I think we stertet lauching when uzyins first clappit een on James joining wur class at Perth Academy. It wuz weel into the year, an he wuz a’ trickt oot in a new school uniform … aye, he was late, like by five months! A wee bit later on, unforgettable was a French teacher askin’ for James’s absence note, and James looked dramatically at his watch an’ said, “Tomorrow, sir!” We lauched like drains! Cannae mind when we stertet exaggeratin’ speakin’ Scots but “Whit ur ye sayin’?” was fur certain early on and lasted a lifetime. Aye raising a guid lauch were constant iterations of many fungs, bawz, erses and kunches.
The lauchs got louder with leaving school and starting to go to pubs. Many funny sichts and dafter comments – Ewen and James had some classics, flatting together in a couple of places. I enjoyed joining them o’ an evening in their abodes for cupsatea, pubs were at weekends. Then there was some daft driving – Auln McDonald minds o’ driving his car wi’ James beside him, an’ he wanted tae stop an’ get oot … not forthcoming, he leaned forward and turned aff the ignition – they clearly werenae gawn ower fast.
Hector and and I drove efter a few ’oors in a café by the Seine – it was late at night and we were going back tae the north o’ France aboot three ’oors awa’. Crazy! Prolly lucky to have survived. We were bidin’ wi’ family friend o’ Hector’’s faither, her name Lucienne. She made us lunch one day and we went into fits of laughter at the stringy cheese in the soup, difficult to slurp … we blamed the fortified wine she gi’ed us!
Before gawn tae Greece, we bought paper pants. James said, “Mair hygienic in case cannae wash wur underwear.” Aye, nae sae fung comfy though! There was the great Greek “mezes” and Retsina, heaps o’ it coz we got guid money from gie’ing blood in Athens. The electric trouser presser for keeping Hector’s beloved Levis beautifully creased … an essential practice (aye, like ah dinnae think sae!) for rough travels like sleeping oot ’neath the stars baith on ship decks an’ on the spacious roof verandahs o’ Greek hooses.
In Caen in France aboot 1968, James and I found a nightclub advertising Champion Jack Dupree, yin o’ the great bluesmen of the time, resultin’ in a tidy memorable time stawn’in’ roon’ the braw player’s pianny.
There was the great Prof. Batty encounter, James rolling up for ward round after a night on the piss, unshaven, the same clothes he’d been tae the pub in, including a dark blue flying jacket … Batty speired at him if he’d served in the Royal Air Force. James’s replies matched his appearance!
There were jokes like “What’s the difference between a duck?” and “Rub it around yer back passage” and “What are the two things smellin’ o’ fish?”
One totally daft night was at university in my flat across the Meadows, sharing with a few others, yin a medic a year ahint James – Gareth made verra fine (that means hoor-uvva strong) hame brew. Yin time James and I sat up a’ nicht quaffin’ the lethal liquor. James described it later, “Goadalmichty! That was a fung alcoholic trip”, no’ jist referrin’ tae the 15-minute walk ower tae the Arts faculty caff for a coffee and a guid lauch a’ a’ the sober dafties. Gareth’s potent hame brew got us intae mairan a few perties when we were cerryin’ a few bo’ls o’ the stuff – it wuz easy twice the strength o’ normal beer.
James was aye wonderful tae quaff a glass wi’, an’ he wad often say in the company o’ pals an’ family, “Aye, this is braw!” … huz tae be observed it wuz efter a guid few glesses, so he was prolly praising the dram he was doonin’, fair enjoyin’ a tidy skinfu’.
Wi’ a couple o’ ither pals, James and I wad enjoy regular weekly pub meetings in the likes o’ “Greyfriar’s Bobby” (Aye, the famous dug!) at lunchtime. Then ’ere was the Café Royal, a muckle bar jist aff Princes Street, whaur we’d meet o’ an evenin’ aince a week or so. It was aye great gawn there, a spacious change from the wee pubs whayz bars we usually propped up.
Ere wuz cawmpin’ a’ ra Mull o’ Galloway in SW Sc’lun, wi’ a transistor radio tae listen tae the Rolling Stones’s “The Last Time” (or maybe it was “It’s All Over Now”, it wuz a lang time syne, see!), playin’ every hour on Radio Caroline from the pirate radio ship; drinkin’ grand pints o’ Export at the Killiecrankie Hotel efter a three-oor walk from Blair Atholl; cuttin’ gerse at country cemeteries thegither and a few pints at lunchtime when there was a pub nearby; bidin’ in a chalet in the Swiss mountains wi’ Dennis, Tom an’ his freen’ Malcolm; skiing at Mount Tongariro; guid times in the mid-1970s in Masterton at perties in my flat, and visits to old flatmate friend Grant, his fermhoose at Rangitumau about 20 kilometres out.
Ower 20 years efter we go’ back fraeTokyo, ’ere wuz munnae a visit tae Christchurch, like ower a score, tae see James an’ ither freenz – years afore that there was a pickle o’ trips wi’ mah faither in tow an’ also efter we had cycled doon the West Coast. ’Ere were several visits tae see Rod and Marie-France frae Embry on their trips tae see Bernadette and Sara, and a few visits fur special celebrations, like fur James’s family 21st. This is no’ tae say James didnae visit us: ’ere was yin mem’rable visit to Paraparaumu wi’ Harvey frae Brisbun in tow fur mah 65th – fortun’ly ah was able tae repair later a straight-back chair tha’ got broken … winnae ging intae tha’ awfu’ tale! It was a fung expensive chair! There was also a guid visit by baith James an’ wiffy tae see Beth no’ awfy weel in ICU in August, 2015.
It wuz aye gran’ seein’ James in Christchurch, huvin’ a gless, talkin’ the auld times in wur daft lingo, huvin’ a lauch at a’ the daft lines and jokes frae lang syne; the cooking wuz aye tidy, usually delicious smoked fish for “horseydeuvers” and then braw spanakopita an’ fresh garden salad.
The last time I saw The Man was on Moreton Island, November, 2018 for Harvey’’s 70th. It was great, he an’ Harvey havin’ munny a guid lauch ower naithin’ at a’. Guid tae see freenz like tha’.