
you wanted to turn you had to get out of bed and go back in again. The
lodgings were at that time 6/6d a week and as they ate rabbit every day, by
the end of the week they were looking for a ferret or a weasel to chase
them out of them. After three weeks building this house, Neil cycled back
to Ardrishaig where my father got him a job on one of the Clyde Carriers or
screws as they were called. He was in charge of the pigeons which were
released at daylight, telling the buyers in Greenock how many herring boxes
they were carrying, so that transport could be arranged to take them from
seaport to markets in Glasgow, Fairlie and Ayr. The pigeons had small
canisters on their legs carrying the little message. Nowadays a lot of
people overhear telephone messages and repeat news, but it must have been
difficult to catch one of these pigeons.

20
The great war came and Neil went into the Merchant Navy where he saw some
action, being torpedoed and landed in Queenstown, Ireland. The boats he was
on sailed from London to Cork and up the west side of Ireland, collecting
cattle as they went and taking them back to the English markets. The west
side is a stormy place, but Neil was glad when it was blowing because the
Germans could not fire the torpedos with the terrible swell. After the war
Neil came home and started again in the floating market, up and down the
Clyde and over to the Isle of Man for a cargo of salt. When this finished
he went as a fish buyer to Ayr where he worked for about 35 years. He came
home from this and came to our small kippering shed for the last 13 years
of his life. He enjoyed this period as he could come and go as he wished
and we relished the stories he told. He had stood on Ardrishaig Pier and
watched the men go away to the Boer War. He told me about these men and in
the school they collected cigarette cards of the South African Generals
Crongie de Wett. Neil MacEwan, although advanced in years was always
willing to help. We painted the Sunday School Hall with the help of John
McAulay and we also painted the Public Hall and the Library. On one
occasion we went to the National Mod in Stirling and he enjoyed that day
out. He also liked a flutter on the horses, and that day he had a winner.
My friend said to Neil that he was wasting his time putting money on horses
and said that he would be better off drinking—you get full value for your
money with drink. Then he said he had been at the races at Ayr and the
horse expert went over to this big horse, looked at its teeth then put his
money on it. Well, it came in last. Neil said they would have been better
off if they had looked at its feet. 'A clear case of foot and mouth ! Neil
MacGregor was our local policeman at this time. Old Neil told him that his
granny had made his first shirt. Neil's brother was Alex MacEwan, a fine
man; he was an elder in the Parish Church and was the holder of the MM from
the First War. His good lady is still alive and his daughter and son come
to the village for the holidays. Some of the grandchildren are doctors—he
would be proud of them today. My little verse would be : Most of us have
reason to be thankful When people in our lives take time to share and let
us know By special acts of kindness That we are in their thoughts and that
they care. Never A Dull Day AN old crofter in Skye had an ill cow and after
20 days the cow died. This was a terrible loss. almost like an uncle or
aunt passing away. The vet had been attending the cow, and every day he
called, he carried a gallon tin of liquid with him. The day the cow passed
away the crofter asked him what he had been treating the animal with up
till it died. The vet said it was a gallon of liquid paraffin to make its
bowels move. He then said he would return the next day with the Sanitary
Inspector to bury the cow in case of any infection to the other animals. So
the next day they duly arrived to bury the cow. They went to the byre but
the beast had disappeared. Eventually they got a hold of the crofter and
asked him where the cow was. He told them he had dragged it up to the
kitchen with the tractor and had put a good new wick in its backside, and
as soon as he had burned the twenty gallons of liquid parrafin they could
have it for burial ! Crossing a cow with a tortoise would be a marvellous
thing as the cows would sleep all winter long and into the spring and we
would not need to clean the byres. Nobody has been successful yet with this
experiment. It you don't get a few laughs each day, life must be rather
dull.

21
Mrs MacGlynn, dressed for a wedding Well, here is one lady who never had a
dull day, Mrs MacGlynn, Union Street, Lochgilphead. She spent her life
working to help others in every way possible. From hospitals, Red Cross,
Erskine, Cancer, Eye Infirmary—you name it, she did something for it. She
was in the Wednesday Club at Ardrishaig for years and was our dumpling
maker. A fane tribute to her was paid when they named the house at
Kilmartin for less gifted people after her—the Kate MacGlynn Holiday House.
I think the prime person in this would be big John Maclean, as he was
involved in this wonderful project which must be a great boon to the people
who come from all over the country. I said Big John; yes, big in every way,
and a gentleman to the last. Argyll is rich in people who wish to help
others and seek no glory for themselves. They have done to those, the least
my brethren, you have done it to me. Alister Tear has been with me since
1932. They used to be called Mac Tear, but changed it to Tear so that they
would confuse the folk who would be looking for them. Well that is their
story and they are sticking to it. You will need to travel the country, and
I don't know what country, to find a more loyal friend and helpful fellow
than Alister. If it's mechanical, he will spend all day trying to get it
right; he never says die, even if it will not work. Isa, his wife, has made
more pancakes than anybody I know. The house has been bursting at the
seams. He even asked the Council for a house with an expanding end to let
it out in the summertime. Alister and his brother Davie were at the fishing
out of Minard, where you 'd find some of the best men who ever stood in
leather boots, Willie Cameron and his boat, the Britainia, the clan
MacNabs, Crawfords, Campbells and Monroes. At Silver Craigs, the Campbells,
MacEwans and Grahams were all men who could smell herring. One of the
Grahams was so good at it that he was called the whale. This was before the
wire for feeling it had a 4lb weight on the bottom and you could feel the
herring hitting the wire. This was pre-echo days. All these men are now
gone but all relatives are still with us. Neil Campbell is the harbour
master at Montrose. I see him once a year. For many years we went with his
mother to the National Mod and each year she said, "Forsyth, have you made
the dumpling?" I used to say, "Can you not see the list on the bus with the
weight of it !" Having made a dumpling for the show in Ardrishaig to
compete against the real experts, Mina Hamilton, Mrs MacLarty, Mrs
MacKechnie, I had the luck to come third. Going to the hall at night to
collect the dumpling, the ticket was there, but no dumpling. Billy Jackson,
my cousin's boy, along with four others had taken it over to Lawson's old
lemonade works and boiled a pail of tea and sat and ate it ! We had taken
over the old works to make it into a curing shed and kippering shed. Billy
said that I only got third prize and should have got first as it was the
best dumpling in the show. If I told you the other members of the tea
party, who also agreed it was well worth eating, you would be surprised.
One is a sea captain, one a local shop-keeper, another a painter, and the
last I am sure will one day not far away be Prime Minister, so you see
where you may land if you eat good Clootie Dumpling.

22
Boats HAVING been a boy in Ardrishaig, my first love has been boats, be it
sailing boats, punts, fishing boats or anything else that floats. One old
man in the village had an old black tarred punt, which was held together
with cement and cement tar in the bow, and it always had a new tea chest
lid on the stern. We used to go out in it at night as he was an early
bedder and we knew it would be sate to take his old boat. One day we were
all down the lighthouse and a gentleman said to him, "Your old boat's
done," Old John replied. "They last a long tune after they are done." It
lasted out his lifetime, and that was all that was required.

Colin Mitchell and Forsyth Hamilton leaving Ellary in 1947 My first sail-
boat was an old double-ender that had been carrying scrap round the islands
and was based in Tobermory, Mull. Places and boats always crop up. She was
owned by a Mr MacAllister at that time, who sold her to Mr H. Rodgers, of
Ellary, whom I bought her from. We had some repairs to do on her before we
set sail, so old John Law, brother of Barbara Law, who was a household name
in the village, came over. He had been a carpenter in the old ships, and
gave me a hand to get her ready. My old friend Colin Mitchell heard I had
bought this boat and said he would sail her up to Crinan with me. So
thinking this was a good plan, we set off on the Saturday morning from
Ellary. We caught the tide up the Sound of Jura and arrived sate in Crinan
Basin. On the Monday, I went to Crinan with my father and he sat in the
stern, and I pulled the 24-foot boat all the nine miles to Ardrishaig. He
enjoyed this as he had not been down the canal for years. As this boat had
no engine we fitted an oak bed in it and had the hole bored for the shaft.
The engine was a 7/9 Kelvin—7/9 means the HP—seven on your paraffin or TVO
fuel and nine on petrol, which at this time was 1/- a gallon. Colin
Mitchell was our adviser and well he knew his boatbuilding and Angus and
Tommy Campbell were engineers in Bergius Engines Co. in Dobbies Loan,
Glasgow. After fitting the engine and putting the boat in the canal basin,
we got it started up okay but in putting the engine in gear, we found it
would only go in reverse, so what was the matter now ? Colin said that he
thought we had the wrong propeller on the shaft but he knew a man in
Tobermory, Mull, who had a right hand prop. Well we phoned him and he sold
us the correct one for 30/-. When it arrived we beached the boat and put on
the new one. When the tide came we tried her out and she went ahead, but
only at half speed. Again problems. Angus Campbell came and had a look at
it, pulled a hose off and away the old boat went with a bone in her teeth.
We had fitted a ¾ inch hose instead of an 1 inch one and this was giving us
back pressure on the engine. We never looked back after this. She went so
good we went down to the Tarbert Regatta and out of 40 boats, we came
third. My father enjoyed that day as he had a good dram with Willie Lang,
another Tarbert worthy. He used to go into the jail in Tarbert just to keep
the peace, for if he got any drink he went "dolally." So we left Tarbert
and sailed back up the loch to Ardrishaig, thinking we had the best boat
afloat; well, to us she was the best old hooker. I saw a fishing boat
advertised in the Glasgow Herald that had been on tire in the Clyde. It was
towed into Fairlie and put on MacMillan's slip where the insurance people
cut three planks out to see the extent of the burn damage. She required
three planks, at least, right in the middle of the bilge.

23
I telephoned the insurance people and asked them how much they wanted for
the boat. but they were very cagey about this. Like all sellers they tell
you to read the small print and you would need a Philadelphia lawyer to
understand it. I offered £300 for the boat as it sat at Fairlie—the engine
was in some garage up in Glasgow and was in a reasonable state of repair.
Closing date for the offers was the Friday. So that afternoon I phoned them
up and asked how my offer stood. They said I had got the boat so my next
problem was to get it repaired and towed to Ardrishaig. My good neighbour
Duncan Ferguson. or Doddie as he was called, and my youngest brother John
went down to Fairlie and had a good look at the damage. First we went to
see the MacMillans who owned the yard and they told us anything we wanted
or required to repair the boat, they would give us. This they duly did and
inside 24 hours they had the three planks cut from Scotch larch back in
place. At the weekend two car loads of the local boys motored down to paint
the boat's bottom and top sides from bow to stern. She just looked like
new. Ronnie Johnston and Ewan Smith from Tarbert had a boat about the same
size, 39-feet which is as near as you can get to a 40-footer, so they came
down to Fairlie on the Monday and towed Quiet Waters up to Ardrishaig,
where we put her in the canal basin and had the engine—66 h.p. Kelvin—
installed. Big Jim McGeachy, or Rockall as he was called, was along with
Ronnie and as he wanted to take over his own boat, Big Jim came with me as
skipper of the boat, along with Jack McManus, a Belfast man, and Sweeney
Johnston, who was also related to Big Jim. They had been everywhere and
seen everything, and what they did not know about the fishing was not worth
knowing. They had been travelling round Ireland and Big Jim had been mate
aboard the new, or first Fairtray, which was the first experimental factory
ship. We were working at the seine net, six coils a side, sometimes in the
deep water seven coils, if we were trying for hake. These nets were at that
time £26 from Stewart of Musselburgh, now they are £750-£800, so you need
to be making money to pay for this gear. We were towing at this time with
Duncan MacDougall who had the Charlotte Anne. He was very witty and had
some great sayings, such as, "That 66 you have would not pull a herring off
a plate!" Duncan did well at the fishing and had a new boat built at
Dickie's yard in Tarbert. He called her the Nancy Glen. It is sad to write
that Duncan died several years ago still a young man. My own son Forsyth is
married to his niece, Mary MacDougall. Mary's father was Archie MacDougall
and his boat was the Boy Lorne. Archie was in the Kyles of Bute and got a
full bag of cod, about 120 boxes. This must have been the biggest tow for a
small boat around the Clyde. Men are towing now and if they get a lift of
five to seven boxes they are looking at one another thinking, this isn't
bad. Archie was one of the happiest men, full of fun and great company. I
remember him playing and singing at the first fishermen's dinner dance in
the Tarbert Hall. It was a marvellous night, reported at the time to be
£300 for the food and £600 for the liquid. Old Archie Kerr was the
chairman, A. B. Stewart was sitting next to him as he was Secretary of the
Clyde Fishermen's Association. His son Patrick is now the Chairman. I have
been involved with Patrick on two or three legal occasions. My tug, the
William White, was run down and damaged by the French, they did not want to
know anything about me or the boat till I got fed up with six months
waiting on the French Embassy in London. I then wrote directly to the
President of France, M. Giscard D'Estang at his personal address and
received a reply within a week. He was sorry the French seamen had
torpedoed the Auld Alliance. The French Ambassador in London telephoned me
to say I couldn't write to the President. So I told him I had already
received a reply from him within one week, while he had been sitting in the
Embassy in London for six months. The old boat, the Ark, was sunk in the
canal by Caly MacBrayne's big steel boat, the Canna, while pushing the ice
ahead of herself, and into the side of the Ark at Crinan Bridge. He damaged
two locks that day going through and told one lock-keeper not to tell
anybody. One problem was to lift the old Ark out of the canal by jacking
her up out of the mud, which had not been disturbed in the 180 years it had
lain there. The salvage inspector came and looked at it and said, "How on
earth did you get that boat out of there ?" Well, Willie McCallum, the
forestry engineer, helped us with the big simplex jack and Don Crawford, my
cousin, also gave us assistance. I told the inspector, "The old way." He
said, "What is that, Armstrong's Patent?" We borrowed two Simplex jacks
that were sent over from the USA during the war. They are ratchet-jacks
that lift 15 tons. They were used during the war on bombed buildings to
lift floors that had collapsed on people during the bombings.

24
Well, happy to say his report was good and we got settled up by Cal
MacBrayne. I am sure if it had not been for the good work done by Patrick
Stewart in this case, we would not have been so lucky. Patrick's father
said to him: "Why does Forsyth not pick on somebody his own size for a
change?" I bought a boat over in Ireland, Port Avogie to be exact, the
Bluebell, owned at that time by Francis Beckett. I telephoned him and asked
him about the boat. "Oh, it is the most beautiful boat in Ireland." Well,
Francis, you remind me of Robert Burns, our great national poet, who said
he was married to the most beautiful woman in Scotland. Three Englishmen
came to Ayr to look at her and they said to Burns, "We don't think she is
the most beautiful woman in Scotland." Burns said, "You do not see her with
my eyes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder !" Anyway, to get back to the
Bluebell, My brother Dan and I went away to get the boat at Stranraer. We
arrived over in Larne about 9am. On asking the way outside the pier, we
were told the first bus was at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, so I asked which
direction is Port Avogie. This postman pointed the way so we started
walking. A blue van appeared in the distance so I put up my arm and the
driver stopped. He was an Irish farmer and when we told him where we were
headed, he said that he could take us about six miles. The old van was in
such a bad way, you could see the road through the wings, that I asked him
how she was going. Well, he set off at the clappers doing about 50 to 55
and said, "She is going like a bird." The next corner we came round, the
road was full of sheep and how he got it stopped I don't know. Dan got the
fright of his life and said that he had been in Greece with the Elas and
the Elam, but this had beaten the lot. I was then told not to bloody well
ask the farmer again how she was going, because she had already proved what
she could do. Well, after six hair-raising miles we had to say goodbye to
our first Irish friend. After Dan got out the back of the van, all covered
in sheep wool and dust, he said, "No more lifts for me, we will walk to
Port Avogie." We thanked our friend and asked him how far it was to our
destination. He told us 18 miles, so off we set. Along came a lovely blue
car which also stopped. I asked the driver if he was going our way. "Yes,"
he said, "Are you the boys that are coming over to see Francis Beckett's
boat ?" I said, "Yes, how did you know that?" "Oh," he replied, "I am Mr
Donavan, the fish salesman in Port Avogie and have been handling all
Francis' fish landings and the wee Bluebell is a very good boat." So here
was the best lift getting all the news about the fishing and all the boats
in the Port. He took us to the harbour where Francis was waiting for us and
we had a good look at the boat and a good trip outside the harbour. We
bought the boat in the afternoon, then we went up to Francis' sister's for
our tea and met his people. I am sure you could not have met better people
anywhere and after all the years that have passed we still write to his
sister. The Port Avogie men we met were all fishing people and were just
starting the herring, so wanted all the news of the Clyde and the Clyde
fishermen. A good number of them had been over at the Ballantrae Banks
fishing the spent herring the year before. Well we caught the tide from
Port Avogie at 1 o 'clock on the Saturday and we sailed up the Coplands and
way across for the Kintyre Coast, landing in Ardrishaig at 1.30am—12½
hours, not bad going for a wee six cylinder 86 h.p. Gardner. Any boat that
arrives in a village is looked at and criticised, for good or bad. Too full
in the shoulder, or too lean aft, but you have just got to listen and go
your own wav. Nobody has written a book on how a boat tows through the tide
or how she will tow with the tide. If you are towing through mud with the
first three coils, a 66 h.p. engine is sticking its tongue out, and we
found the 86 h.p. Gardner was not any better than the old Kelvin, but it
ran a lot quieter and was a great boon on fuel consumption. These beautiful
engines are known as the Rolls Royce of the sea. We now have Volvos and
Cats and they seem to be very reliable engines. A journey of a thousand
miles starts with a single step; the fishing is just the same, from a small
beginning things start to grow. Nobody ever went to the fishing and became
a millionaire, but it is a way of life and a way of life nobody else ever
seems to understand. Women think at times you are glad to get away from
them and children only seeing you once a week, think you are a stranger who
gives them money on a Saturday. What effect this fishing life has on the
youth and young people left at home, I'm not sure, but it puts a terrible
strain on the mother, who has to be mother and father to the family.
"Success is marvellous, failure is an orphan." The old saving is, success
has a thousand parents for everybody wants to say they helped you on your
way. It is very similar to passing an exam, people are proud and pleased
with your achievements. The fishing is the most humiliating job one man can
have, one boat can be full of herring and the other boats beside have
nothing.

25
Lochgilphead had a number of fishing boats moored downside the Clock Lodge,
but most of these boats were sold off about 1928 to 1930. One boat, the
Peril, was owned by Mr MacKellar, who in his day was a very successful
fisherman. The Sinclairs also had boats up to 1940. On one occasion they
lost all their gear and my father's uncles gave them some of their drift
nets and trawl. or ring nets. These men were Kings of the Clyde for about
five years with the borrowed gear. They were so successful that they made a
song or poem about them. It went something like this : "For I've a boat,
and I've a trawl, and I'm as good as Jimmer and Coll". I suppose Jimmer and
Coll would be the top dogs about Ardrishaig at that time. Followed by Angus
Law, Mr Bruce, Big Archie McFarlane, Red Bob, Black Bob and Jock-a-Tar who
was Mr MacVicar, a very happy big man. The MacGregors, Mitchells,
MacAllisters, MacEwans and MacBraynes were all the other families that were
connected with the fishing. All these men wore leather knee boots and in
the early hours of the morning you could hear these men walking to the
fisher-row or going up the big lane on their wav home. They usually carried
a cran basket with tow or three dozen herring for all the people beside
them. It was share all at that time. Once people get on a little in this
life the sharing stops and greed creeps in, everything they have is theirs.
Having spent 5½ years in the services and seeing how lads share all they
have with you and then arriving back in Civvy Street, when you see the
meanies it makes you think. Christ started his ministry with the fishermen.
How wise he was and at this late date people will find out that they are
still the people who will share with you. The Royal Wedding was a
marvellous event so I decided to build a stone boat in the garden. It was a
model of the fishing boats that were built here in Ardrishaig by the firm
of Donald and Archie Munro. The boat is 19 ft long by 7 ft wide. They were
called line boats because when the men finished with the herring, they took
up line fishing in the spring. Hope springs eternal, every spring we are
always hoping we shall have a good season, everybody says, behold next
year. I suppose the gardeners and farmers say the same thing. Anyway, I
asked around how to build a stone boat. As nobody here had ever built one I
just made it my way. The Princess's mother has been to see this boat which
weighs 10 tons. It is now filled with flowers and makes a great splash of
colour all summer, so it commemorates the Royal Wedding and is a stone
monument to the old Ardrishaig boatbuilders, a craft that is almost
forgotten. We still have a boat-building yard in the village which is
situated on the self-same slip where Queen Victoria landed all these years
ago. The boat- builder is Gordon MacNair, a relative of my own and a first-
class craftsman. People still come to get repairs at his small yard. It
would be sad to see all the old crafts disappear. He has one apprentice who
is a great-grandson of old Angus Law, who in his day was the King of the
Clyde, or Cork Catcher-in- Chief, a great fisherman. His brother is over in
Canada where he went before the First World War and returned in 1917 with
the Canadian Artillery. He was feeling ill one night up at the front, and
the doctor called up the line and asked him what was wrong. He said he
thought he had a heavy chill or the 'flu, and was ordered to drink stuff
which he had never tried before. An hour later he could have fought the
entire German Army himself. Good stuff the old Army Rum! Neil still comes
over from Canada every second year and is now about 97. Good stuff in the
old soldiers. He spent his life working on the Canadian Railway, his wife
was a Miss Duff from Ardrishaig and the family are still here in the
village. Another local family had an old smack which was leaking so badly
they decided to put her on fire. They sailed her over to the big harbour
and duly set her alight. I heard she burned for three to four days and one
lad said to his father, "She's a chuckle junk." So they became known as the
chuckle junks in the village. Nicknames MOST people had nicknames otherwise
nobody would ever know who they were. My own father was called Burke,
because they were talking about Burke and Hare, the Edinburgh grave
robbers. Neil, who stayed beside us, picked a needle off the floor at
school and said to the teacher, "Please Miss, I have found a niddle." As a
result he was called Big Niddle all the days of his life. Red Bob was red-
haired, Black Bob was very dark, Red Bob's son George is now one or the
Police Superintendents in Melbourne. He was over here this year and hi'
brother Archie has a good job in Canada. Black Bob's boy is down in
Ayrshire and his sister Jean is up in Luing, Argyll. I see her when she is
down visiting her mother who comes to the Club every week. Although well up
in years she attends each Wednesday, come hail, rain or shine. Her friend
is Mrs Russell whose husband gave a most marvellous service to the village,
driving the mail van from Glasgow for about 43 years in all types of
weather.

26
Old Archie Campbell was the blacksmith, at his forge for 50 years. He
trained a number of lads in the art of the blacksmith. Archie MacVicar, who
was the County Yard Blacksmith for many years, is now retired. Old Duggie
Livingstone had the local Anchor Hotel and in his time was a favourite
story teller. Mrs Gillies owned the Argyll Hotel for over 50 years. Harry
Donald owned the Lorne Hotel and Mrs Donald belonged to Tain. The Royal
Hotel was owned by Bob Findlay who was a great horseman and founder member
of the bowling green and tennis club. Old Willie MacCracken was the
shoemaker and a great man with ponies and horses and all kinds of birds,
taking most of the prizes at the local show each year. Mr Strang was the
local draper and JP, a fine figure of a man; his daughter Trissy was the
teacher in the Junior School. All these people contributed in their way to
the make up of the village. Old Heb King was another marvellous story
teller. For instance, he had been sent by his boss in Edinburgh to the
local asylum to repair a choked drain. When he put his head under the sink,
a big woman in the asylum pulled his breeks down and skelped his backside.
He never went back near the place again. One day in Edinburgh, he was
carrying lead on his shoulder when the police stopped him and asked him
where he worked, and how he came to be in possession of the lead. He told
them who he was and where he worked. The police then contacted his boss who
took a good drink. He said, "King, I've never heard of him, it's Queen
Victoria who is on the throne! "His mates had to go to the police station
and get him out. On his arrival at Ardrishaig, he came to work with Mr
George Stewart, who was the local plumber—his son Saunders has followed in
his footsteps. George was also a well-kent figure in the village. He played
the organ in the Parish Church for over 40 years. On one occasion he played
twice a day for 12 years without a single day off. His aunt was old Loll
Bruce who had a wee shop at the end of the Fisher Row. She told me she had
love letters tied in pink ribbon from my uncle Sandy who died a bachelor at
76. She married John Bruce and she told us they went to Tayvillich for
their honeymoon. All was going well, but it was a stable door on this old
place so they opened it to let in some air. Suddenly a horse put its head
through the top of the door and let out a large neigh, or snort, nearly
killing them with fright. Some people had parties even in those days, but
one party was salt herring and potatoes followed by a dumpling. What better
fare can you get then that ? On the pier at Ardrishaig, we had a number of
local worthies. A lady asked one, "What time does the boat sail today?"
"Oh," he said, "a quarter to two, but if you are here by 1.45 you will be
in plenty of time !" The Maids of Bute are rocks in the Kyles and when you
sail through you will see the maids all white washed and spick and span.
They are painted each spring. They were tormenting one of the workers about
the Maids, saying that they had a letter from one of them the other week.
He also said about death; "We will all be there if we are spared !" At this
time the cargo boats brought bricks in boxes that were slung ashore and had
to be emptied by hand. Old Walter MacEwan would put four or five pennies in
one or an odd sixpence in others. Then they went away for lunch. On their
return all the boxes would be emptied and ready for the cargo boat coming
back at 9 o'clock in the evening. My father's shop was on the south side of
the village and next door was a small shop owned by Mrs Jessie MacVicar.
This was a small sweet shop, but the quality was the best in the country.
She opened about 9.15 each morning and would still be in the shop at 9.15
at night. Saturday nights she even stayed open until 11.30; this was a
service second to none. Everybody missed this shop as it was a landmark, or
a beacon in the darkness to many. We shall not see her likes again. The
Parish Church in Ardrishaig is 125 years old. In 1900 the Elders and the
Minister decided to put two new wings on it. At that time the paddle-
steamers were calling daily at Ardrishaig, so they called the two new wings
the "Paddle Boxes." When you get a name like this tagged on to you, it is
difficult to forget it. This new generation doesn't seem to know about it,
at least, I have never heard them speak about it. Yes, the church is a
lovely old building, so if you are ever here come and see it as it is open
daily and is well worth a visit, even if it is only to see the terrazzo
floor. The white ensign on the wall was presented to the then minister of
the Parish, Rev Stanley White, from the frigate, Lochfyne that saw service
in the Battle of the Atlantic, 1945. Another Ardrishaig man, well worth a
mention, was Mr Coll Jackson, who served in the marines in the last war. He
was the local coal merchant, as was his father before him. He was on the
hall committee, AVIA, and Masonic Lodge secretary for 30 years. I went
through as an Elder in the church the same day as Coll, who was married to
my cousin,

27
Jeannie, and kept open house. Being a local man, he was a very affable and
kindly host and was educated at Fettes College, Edinburgh. I remember him
in the local drama group and how he ad-libbed, saying things that were not
in the script. He saw a wedding on television and said, "I never saw a
smile on anybody's face. Just the opposite to me the day I got married, I
laughed all day. Just as well because I haven't had many laughs since. I
paid the Registrar 2/6d but he felt sorry for me—he gave me 1/6 back !' He
was with us in the Wednesday Club and we had "What does the Team Think."
One question on the paper was: "Is it true that a baby born with a
moustache, tickled the mother to death ?" He said, "No my brother was born
with a full beard and my mother wasn't tickled at all." He was a well-known
Oban Times local correspondent and a member of Argyll County Council. We
miss this local character as he was also a leading light at all the
political meetings. He said a woman in the village said to Mr MacQuiston,
who had been talking in the village, "If I was married to a man like you I
would poison you." To which he replied, "If I was married to a thing like
you, I would gladly take it !" Coll, at a Hall Committee meeting, applied
for a late night licence. As this had been going on for some years, I asked
him why they needed a licence till 2.00am. He replied, "It is in the
interest of education !" The farmer above the village was a Mr Duncan
MacKechnie. He ran the farm and the local ash cart, which in my youth was a
cart. His wife, Maggie ran the dairy and the local WRI. She was chairwoman,
for many, many years. On arriving a little late, she would say the bull ran
away or the cockerel chased the hens down to the midden and there was never
a hen born but it died in debt. She was also a leading baker and collected
cups and medals every year at the local shows. Her likes will not be seen
again. One lady asked if the Rural could have a demonstration on the
"Purification of the Skin" by Yardleys, instead of the usual dumpling
demonstration. Maggie said, "I've never heard the likes of it, we'll just
settle for a demonstration from Singers Machines of Clydebank." Needless to
say she won the day. On the passing of these great people, the villages are
saddened and the world is a much poorer place without them. Old Bell
Douglas lived in the Holy Land. This was a building next to Dawson's Land
and a burn ran between them which they called the River Jordan. Bell said,
"It might be the Holy Land, but it is the Cursed People." She was at the
herring gutting for many years and the local lads packed them for her.
Another lady who did similar work was Mrs Hatton from Lochgilphead, She had
a big family other own and they used to arrive down the back bank of the
canal on bikes to help this lady pack the herring. She belonged to good old
Campbeltown, Argyll. I read these days of bits of boys attacking old
ladies. No boy would have tried this on Mrs Hatton. Her family are still
here in Lochgilphead and are all well-respected folk, she made a good job
of bringing them up. The big families of the Fletchers are also well-
respected in both villages and are footballers and nurses. What would the
villages have done without these good folk ? I have not mentioned the
MacLauchlans, which is an old Mid Argyll name, both in fishing and farming.
Their family seat is at Strathlachlan where resides MacLauchlan of
MacLauchlan of Castle Lauchlan of Lauchlan, Strachur, Argyll. Now if you
can say that you are doing well. I was at a Burns Supper the other night
run by the ladies of the Church, the good old Women's Guild. What a
marvellous night! The main speakers were Mr Smith, followed by our own Mrs
Burns. Mr Smith said Burns' people left Argyll and went to Ayr and I see by
the Oban Times today this was so; whereas we left Ayr and came to Argyll.
It seems they had been farmer up at Taynuilt. What a marvellous man and
gifted poet, "To err is only human. To forgive is divine." These words must
be the most marvellous words ever written. His love songs and poems have
even got through to the Russians. One Burns story I liked was when he was
invited over to Ireland to see the great Irish poet, the great Barney
Magee. On the deck of the boat stood Robert Burns, on the quayside stood
Barney Magee. Barney said to Burns, "I know by the style of your hair and
the cur of your coat you're Robert Burns from the old town of Ayr." Burns
replied; You're on the land and I'm on the sea, and by the size of your
gubb you're the bold Barney Magee.

28
The story goes about an old priest who was out walking in the forest, he
had walked away from the Fort Augustus Monastery and got lost in the dark.
Seeing a light in a house he knocked on the door which was opened by an old
man. Explaining his plight and the weather worsening, he was welcomed in to
rest. He hoped the others at the Abbey would miss him and come and find
him. As he sat at the fire in the old folks' cottage nobody came to get him
so he was offered a bed up in the loft. He duly went up to bed with his
small candle, said his prayers before going to bed and looked up and saw a
beautiful painting of his Holiness the Pope hanging on the wall. He had a
good look at it and could not believe it, the old couple were not rich by
any means and it must have cos' them many pounds to buy it. He was so
impressed he could not sleep. In the morning, when he came down to get his
breakfast, he mentioned to the old lady and her husband about the lovely
painting of His Holiness the Pope hanging in the loft, saying it must have
cost them nearly a life savings to buy it. The old man was so taken aback
with what he told them that he asked him if he would repeat what he had
said. "I've never seen such a beautiful piece of work. You must have spent
your whole savings on this beautiful painting of the Pope hanging up in the
attic". The old man said: "Wait till I get the rotten little Jew-boy who
sold me that painting, as he said it was Robbie Burns in his full Masonic
Rig !" Dull November's surly blast Lays fields and Forest bare As I wander
forth along the hanks of Ayr. How apt and expressive these words are.
People of all nations have been talking about Burns and will go on talking
into the next century. Looking at all his marvellous work, it seems so long
ago, it is like looking into a very dark pool or trying to fathom the great
depths of Loch Fyne, 1,000 feet deep, where men have sailed and fished but
have never seen the bottom, no' never will. We are like small specks on an
ocean of time, looking back when it is all over seems more like a dream.
Two patients who spent 25 years in a mental institution were going up
before the parole board. They were wondering what they would be asked and
if they could answer the questions correctly. So the great day of the Board
arrived. The first fellow was called in and they asked him a lot of general
questions. Then they said : "Everybody outside is very different from when
you came in. Cars, lorries and buses are on the roads and you have to be
very careful you do not get knocked down. especially if you are trying to
cross the road. What would happen to you if you lost an eye ?" "Oh, I would
be partly blind" "What if you lost the other eye ?" "Oh," he said, "I would
be totally blind." He came out and told the other patient what they asked
him. "Oh, the asked about the nurses and the food and my relationship with
the staff, then they told me about cars, lorries and buses, and how
difficult it was to get across the road. Then they asked me about losing an
eye, then the other eye." "So what did you tell them ?" "I told them I
would be totally blind." "Do you think we will get out ?" "Well it all
depends on us getting across the roads without getting knocked down." The
second patient was then called in and they asked him nearly all the same
questions. They told him they had his interests at heart and wanted to make
sure he was in a reasonable state of mind to face the traffic on the roads
and to be able to look after himself. The panel said, "If you were involved
in an accident and you lost an ear, what would happen to you ?" "Oh," he
said, "I would be partly blind." "If you lost the other ear, what would
happen to you ?" "Oh, " said the patient, "I would be totally blind." "How
do you make that out?" asked the panel. "Well," he said, "I would have
nothing to hold my bunnet up." A minister was sitting outside a mental
hospital with a wheel off his car. He had put the four nuts from the car
inside the wheel cap and when he tipped it over all the nuts fell down the
drain so he didn't know what to do. Two patients were looking at him and he
told them of his plight. They said, "Don't worry. Take one nut off each
wheel and you will be able to go to the nearest garage which is only a mile
from the hospital. The minister did as they told him and he expressed his
thanks to the two patients, saying he would never have thought of that.
They replied: "We might be in here for being daft, but we are certainly not
silly." My neighbour has just come in
it was so cold he thought he was in a
couldn't see any bodies so he decided
body back to normal. He thought where
fire and a shovel.
29
and told me he awakened at 4.00am. As
mortuary, but he looked round and
to make a cup of tea to bring his
he is going, there would have been a
Old Dan Hamilton and Forsyth Hamilton Fishing FINDING a small article in
the local paper today, the local archivist is asking, "Did men go to fish
herring at Loch Caolisport up Inverneill hill and down the other side to
Achahoish?" Yes, they went to fish there and when they did they camped on
the shore beside the Lodge Cottage, where Aggie Galbraith and her brother
stayed for over 55 years. The small line boats were taken over in horse
lorries and the herrings were taken back in carts. They also gathered
whelks while they were over there. Peter Hamilton, Stewart Hamilton and
Stuart MacAllister were some of my people who were over at this fishing at
Loch Caolisport. The people over there supplied them with scones, milk,
eggs and vegetables. I heard this 60 years ago. If my father was living he
would be 115 years, so we lived with a man who could remember a century
back from now, and they knew all the history of the fishing and where the
men went to work.

Locals at Ardrishaig in 1936

30
In the 1930s the famous fishermen, Willie and Tommy Jackson, would go round
from Tarbert in a hired car to look at the Loch Caolisport for appearance,
meaning gulls or Solan Geese diving on the herring. They would telephone on
the Sunday night and say, "The appearance is good, Dan, how many baskets
will you take?" They would leave Tarbert at 4 o'clock for the canal
opening. At 6 o'clock they sailed straight through and by 5 o'clock they
had the two boats full of herring. They were a small class of herring,
about 650 to the basket. I remember we had 650 baskets in the old gutting
shed, and it was three days before they were gutted. They came down the
canal with the herring and unloaded them on the canal. Another man who did
this fishing was a famous Tarbert man in his day, Archie Kerr. When no
herring were about, Archie and his crew (Jackie Sinclair was with him)
worked at the lines, and the cod nets. When this finished they had a large
punt which they pulled behind the fishing boat, called the Jessie. They
went down to near Skipness and loaded the punt with gravel then returned to
the Jessie to discharge. After they had loaded 35 tons of gravel they went
to the Clyde and put it ashore. Not many people would ever try to do this
hard, back-breaking job. Archie and his sons worked hard, not a lazy inch
in them. Another famous fishing family were the Johnsons. They were the
"King-Pins," as people here say when you are successful at the fishing.
They knew the seasons and the herring well as they belonged to Tarbert. The
ring net started about 1840-1850 in Ardrishaig and Tarbert. In these two
places men were trying to get a better method of fishing, or a quicker
method of catching herring legally in 1866. Five policemen were stationed
at Tarbert to control the ring net trade. The government of the day built a
barracks at Tarbert for the military to prosecute the fishing community, as
the ring net was thought to be the death of the herring. Well, it was
fished for 100 years and did not kill all the herring. An inquiry held at
Tarbert in 1850 decided that the ring net was illegal after Mr McDougall
from Ardrishaig was shot dead by the fishing patrol boat Jackall at Otter
Ferry, at the entrance to Loch Fyne. As I have said before, if this had
been a miner they would have sunk the boat. Things got so bad at this time
that they were looked on as the "Gestapo." In 1853 the then Duke of Argyll
arranged for a government commission which was held three years later in
1856, and this time the fishermen won the day and the ring net was made
legal. These nets were improved and so were the boats and the catching
powers. However, the drift nets were also continued. All the curers were
keen on the drift net herring as in this method the fish are caught by the
gills. As they struggle in the nets they get red noses, or, as they called
them, red nebs, and having lost their blood the flesh is clean and white
and they are easier cured. If the herring are continuously towed the blood
is all through the body. The flesh is then soft and very difficult to cure.
In this deep freeze age, nobody would dream of putting a chicken in the
freezer without cleaning it, and fish are just the same; the cleaner you
get them the better.

Weighing fish at Ardrishaig, Archie MacVicar nearest the camera Before the
herring are sold, the men produce a sample, which is kept on the sample
board. All the herring come ashore for the buyer who has bought them and if
the herring are not up to the sample you can complain to the fish salesman,
or whoever is appointed arbitrator, and he will decide if the sample is
representative of the herring coming ashore.

31
Many arguments have taken place over the years about the samples. The
saying is, "He has thrown them up." Some buyers try to say they are not up
to standard in the hope they go back to the sale (or the bell as they call
it), in order to get them for 5/-, 10/- a cran less. All the tricks have
been tried to get the herring at a cheaper rate. Donald MacDougall used to
say, "That team wrote the book of tricks!" During the last war the herring
were sold at a controlled price and everybody got a share of what was
landed. In the earlier days of the fishing it was not only the catching of
the herring that was the problem, it was the selling of the catch. They
would be sold only at the local market which had a very restricted outlet.
As the 1850s arrived, trains were starting to transport all goods, but the
Duke of Argyll at that time did not let the railway come along Loch Fyne
side or Loch Awe side, and if you have goods you must be able to sell them.
The men at the fishing worked hard, at a cold, wet, smelly job and even
when they came home little comfort awaited. Not even a hot bath. Some
hadn't even water in the houses, as the great Industrial Revolution did not
reach these parts. Men had been known to send herring away from Ardrishaig
and Tarbert, on the steamers that started in the 1860s and 70s, only to get
a blue ticket back, even though the herring had made £1.00 a box in the
Glasgow market. This ticket meant the herring were condemned unfit to eat.
Curers have known of men going to the market and having seen their own
herring sold at a £1.00 a box and still getting a blue ticket. Men, women
and children who were depending on a small money return often went without.
At least men selling locally knew what they were getting as they stood at
the bell till their herring were sold, but if you sent them away it was as
the old saying goes, "Ta, ta, Bella." It is hard to tell how long this
period lasted that men were conned by buyers. One Glasgow merchant told my
father, when he was here on holiday, the best day he ever had was sitting
at the telephone in Glasgow selling herring to people in Manchester. He
made £3,000 that day. Men did not know what they had made as there were no
telephones in Tarbert or Ardrishaig. However, things improved and they soon
got telegrams informing them of the market price. At the beginning of the
first war, 1914, prices improved but they fell away again after the war was
over. The markets were again depleted up to the 1930s when the Daily Record
took up the fishing story and they called the situation at that time "The
Daily Record Herring!" They got Harry Lauder, who had himself been to the
fishing port of Tarbert and had been talking to the men about the
situation, to take it up. I saw pictures of him on the pier at Greenock and
Rothesay asking people to support the sale of herring. These were pre-TV
days and I'm sure the Daily Record did a power of good to help the
fishermen's case. A little bit of advertising does no one any harm. The
paper has always been a supporting influence to the people in Scotland.
"Help the Underdog.' The old story goes about a big yacht coming up
alongside Dan, in the Kyles, and as it was very foggy they called him up
and asked for a compass course for Rothesay. Dan replied that he was very
sorry, but his compass was away at the blacksmiths for new shoes that week.
On another occasion he was up fishing in Loch Long and everybody had been
put off the Loch by a torpedo boat. Dan sailed past just as a torpedo shot
past him. He said: "The shape of alarm is on these damn things !" In 1959 I
was in the running with the Sunday Mail as the perfect husband ! Well, you
can guess the amount of bother I got into with this title. Down at Tarbert,
Scattan, as he was called, said: "My God. Forsyth, you've no idea the
trouble we have got into since you got this title. We have to take out the
dog for a walk, wash dishes, clean the brass etc. What kind of life is this
to lead !" I never won the title but the folks at the fishing never let it
die, and in fact I still hear some of them say, "There he is, the Perfect
Husband." Well, I suppose being married for 36 years and still together is
a compliment these days. I'm blind in one eye, having been shot in the
face, so I don't see all that is going on. My wife is deaf in one ear, so
she is not hearing all that is going on. So we have a good relationship. We
wear coloured glasses and I'm sure this helps to let us see each other, and
other things in a better light. Rose-coloured spectacles should be worn by
all and never taken off; as Burns said, "To see ourselves as others see
us." Would we not get a shock? As you get older, people say to you: how you
have changed, little thinking they have changed themselves. When women are
young they put on the powder to hide their blushes, later on they put it on
to fill in the cracks! Good looks and youth fade as you get older, but a
happy smile and cheery disposition never fade. I visit people in hospital—
some in their middle 80s some over 90—and their good natures still make
them look great, as does the help the happy dedicated nurses give them.
Ardfenaig, where the elderly stay, was owned by the King of the

32
Coco Islands. My father bought his piano at the sale. The house was then
taken over by Colonel Lamont, and he had it for many years. His housekeeper
was Miss Moir, who was very kind to all the village boys. When the Hydro
Board were putting up the electricity poles, one had to go in his ground.
He didn't want a pole or lines in his ground, so he said, " If you must put
it on my ground, I will select the place on one condition. You will not be
able to blast." He showed the men where the pole was to go, and it was
right in the middle of a large shelf of rock. The men were 10 days cutting
the rock to get the pole into the ground. Mr MacKellar told me this story
35 years ago, when we were putting a road in to my house at Brenfield.
Everybody called him Kelly. He was a great footballer in his day and his
wife was a great little woman, we called her Wee Polly—she papered houses,
looked after the sick, dug gardens, gutted herring and was a great church-
goer—she was a real powerhouse. The next man to be in the house was
Commander Dundas—one of the survivors of the ill-fated, H.M.S. Hood, sunk
by the mighty Bismark. He and two other lads were the only three survivors
from this mighty ship, that showed the flag all over the world for this
country. It was said that when the Hood was sunk, Churchill turned white,
and I'm sure "Winnie" was not the only man that went that colour. Commander
Dundas kept minks on his small estate and we supplied him with all the fish
offal, herring roes and smelts. He was one of the nicest men you could
meet. When the Hood was struck, he was up on one of the top turrets at the
moment of impact when the big shell landed in the magazine. You can just
imagine the blast when this happened and the great ship disappeared in two
minutes. He landed in the water along with the other men, and they were
lucky to be picked up as the suction from a boat this size going down is
enough to pull men and lifeboats to the bottom. Nobody who has ever
experienced anything like this is ever the same again. This fine gentleman
was left a farm and other property by an uncle in Perthshire and he left
Ardrishaig with a great reluctance to go and take over this property. He
was up there a number of years when he was killed in his Landrover up at
the Glencoe-Tyndrum road end. Gardens WELL, here we have a great bunch of
men, the gardeners. Starting with old Jimmy Scott, who was Archie Kenneth's
mother's gardener. He was a great fellow and was our neighbour for years.
Donald Cameron was gardener in the canal gardens after having served his
time in the beautiful grounds of Skipness Castle. I attended the opening of
the Scottish Competitions in the Kelvin Hall with him. This was a great day
out and Donald loved it as he could see the best of vegetables and dahlias
and chrysanthemums. All things that belonged to the country, such as honey,
were on display there. He was in need of a house and as luck would have it
one came my way. An old man died in the village and left his house to a
lady. She telephoned me and said that if I paid his debts I could have the
house. Well, these amounted to £150, so Donald was able to get the house
for this money plus lawyer's expenses. Davie Hannah was the gardener at
Poltalloch before moving to Stonefield Castle where he worked for 30 years.
He was awarded the highest honours from the Royal Horticultural Society for
his work in the field of rhododendrons. We have lost these good friends but
their memory still lingers on. Donald MacFarlane and Peter Campbell were
the Sweet-pea champions. You would need to be good to beat these dedicated
men—not only as gardeners, for they were also the bowling green champions
for years. Andy MacMillan and his brother-in-law from Tayinloan were the
leek and onion champs at Tarbert show, year in, year out. The man who held
the title of professional and amateur champion of Scotland for 23 years was
James Shilady, who was gardener to Colonel Stirling over at Gargunnock, and
also to his daughter. This man must have been best vegetable gardener this
century. My friends Donald Cameron and Davie Hannah met him at Gargunnock
and were greatly impressed with all he showed them. All these men with
their years of experience were a delight to know. Big Duncan MacFarlane was
gardener to Miss Una and Miss Olive Campbell at Achnacraig. Neil Graham was
gardener at Inverneill for 50 years, as was his father and grandfather
before him. This garden is 3½ acres and as most of this was dug every
Spring, Neil had his work cut out for him. Dugald MacKellar also worked
there and cycled up and down to the gardens every day. Mr Kenneth's gardens
at Oakfield were worked by Duncan Harvey and his father. The last time I
saw Duncan was in the breakfast queue at the RAF at Hoylake in March 1942.
He was heading for India and I was off to Burma. I still keep in touch with
his nephew. Duncan and John MacGregor were in the same Oakfield garden;
Duncan's wife was a Morrison and her father was gardener at Colonel
Greenfield's big garden.

33
Big Ted Hatton was gardener in Tigh Ruda. He had been in the Coldstream
Guards during the First World War. He was a great gardener and producer
some marvellous stuff up at Tigh Ruda. He planted the garden with rhodo-
dendrons and they are still a wonderful sight today, 36 years on. The
gardens at the Royal Hotel were worked by Calum Weir, who had them in
beautiful condition. His son Donald and I were in the same class and his
other son Alex has followed in his father's footsteps and has won all sorts
of prizes here at Ardrishaig. Mrs Weir competed at the Hallowe'en parades
for years and was a great lady. Bobby Summers was also in Oakfield Gardens.
I am sad to hear that world-famous Crarae Glen Gardens on the shores of our
beautiful Loch Fyne are in financial trouble. They were created by Sir
George Campbell over the last 60 years. These gardens with their "Himalayan
setting, magnificent rhododendrons and azaleas, are a sight to behold. One
of the head gardeners was my friend big John MacArthur who belonged to
Kilmartin. He and his brother Archie were sent by Sir lan Malcolm of
Poltalloch to train in Buckingham Palace Gardens, the Royal Gardens. Big
John was a lovely man and had been a friend of my father before me; I just
grew up with him. He was a quiet gentleman who loved the gardens and all
that was created by his boss. He married the local nurse and they lived
happily by the loch-side. His brother worked at the gardens in the big
house at Poltalloch and they both died within a short time of each other. I
asked his widow if I could help clear the house and the furniture for her.
So, we duly did this and gave all the goods away with the exception of two
things: a letter from the King who welcomed them home from the 1914-18 war
and their war medals. I took them along to the Sunday School and let the
boys and girls see these old papers and medals from the past. Argyll is the
poorer for the loss of these great men who worked the gardens and the soil,
for what they have planted is now our heritage, and our lives have been
brightened with the blossom of their flowers. Crarae Glen has been handed
over to the National Trust. This year I am going to the Chelsea Flower
Show, the great English show in the south. I am sure as I look at the
cascade of brilliant blooms I shall think of all my old pals here at
Ardrishaig. Lochgilphead Shops of the Past Butchers—Jock Todd, Willie Todd.
The kids in Lochgilphead used to sing, "Jock Todd, Jock Todd, the rabbits
are running across the road." A. Ferguson along Lochnell Street, along with
Hugh Ferguson, another old worthy, around Lochgilphead. A. Ferguson's
grandson is now the butcher in Ardrishaig while Hugh's grandson is in
Lochgilphead. Tom Adair and Alex Fleming are two well-known names around
these parts for the last 65 years. Alex's butcher shop is being carried on
by Sandy Cameron, his grandson, and I'm sure he would be proud of this boy.
Ironmongers—Coultart and MacBrayne were in the square. MacBrayne's business
is still being carried on in the same shop by some of his relations. Dishes
and Chinaware—The Newtons. Fruit and Vegetables—Annie MacGregor and her
aunt. Mrs Duffy and her son Duncan. Bakers—MacDonald's, famous for their
bread and fruit cake. Grocer—Smith's, also Mr McCallum, where Spar was
taken over by John Mitchell. Chemist—Govan, who emigrated to Australia.
Jack the chemist near MacBrayne's the draper. Tailor—Sandy Crawford: when
he moved, I bought two of his windows. Tearoom—Mr Kemp and his wife, before
he retired to the Free Church Manse in Tayvallich. Tearoom—The Lavender
Tearoom with Miss Howett. Cycles and Wireless—Willie Holden. Draper—Eddie
McCallum who sold gent's caps at 2/6d. You won't get much of a bunnet these
days for 12½p McFarland ! Also Stirling who travelled about Argyll selling
clothes of all kinds. Squeak Office—Mr Harvey, where the top Spar is today.
Jeweller—Mr Wilkinson, Argyll Street beside the Stag Hotel Crawford, where
the chemist shop now is in the square. Mr P. Fary, Shoe shop—McCracken's
now run by Mr Crawford and his good lady. Mr and Mrs McLevin, shoes and
dressing, a lovely old shop. Mr McGregor, agent for good footwear. Plumbers
—Mr Bob McKirdy; his sons are still working as plumbers and know every tap
and water stand pipe in Lochgilphead. Tombstones—Gray's; he said, "Buy one,
they will last forever!" Mr MacGregor sold tombstones. Ladies' Wear—Nan
MacTavish of Castleton. Miss Crawford and Maggie Crawford in the front
street. Tobacconist—Crawford MacAlpine, in choirs all his life. His wife
was a Miss Beaton, teacher in Ardrishaig school before she married. Saddler
—Mr Donald McLean, who was also sanitary inspector and 'whipper-in' for the
school; also latterly ran the employment exchange.

34
Painter—Lambert. These coats of paint would last for years. Sweets—Phemie
Lang. Gasworks—Mr Downie where you could get five gallons of tar for 2/6d,
What would the planners say to this in the middle of Lochgilphead today. I
wonder ? Coalyard—Bella McLauchlan could be seen any day hurling a barra-
load. Allan Thompson and his father were in the square. Willie Bell beside
the Bank of Scotland; he was taken over by Jimmy MacWhirter, but it is now
Harry Ross's yard. Donnie MacLullich was in the middle of Union Street and
it is still there now. Pictures—Mr McLulloch, After the 1938 Empire
Exhibition Mr John Brodie had the new cinema but it was operated by his
daughter Mrs Watson until recently. This cinema was a great success at the
Glasgow Empire Exhibition. Where the TSB is in the back street was the
chapel and that was run by Father Collins. At the top of the street is the
big Church of Scotland where Mr R. C. Robertson was the minister for 50
years. He said to Father Collins one day, "It is dreadful, this oath of
celibacy. You do not have a wife. "The Father replied, "You go home to your
Judy and I go home to my Punch." Annie Tate looked after the RCR. MacBrayne
the draper was a brother of MacBrayne the ironmonger. I believe both
belonged to Ardrishaig. They had a brother who ran MacKinney and Rafferty,
fish and game business in the Glasgow fish market. Another shoe and repair
shop was Duncan Johnstone's; he was a great Rangers supporter. He wanted to
know what team I supported, so I told him Queen of the South. He told me I
must be taking leave of my senses. I said, "Duncan, did you hear about the
old lady who went to watch a football match. When she saw them all running
about chasing the ball she said, 'Would it not be better to give the boys a
ball each !" The family of these good people are all gone but one sister,
whom I see on Friday night up in the rest home at Duncan. She is being well
cared for by these good lassies who are employed as nurses. There were, by
the records, more Bruce families in Ardrishaig than any other name. When I
was a boy, a man called King Robert Bruce, stayed in a small house up at
Colonel Henderson's. He could be seen everyday fishing with his small boat
out at the Black Buoy. Everybody said at that time we have three Kings: the
King on the throne. King Robert Bruce and Heb King, the plumber. We also
had five Dukes: the Duke of Argyll; old Dan Duke; Robbie Duke; Angus Duke
and young Dan Duke. So Ardrishaig was a notable place at that nine. The
roadmen were old Dan Keller (I am now staying in his old house), big Dochy
Carmichael and Jimmy MacSporran. When old Dan would be cleaning up after
the horses had passed he used to say, "It's a God's blessing these cars
just have exhausts !" Old James Jackson and Dan MacLauchlan were the pier
porters and, sometimes Alex Milne, known to us as the grinder. He had been
an engineer in the old steam boats that were the floating market and he
always wore a sweat rag round his neck. Annie Ginty stayed in the bottom
flat of Dickson's land. Next door was Aggie Burnett, who had the biggest
clothes mangle I have ever seen. Old Vorack Dawson also stayed there, in
the place I was born, and she belonged to Loch Boisdale. On the day she
died she had £180 stuffed in her stocking. My mother helped the nurse to
dress her before she went to Achnabreck Cemetery. Donnie MacMillan had a
butcher's shop in the middle of the village. It was the Poltalloch Produce
Society. Many a night we played cards in the back of his old Ford van,
parked beside Peter MacGregor's garage. Jim MacGregor was one of the
postmen. He also played in the local band during and after the First World
War. He played the fiddle, George Stuart, the plumber, played the piano and
Freddie Boni, the Italian, played the accordion, while Sandy MacNab played
the drums. These bandsmen were followed by Archie MacGilp, Donnie Munro,
Ian Mitchell and Hughie Mitchell who was in the Argylls and disappeared at
Dunkirk. Jean Mitchell was a real star on the piano and she played with
these lads. Jean is still with us and was playing last Wednesday at the
Club. The Distillery MANY a good dram was brewed in the Glenfyne Distillery
on the banks of the Canal. At the time of the greatest activity there were
more sore heads in this little village than anywhere else at the time. Each
man who worked at the distillery was given a bottle at New Year. The
teetotallers who hated drink as much as the others liked it, were given
fourpence, as that was what it cost to produce it at that time. The
distillery started in Ardrishaig in 1815. Mr Peter McPherson was the
manager in the distillery in 1948. The house I lived in was the ATS
cookhouse at Inveraray Camp. We dismantled it in October 1948 and Peter
stored it in the distillery till we were ready to build it in March 1949.
Many managers and officials from the customs were in this place from time
to time.

35
One manager who was sampling a lot of the water of life was confused. At
that time the distillery sold coal to the men who worked in the place. It
was 10/- a ton. He sent them a second account for coal that had already
been paid. He told them he would score it from the books when he saw the
receipt. Only one lady had kept the receipt, a Mrs Heath. The men waited
till the Friday afternoon when the manager was well shot. They gathered at
the foot of the stairs and tripped up one at a time with the same receipt,
and his clerk scored off each name as they came in. He did not get any
better and one day he took all his clothes off and was seen for the last
time as manager running up and down the canal bank in his birthday suit. It
must have been a great asset to the village with the number of people
employed in the whisky industry. The nearest stills would be in Oban and
Campbeltown. It is a great wonder that this place was not created in
Lochgilphead or Inveraray but I think the good water supply and the large
loch up with the three lochs above Ardrishaig ensured that it came here,
and of course the convenience of the canal for transport. For the period I
lived in Ardrishaig I remember only Mr Drummond who was the Customs
officer. He was a very tall man, maybe 6ft 6ins and was very thin. He said
to somebody that he had a brother who was taller than him, but not as stout
! I'm sure he knew all that was going on in and around the distillery. One
day two local men filled a gallon can of whisky and took it outside and put
it in the lifebelt box on the distillery wall, hoping to collect it at
night. Night duly arrived and when they went to get it there was no gallon
can. It had been stolen by some other drouth. One said to the other, "My,
you can't trust anybody these days." The story is told that when the
distillery closed and no more grain was brought in, rats came down the
canal bank in droves. This must have been a very frightening time in the
village. I heard a story about a rat that fell into a big vat of whisky. He
was shouting for help, and along came the big black distillery cat who
shouted at the rat, "What's all the noise ?" The rat said, "I'm drowning in
the whisky. It you pull me out you can have me for supper tomorrow night."
So the cat pulled the rat out and off he shot down into a hole in the wall.
The next night the cat was shouting down the hole, "Come up rat, I want you
for the supper !" After a while the rat appeared and looked at him and
said, "What's all this rubbish you are talking?" So the cat repeated about
saving the rat's life from the night before and said, "You promised I could
have you for supper tonight." So the rat said, "Look, mate, last night I
was drunk and didn't know what I was saying." The distillery burn or the
main supply was not put in to the canal. They built a tunnel under it and
the burn comes out beside the power station. I suppose the rush of water
taking sticks, leaves and stones during the heavy rain would have been a
perpetual hazard to the canal people. As this goes to Carnbaan they would
have a big job to get the mud and other debris shifted. Nevertheless, the
supply of water would have been a great asset during the summer months. In
this day and age they could still use this valuable supply in this five-
mile reach. All sorts of things have been flung in the canal. Our herring
curing shed was beside the Lorne Hotel. One day my cousin and myself let a
half-barrel of herring roll in. We asked our old uncle Sandy: "Is a thing
lost if you know where it is?" He said, "How can it be lost if you know
where it is?" So we then told him what we had done! We chased it all day
before we got it out. The bowling green and tennis courts are just across
the canal on the shore side of Lochgilphead and are well attended and
supported by the local people. Each year they have an annual sale and
greenkeeper's day. This year they have a big project planned to make a new
club-house and big renovations, so if you are coming to Ardrishaig bring
your bowls and try and beat the locals. When you come to Ardrishaig they
usually ask you when you are going away! When we came home from leave from
the forces somebody would always say, "You're home again ! When are you
going away ?" Some plans have been afoot for years to make Lochgilphead
ebb, which is about one mile square, into a marina. This no doubt would be
a great boon to yachtsmen and would employ a number of people. Anything
that brings work would be a good thing. However it doesn't matter what you
do, here on the West Coast or the middle of London, it will bring
dissenting voices and people who do not want it. Progress is opposed by
folk who usually know least about it. The oldest saying in the book is, "If
Moses had had a committee he would be in the wilderness yet."

36
When the natives in New Guinea ate the missionary David Chalmers, two or
three of them were said to complain that these men from Ardrishaig are very
tough. Just fancy anybody going out to help them and showing Christian
humanity, love and affection, to finish up in their soup pot. The toughest
thing to eat here in Ardrishaig is spout fish. They develop very strong
muscles going up and down the Loch. Their biggest enemies are the gulls,
oyster catchers, curlews and crows, and the travelling people who hunt them
at low tide. Yellow Fever George Bruce was born in the village and was a
fisherman, as were most of the other Bruces, whose name was the most common
in Ardrishaig. He was latterly working on the pier when two men arrived in
the village. It was confirmed that these two men had yellow fever and were
not even allowed in to the old poor house in Lochgilphead. Mr G. Bruce,
along with other men in the village cared for these poor sick men. the
fishermen turned out and built a hut with herring boxes on the pier. They
lined it with blankets, sheets and an old sail as a tarpaulin to cover the
roof and made them as comfortable as possible. The village blacksmith at
the time made an iron fireplace that was kept filled with wood to keep them
warm. Soup and stew were provided by the local women but George Bruce was
their main attendant. The men must have looked on him as a Florence
Nightingale or an angel of mercy. Here in this small fishing village people
still cared for the ill and dying even though they were strangers. Sad to
say all the efforts of these poor, but kindly people was to no avail, for
both these poor men died. Many people would be saddened that this effort
should finish in death, but all the effort put in was not for monetary gain
but an act of kindness to our fellow men. George Bruce for all his work was
given the Queen's Medal and £100 from the medical board, a well-earned
honour bestowed by Queen Victoria. His daughter is still living in
Ardrishaig with her family and was a founder member Wednesday Club, where
we care and share for all. Cattle and the Canal BEFORE 1931 the old bridge
was in operation across the canal and the cattle from down Kintyre were
herded along the roads to the market in Lochgilphead. It was not unusual to
see up to 200 cattle coming up the road for the spring and September sales.
When they got to the old bridge they could see the water in the canal and
if the first ones stopped it was a terrible job to get them across. To us
boys, as spectators, it was better than being at Ibrox or Parkhead. We just
loved this. Most of these were Highland cattle, the ones with the big
horns, and several had young calves with them. Woe on anybody that tried to
separate them. Some went in the canal and others over the shore, with a few
even going over the pier into the harbour. The difficulty then was to get a
big canvas sling round their bellies to lift them out, or to try to get
them round the pier to land them on the slip at half tide. These were
exciting days and nights in the village. One of the people who had a big
drove of cattle was Miss Turner, Kilmachie Farm. down the West Loch. In
1932 a new bridge with high sides was in operation, therefore this
spectacle did not draw the same crowds. As the 1930s advanced, the cattle
were starting to be transported in big lorries so another exciting event
was lost to the village. With today's traffic increase, the roads would be
blocked and many dead cattle and crumpled cars would be the result. Looking
out our window at Southside we had a grandstand view. One bull got
separated from the main bunch, turned and ran back down the road. Our next-
door neighbour was out on the road trying to turn the bull, but the beast
looked a fearsome sight as he put his head down and charged. Our friend was
the hero of the day as he just sidestepped and the bull ran past him. I can
see Colin Dawson yet, he must have ben in Spain at the bull fights to have
acquired this agility ! He had been in the putters, the coal boats, and had
maybe been in Spain in the coasters. Anyway, he was well cheered for this
fine performance. Andrew Grinlaw was watching this incident and told us
that the beast was Miss Turner's first-prize stock breeder and was only
going back to see that none of his harem was being left behind. Well we
watched and sure enough when the rest of the herd came up he was in the
middle of them with a grin on his face, as much as to say, "They're still
with me !" Sheep also came up the road and were kept overnight in the small
park at Robertson's park near Brackley, ready for the sale in the morning.
Sheep were transported in lorries before the cattle so this other event
also disappeared. Most of the villagers could hear the animals making a
noise all night and must have been glad when the Ardyne and the Bute took
all these beasts away. The next day, dogs barking and running after sheep
and cattle made a fair old din in the village

37
and the biggest job was for old Dan Keller and Big Dochy Carmichael to
sweep up after them. You know what follows the Lord Mayor's Show in The
City of London ? Well it is the ash cart, and the same could be said here !

Dan Hamilton at the nets in 1946 Boat Races MANY years ago, about 1900,
they had sailing and rowing races in Ardrishaig, as they do today, and even
the fishing boats took part. One great day an Oxford don was here in the
village and thought he would teach all the locals a thing or two. Six boats
took part. One fine lad at that time was Captain Tate, and the Oxford don
only came second to Tate in the race round the Black Buoy. When they got
back to the pier he said that Captain Tate only beat him because he had a
better boat. Well. Tate, being a great rower and sportsman said, "Take my
boat and I will take yours." So the Oxford don, sure that he could beat
this country lad, agreed. The race started and great excitement prevailed
as the boats were neck and neck to the Black Buoy. However, as they rounded
it, Tate took the lead and left the don behind. When he arrived at the pier
the Oxford rower shook Tate's hand and the two men became great friends.
This story was told to me by my father. Dan Hamilton, who saw the race, and
by Captain Tate's own daughter who staved next door to me for 24 years. It
is surprising what strength, talent and skill you will meet up with in a
small sailing community. Other yacht races took place at Inverneill, with
the local gentry sailing boats and dinghies down at Inverneill Island but
as the war approached they ceased and were never revived. A local sailing
club called the Ardrishaig Regatta was formed and ran for ten years, then
the Ardrishaig Sailing Club started. The main contenders in this were Sandy
Rankin, Bobby Holden, Dr MacKenzie, Duncan McCallum and others. They gave a
very good account of themselves and competed all over the country, but as
they all get older and not able to cope with wet backsides it has cooled
down again. The big thing now is having to pay for an anchor drop, on any
bit of shore. People's rights are being impaired each day by a crowd of
"paper tigers," who have very little to do. The West Coast is wide open
coast line and to have to pay for moorings is bureaucracy gone mad. It
seems right to charge for a car in a car park, but to pay for a small
boat's mooring on a sea bottom is terrible. No wonder men take to drink. Up
with the lark and to bed with the bottle. Small boats are only good for two
things—a wet erse and a good appetite. nobody should expect to go in a boat
without getting feet, hands and bottom In small boats you need a life
Jacket, three oars, and make sure you have a rope on them in case one
floats away ! Never ever push your luck against the sea.

38
Doddie Ferguson It has claimed two of my people and they knew it all their
lives. Even my good neighbour Duncan Ferguson lost his life in one great
tragedy that has affected us all. The day of Doddie's funeral, I am sure
500 people stood outside the house singing the old psalms. He was Duncan
Ferguson JP, a happy-go-lucky crofter who had no bad name for anybody. When
voices are stilled and death takes the place of someone so vital, you sit
and wonder what this life is all about. Death is the last enemy and the
last river to cross. I am convinced they crossed the river and are safe on
the other side united with all who went ahead them. They launched away
without fear, their trust in our Almighty Redeemer who can save anyone who
believes in Him. Whatever you believe, may your God go with you.

Doddie Ferguson's grand-father It is now coming up for Easter. This is the

great Christian time because our Lord has risen and confounded death. This
I believe as a little child believes and I have no fear. I have no problems
that He cannot solve. I say : over to You, Lord. We do not know the plan
because it has not been revealed to us, and what right have we to question
what has been mapped out as our course, here on this planet. Ten thousand
people lie in the Mid-Argyll cemeteries. They were fishermen, joiners,
bakers, teachers, good housewives, children, tramps, ministers and a few
saints must be among them. We look into a glass ball, but do not worry or
fret. All will be made plain to you and when it is revealed it will be
clear what our purpose is. "Be of good cheer, I am with you till the end of
time." Something mighty great and good has allowed us to live while
millions die each year. We are so small and insignificant, our little
brains cannot comprehend it all. A thousand years in His sight are as a day
of our time, life is short. We flourish and wither away. Our allotted span
is three score years and ten. Are you on His wavelength? Are you tuned in
and receiving Him well ? God bless you. In His Loving Memory He will look
after you. We live by faith. Sometimes it gets dented, but the dents come
out and you will become straight I am a spiritual being, bearing love and
kindness to all my fellow men and women of all classes, colours and creeds.

39
David MacBrayne DAVID MacBRAYNE was at Ardrishaig one evening and he went
down to the pier because a number of articles were being stolen or removed
from the boats. The company had previously decided to appoint a night
watchman. The job was given to an old fisherman and the wages were £1.10/-.
He stood at the end of the gangway so there was no way past him. As the men
had long hours on these boats it gave them a rest to lie down as they would
be away again at 5.30. The old man, not knowing who David MacBrayne was
spoke to him and told him he could not go aboard the boat. David said he
owned the boat, but the old man would have nothing to do with this story.
He told MacBrayne he was not to let anybody on the boat as there were too
many "skemps" about. The end result was David MacBrayne came back up the
pier and recommended his agent to give the old man a 10/- rise in his pay.
David MacBrayne's wife took a house each year down at Largs. On the way
down he sat in the train beside another lady, got in to conversation with
her and told her she was going to get a house for two months in Largs. The
other lady told her she was going to do the same thing and told her the
house she was going to rent for four months. As this was a very large house
Mrs MacBrayne said, "My, that is a beautiful house you are going to rent.
Your husband must have a very good job." The lady said, "Yes, my husband is
a Purser on MacBrayne's boats". MacBrayne's today don't have a Mr
MacBrayne. Only managers and counter-managers administering the £4 million
subsidies that are given to them each year by the government. You and I
have a share in all the MacBrayne fleet as we are the tax-payers. Most
people don't realise we are the most important and influentially powerful
body in the land. Everybody depends on the tax-payers. Goverments don't
have money; it's our money they are spending. If it was their own they
would be more careful with it. A Chief Constable in the past in
Lochgilphead came to the Post Office corner and told the men to move along.
One old man said, "And who are you?" He told them he was the new Chief
Constable, so the old man said, "You have got yourself a good job and you
are taking care of it." One of the last Chief Constables was Mr MacKinnon.
He said to me one "I am jealous of you, Forsyth." I said, "Why Mr MacKinnon
?" "Because you have that lovely old car." It was an Armstrong Sidley self-
change gears, that I bought from George Tedcastle Colquhoun who lived in
Inverneill House. He sold it to me for £25 and we ran it for two years and
then sold it to the MacKinnon brothers in Islay. The day they came to
collect it I painted it a lovely shade of blue. It was a tin of liquid lino
I used. The gloss on it was great and the boys were so impressed with it
they gave me £2.00 for painting it. They ran it over in Islay for a number
of years. She was built in 1933 and first registered in 1934 and was
running for over 40 years. Registration - BPH 282. I wrote to the Esso
company and sent them a photograph saying this car had run on their oil and
petrol for 40 years. They sent me a very nice letter back "We hope it runs
on our good products for another 40 years!" A firm the size of Esso might
have made more of this as a good advert for their goods and the excellence
of the Armstrong Sidley engineers. Old Jimmy Leitch was in his young days
foreman blacksmith in Fairfields, or Govan Shipyard, now British
Shipbuilders. He was a great punter on horses. The local name for him was
Garry Owen (he was the main horse-racing correspondent in the good old
Daily Record). He stayed in the end house with his three or four cats. His
nickname was Tricky. At the advanced age of 80 he was gathering whelks on
the shore. Some smart body reported the old man and -.; official came down
from Oban to see him. He called on my father and asked him where Jimmy
stayed, telling my father he had to come and see Jimmy as he had been
reported as working at the whelks. My father said to him, "It's a medal you
would need to give to any man at his age, gathering whelks. "As old Jimmy
was deaf the man from Oban could not get through to him ! Mid Argyll I HAVE
often wondered if the people who came here from Ayrshire ever wished to go
back to the old town of Ayr, or were they quite happy here making a living
from the sea and land. If the large meteorite that landed above Dunoon road
end had landed at Blackpool or even in the Lake District the rock hounds
and visitors from all over the country would have helped to keep the
Western buses running. This must have been the most talked-of thing at the
time as you look up and see the thousands of tons of stones that spewed
down the mountain side after the impact. The palm trees that are planted
three miles past Inveraray on the Glasgow road, are called the Victoria
Gardens; they were put there to commemorate Queen Victoria's visit to the
town and how well these trees have grown since she was here. These make
interesting talking points for people who come to our beautiful Argyll.
Just come and look at lovely

40
Loch Awe, going up through Inveraray to the top of the hill on the Dalmally
road and looking across at Ben Cruachan, and the loch going through the big
tunnel to the Hydro Station and away out to Connel. This is indeed
magnificent scenery. Going up to Kilmartin and seeing all the old stone-age
remains of the people who landed here thousands of years ago. We as local
residents appreciate all that we have going for us. The wonder of seeing
beautiful Oban Bay from Pulpit Hill and looking across to Mull with the
high bens and lovely lochs is surely something not to be missed or quickly
forgotten. Mid-Argyll is a marvellous place for people to come and have a
holiday and you can go in any direction and have aweinspiring views. You
can drink the water in any burn. The Spanish couriers are over here now
trying to attract Scots back to Spam, after the muggings and murders of
last year, and there you cannot drink the water. If they read this they
will say put a contract out on that man Hamilton, he is destroying our
advertising campaign. Well, some of their kinsmen were here already and lie
at the bottom of the Sound of Mull that has concealed the secret of the
Spanish Galleon since shortly after the Armada. Yes, you can walk up the
streets in Lochgilphead and the road from Ardrishaig to Lochgilphead in
complete safety. I am sure the people themselves look after one another.
The pavements laid by our engineer John Smith are a lasting monument and
will be there for ever and for all to use as you walk this path from
Lochgilphead to Ardrishaig. When you look down the loch, summer or winter,
you get the view as far as the eye can see to the Arran shore. Its
mountains 3,000 feet high—Solachaig, and Laggan. The big Island at
Stonefield, Mull Dhu and Inverneill. What a beautiful place to stay ! Up at
Minard we have the Crarae Gardens nurtured by Sir G. Campbell and now his
son Sir llay Campbell. April, May and June they have the most dazzling
display of flowers, then again in September and October you get the
changing colours of the leaves. Come and spend autumn in lovely Argyll.
There is an arboretum too, containing exotic trees from all over the world.
It was a fishing village as well, the old net stances were there for 100
years. Mr Middleton keeps his boat in the burn and gets an odd fish in the
season but does pilot work for any boats going to the Quarry. The Minister
at Furnace wrote in his book all about the fishing and I have a copy of it
here. I sat for some years at Presbytery with him and found him a chatty,
humorous man. Surgery Hours, Ardrishaig AS no surgery hours were held in
Ardrishaig, Dr MacKenzie advised what would be the best thing to do. I
thought it would be a good idea if we could get some signatures to back up
the request for such a medical service. Hector Walker who was in the AVIA
Committee said this would be a good back-up to get it going. It would be
proof that the people wanted it. Well, I went round the village and most of
the people thought it a great idea, except one woman who did not sign the
petition. Well, she was entitled to her own opinion even if she was wrong.
A number of sheets were filled and 430 people agreed we needed this
service. I let powers that be see we had a case. Jimmy Shankland said:
"Some Lord will be coming to Ardrishaig to have a look at this." Well, he
did arrive at Ardrishaig. Hector Walker met him at the village hall and he
had a talk with him and Mr Shankland let him see our petition. He agreed it
was a good case. The AVIA tried to get Hugh MacDonald's old shop for this
project but it was turned down, so Dr MacKenzie got Archie Cunningham's old
butcher's shop up in Bay View. He was responsible himself for the payment
of this and what a boon that has been to our village. So this is how we
have a surgery hour in Ardrishaig. I went along to the surgery the first
day it opened; lo and behold, the first person in the surgery was Mrs
White, the lady who refused to sign the petition to bring it in to being.
Dr MacKenzie was the Session Clerk in the Ardrishaig Parish Church for 25
years and his wife Pat leader of the Junior Sunday School for 15 years.
They have both played their part in the life of the village and happily
they are still with us. Mrs Pat MacKenzie is Secretary of the RNLI and her
committee is one of the best in Argyll. We in the Shipwrecked Mariners
Society are the after-care people—like the midwives of the County. We
follow up after the lifeboatmen have done their part.

41
Minard fishermen in 1934 Minard A site at Brendon Point at Minard is
reputed to be the oldest and the most ancient neolithic site in Great
Britain. It is hard to imagine how these early human beings managed to live
and survive. Their ancient culture and way of life seems to us today to be
something to be wondered at. It is all very well to live in various parts
of Africa but up here with the cold, rain, frost and snow, even just to
stay alive must have been difficult. Food must have been very scarce and
what we eat in a day must have been their rations for a week. Maybe our
modern food is killing us. When we go out for a meal we start with soup,
then fish, followed by the main course, usually bull's arse. After this is
ice cream straight from the freezer, followed by chocolate mints and coffee
with cream. You would think that would be enough to turn our stomachs, but
we carry on this ritual year in, year out. The doctors are sick to death
listening to complaints following this binge, and I'm sure most doctors are
lip readers and wear ear plugs because there is no way they can listen to
it ! They say that doctors are the highest risk group for alcoholism in the
country. Can you wonder at it ? Apart from listening, it's the form-filling
that's driving them round the bend ! Well, the people of Brendon Point,
just along from the Castle at Minard, had a way of life and could tell the
time and seasons of the year. They had set days and fast days, and I'm sure
more fast days than anything else. Fish have been in . world from the
beginning and this must have been their mainstay. We understand tides
because we have tide tables and the wind because we have aneroid
barometers. We have had the wireless for the last 60 years and the TV with
the large maps of the British Isles showing us the daily weather forecast.
Today we have everything done for us; food, transport and shelter is all
everybody needs. These people had none of these, only what they could
improvise themselves. Mull and Insurance AT the moment it is the yachtsmen
who bring the most trade to the canal; 2,000 went through last year and
they enjoy a very busy and happy time in the race which takes place each
year on the first Saturday of Glasgow Fair. The first leg of the race is
from Hunters Quay at Dunoon. Argyll, over on the Clyde to Ardrishaig
Lighthouse, then through the canal on Saturday night and Sunday. The boats
sail with the first tide on Monday morning from Crinan to Tobermory on the
Island of Mull. Tobermory is a lovely little place with a very good
harbour, an excellent watering place. I am sure the yachtsmen will agree
you can get something to go with the water in Tobermory, it being such a
good place and the warm fire in the "Mishnish." After being at the fishing
in the Minch, one old fisherman said, looking at the water coming out the
pump: "There will be bananas growing here before I come back." Well, I have
not heard any crop of bananas yet in Tobermory. I am sure old Bob never
made it back.

42
The story goes about the old Mull fisherman in the bar. A Yank was laying
off about the marvellous space programme the Yanks had accomplished and we
British were so far behind. The old man could stick it no longer and said:
"We are not bothering about going to the moon, we are going up to the
sun !" The Yank turned on him and said, "You will never get up near it, you
will burn up like a moth in a candle flame. The old fisherman said, "We are
not worrying about that. We are going up at night !" I went to the National
Mod for 20 years with a very fine man who belonged to Mull, Big Johnnie
Russell, he died a number of years ago and he is still sadly missed. At the
National Mod in Inverness someone asked the Chief Constable if the Gaels
were behaving themselves. He said "There are no Gaels in the jails." The
three days at the Mod is just an endurance test, it is the only meeting of
Highland people that is left. Nothing else in the country is like the
National Mod, it has a spirit all of its own, not only the one in the
bottle, but the general air and friendly atmosphere generated by all who
attend it. Even if it is only once a year the moth-balls come out of the
kilts and jackets the ladies' sashes and dresses are given an airing, it is
definitely a great gala of the tartan of past glories, against present
trends of all the jean setters and tight trousers. My old friend up in
Tongue, Sutherland, said: "This new jean-wearing generation are neither
eating the salt herring nor chewing the tobacco." On the road up to Skye in
1950 I encountered 12 cars and lorries in the ditch. Only one man was
standing beside his car as the snow was coming on heavy '. said, "Are you
going to Portree ?" "Yes" he said. "Well, jump in, "I said to him, "You are
a lucky man to have escaped out of that car with your life." He said : "I
am not worried about my life, you see my life is fully insured. I had
bought that car in Inverness to make a large profit in it. Now it is
damaged and it is not insured, so if you insure one thing you are better
off insuring the other !" One man who insured his life was lying dying. His
wife and ten children were at his bed and the priest was giving him the
last rites. He said: "Father, do you believe in reincarnation ?" "Yes, but
you might not come back in the same form, if you did come back John, what
would you like to be in another life ?" "Oh now, Father, I think I would
like to come back as a cockerel." The wife who was listening to him at the
end of the bed said, "John, my dear, you cannot come back as the same thing
twice !" Sunday School I WAS appointed the Sunday School Superintendent
just as the new minister, Mr John Ross, arrived from Gigha. I told Mr Ross
I was not fit for this job. He said: "I am not fit to be in the pulpit
either and, Forsyth, we will just carry on till the two good men who are
going to fill our shoes arrive. Then we will both be on the buroo." Well,
we had a very good relationship and the years I served with him in the
church were very happy ones. Taking the class one Sunday I said to the
boys, "Why should the Shepherd go looking for lost sheep? He has 99 safely
in the fold. Why bother to look for one single sheep that is lost ?" One
boy put up his hand and said: "Mr Hamilton, it was not a lost sheep he was
looking for he was looking for a tup." Mr Ross took a heart attack and had
to retire from the church. He went down to stay in Isle of Whithorn.
Margaret and I went down to stay a week-end with him and his good lady;
what a beautiful place to retire to. Some years later John died at his
daughter and son-in-law's home near Doune. I went along with three other
elders to his funeral service at Muchart Church about three miles from
Dollar. The minister from Muchart Church and John's minister friend from
down Galloway sat and talked about him in the church service just as if
John had left them for a short visit somewhere. The Muchart minister said
John would be proud that day to know his four elders came hundreds of miles
today to carry him to his last resting place. Old Mr Black, the farmer up
above the village, worked the farm for many years and it looked like a
model place. We remember him as he chased us more than anybody else. I sent
him some parcels from South Africa during the war and he used to say to his
family, "I misjudged that boy." Peter Gilchrist and Archie Gilchrist DCM
were of another old family in the village and the family are still here. I
have a picture taken during the war of the march-past of the Ardrishaig
Home Guard led by Captain Bob Gargan, next Archie Kenneth and Archie
Gilchrist DCM, followed by big Tom Johnstone and Donald MacBrayne. It was
said they sent a copy to Hitler and when he saw the might of the Home Guard
he decided to forget about invading Scotland.

43
Archie MacVicar was Chief Engineer in MacBrayne's boats and knew everybody
in MacBrayne's fleet. When he was in Greenock, he often stayed with my old
friend Alec Paton who was blind for the last 26 years of his life. His wife
Jessie spent all her years looking after him and we lost a great friend
when he died. He was a great sportsman in his youth and told me one day he
stood on top of three Munros in one day. As you know, they are all hills
over 3,000. I have taken his advice. He said, "Dictatorship is the best
form of government !" Sara McBrayne looked after the village hall where all
things happened. She looked on the hall as if it was her own. The village
is the poorer when these people pass on, nobody is left to take after them.
Willie Holden, cycle and wireless shop, and David Craig who ran the West
Coast buses, worked all week and ran the Shiloh Hall and gave a gospel
message along their own lines every Sunday. The Good Lord said to Mrs
Holden: "Come on in, you have been down there long enough." Yes these are
the people who set an example to us in our young lives. How can anybody
write about a village and miss out the Bakers, the MacDonalds, and Tarry
Jocks. A notice in the close at Duggie McGilps said, Anybody passing here
will be roasted." Archie Arnold was the head baker with Hugh MacDonald,
Sandy McNab, Ian Campbell, Tommy Tyson. In Lochgilphead the McGilps had a
bakehouse beside the Stag Hotel. This was run by Findlay McGilp and his
sister served in the shop. Some years ago a large company suggested
building 50 new houses in the next village, so I went to the meeting to see
what they were going to decide about this very important matter. These
meetings were only held once a year or every second year. After a long
discussion they still were not clear how they could be sure that everybody
in the village would know about this project. As they say in these parts,
"all the high head ones" were still undecided on the right way to inform
all the people, whether to put it in the Squeak, the local paper, or the
Oban Times, the West Coast man's bible, but as everybody does not buy a
local paper that was no use. So up stood a local Councillor and he told
them to call an extraordinary meeting, inviting all to it; and once you
have got them in the hall lock the doors, explain about the 50 houses then
tell them it is a secret. Open up the doors, let them out and in 10 minutes
all the village will know ! Old Friends WELL, we must say a few words about
our friends Alister Carmichael of Ford, Sheena his wife, and her young son
who is with the Forestry Commission. Alister was a writer and
correspondent, as well as an elder, preacher and teacher for many years in
the Church of Scotland. I miss him calling at our house by the shore where
we had many happy days. He was on his way to the National Mod when he
passed away. The grief and pain you have when you lose a friend is
unbearable, but I try to think Alister has only caught an earlier train
than us. Mr and Mrs Jimmy Currie, at the bridge at Cairnbaan, were kindness
itself. If any woman deserves to walk in to heaven it is Mrs Currie—and she
will be carrying a tea-pot to help somebody ! They had a large family—four
boys and two girls. They are all still with us and are a credit to this
lovely old couple. Old Sandy Fleming, the gamekeeper, arrived with his
mother and father in Tayvallich when he was only three months old. They
came from Luing. He looked after his mother in later years. I think she was
98 when she died. His great friends were Lord Gainford and all the shooting
fraternity up and down Argyll. He was gamekeeper in Inverneill to Colonel
Campbell for about 20 years. As boys we used to cycle down to see him on a
Sunday. We called him "Sandy Also." he was said to ask for a fish, and a
chip also ! General Sir Fredrick Campbell stayed in Tigh Rudha. He had been
in India for many years. Mary Currie was a local shopkeeper along the front
street. Her shop is now the tourist agency. Mrs Buchanan had the fruit and
veg. shop along beside the police station. She had a large hand which she
told me she got from knocking the doors to collect "tick," nowadays they
call it credit. William Smith was the local painter. They lived along the
front street beside Jamieson's paper shop. Ponfrey was the local watchmaker
and had been in business about 100 years, another old household name. Mrs
MacDonald was in the Argyll Hotel for over 40 years and was noted for her
hospitality and the marvellous Argyll trifles she made. One day I was in
and she said, "Forsyth, are you wanting a cup of tea?" So I sat down and
she made a cup of tea and gave me two pancakes from a large basin filled
with pancakes she had just made. A bus party was arriving for tea at 11
o'clock. She said, "How are the pancakes?" and I said, "If you made them
for me I would throw them at you !" "How is that ?" I said, "You have made
them with salt instead of sugar !" "Oh, my God !" Somebody had filled the
sugar crock with

44
salt. She had to start a new batch at once. Later I saw Findlay Maclver
going round the back of the hotel to collect the batch of salt pancakes.
They always said Findlay's pigs when they cut them up for ham were always
salty. Maybe this is one of the reasons for the salt bacon ! Mr Kemp and
his wife ran the tearoom in Argyll Street and next door was Mr Crawford,
the tailor, who made many fine clothes for all round Mid-Argyll. The gent's
and ladies' clothes were run by Mr MacCallum, followed by Mr Brown and it
is now his daughter's shop, so Nan Brown keeps one of the old names still
with us. Along the street was MacCallum's, the grocers, followed by John
Mitchell, which is now the Spar grocers. The Mac Vicars were making kippers
along the back street. The Institute was also the billiard room and the
main hub of activity in the middle of the town. In the old days, billiards
was looked down on. Now it is the centre stage of the television. I wonder
how many champions we have missed ! Davis has some money invested up here,
growing good wood for billiard cues. Some of the old stars in Mid-Argyll
will be looking down at them growing, including old Duggie who was in the
Billiard room for many years. He had an old clock with no hands up on the
wall. He said, "No tick here," anybody asked for credit, and pointed at the
clock. The coal yards were run by Mr Bell, a local man from an old family,
Mr McClullich, also from an old, respected family and Thompson's coal yard.
These men all did hard work filling coal into sacks and delivering round
the town. The boats with the coal discharged up at Miller's Bridge. At one
time a miller was over there making meal and coarse flour. It also was
MacBrayne's store for Lochgilphead as the boats going through the canal
with cargo. The Handa and the Brenda were the smaller boats of MacBrayne's
fleet, made to make the passage through the canal, calling at Cairnbaan
Store, Bellanoch, Crinan, Ardfern, Ardunie and Easdale. The last boat
calling in here was the St Just with a load of cannabis on board. She is
just through the canal today with a customs boat towing her down to the
Clyde. Mr Adair and Mr Fleming were good friends and had a good share of
the town's butcher business. The two garages were run by John Brodie, Mr
Crawford and I. M. Fleming. John McLarty had a garage at the back of the
post building until the local council had it taken over for offices, and
the site is even now being developed. The Drim Laundry was run by Mr
Cuthbertson for many years and this is a facility we miss in Mid-Argyll
today. Donald MacFarlane or Purley as he was well known, ran the Jersey
Dairy along with his sisters. Mrs Manson was in the Victoria Hotel; she was
a McGilp from Minard and ran a happy friendly hotel packed on market days.
Miss Cathie MacCall was a grocer in Lochgilphead, with her wee shop next
door to MacBrayne the Ironmonger. You could always get a friendly smile and
a wee chat from these folk, something we rarely get in this world of high
finance, supermarkets with huge performance charts on the wall urging the
staff to beat last year's records till they send the managers through the
roof or round the bend. Willie Livingstone had the farm above Lochgilphead
or the A and B Farm. Mrs MacLeod and Mary Fletcher were in charge of the
Cottage Hospital. If you happened to have scarlet fever they came and took
you away at night with a candle on each side of the horse carriage. If you
had measles, mumps or crabs they just left you at home ! I think next in
charge of the wee hospital was Matron Gillies, sister of Jim Gillies at
Lochgair. They had been brought up as children in Cairnbaan Hotel and knew
all the local people and all the puffer-men and boat people going through
the canal. A tree along from the hotel was known as the hanging tree.
People who had been at sheep stealing or murder were reputedly hung on it.
In the old days one old Lochgilphead Councillor attended all the local
functions and always enjoyed a good dram. A big event was taking place up
at Kilmory Castle and he had not been invited but that did not deter him
and he arrived up at the Castle. Just before the dinner was due to start he
was met by a footman who said, "You have not been invited," but the old
Councillor walked in and sat down at the table. He was told again by
another footman. "Well," he said, "when I left Lochgilphead I had not
received any official notice to stay away !" He was a great character and
he said if you walk in backwards and anybody accosts you, you just say you
are on the way out ! It is just like going to a wake when anybody asks who
you are, you say, "I am a friend of the corpse" and nobody would dream of
turning you away. A wedding is much the same in that it would bring bad
luck on everybody at the event. Most folk at a wedding are half-drunk
anyway and it is only the next day or week they say, "I saw you at the
wedding, did you enjoy it?" If people were not fighting at weddings, there
would be something wrong with them.

45
At every wedding the ladies are kitted from the skin out. Most men go in
the same suit, year in, year out, and if you have a kilt it lasts all your
lifetime, with the men getting a new shirt and new tie occasionally. This
is general all over Scotland. The bride's father still pays for the wedding
but this old custom seems to be dying out all over the country. More Old
Friends Another general merchant and fruit seller was Willie Brodie and his
good lady who looked after his shop up Argyll Street. He came to Ardrishaig
twice a week selling fruit and veg. and sometimes penny packets of sticks.
His pony always in good condition and I remember my mother always kept
bread for the pony. Hugh- and Duncan Campbell from Castleton, who were
slaters and plasterers, cycled each day from Silvercraigs to work either in
Ardrishaig or Lochgilphead. Their store was below Dickson's Land just
beside our stair. They had their lunch with us most days they were in the
village. Both of these men had been badly wounded in the 1914 war. We have
lost these good men, and high quality tradesmen they were. The West Coast
of Scotland suffered in the big gale of 1968 when slaters could not be
found to repair the houses damaged in Glasgow, Ayrshire and all over Argyll
and the West Highlands. If people are not going to be apprenticed to these
old trades—joiners, plumbers, boat-builders—nobody will be left to repair
anything. One great man in mid-Argyll in the building trade was Mungo
Sinclair. He was an expert at his job, and could not stand to be idle a
moment in his life. He employed many people and he himself was the foremen.
Somebody once said to him, "Rome was not built in a day, Mungo." "No," he
said, "that maybe, but I was not the foreman then ! "This good old business
is carried on by his son and grandsons still up at Furnace and they are
still a household name in Mid-Argyll. Furnace employed a large number of
people in the quarry. Mr MacArthur had a shop and bakehouse not very far
from the quarry. My father's cousin's husband, Mr Ferguson, worked for many
years up at the bakehouse. He cycled to Furnace on the Sunday evening and
stayed up at MacArthur's till the Friday then cycled back, a distance of
about 18miles. I cannot see anybody today, even if we have 3,500,000
unemployed, doing or taking this job. Two men who traded in Ardrishaig were
Jimmy and Briney Hughes who collected sheepskins and sold dishes and
crockery, also rabbit skins, and delivered rabbit hampers even as far up
country as Craignish. One old lady at Craignish said to Jimmy one day, "I
recognise your face by seeing your name in the Squeak. At that time they
kept Airedales, very large dogs and very good watchdogs. Their business was
taken over by Carl Menzel, who was married to my cousin Betty; they are
both now in Australia with their family. Mary's brother Johnnie, who was
affectionately known as Johnnie Day, is also out there. Betty's father was
the Mr Ferguson, the baker, who cycled up to work at Furnace and I hear
from them at Christmas. Neilie McCallum was the lock-keeper at the entrance
to the canal at Ardrishaig. He was known all over the Clyde by yachtsmen
and puffermen. Big Neil was liked by all and he lived to the ripe old age
of 90 years. His grandson is now the manager of the canal. He served his
time in the blacksmith's shop by the canal and learned all the other jobs
that blacksmiths do in their trade. Being a local boy, he is in the right
place. The majority of people who have had the job before have been Indian
civil servants, far removed from the workings of this local canal. Some of
the whisky that came ashore on the SS Politician on Barra's rocky shore
(which incident inspired Compton Mackenzie to write Whisky Galore) came
down the canal and a good number of the Pointers, that is the Ardrishaig
men, tried it. Export quality as smooth as silk, do your heart good to get
a dram of it, was the verdict. The teetotallers who did not drink it washed
their corns and chilblains with it. Another nature cure ! Neilie MacCallum
also, like my father, had two nick-names. A Glasgow visitor had heard these
names and not knowing he was Mr N. MacCallum, called him Mr Cope. He said:
"I am not Mr Cope." "I am sorry, Mister Joper." "Well," said Neil, "I am
not that either, I am Mr Neil MacCallum." The old pub in Lochgilphead was
called the Comm and was run for many years by Mr MacGregor or "Wee
MacGregor." Many a tale was told in the Comm on market days and any other
occasion that drouthy neighbours chanced to meet, while many a women was
left at home to nurse her wrath, as Burns put it 200 years ago. His place
was taken over by a Mr and Mrs MacKenzie. Mr MacKenzie passed away many
years ago but Mrs MacKenzie has just retired last year after giving years
and years of service to the public, and her family are still here with her.
MacBrayne's agent in Ardrishaig was Mr Ellard and he was followed by Mr
Colin Wilson, a Tarbert gentleman. Colin and John MacEwan, with Malcolm
Galbraith and Duncan MacBrayne, ran the cargo steamer from the office on

46
the pier, a good team of men who gave a great service to the whole
community. The pier master at this time was Mr MacNair, followed by Mr
William Bruce, who was also secretary of the AVIA and a staunch member of
the Free Church. His nickname was Big Willie the Lion. Funny thing is, his
father was also a big man and he was called the Lamb ! Harry Campbell,
Johnnie McKellar, John Hamilton, Bunny Bruce and Coney or Walter MacEwan
were employed on the pier. Every bag of sugar and bag of salt passed
through their hands, cycles and perambulators, crates and everything
delivered by sea. Ardrishaig's missionary son was David Chalmers, born in
what was known maker's lane. After being in Ardrishaig till he was eight,
he went to Inveraray with his father and mother and the rest of the family.
His father was a stone-mason and was employed by the Duke of Argyll. David
joined the missionary service and gave a lifetime of service in the mission
field. He was killed by the natives out in New Guinea which was a sad end
to a man who gave so much in Christian service to others. Mr Thompson was
the old Auchendarroch estate manager. He had a big family and four of the
girls were Queen Alexandra Nurses during the first world war. Captain
Robert Gargan was along with a party of troops when they arrived in
Archangel in Russia where Miss Thompson was the matron of the British
Military Hospital and gave them a great welcome. I am sure she would be the
last person they would have expected to meet in that place. In the last 20
years they stayed next door to one another in Ardrishaig. Mrs R. Gargan was
a Miller, brought up in Kilmichael Glen, the farm now occupied by Gilbert
Black. Her uncle went to South Africa and was employed by De Beers, the
great diamond people. He left a sum of money so that Kilmichael village
could build a hall. It is called the Lachlan Miller Memorial Hall. People
want to come back to their roots and give something to their homes or
villages. The village of Kilmichael had a blacksmith they called Jumpy. He
was another character of the village. He was 60 inches round the chest and
85 inches at the waist. How he ever managed to bend down and shoe the
horses I do not know. He spent many hours looking at the River Add and its
pools where some of the best salmon you have ever seen have come up from
the sea at Crinan. They are still coming but in lesser numbers. The owner
of this fine river in those days was Sir Ian Malcolm of Poltalloch Estate,
which was one of the best estates in Mid-Argyll. His son was Lt-Col George
Malcolm. He was one of the first men to be running the Edinburgh Military
Tattoo. When we were running the Boys' Boxing Club in Ardrishaig he gave us
great support for the young lads and both he and his lady wife supplied
prizes for the boys who were competing. He telephoned me one day to ask
could I make him a net "that will be strong enough to pull out clods of
earth or pull stobs out of the river along with the salmon." We made the
net and he telephoned to say that one day he had pulled out of the river
900 salmon. Not many people can say they caught a lorry load of salmon in
one day. One old man on the river said he steeped his worms in good whisky
the day before he set out to fish. When he put them on the hooks and
dropped them in the pool by the river and a big fish came up to them they
had so much courage with the whisky they caught the salmon by throat ! Some
worms, or very good whisky ! The estate is now run by Robin Malcolm who is
also one of the local councillors and lives in Duntrune Castle. If you are
at Crinan you look across to this very old castle on me shores of Loch
Crinan. I think he is still using that net I made for him out of red
Courylene so it has given them some service. Kilmartin is one of the old
villages in Argyll. One stone in the churchyard has a date 1027 and other
stones maybe older, as the dates have faded over the years as rain, frost
and snow have eroded the stone. The Kilmartin Hotel has always been a
popular place. Neil Vernal, a Paisley man, was landlord for about 40 years
and was a great source of knowledge on horses. He bred them and was horse
judge all over country. The Hotel is now run by Mrs Jean Blanford; she is a
dog breeder and has competed at the great dog shows at Crufts. She runs the
hotel in a very friendly way and has a great trade in both bar and food.
This old hotel has kept its 19th century atmosphere, as the bar is still
the same as it was all these years ago. One thing that always puzzles me is
why bars and public houses have dart teams. These things are deadly weapons
and they are thrown freely when most people who throw them must be near the
limit ! The Cairn Restaurant in Kilmartin is famous for good food. Mrs
Thompson is the cook and she is a real expert at the cooking. Mr Thompson
attends to all that come to the Cairn. His father-in-law is Mr Willie
Leitch who, with his good lady, ran Cairnbaan Hotel for many years. He is
now retired. His father was Mr Leitch of Tarbert who was the famous
sailmaker in Tarbert and his grandson is carrying on the sailmaking in
Tarbert, Lochfyne. A Tarbert man said to the old sailmaker: "Although you
are 60 years in Tarbert you are still not a Tarbert man !" He said: "How
grateful I am !"

47
The Garage at Kilmartin was run by Mr Craigie who was there for 40 years.
He told me he had installed an air pump to blow up tyres: "6d a time, or I
will toss you double or nothing," he would say—but would always win the
toss. Forestry and Fishing IN 1959 I was asked to go to Lochgair hotel to
represent the forestry and fishing at a meeting with MP Michael Noble. At
that time forestry men were getting £5 a week and fishermen were getting £2
a cran for herring or roughly 10/(50p) a box of seven stone. We talked with
him for two hours and were successful with the forestry men but not the
fishermen. I am sure the £2 a cran was a disgrace and the fish meal fishing
was another reason for the large fall-off in the herring fishing in the
Clyde and North Sea. The heavy landing in Mallaig, Gairloch, Ullapool and
Stornoway depleted the south and north Minch. The big catches—or the
herring massacre, as that is all it was—maybe helped Fisons or other large
firms employed in fish meal and fertilisers. I remember asking Michael
Noble about the state of the Loch Lomond road. "Is it not time you got a
government grant to get it sorted ?" He told me it was in the pipeline, but
it looks to me in 1985 it was more like a mackerel in the net ! It still
needs to be sorted and when we see the waste of government money on other
projects, it makes us wonder why we have to pay the same taxes as the folk
in the South. This road is in Dunbartonshire but need I remind anybody it
is the Argyll people who use it in these days. Petrol is £2 a gallon and if
the road was sorted it would save time and petrol. Loch Lomond is beautiful
but we would see the scenery better if we weren't trying to get round the
bends on it that are real circular tour. Thank goodness work has started on
a new road, and it is hoped to be ready by summer '87. An old saying in
Mid-Argyll was "MacBrayne's for the Highlands and MacLarty for the
cemetery." One brother was the undertaker and the other had a motor hearse.
Once the hearse was polished they said people were dying to get in to it !
On one occasion an old man died over at Tayvallich but he wanted buried at
Kilberry. As the weather was bad when he died they just buried him at the
old graveyard at Carsaig Bay, Tayvallich. After the minister had said the
last prayer and they lifted the coffin, the bottom fell out. One old man
ran up to the grave and said, "You better hold him down, or he will make
off for Kilberry!" Kilberry is nearly 30 miles away. The old graveyard over
there is now closed and as one old fellow said, "They are not burying a
living soul in it these days !" Nobody wants to be first in the new
graveyard. Everybody believes we are going to a better place but nobody
wants to die so this wicked old world cannot be so bad after all, with all
its trials and frustrations and disappointments. It is quite clear to me,
as I have already written about birthdays, and we seem to be pre-destined
to arrive, our departure will be arranged in the same way. We do not know
the secret of the Master Plan and in given time all will be revealed. The
future is not ours to see, as the old song goes, Que Sera, Sera. Gold is
one precious metal that has been responsible for more man's greed than
anything else. My near neighbour here is Mr Archie Kenneth who has a gold
mine on his estate. I believe the reef runs from the bay below his house to
Kilfinan. Known as the gold reef, it runs across the loch for about 4½
miles. Both these mines, Stronachullin and Kilfinan were being worked about
the same time and a considerable amount of gold was produced during the
time they were being worked, and a good number of men from Ardrishaig were
employed on this project. This job would be hard work with the pick and
shovel with no JCB or mechanical diggers in these far-off days. Neil
MacEwan, who worked with me here at the kippering shed, told me his father
was employed at these diggings. Mr Kenneth has some of the gold that was
produced here. We are sitting on a gold mine, minus the gold-diggers.
Everybody who has met him must be charmed by this unassuming man with the
strong handshake and great knowledge of nature. He is a piping expert and
judge, rhododendron grower and collector—I believe he has 3,000 varieties
growing on his hillside garden and they are a delight to see in the early
spring; the rich reds, yellows, pinks and all the beauty to be seen here,
makes life worth living. He is also a botanist of international renown and
an expert on the flora of Argyll. My car was in for repair last week and
Archie picked me up and took me back to the wee croft house I am now living
in. He said, "How are you getting on in there, Forsyth ?" "Oh," I said, "We
have two fires going so it is easy heated." "You are lucky. I am living in
a freezer !" He has a large house and like all big houses it is hard to
heat. Donald Robertson is one of Archie Kenneth's shepherds, being 43 years
in his service. Mr A. Shaw is the other shepherd; Angus Graham is the farm
manager, a job he took over from his father and will have been on the
estate since he left the school.

48
Milk Carts As a young boy I was milk boy with Mr Neil MacNeil, Dunamuck
Farm. Also at that time my cousin Willie Hamilton was another boy employed,
as was Donald MacSwan. Every time I think of him I am remembering the great
old writers in the People's Friend. Annie S. Swan kept the women-folk of
this country thrilled each week with her very human stories. I went to
deliver milk to an old man and his wife. Donald McSwan said, ask him if he
is Mr so-and-so, this being the man's nickname. I knocked the door about 8
o'clock and this old man opened the door, standing in his pink drawers. I
asked him if he was by his nickname, needless to say he jumped out the door
at and I made off as fast as I could. Neil's lorry had not very good brakes
and one morning it was in the big lane three-quarters way up and as I got
in it started to move. I pulled the wheel round to save it going all the
way down the brae and going over the shore. It landed in a shop window in
the lane, Mary Bheag's shop, as Wee Mary was called in Gaelic. My hand went
through the windscreen and gave me a bad cut on the thumb. They took me
along to the local chemist who put three stitches in it. Neill said: "I
will need to get these braes sorted." After Neil finished, I was milk-boy
with Taylor of Nether Largie Farm. The other boy who was with me was
Farquar MacKinnon. Mr Taylor was very good to us as boys. He was judge at
most of the sheep-dog trials all over the country and was also a very good
competitor and was very fair in his judgements. Two of his milk-boys in
Lochgilphead were Willie MacCallum, who .came the foreman mechanic at the
forestry engineer shop at Cairnbaan and who tragically died at the age of
59, and Peter Ciarella who owns Burgh Electrics in the Square. Peter's
daughter lives in Ardrishaig and one day, as she as teaching in Ardrishaig
School, she told the class that 60 years ago her father was in this same
class-room. One boy said, "My goodness, he must be as old as Methuselah !"
Peter MacArthur was another milkman in Lochgilphead and was well known as
he was one of the old MacArthur family that had been around Lochgilphead
for many years. Maggie Sinclair, or Maggie Toss as they called her, sold
milk around Ardrishaig. She was always on foot and maybe sold about a
couple of gallons a day as I am sure that would be all she would be able to
carry on her rounds. Many people took the milk but did not drink it as
Maggie was not too clean, but everybody regarded her as a witch and if they
stopped the milk she might put a spell on you. She is buried over at
Kilmory beside her mother at the small graveyard beside the Red Lodge gate.
Ardris Haig The minister, Mr Ross, telephoned me one day to say he was
sending a man down to see me as "you are the local encyclopaedia." Well,
when this man arrived he had an unusual story to tell us. His father had
been born and brought in Ardrishaig, then went away to Glasgow to serve his
time as an engineer. He married a lady from Rothesay, Isle of Bute, and
they emigrated to America where they had one son, and this was the son. As
the man's name was Haig, he called the boy Ardris—Ardris Haig after the
village Ardrishaig. The boy was wondering what sort of place Ardrishaig was
and had a life-long ambition to come and have a look and see what sort of
people lived in it. When he called at the kipper shed we were as surprised
as he was to hear his story. Neil MacEwan would be about 77 at this time
and he had been born in the village himself and could not remember anybody
of this name, and to this day there is nobody with this name that we know
of. Well, Ardris Haig and his wife stayed with us. He enjoyed meeting all
the people that called that day and seeing our way of life in the village.
Before he went away we gave him a green float that the men used on the cod
nets. He told us that he was an engineer up in Alaska and they flew along
the beaches and sometimes landed and collected smaller glass floats of the
Japanese fishing fleet and he would send us a few when he went back. Four
months passed and I had forgotten all about the floats, but lo and behold,
the postman Ian Hamilton (another cousin of mine) arrived saying, "Here's a
parcel with glass in it." (Most folk would ask, is it drinkable ?) The
parcel had five small dark green floats in it sent as he had said. He had
kept his promise. We used this story for the Sunday School, telling the
children about keeping promises and the promise made to us in the good book
or the Code for the Good of Life. Captain Willie Inkister, who was the
harbour master up in Lerwick, Shetland, was in one day and saw the glass
floats so we gave him one as he had been in Alaska and in the whaling
fleets with Salvesen's. We kept up with the Ardris Haig's for these last 15
years. Ardris has now passed on, but his good lady is still alive and her
card and Christmas gift have arrived here again this year. Margaret asked
then it they had any family and she said

49
one boy and he had passed over. So father and son have passed over and have
caught up with the man from Ardrishaig who gave them this village name.
When you keep an open house as we have done, and all the people before us,
you may be entertaining angels.

The sea lock at Ardrishaig The Canal The canal managers who held all the
power of hiring and firing, were Mr Thompson, John Groves. Mr Ely, Mr
Tatten, Mr Davidson and Mr Walker. In their day and generation they
occupied the big houses above the canal basin from which they could see
anybody going out and in the canal yard and if you left the yard a minute
before 5.30pm you would be on the carpet the next morning. Some men worked
on the canal for 20 years and never were put on the staff. My Uncle John
was 20 years as the canal diver before Mr Bly put him on the canal staff
and many other men were similarly treated.

Canal squad at the Ardrishaig sea lock in 1931 The canal men themselves
were a great help to everybody. Mr Neil Gillies was foreman before big
Jimmy Campbell who was foreman for about 35 years. He was also Session
Clerk of the Church of Scotland and knew everybody in the village and every
boat and crew member. He was also secretary of the Rechabites and Foresters
Insurance

50
Organisations. He was followed in the foreman's job by a Tarbert man, Jimmy
Bain who I am glad to say is still with us. Jimmy lived in a more modern
age. He and Peter Campbell went over to Crinan each day delivering papers,
milk and messages to all the lock-keepers en route to Crinan.

Canal men at Crinan During the years 1930 to 1932 the new sea-locks were
put on the canal. I remember seeing 9-inch brass screws taken out of the
lock gates at Crinan that had been in the sea locks for nearly a hundred
years. They were so beautifully made, when cleaned up they looked just like
new.

Canal diver Peter Campbell The old steam dredger on the canal did a power
of work on the canal, changing lock gates and keeping the canal dredged
from one end to the other. The other old boat of a special design was the
steam boat, the Conway. She was designed with a bow like a landing craft
and her job with the busy puffer trade was to keep the canal clear of ice.
Her design let her run up on top of the ice and her weight went through.
Today we don't have an ice breaker. They depend on any of the steel boats
or Caley MacBrayne boats coming down to break it. Ice is very bad on a
wooden boat. The thin stuff is the worst and will cut you in half along the
waterline if you are going at any speed. Nobody here ever catches a salmon—
it catches itself. The salmon subject is very similar to the lobsters.
Nobody ever catches a lobster. When you ask, "Are you getting any?" they
say they are not on yet and if you ask a little later they say they are
past. Again a similarity is the smoking of salmon. I remember telling two
men about salmon smoking. As they walked away my wife was behind the hedge
and heard them say, "That man talked for a quarter of an hour and he still
has told us nothing."

51
One young man was conducting the buses up here. He jumped off the bus at
lunch-time and asked me if I could tell him in one hour how to smoke and
make kippers. I told him I could tell him in five minutes all I knew about
kippering. Well, he left me after an hour and went up to Skye to start the
kippering, five miles outside of Kyleakin. He was going to get his supplies
of herring from Mallaig. I told him not to try it but that did not deter
him. Well, the kippering shed is still there but after a year he packed it
in. He told me he enjoyed the experience and was very grateful for all the
data I gave him. Birthdays It seems a very strange thing to me that
birthdays seem to coincide in families; father, grandfather or uncle are
all on the same day and the same goes for cousins, their births tall on the
same day. In one year there are 365 days, you would almost think it
impossible for the birthday to be the same as a near relative. Out of the
woman's cycle she should have a baby on any of the 365 that are available.
This is something that nobody has been able to explain or even has any
reasonable theory to its explanation. It seems to me to be a million-to-one
chance not just one in 365. Is there higher hand or a great predestined
plan that we can not get together and understand ? Maybe on the day this is
explained to us we shall see a simple solution but in the meantime the
mystery remains. The Travelling People SOME of these people have been in
the village about 200 years, working on farms, gardens and doing general
work for anybody. One story about them was during the last war. One party
arrived down from Oban. They called at one local doctor's and as he was not
in the wife had to attend them. They were asking a wee bit of butter so she
said, "You know that butter is on ration?" Well, the woman traveller said,
"We need a wee bit butter, you see my dear Jock has rid the pony all the
way from ban and he has skinned his erse and its all red raw." This tale
reminds me of the TV advertisement: "It's got to be butter !" My father
gave them a dog many years ago and they were walking him up and down the
promenade at Ardrishaig. He told them to "get going or these boys of mine
will be out the school in ten minutes and they will know you have the dog."
"Dan, what do you call the dog ?" "Oh we call him Tuteach" [which means
fart in Gaelic]. "He is well named. He looks full of wind but we will soon
knock that out of him." The next time my father saw them they told him he
was the best dog they ever got and they caught 14 couple of rabbits with
him up at Furnace that first night. Mr Charlie Blair, the butcher, in
Inveraray gave them 1/6 a couple so they did well. Everybody knew these
people and in the same way everybody helped them. One summer they went up
to Inverness. You could call it the summer migration, the two great resorts
being Perth and Inverness of which they would tell you, "It's the Hielan'
capital!" They were always trying the piping competitions and in one
competition the auld wife said she knew Jock would win. She saw it all in a
dream. The tent had a wee leak and the water came in "before the bloody
dream finished," she said, but she kent Jock would win the competition. "On
the day," she went on "there were fourteen judges at the big table— nine on
either side! Men came from all over for this event, the pipe-tuners from
the Black Isle, Wick and as far away as Skye, but Jock knew nobody could
tune the pipes better than his guid friend Pipe-Major Ronnie MacCallum, for
he was the Piper to the Duke of Argyll. He had tuned the pipes that had
made the Germans tremble in the trenches. None better than him. I even
prayed for Jock, and I am sure it providence is on your side that will
influence the judges or bring a bad judgement down on them. When Jock came
on to play the judges were thunderstruck with the great clarity of the
music. "Jock's great win was in all the papers, Oban Times, the Squeak,
Stornoway Gazette and even the Daily Record. Jock put his full effort in
and it paid off. Just as well he did not play a long tune as his big drone
was choked! I told him to stop the smoking a month before, but we were
short of fags and he was rolling cigarettes with horse's dung and mint— you
could smell it all the way in to Inverness! We left Inverness with the
piping medal and made our way back to Furnace and on arriving home Jock
said: 'Get on the salt herring and potatoes.' "Well, I hadna time to steep
the herring to reduce the salt so we just boiled [hem as they were and in
halt an hour they were ready and we had a braw teed. If Rabbie Burns was
eating this doon in Ayr no wonder he was full of poetry. I put in a
terrible night as the herring were so salty everyone wanted to drink and I
was up and doon all night from the tent to the burn, tent to the bum till I
was really exhausted! That was the last day I boiled the herring without
steeping them.

52
"We are looking forward to the spring so that we can get a good feed of the
'spout fish'—that's the fellows like wee dogs wetting on your leg !" The
last saga in the travelling people took place this year in May 1985. One of
the worthies called at the kippering shed and said, "Hoo are ye,
Hamilton ?" I said, "Not too bad." "Ony chance o' a fry of kippers fur ma
tea ?" "Sorry, no herring can be fished till the 13th May," I replied. "How
is that ?" "Well it's the EEC, they make the rules for the Clyde." My
travelling friend looked puzzled. "EEC ? Who ur they and whit dae they
dae ?" I explained it was the European Council who were stationed at
Brussels. "Brussels yae tell me. My Goad, it would be fit them better to
eat the damned Brussel sprouts than interfere wi' oor herring. Ah don't
know whit the world is comin' tae." Needless to say he has called a number
of times since May and has had his usual fry of herring and told me he was
making wine for our New Year. I said, "What is it made from ?" "Oh just
potatoes, sultanas, yeast, sloes and they have been very late this year,
meaning the sloes, due to the bad wet weather—they call it acid rain, it
spoils the trees; the sloes are very plump full and acid." Here is big
John's recipe for home brew. Full-bodied and worthy laying down: if you
take two glasses, you will be lying down for a month. "We add a ½ bottle of
whisky, ½ bottle rum, ½ bottle vodka—its all ½ bottles you use, and we
drink the other half to see that it's alright. It must be good stuff with
all those ingredients in it. Yes, it you take it going to bed you will
never have worms, piles, colostomy or flu." Sounds like a new medical
breakthrough. He produced a bottle from his bag and I said, "It's some
colour." "It's the sloes knocking hell out of the blackcurrants that does
the trick. It's electric blue, more like an electric shock, Hamilton, you
canna buy that stuff." Another day, a well-known regular travelling woman
came in with a wee boy in a pram. I looked at him, and he had his forehead
all stitched up. "What's the matter with the boy ?" I asked. "He's that
nosey, he wants tae see a' that's going on. He leaned oot ower the pram and
tell oot and split his heid. The doctor up at the hospital sewed him up." I
looked at the line of black stitches on his head and asked her, "Did they
sew him up with bootlace ?" "Na, na, they sewed him up with catgut. He'll
always be lucky, that boy, for that's the guts o' a black cat and he'll
never want all his days as lang's he has the black cat gut marks on his
heid. "Forsyth, you've aye been good tae us," she said, "and I've got a
problem—a big problem and I wonder can you help me." "Well, wifie, if it's
something I can help you with I'll do what I can." "It's ma man. I've got
eight bairns already and he's coming home at the weekend and I'm no wanting
any more bairns. He's been at the neep thinning and they turnips send him
sex mad. He'saye the same efter the neeps. He never liked them." "I don't
really see that I can help you with that problem," I said, "Have you not
been to see the doctor about that ?" "Oh aye, I saw the doctor and he
wanted to gie me a thing ca'ed a coil but I didna fancy that in case ma man
got strangled in it like a rabbit in a snare, so he gave me a thing ca'ed a
Dutch cap but it's got a hole in it. If you have a bicycle puncture outfit
maybe I could stick a patch on it." Well, I had a puncture outfit and she
did stick a patch on it, and when it was done she looked at it and said,
"If I cover it with vaseline he'll never know." It must have worked all
right because she is still around the place from time to time and she never
had any more of a family ! When you are curing herring, kippering and also
preparing smoked salmon your products are truly universal. You are catering
for the palates of the prosperous with the salmon and the humble salt
herring was the main diet of many Highland families in the not so distant
past, when salting was about the only way of preserving perishable food. I
called it the humble herring, but it is not so humble nowadays and indeed
it is getting very difficult to pursue the curing trade, with quotas and
fishing restrictions that mean that the fish are not being caught at the
right times for the treatment needed to change them to kippers or for
salting. I could go on at some length about the disruption to the curing
industry that is caused by the stop/go fishing policies imposed by the
authorities, but I will spare you that. What I really wanted to indicate is
that because of my trade I have customers covering the whole social
structure of Argyll, and indeed Scotland. So it is that I may be talking
about dukes and lairds at one moment and travelling people the next,
because they are all people I know and have met. Mind you, it is only fair
to say that I probably know the travelling people a wee bit more intimately
than the lairds. After all, I have never been asked by any of the latter to
write letters on their behalf to their spouses in Barlinnie, and to read
them the replies !

53
Death of A Notable Fisherman "ON Wednesday 5th inst. William Bruce died at
his son-in-law's house. Some years ago [wrote a correspondent to a
newspaper some time before the turn of the century] we called attention to
'Willie' through your columns as a sturdy old warrior who still earned his
living. "William Bruce was born in the town of Newton-in-Ayr in the year
1801. He remembered perfectly and could describe with accuracy and
vividness the proceedings that took place in Ayr on the occasion of the
jubilee of George the Third in 1809. He also attended school in Ayr along
with the family of Sgt. Ewart who captured the French Eagle on the field of
Waterloo. Willie followed the calling of a seaman and fisherman and
numerous were the stories he was in the habit of relating when going in the
skiff with his father to sell herrings. He frequently waded across the
River Clyde below the Glasgow bridge. There was no idea then that any
person would ever see sailing on its waters such vessels as the Campania,
Lucania, and the Ramilles. "The writer recollects Willie telling how he and
some others started on a Sunday morning to walk barefoot from Glasgow to
Ayr, a distance of some 60 miles. It brought out his powers of endurance
which characterised his long life of 92 years. The luxurious mode of living
the present generation adopted was not known in the day of Willie;
frugality and economy were the virtues to which they were trained and made
the Scottish peasants the admiration of the world. Willie and his
companions started on their journey without scrip or money, and did that 60
miles, and all the food or refreshment they had on the journey was a little
meal mixed with water they got in a wayside house. "In the mid-1820s he,
along with his brother-in-law, William Hamilton and his relative James Law
arrived at Ardrishaig with their families on board the skiff Sportsman to
prosecute the herring fishing. His brother George arrived sometime
afterwards and they, and their descendants, who are numerous, form now part
of the small community in the village. "Willie was a great favourite in the
village. Who will ever forget who saw him dressed in his blue bonnet with
his snowy hair waving below, that manly countenance on which were strongly
marked honesty and stern integrity of purpose ? Many of the historical
events which took place in the early part of the century he discussed with
his valued friend, Provost Reid, who took the warmest interest in him. Mrs
MacDougall the hotel-keeper, (said to be in her 96th year) was a great
favourite of his and, until his eyesight tailed him, paid regular visits
and talked of the good old times. Till the frailty of declining years
overtook him, he was a prominent figure on the pier transferring the
Columba's baggage to the conveyances that carried it North. "Alas ! He is
gone and his remains were interred on Saturday the 8th in the churchyard of
Inverneill beside his wife who was a near relative of Alan Ramsay the poet.
His funeral was large, representing all classes of the community. The day
was fine. The burying ground is on an undulating slope skirting the road to
Ormsary and Lochead; the contour of the hills in the background is traced,
raising their heads to the sky. The vale below is beautiful. Spruce, pine,
and oak intermingle and wave their luxuriant branches the passing breeze
while the moaning of the waves is heard in dying echoes in the distance.
Such is a fitting place to rest when 'life's fretful fever is over'." The
Spanish Tramp ONCE, while looking through the family album of photographs,
I came across a picture of a policeman, obviously done in a studio. On
enquiring of my mother who he was, she told me his name was Hugh McLellan
and he had been a friend of my grandfather. She further informed me that he
had been the man who was stabbed by the Spaniard. This Spaniard, she told
me, had been a tramp who wandered the countryside, and when she was a girl
at school in Kilmartin the children sometimes met him when going to or
coming from school. He was, as she described him, "very droll" and the
children were afraid of him as he always carried a long hazel stick with a
cloth wrapped round the top. When this man, Lucerio Gonzalez by name,
passed them, he always muttered and grunted at them. The course of a
complaint made to the police in Lochgilphead by Sir Thomas Glen Coats of
Achnamara House about Gonzalaz frightening people, he requested that they
make an effort to rid the district of this repulsive character. Constable
McLellan was sent to find the man and tell him to leave the area. At
Barnluasgan near the junction he found Gonzalez and quietly asked him to
leave the area. He appeared to agree but then uncovered the top of the
hazel stick to which was attached half a sheep shear and attacked the
constable, stabbing him several times. A fierce struggle took place and the
policeman was seriously wounded and rendered semi-conscious.

54
Hearing the shouting, Neil McColl, son of the farmer at Barnluasgan, and
the postman Neil Blue, who happened to be there at the time, ran to the
scene and, seeing what was happening, McColl ran back to the farm for a gun
and fired a shot over their heads. Gonzalez thought that he was being fired
at and ran off into the woods. Word was sent to Lochgilphead and more
police and a doctor came to the scene. The wounded constable was taken to
the farm and then to hospital. As darkness had come down by then it was
decided that the other two constables, McRae and McKenzie, would remain
overnight at the farm and begin the search at daybreak. Gonzalez was
located in the morning and after a fierce struggle in which he attacked
both constables with the spear, he was eventually overpowered and arrested.
He was taken to Lochgilphead and then to Dunoon. Gonzalez was tried in
Dunoon and sentenced to be detained during His Majesty's pleasure as he was
certified insane. Constable McLellan had received about 20 stab wounds and
although several of them were very serious he eventually recovered and was
able to resume duty as a member of Argyllshire Constabulary until his
retirement. There is a sequel to this story. After regionalisation and the
amalgamation of the police forces there was a big clear-out of old records
and disposal of old guns and weapons surrendered to or confiscated by the
police. I was assisting the sergeant with this when, in a corner of the
strong-room, the hazel stick with the halt sheep shear was found with the
original production label still attached. They were going to destroy it
when the sergeant decided to send it to the Police Museum at Dumbarton. The
Chief Superintendent, Community Involvement Branch, came to see me and
asked me if I would write down the story to have it along with the exhibit.
After much research through old records I found Constable McLellan's old
personal record with the information about his injuries and absence from
duty. This I photocopied and sent to Dumbarton together with the photo from
our album which my mother gave to me. These items are there now for the
public to see. Some time after this, when doing more research through old
papers which were to be incinerated, I came across a typed copy of the
report of the assault and trial as reported in the Argyllshire Advertiser,
4th October 1905. This also was sent to complete the record. About four
years ago Bill Knox, of STV's Crime Desk programme, was in the museum and
saw the spear and the story behind it. He made a short five minute "filler
programme" which was shown on STV one afternoon. Quite a number of local
people here saw it but I'm afraid I didn't as nobody told me anything about
it. It's ironic that, but for me, there wouldn't have been any story to
make a programme about. (This story was told to me by a good friend, Alan
Begg.)

Old Bob MacGregor, a fisherman all his life

55
Lochgilphead boats, the Peril and the Renown Boats and Owners THE boats I
have listed here include some which were at the fishing with drift nets.
Some were buying and curing herring themselves and selling and trading
around the coast from 1840 to 1900, taking cargoes of coal up the West
Coast; about 50 tons they carried, and on the way back were taking slates
and any general cargo back to the Clyde. The canal must have been a God-
sent ditch for them to come back to the safe trading on Loch Fyne and Clyde
Coast. The quarries at Crarae and Furnace did a lot of trade in stone
setts, as they paved the streets of Glasgow with them. Flora - Neil
MacCallum, Neil MacEwan, Donald Crawford, Norman Sinclair, Dasher - Sloop -
John MacEwan, Donald MacDougall, Duncan MacEwan. Kitty - Duncan MacDougall,
Duncan Gillies, Duncan MacCallum. Hope - 20 tons - John Mitchell, Peter
Thomson, Malcolm Angus. Jessie - 22 tons - John Morrison, Duncan MacColl,
Archie Sinclair. Jessie 23T - 22 tons - Donald Dewar, Alex Crawford, Archie
Dewar. Flora - Malcolm Sinclair, Dougal Maclntyre. Marianna - 30 tons -
Hulett McCallum, Malcolm Fletcher, Donald MacCallum, Angus Fletcher,
Charles MacMillan, John MacFarlane. Mary and Catherine - 27 tons - John
Campbell, Malcolm Campbell, Donald MacTavish. Janet - 38 Reg. Tons - Alex
Harper, Peter Sinclair, Janet MacNab owner, James MacGilp, Donald MacVicar.
Smack - 42 Reg. Tons - Owner A. MacNab, Glasgow - Alex MacKellar. Mary
Sinclair - (1) Malcolm Sinclair. Duncan Campbell. (2) Smack 30 Reg. tons—
Dugald Maclntyre, John Sinclair; (3) 50 tons cargo - Hugh MacEwan, John
Sinclair, John Cummings, Mal Maclntyre, Mal MacColl. Catherine and Isabella
- 31 Reg. Tons - John Kerr, D. MacVicar, Duncan Kerr. Mary - 38 Reg. Tons -
John Leitch. Archie Nicol, Hugh McCallum. Mary Scott - 27 Reg. Tons - John
Mitchell, Peter Mitchell, John Mitchell. Margaret Dewar - 38 Reg. Tons -
John Dewar, Archie Dewar, Archie MacTavish. Owner—A. Dewar, Silvercraigs,
Lochgilphead. Elizabeth - Schooner, 50 Reg. Tons - Duncan Blue. Jennie S.
Jean - Smack. 42 Reg. Tons - Duncan Leitch, Colin Leitch, Donald MacGilp.
Bought by Duncan Blue, Gem - Schooner/Ketch 50 Reg. Tons - Duncan Sinclair,
Lachlan MacGregor, Duncan Muir, John Fletcher, Colin MacLaughlan. Pultewey
- Schooner, 50 Reg. Tons - James Carmichael, Archie McEwan, lames Millar.
Alma - Schooner, 45 Reg. Tons - Archie Campbell. Mary - Sloop, 34 Reg. Tons
- John Dewar, Donald Crawford, Donald Dewar. Grace - Smack, 34 Reg. Tons -
Donald Sinclair, James MacDougall, Donald McLean, Donald Muir. Ann S. Jean
- Sloop, 25 Reg. Tons - Neil Campbell, Hugh MacKinnon, Neil Campbell, John
Duncan, Hugh McCallum. Margaret - Smack, 37 Reg. Tons - James MacGilp,
Ardrishaig, John Crawford, John Leitch, Archie McLellan, John Fletcher,
Hugh McLellan.

56
The Sisters - Lighter. 42 Reg. Tons - James MacGilp, Lochgilphead. John
MacKellar, John Leitch. Bought by Alex Leitch, John MacGregor, John Wilkie.
Janet - 34 Reg. Tons - Peter MacCallum, John MacCallum, John Fletcher,
Archie MacEwan, Neil MacPherson, Peter Clark, Neil Campbell. Bought by Hugh
Gillies. Ann MacCormick - Schooner, 50 Reg. Tons - Robert Morrison, John
Morrison, Donald MacCorkindale. Owner Angus MacTavish, Ardrishaig. Ann
MacTavish - Schooner, 76 Reg. Tons - Angus MacTavish of Ardrishaig. Fishing
Boats and Their Owners Sarah and Mary - Owned by Lachlan Campbell. Crew -
Sons Dugald Campbell, Peter and Lachlan Campbell and Archie Torne. Brothers
- Owned by Dan Hamilton, Peter Hamilton and Stuart Hamilton (Hotty), Dan
Hamilton (nephew). Archie McAllister (Buck), Stewart McAllister (Toodie).
Brittania - Angus Law (Petty). Dugald Law, Neil McEwan (Moiler), Dugald
Bruce (Poof). Elizabeth - Owned by Alex Duff, John Duff, Hugh Duff
(brothers), Archie McAllister (Fluck). Lillie - Owned by Duncan MacCallum,
Will MacCallum, Neil McKinnon, G. Bruce (Ackkan) Mary Jane - Owned by Peter
Dewar. John Dewar, Stewart Dewar, Neil Dewar. Terror - Owned by Neil
Galbraith, Sandy Galbraith, Duncan Galbraith, Archie Galbraith and Allan
(brothers). Welcome Home - Colin Mitchell, Duncan Mitchell and Sandy
Mitchell (brothers) (Cailien). Annie - Alex Mitchell and sons (above).
Annabella - Colin Mitchell, Duncan Mitchell and Peter Mitchell, sons. May -
William Campbell. Charlie Campbell, Peter Campbell (Para Mosh), Archie
McVicar. Jasper - Jock Elliot, Tom Elliot (son) John Dawson, Dan McGregor
(Duke). Annie - Owner Jock McTavish, Peter McTavish, Rob McTavish, sons
Robert Gilchrist, D. McVicar-Livingstone, sonin-law. Friendship and Eliza -
Family-owned. Archie McVicar, John and Neil McVicar (brothers), Neilly
McVicar, Duncan (Dochan) and John McVicar, sons. Morning Star - Archie
McMillan, Archie McLachlan, Dan (wee Dan), Sandy McLachlan (Rigger). Sarah
and Jane - Coll Dawson, Ruary McLellan, Rob Morrison. Olive - Colin
Ferguson, Angus Ferguson, Duncan Ferguson, John Ferguson, (The Hole,
Inverneill). Gleniffer - George Jackson, James Jackson (son). Mary and
Flora - Duncan Campbell, James Campbell, Jock Campbell, Duncan Campbell.
Jessie - Alan Campbell (Swankie), Robert McGregor (Marquis). Kitty - Owner
William Heath, George Wyllie, John Campbell (Yankee John). Cardross Castle
- Owner George Bruce, John Bruce, Robert Bruce, Willie Bruce, (all
brothers), Robert Bruce (nephew). Later Gilchrist. Condor - George
McGregor, Rob McGregor (brothers). Alex and James McGregor (sons).

Mackellar's Peril, in the canal

57
Peril - Sandy McKellar, Duncan MacKellar. Renown - The MacLarty brothers.
Dragon - Walter McEwan, Archie MacFarlane. Clan MacTavish - Archie
MacTavish (Shaver), Rab MacTavish. Bonnie Jean - Robert Bruce, Red Bob,
John Bruce the Doss. Meta AG 200 - Stewart Hamilton (Hotty), Peter Hamilton
(Chew), John Hamilton, Stewart MacAllister (Toody). Scotia - Robert Law,
Walter Law. Clan McGreron Brittania - Angus Law, Neil Bruce, Dugald Bruce,
Robert Law. Marshlia - Dan McLauchlan, Wee Dan Booty, Archie McLauchlan,
(Rigger). The Nellie - Alan Campbell (Swanky), Ian Campbell (the Baisht).

Crew of the Marie, at Ardrishaig

Fishermen at Ardrishaig, about 1900 Local People A FRIEND of mine had been
up to the loch-side and had a few drams with an old pal. As they came down
the loch they were followed by the police patrol who stopped them and
suggested they call in at the police station, which they duly did. The
police accused them of being drunk and as this was before the breathalyser,
it was somewhat difficult to prove without a blood test. The day they stood
in the court their lawyer asked the police how they knew they were drunk.
The police said they saw them coming out the Lochside Hotel with their arms
around one another's necks. The lawyer said, "Next you will be telling us
they were kissing one another ! What other tests did you give them ?"
Police: "We tried to make them walk a

58
straight line." Lawyer: "Did you examine their feet ?" Police: "No." "These
men have bunions and calluses and could not walk a straight line anyway.
What other test ?" "We made them write their names." "Your Honour, the
police version is phantasmagorical." "Well, I see the two names very
clearly your Honour." "What is the last name ?" "Oh that is the doctor's
signature your Honour." "Have a look at the doctor's signature - I suggest
he was drunk." Both got off.

Hendry MacGuinness playing Sir Ian Malcolm and his wife to the field at
Kilmartin Coronation 1937 at Kilmartin ALTHOUGH it was a holiday, the
schoolchildren all gathered at Kilmartin School where we were briefed on
the day's proceedings. We were all given a Union Jack and we then all
marched to the field at the rear of the hall. Flags and bunting were
everywhere. Trestle tables, scats and a platform for Highland dancing were
all set up and part of the field set aside for a full programme of sports,
races and so forth for both adults and children. As far as I can recall the
Coronation service was relayed to the crowd by loudspeakers erected in the
field. The principal attraction of the day were the tour huge Coronation
cakes. They were the most magnificent cakes I ever saw and I have never
ever seen anything like them since. They were baked and iced and decorated
by McVitie's of Edinburgh and delivered to the hall in four large wooden
boxes. One was done with red roses, one with white and one with blue and
the centre of each cake was inscribed "Coronation, May 1937." I recall
seeing one being cut and all present on the field got a piece of it with
their tea. What these huge cakes weighed is anyone's guess, but I have
never ever again seen their like. At the conclusion of the celebrations,
each child received a souvenir Coronation mug which we still have. The day
ended with a dance in the hall for the adults and a great firework display
when darkness came.

The big cakes on display at Kilmartin

59
In conclusion I might add that the whole day's events, gifts, cakes, tea
dance and fireworks also the great cakes were all given by the late Sir Ian
Malcolm, grandfather of Robin Malcolm. The following year, 1938, was his
70th birthday and he again gave a fine treat to everybody, and a gift to
everyone. He was really quite a kind old soul. The Ardrishaig Seal 1925 A
LITTLE seal for the past month had been haunting the pier of Ardrishaig and
making friends with the people. The following story based on the incident
was written and read to the children of the Parish Church by the minister,
Rev. J. P. Glen. RON THE SEAL "It is so long since we have had a holiday,"
said Father Seal to Mother Seal, as they lay basking in the sun on a rocky
islet in the Western Ocean. "What say you to a change this summer ?" "Yes,"
said Mother Seal, "and what say you to a visit to our old haunts in Loch
Fyne ? I should like to see them once again—the Bay of lnverneill where the
shingle sparkles in the sun, and the quiet resting place on the sands of
Kilfinan, and the haunts of the fish round Eilean Mor where we spent so
many happy hunting days so long ago. I should like to show them all to Ron,
our son." "Ron," called Father Seal to his son, who was swimming in the
Fairy Pool among the rocks loved of all young seals, "Come here. We are
going a long, long way to a loch you have never seen, dear to your mother
and me." And Ron was in great glee, for he longed to swim in the ocean and
visit the hunting ground of the seals far away. So splash off the rocks
they dived. They were not humans, so they had no suitcase to pack, no
provisions to order, no ticket to take for their journey. Down came the
rain in torrents, but not being humans they loved it—ideal seal weather. So
splash through the ocean they swam until they came to Inverneill, where the
shingle sparkles, to the resting place on the sands of Kilfinan, and to the
happy hunting ground round Eilean Mor; and Ron was happy as the day was
long. But often, wistfully, he looked across from Eilean Mor in the quiet
of the night and watched the green light and the white light—blink, blink,
blink in the darkness—and wondered what they were. And in the daytime his
eyes opened wide at a great vessel, tar larger then any seal, moving
through the water. They watched it far away but when it came near they
dived to the depth, for they feared the humans. "Father," said Ron. as they
were swimming together one day in the sea. "What are these strange things
clustered on the shore ?" "These are the homes of the humans, and they call
them Ardrishaig, the Hill of the Briar." "May I go over to the Hill of the
Briar ?" asked Ron. "No, no, you may not ! You would never come back. The
humans kill the seals." "That is not true," screamed a voice that made them
nearly jump out of the water. It was Faolin. the seagull, wheeling round
and round them. "Every day" said Faolin "I go a-fishing with one of the
humans. Robinangh. I sit on his boat and I light on his shoulder and he
gives me of the fish he catches. There is no kindlier spirit on all the
waters than Robinangh. He loves the seals and the seagulls, and so do all
the humans I know.'' "Oh, let me go," pleaded Ron the seal, "with Faolin
the seagull, to the Hill of the Briar." And at last, in much tear, they let
him. So splash through the water went Ron the seal, and wheeling round and
round him, Faolin the seagull, both in great glee. But when they drew near
to the hill of the Briar, the home of the humans, Ron all at once stopped,
and the wash of the waves gently flowed over him. "Why have you stopped ?"
asked Faolin the seagull, lighting down on the water beside him. "I fear
the humans, I think I'll go home," answered Ron the seal. Just at this
moment a boat floated past them and on it the letters "T. T." were written.
"Away out on the ocean, I've seen these boats and these letters on them,"
said Ron the seal. "But what mean the letters I know not. Do you ?" "I've
often wondered," said Faolin the seagull, "but I think they stand for
'tender and true.' Tender and true are the men who sail them. So I've
always found them.

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"Let us draw near, don't be afraid." said Faolin the seagull. Just then
something thrown from the boat flashed in the air—a fish, and another, and
still another. And nearer and nearer came Ron to the boat and took from the
kindly hand of the fisherman. "Faolin was right," said Ron. "The men are
tender and true. "And when he went back to his home in the gloaming, there
was a joy in the haunts of the seals round Eilean Mor. And so the days
passed; and with every new morn came Ron to the Hill of the Briar, the home
of the humans. And very day came the children to greet him and called him
by name—their own little Ron, little Ron the seal who trusted and loved
them. And from him they learned to be tender and true. But one morning
neither children nor fishermen came, and Ron wondered. And that morning the
sound of bells came floating far over the waters. "Faolin," said Ron, "all
is so quiet. The day is one of rest and peace. What meant these pleasant
sounds ? Why come not my little friends and the fishermen to greet me ?"
"They will come on the morrow," said Faolin the seagull. "This is the day
when the humans worship the Father, Creator of all things." And sweet music
fell on their ear. In the church the children were singing "All things
bright and beautiful; All creatures great and small, All things wise and
wonderful; The Lord God made them all". And as they sang their hearts
became more kindly and tender and true, for they were thinking of Ron the
seal, their little friend who trusted and loved them and of Faolin the
seagull too.

The Great Swordfish IN August 1972 a great fish washed ashore on the beach
at Loch Killiesport, South Knapdale, Argyll, was a mighty swordfish. It was
found by some young people on holiday from Bradford. They did not know what
a valuable find they had come across, as this was only the third of these
mighty fish to be recorded in this country this century. One was got on the
beach in Ayrshire and another came ashore below Dunderrave Castle above
Inveraray in Argyll in 1904. The swordfish was in a decomposed state and it
these young people did not take the action they did this great fish would
have been lost. They brought the head complete with the sword attached and
we cured it with a strong salt mixture. After three days it started to take
the salt. so in this way we were able to arrest the decay; we were glad
that we had been able to save it. The position is, any fish of a strange
nature like the swordfish is supposed to be reported to the Fishery Officer
at Campbeltown, Argyll. Well that's fine if he is available. He may be on
holiday; or in this case the swordfish was 140 miles away from the fishery
office. Nobody from that department made any enquiries about this great
fish. Well the day arrived for the young people to depart for Bradford.
They tied the large head and sword on the front of the Volkswagen van and
it seemed secure for the journey. I'm glad to report it arrived safe after
the motorway journey and was taken to Bradford Museum where it has a good
position for people to see it. The young girl for whom we cured it got
first prize for the summer school project.

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The swordfish on leaving his warm waters chasing shoals of mackerel never
thought he would land on a museum wall. The swordfish is called the "bully
of the seas." It will attack anything, boat or fish; it has put the sword
through 10 inches of wood, cut into whales, seals and any other moving
thing. Some 12 years have passed since we were involved in this curing
project, four weeks ago a young woman arrived at the kipper shed and told
me she was the girl we cured the big fish for. I said, "You tied it on the
front of an old Volkswagen van." She replied: "It's still going strong and
we'll always remember that journey home !" From the Islands IN one small
Island shop a man called in to get some cigarettes. The old lady said, "We
don't sell them." The man said, "That's funny, you used to sell them." "Oh
yes," said the old shopkeeper. "We stopped it a while ago. It was too much
bother as we kept running out of them." * * *

On one West Coast Island, when the Priest was taking confession one morning
Mary came in. Father said: "And what are you in to confess, Mary ?" "Oh
Father, I slept with Donald John last Thursday night." "Well, Mary, you
will have to pay £,10 towards the repairs to the roof of the chapel."

A little while later another lady called. Father said: "And what are you
here to confess, Jenny ?" "Oh Father, I slept last Friday night with Donald
John." "Well, well, Jenny, that will cost you £20 for the repairs to the
Chapel roof." Not long after, another lady called to confess. She was a
local worthy called June in Bloom; she also had been sleeping with Donald
John so the father told her to pay £20 to the chapel roof. Another tap at
the door well. "Well, surely not another !" He shouted, "Come in," when who
appeared but Donald John himself. "Well, Donald, are you here to confess ?"
"Oh no Father, I am here to collect the commission." * * *

Three young bulls were heard talking one day. One said he would like to go
to Spain and deal with the Spaniards with his horns. The second young bull
said he would like to go to South America and enjoy himself among the large
herds on the open. The third young bull said he would like to stay here in
Argyll, in and he would like to live here for Sir William Lithgow's herd at
Ormsary, heifer and heifer and heifer. He was sure Archie MacArthur would
look after him in his old age when he was not fit for his work ! * * *

One member of an old Mid-Argyll family was in Iran in the oil business. At
a meeting one day he was sitting next to an elderly gentleman who turned
out to be an old German submariner. He had been in the U-boats during the
First World War and had been around the Scottish Coast. He asked my friend
where he came from and when he received the reply "Argyll, "he then asked
him if he knew a place called Island Reigh, a large island in Loch
Craignish. The German told him that he and another German officer had
landed on the island and killed three sheep but they had a difficult job
getting the sheep back up over to the submarine and down the conning tower.
My friend told him that the island they had taken the sheep from was farmed
by his uncle from 1914 to 1925. So he then added, "You owe me £30 for these
sheep !" The old German was surprised to hear this and said that it had
been the best mutton he had ever tasted. They had tied the tripe bags
around the conning tower to give them a good wash. However, when standing
watch at night they could still smell the stench of a farm yard. On
returning to the shipyard in Hamburg, they told their mates the story and
were known as "the farmers" after that. The strangers you meet today will
be your friends of tomorrow. Ardrishaig to New York QUITE a number of the
lairds and landed gentry of the neighbourhood, and much further afield, I
am proud to say, have made it their habit to bring their salmon to me for
smoking. My recipe involves the use of liberal quantities of

62
rum. On one occasion when I had been left three salmon for smoking,
everything had gone exceptionally well until the gentleman came to collect
his fish. It was only then that I discovered that my black cat had taken a
liking to rum and in satisfying its desire for the drink it had made
inroads into one side of one of the fish. We both looked at the damaged
side and he ran his finger over it. "What is the meaning of this, Forsyth?"
"It's that black cat, and I would say it means it canna read the labels and
doesn't know the difference between Lithgow and Hamilton." We are still
friends, but maybe that is only because the black cat is away to the happy
hunting grounds. On another occasion I had cured and smoked a large salmon
for the laird at Carradale and let him know it was ready for collection. A
while later a car drew up at the gate and a man came in and told me he was
to take half of the salmon, so I duly gave him a side, and off he went.
Half an hour later another fellow cam in and said he was to collect the
other halt, so I gave him the second side and he too went away. Two hours
later another fellow came in, who told me his cousin had left half a salmon
with me for him to collect. I asked him if he knew how many sides there are
on a salmon and when he said two I told him about the previous two men.
Naturally enough he was astounded at the story. It turned out that the
owner of the salmon had told the first man to collect the side of salmon
while they were on the pier at Carradale, and the second man must have
overheard the arrangments and had just followed up to the kippering shed.
Anyway the owner took its loss well, just shaking his head. "You can't win
them all, Forsyth." The fourth man to call the same day was an Irishman who
asked it I would like to buy a sideboard. "What is it like?" I asked. "Ah,
sure, it's in beautiful condition, and it's in three halves." "I don't
think I want your sideboard, but I only wish you had been here a day or two
ago to cut up a salmon for me !" One salmon that I received in a batch of
twelve for smoking from Mr Hopperton had a tag on it saying it had been
released in the River Foyle in Northern Ireland. I wrote to the Foyle River
salmon fishing station and they told me that three fish had been returned,
one from Loch Fyne, one from Cork and the third from Stavanger in Norway.
Some spread from twelve fish released on the same day ! In July 1983 we
caught two fish that had been released in the River Esk and one from the
River Tummel, both of which are on the East Coast of Scotland. The tags
were sent to the Pitlochry Salmon Station where their numbers were verified
and the £2.00 rewards were received, but I had great difficulty in
convincing the Tay salmon board that the fish had been caught here on the
West coast. Maybe they got the taste of oil to the east of Shetland when
they were on their way back from Greenland and decided to come down the
west coast where the water is still fresh and clean. Another time, a man
came into the kippering shed to tell me there was a seal eating a salmon in
my net. By the time I got out to it there was only about two pounds of fish
left on the tail and the rest had been ripped off. Taking what was left up
to the shed I had no sooner arrived than I was called to the telephone. I
was away about 10 minutes and came back in time to see two cats finishing
the last of the salmon, so that was one day when I was frustrated on sea
and on land. Coming down from the bowling green one night after nine
o'clock to find the local pub shut, but a little drop of liquid coming down
the side of the door, old Donald put his finger to it on the pavement.
Archie said to him, "Is that White Horse ?" "No," he said, "blooming Fox
Terrier !" These same men were in the Cosmo Club at the swing bridge south
side Ardrishaig when we put in two home-made stink bombs made from old
herring guts. In two minutes they were all outside putting the blame on one
another. Celtic and Rangers would be played all week till the following
Saturday. Them were the days. Donald stayed with an old lady who looked
after him very well. At Glasgow Fair he asked her if he could bring a
friend up for his tea. She said alright. He and the friend had been in the
pub till late. On arrival at the digs the landlady produced two large
plates with a cod head on each, filled with meal and onions. The wee
Glasgow lad said, "Good God, what is that one ?" Donald said, "That's a cod
head." The wee Glasgow fellow said, "It looks more like its erse !" New
York is so commercialised it will be a marvellous place to have money in,
but a real dreadful place to be broke in. To be over in New York for l½
days, I only had time to see the toilets at the coastguard station and they
looked like Carlisle Station with all the troops going through during the
war !

63
Forsyth Hamilton during the war years I was stationed at Carlisle in 1941
up at Crosby on Eden. I used to hear the lads say they stayed at the
Station Hotel if they missed the last bus. So I missed the last bus myself,
stayed at the Station Hotel—slept on the floor under a table, one slice of
toast and beans, cup of char cost me ninepence; glad to get back to camp on
the 7 o'clock bus. Last time I'll stay at the Station Hotel. Having
travelled back on the QE2 in the best Atlantic crossing for 16 years, it
really was a most memorable occasion. Having met people who had been on the
trip 40 times and people who had only been on it once, I would recommend it
to anybody for the best holiday of a lifetime. Cunard have not paid me any
cash for saying this but it is the truth. Why don't you try it sometime ?
Don't leave all your money to relations who will rattle through it in a
month or spend it on a good stone with beautiful gold letters that nobody
is going to read. I can tell you, I met eight men on the QE2 and they were
all undertakers enjoying themselves ! An old Irish lady's husband died and
she went to the local draper to buy a shroud. She asked him the price and
he said 19/6. "Well, well, I am sure if I was in Belfast I would be able to
buy one for 12/6." "Yes, I am sure you would, but it would be such poor
quality material that your good departed husband would have his knees
through it in a week !" One old man in the village called for a pint of
best beer each day, cost sixpence. One day he called, said the usual and
the barman gave him his pint. He handed over the sixpence in coppers. By
this time, he had consumed half the beer. The barman counted the money and
said, "You are a penny short." The old man finished the beer, then he said:
"If you count the money, barman, it's you who's short !" The QE2 is the
most marvellous ship and the crew from the captain to the cabin boys and
girls are absolutely marvellous. Mr Wilson, the chief security officer, had
been in our part of the country for years and we met up with him, from the
folk who run the tearoom in Tarbert, Argyll. He made our trip most
memorable. On arrival in New York I asked two New York police if the water
was good to drink. They said, "Jock, it comes from the Caspian Mountains
but it is not as good as the Scotch from Islay in your country." They had
both been over there during the war and had also sampled the free canteen
in Tarbert, Loch Fyne. Waldorf Astoria in Lexington Avenue is the main
hotel in New York for the QE2 passengers. It is something to see Mackays
which looks like Lewis's or Frasers in Buchanan Street. Everybody is in a
hurry but where they are going I do not know; the only time they are still
is when they are sitting eating pancakes and maple syrup. I saw one man's
wallet being snatched on the underground. The trains are all covered in
graffiti and they shake you like you had a fit of Saint Vitus' Dance. When
you get off at your destination they sell small lapel badges to say, "I
have travelled on the NY underground and I am a survivor."

64
I had lunch on the 55th floor of the Trade Fair Building with my wife,
cousin and her husband. who has a million social security people under him.
He used to be an FBI agent before he got this job. How do you keep tabs on
all that gang, I don't know. I also visited Wall Street and saw all The
World's business being conducted at a rate of knots. I was very impressed
with The Statue of Liberty which was such a marvellous sight as we sailed
under that huge budge on our way into the city. We arrived after 5½ days of
luxury travel and it was hard to believe we had been sitting in the Cunard
main office at Southampton days earlier. There were 1,800 passengers
waiting to go aboard this great ship and another 1,000 wanting to see us
off. The lady sitting next to me said, "Where are you from ?" When I told
her Ardrishaig. she couldn't believe it, as she was from Arrochar. Well, we
sailed with Mrs White and her husband. This just goes to show that there is
no place to hide, you will he found no matter where you go—and what people
don't know about you, they will invent. During that memorable trip on the
QE2, I frequently wore my kilt. As you can imagine I was followed by eager
USA residents with their Minolta and Canon cameras. One Yank told me that
they had a singer in the USA who had the most wonderful voice. When she
sang there wasn't a dry eye in the hall. It was something to behold. I told
him we had a singer in Scotland, and when he sang it was the most
marvellous voice you ever heard. It sounded like running water and the
result was not a dry .seat in the hall ! EPILOGUE THE voyage has been
longer than I thought it would be. Eighteen months have passed since I
started off my early memories of a makeshift boat held together with tar
and twine on the waters of Loch Fyne and here I am finishing off on an
Atlantic cruise on what has to be one of the finest ships of all time, the
QE2. It you have stayed with me you have met some of The Kings of The Road,
The Queens of The Seas and a whole host of ordinary people going about
their business in their individual ways. I hope you have enjoyed meeting
them, as I have enjoyed knowing them, each and every one. Glassary Parish
1828 THE Rev. Dougald Campbell, the Minister in Parish of Glassary, in his
studies of the Parish after he had been inducted on 9th September 1828
states : "In 1828 a Government Church was erected in a corner of Parish
where the village of Lochgilphead had arisen. In 1841 a church was built by
the Committee of General Assembly for Church Extension aided by the Duke of
Argyll and Sir Archibald Campbell Bart at Cumlodden. "The trade in
Lochgilphead depends on the surrounding district and it has great
facilities alike for its imports and exports by steamboats which arrive
daily and depart from Ardrishaig. They convey sheep, cattle and all manner
of goods at small expense of time and labour and money. There are daily
posts to Inveraray, Glasgow, Campbeltown and three days a week to Kilmartin
The number of people in the Parish of Glassary is over 5,000." Here one
must point out that Ardrishaig was not in the Parish of Glassary.
Lochgilphead at that time had 90 houses— 32 of them were pubs. Wages at
this time was two and sixpence to three shillings a week. Mr Brothwick was
the man in charge of the Excise and Customs and his figures show 19,000
gallons per quarter from the Distillery. These figures were given to him by
the Fishery Officer at Ardrishaig, a Mr Sutherland, and Neil Malcolm of
Poltalloch along with Sir John Orde, Bt., of Kilmory. Alexander Campbell
Esq of Achendarroch did everything in his power to bring education to
Lochgilphead. He gave a free house and schoolhouse to the teacher.
Lochgilphead has now advanced to a beautiful new High School and the pupils
now do not need to go to Dunoon or Oban. Local People MRS Crawford and
Belle Campbell were two local people who in their time held the public eye.
Mrs Crawford was the conductor of the Lochgilphead Gaelic Choir and won
many awards. Belle Campbell was a good singer and was in great demand at
all functions. James Chalmers' was born in Ardnshaig in 1841 and killed by
natives in New Guinea in 1901. Dr Archie Campbell, born in Ardnshaig,
featured in the BBC Brains Trust.

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Pipe Major Neil Crawford with his band Pipe Major Neil Crawford and Pipe
Major MacCallum taught the boys to play the pipes. That is the reason we
have a Pipe Band in Mid-Argyll today. We must also mention Pipe Major
Hendry MacGuinness who over the last number of years kept the boys together
and was a marvellous piper himself, winning many major awards all over the
country. Among today's young band members are the Campbell twins, Craig and
Ian, of Badden Farm. They have been given a wealth of knowledge by their
predecessors and are putting it to good use. We wish them, and all the
young boys in the Mid-Argyll Band, every success, and success will come
because of their dedication. A special mention must be made here of Mr
Greenshield and his family for teaching singing and dancing and also for
creating the Junior Mod in Lochgilphead. This would have been a poor place
without these people. Meg Dewar was a well-known face in the district as
she sold fish from her two-handed barrow between Ardrishaig and
Lochgilphead. Another Meg whom we will never forget is Meg Frew, who kept
the Seaside boarding house up beside the tennis courts. She was a household
name in these parts. During the war the navy had 36 sailors billeted with
her. Ardrishaig was known as HMS Seahawk, the navy had all the Asdic
training establishments down on the Channel Coast and as they were being
badly hit up by the Jerries, they decided to come to Ardrishaig. If anybody
showed a peep of a light, one officer was going to have Harry Campbell and
Duncan Hamilton in irons. Takes a while for men like these to cool down or
to go the West Coast or Ardrishaig way. They have all gone now and the
village has returned to normal.

Miss Barbara Law, seated at left, in 1930 Miss Barbara Law was the lady who
ran dances, sales and organised teas, raffles etc to get the Jock's boxes
sent to the troops in the 1914-1918 war. She also ran the football clubs
and got the black and gold strips for the Ardrishaig team. Bill Manson was
team manager.

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For a small village, Ardrishaig lost a lot of men. Barbara Law collected
money for a number of years to get a war memorial built. This will stand in
her memory as well as the lads who died. This lady was one of the village's
benefactors, never was she seeking any glory or benefit for herself.
Doctors who have practised in Lochgilphead - Dr MacArthur - Dr James Hunter
- Dr G. Lean - Dr MacIntyre - Dr William Dougan - Dr McCall-Smith - Dr
Dugald Campbell - Dr John MacNaughton - Dr J. A. Matheson Dr John Hunter -
Dr Carmichael - Dr A. I. MacCallum - Dr John MacKellar - Dr J. C.
MacDiarmid - Dr S. D. MacKenzie - Dr John Wnght - Dr J. D. McCullum - Dr J.
C. S. Jeffrey - Dr Hugh Jackson - Dr J. A. Andrews

Ardrishaig's main street in 1912

Forsyth Hamilton's grand-mother's shop Ardrishaig Shops of The Past OLD Mr

Fletcher was the ironmonger and next to his shop was Agnes MacGregor's
ladies' dress shop. Mrs Mitchell's sweet shop is now the cafe. Then there
was the Lorne Hotel, Nessie MacCracken's shoe shop and the old Broom Hotel.
The old shoemaker's shop belonged to Mr MacCracken senior. Strang's drapers
was taken over by Alex MacEwan and ran for many years. His good lady is
still with us. Mary MacVicar's is the fish shop, which she and her brother
John ran for 30years. John's wife May is an expert baker and jam and
marmalade maker.

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Belle MacVicar had a grocery shop and wool store. What can anybody say
other than she was a lovely lady. Bob MacInnes, the painter, served his
time with Aulds the painters. He papered my living room and large bedroom
as a wedding gift. People don't do these things today. At the Argyll Hotel.
Mrs Gillies was host for 50 years, followed by the Kinghorns. Next to that,
was Duncan Livingstone's garage, Lawson's lemonade works and the bakehouse
next door was Hugh MacDonald's. The wee chip shop in front of Hermione
Terrace was where Mrs Boni served for many years, then up to Tom Hamilton's
wife's wee shop. She sold fizzy lemonade drinks for a penny. The shop at
the end was the British Legion Whist Club. Jim and Katie Johnson sold lamps
and electric fittings. Going back down the street we had Bayview Black, the
butcher, followed by Mr Lament, Archie Cunningham; Jake Arman, bakers shop
and grocer supplies. Sandy Crawford, the tailor followed by Miss
Livingston's hair and beauty salon. Next was the garage and church hall.
Bob Gillies the tailor, Johnnie Barr, Robert Hamilton, hairdresser, Donnie
Robertson, the ironmonger, then the post office Phillip Hugh's house, below
the telephone exchange (Neil Hamilton's house for 30 years). Morrison had a
shop and store at the back for 60 years; he had two vans on the road and
his nephews helped him in the shop. Donald Makey was one driver and big
Kenny MacPherson was the other. Jessie Munro's shop was MacKay's store
before. A lady who had some money to pay him had her cow and calf removed
and he had them down at the back of the shop till she paid the bill.
There's no flies on the MacKay's ! MacGilp, the bakers, next. The Union
Bank, run by Mr Roy, then by Mr Bulloch. Maggie Thompson's shop was
followed by Donnie Sinclair, then Donnie MacMillan. Phebie Carmichael had
the wool shop, which was taken over by Mary MacArthur ("Mary-All-Things")
who sold everything from book-lending to knicker elastic. Mrs MacFarlane's,
Bennie Duff, the fruit shop, then Jim MacLachlan, Angus MacVicar, the
butcher, followed by Andy Campbell's grocer's shop. He had one of the most
beautiful displays of fruit and sweets you could ever hope to see. Next was
Jimmy Mitchell, the plumber, Ian Mitchell's father. The chemist shop run by
Mr Stevenson, the druggist, was taken over by Mr Tommy Menzies and his good
wife. They are both still with us. Mrs Menzies was the lady who ran the
Ardrishaig Drama Club and took most of the cups in the Argyll competitions.
The garage next to their shop was where Josie McCracken sold his Sunday
papers. The Anchor Hotel was run by Duncan Livingstone whose wife and son
stay next door to me here at Attichuan Croft. Bannatyne the draper, then J.
Carmichael's stores, followed by the Co-operative. Paterson, the chemist,
then Willie MacCracken. nephew of old Willie at the shoe shop. Then A.
Ferguson, the butcher, the Co-op butcher, Angus MacGregor's cycle shop,
Cathie Mitchell had a shop opposite, where she sold kippers. The last shop
was Barbara Law's fruits and sweets. On the south side we had Loll Jackson
in the Fisher Row. The old shop was owned by the MacTavishes. Mary
Campbell's, or "Wee Mary's" as she was known, was the shop where Andy
Campbell started his grocer business before he went up the street. After
him. we had Miss MacGeachy and Miss MacFarlane. Morrison's shop was
followed by Davy and Mary Sinclair. Next we had Dan Hamilton's shop and the
sweet shop next door was run by Jessie MacVicar and her son Archie. Dan's
shop used to be Dan MacLachlan the butcher's before the first world war and
at one time the house or landing was called the "Carriers' Inn". That is
the reason the stable up the big lane went with the house. The horses came
with the mail from Clachan to Ardrishaig and changed and then went on to
Inveraray. The Gem THE Gem was a top sail schooner sailing from Ardrishaig
in the west coast trade for 40 years and during this time was altered to a
ketch rig. Built of iron, the register tonnage was 511 net and carrying 100
tons cargo (slate, coal, wood etc). She sailed from April to the end of
December, after which she was laid tip for the winter at Miller's Bridge,
Oakfield.

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MacDonald, the bakers in Lochgilphead, supplied the Gem with a large order
of hard-baked sea biscuits, referred to as "crumpers. They were the best
baked biscuits in the trade and the main item in the dry stores of the
local sailing boats. When navigating through the Crinan Canal, the Gem was
towed by horses hauling on the front bank and Hugh MacTavish was probably
the last of the local contractors in this trade. Sailing in all kinds of
weather this fine boat came through many a stormy passage running through
The Minch for Crinan and Ardrishaig. The master of the Gem was Duncan
Sinclair and although most of the crew came from The Western Isles, there
were quite a few local mariners who sailed on her, including the following
- Hugh MacEwan, Archie MacEwan, Archie MacTavish, Malcolm MacArthur, Archie
Murray, Neil MacEwan, Lachlan MacTavish, Peter MacFarlane, Duncan
MacLellan, John Shaw, Andrew Grinlaw and Donald Leitch. The aforementioned
Duncan Sinclair started as a boy crewing on his father's (Malcolm
Sinclair's) smack, Mary Sinclair, in the Loch Fyne herring and coastal
trade. Her registered tonnage was 29 tons net and carrying 50 tons of
cargo, mainly coal. The crews were all Lochgilphead men and they sailed as
far as Skye in the coastal trade all year round. What a fine boat she
looked in 1920, tied up in the canal at Ardrishaig, with all the boys up in
the rigging wires, before she was sold and went to Ireland in 1931. These
details were given to me by Duncan Sinclair, son of the owner of the Gem
who lives in the old home in Lochgilphead. John McEwan - "Jonas" JOHN
McEWAN, joiner, acquired fame in 1832 when the first cholera epidemic broke
out in this area. He fearlessly attended the victims of this disease as
they lay dying, often with no one else to help him. Being a joiner he was
skilled in coffin-making but he also performed the rest of the funeral
rites, even to digging and filling the graves. This was a task he often
carried out alone as even near relatives of the deceased were too terrified
to attend the burial. Even after this, when faced with smallpox and fevers,
"Jonas" was requested to help. Despite facing these outbreaks, he lived to
over 60. Not very many people on Mid-Argyll will be aware of the service
"Jonas" rendered to one and all in this community. We are not too late to
have a plaque erected in the Church of Scotland in Lochgilphead in this
man's memory. I propose this, will some good citizens second it ?

Unveiling of Ardrishaig War Memorial in 1925

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