Thurso: People and Places

[The Pepsi Challenge]

In response to the excellent thread on old Thurso shops, I've taken it upon myself to start a post on old places long forgotten (the weird and wonderful included) as well as notable folk (the weird and wonderful also) who may have lived or had some connection with the town.

So here's a few titbits to get y'all started...

The Standing Stones crossing Thurso River: If you go across the Ellan Bridge (coming from the Springpark end) and look directly under the bridge at low tide, you will see a couple of the orignal standing stones that people used to cross the water before the bridge was built. I don't have any more history on them, so if anyone can shed some light on this, I'd be very greatful.

The Bandstand in Sir John's Square: A marvellous piece of architecture. It stood in the square for almost 70 years, until the local council removed it as "an improvement". In it's place? A lovely fountain which was beautifully lit underneath. Vandals ensured it didn't last long, and while a flower bed was dedicated to whoever it was(?), I'd love to see the Bandstand back in its rightful place. (Who can remember the tourist information point built within it?) An appeal was made to re-instate the bandstand - several hundred signatures were compiled to support this apparently - but thanks to Thurso community council, the idea was shelved. The reason? Trafficing problems. Weird, eh? Cars and lorries had to 'suffer' the Bandstand for 70 years. God knows why this would be such a problem now. Ah well... progress an all that.

Monica Lewinski: That's right. She lived here. When I was back in Thurso one weekend I noticed the television in Top Joes was broadcasting the news about Lewinski and President Clinton's, erm, carry-ons. Someone beside me piped up about how she had done something similar with a Thurso chap many years ago. I thought he was winding me up until I remembered an incident, at the boating pond, many years ago. The sideshows were in town, and me and a few pals spotted Monica - she was pretty hefty even then - on one of the boats. So we got in one, too, and attempted to tip them in the water. It worked. And I'll never forget her soaking wet, bouncing toward me a few minutes afterward. Heady days.

[trinkie]

ROBERT DICK

Taken from Caithness Courier 1950.

ROBERT DICK SEAT

Sir, It gives me great pleasure to congratulate and thank the Thurso Memorial Seats Committee on their decision to name a seat after the great Geologist and Botanist, Robert Dick. It is a fitting tribute to the imperishable memory of a humble baker who, by his knowledge of, and his love for, the flowers and rocks of this rugged shire, won fame and renown for himself for all time by his labours in these fields of science and research. For classifying and naming his grand collection of flowers and rocks etc., that were it not for him, might never have been heard of or seen. It was left to Robert Dick to take over this gargantuan task and how well he did it we Caithnessians and indeed the whole of Scotland only dimly appreciate long after their discoverer is dead.

Yours etc
Caithness Violinist.

E&OE

[The Pepsi Challenge]

A great man he was. There's a fantastic reference to fairies on Holburn Head in a book written about him by his good friend from London. He would often walk daily to Claredon Hill and back.

[trinkie]

LOVER'S LANE

You can rave about the lovely Bay of Thurso,
And say it's the finest ever seen
You can call the Sinclair Bay a little jewel
Till you've seen the beauty spot where I have been

Come with me and see the ancient Thurso Station
And gaze in wonder as the trains pass bye
And I'll bet you'll stand in admiration
For I wouldn't dream of telling you a lie

Then we'll view the Lovers Lane in all it's glory
And gaze in raptures at the lovely trees
But just wait a minute till you hear my story
For you'll wade thro gutters up to your knees

As you stroll along you'll hear the songs of the birdies
Its wafted to you by the gentle breeze
There you see the stables of the firm of Wordies
A place of beauty that will always please

Do you hear the lovely horses nicker shrilly
As they stamp their feet and wait their feed of corn
And the funny smell that beats the goat called Billy
Its a tonic for your breakfast on the morn

So dont speak no more about your lovely bays sir,
Its just a lot of 'hooey' I maintain
You can see more beauty in one fleeting moment
If you'll come with me and view the Lover's Lane.

CC 1949.



Any takers?

[trinkie]

from the JOG 1943

A Poetical Tribute.
I dedicate these lines to CAPTAIN G B SWANSON MBE
master of the St Ola for 31 years (now retired)


The good St Ola you did command
For thirty long years and one
And I join with the rest of your dear Caithness friends
In saying ' Well done, well done !'

Through the Pentland Firth in its anger or mirth
You ploughed with a wonderful skill
From Scrabster to Stromness you went with the mails
And we watched you return with a thrill

You foiled all the Huns with their bombs and their guns
In the last war and this one, I see
And received an honour of which you are proud
The Royal M B E

Good luck to you, Captain, and every good wish
For well have you worked for your fame
On shore we'll be proud to shake your hand
And honour forever your name

CV

[moose and Lindsay]

The caithness violinist

This was written by Christine Beveridge, she grew up in Thurso until 1955 then she married a doctor from aberdeen

I have to do this in 2 parts as its too big!!!

My father liked nothing better than evidence of great and unusual accomplishments acheived by northern folk. Everything from the sublime to the ridiculous would enthuse him to wax lyrically. He would inform you, for instance, that it was a Thurso-born electrician Alexander Bain, who, over 100 years ago, invented, among other things electrical, the electric clock.

"I fear her search will fail to find
A man with such a brain,
For 'twas but once to help mankind
God sent them Sandy Bain."

Robert would tell you about the weight lifting blacksmith from Tongue who lifted an anvil of two-and-three-quarter hundredweight by the horn. It was a Herculean deed that very few weight lifters could match. Then he would tell of how very proud the Thursonians were of the Pipers and Drummers in the Thurso Pipe Band. Under the celebrated Pipe-Major Peter Macdonald they won many competitions.
"Shades of MacRimmons that sleep now at rest,
The Thurso Pipe Band now doing its best,
To uphold the traditions that give you your fame
And I'm sure they will never dishonour your name."

Thurso had a wealth of characters, all "grist to the mill" to a people watcher like my father. His interaction with them fed his imagination. The poem "The Cailleach O' the Glen" is based on stories and tales of a Cailleach (old woman) who believed that ghosts and fairies really did exist. She used to tell how, when she retired for the night, the fairies would come and perch on the rails of her bed, going through all sorts of gymnastic displays and making sleep impossible.
"She tauld me o' the little men,
Drest in their suits o' green,
That ilka nicht cam' doon the glen
As midnight 'oor had gane;

To skirlin' pipes they danced wi' glee
Queer dances o' their ain;
This is one tale she told to me-
The Cailleach o' the glen."

My father left Caithness to further his musical studies in Edinburgh, and it was there that he met, and fell in love with Catherine Doull (my mother). Catherine's parents lived on a neighbouring croft in Stemster. She was in fact the girl next door. They had known each other as children, both leaving Stemster in their early adult life.
They met by chance (or was it destiny!) and enjoyed a brief courtship before fate once more stepped in. Catherine's mother became seriously ill and Catherine returned to Stemster to care for her. Robert discontinued his studies and quickly followed her back to Caithness where they were married on September 28 1923.
"How weel I lik her nane'll ken,
Except hersel' and me"

Robert and Catherine made their home in Thurso and started to raise a family. My two brothers, Donald and Hugh, were born in the mid-1920's and I came along later in 1935.
By the mid-1930's many folk in the North of Scotland were suffering from the effects of the great depression. Mass unemployment and the threat of another war brought progress to a standstill for many families. It was sad to see the queues of cold and hungry people waiting for a jug of soup from the soup kitchens set up by the Salvation Army and other charities.
"Misfortune dour brings nocht but sorrow,
And adds a little more tomorrow."
In 1939, when the Second World War was declared, Robert Mackay once again volunteered to join the forces and was attached to the Pioneer Corps. This time, however, his health failed him and he was discharged a short time later. Now in his 40's he no longer thought of war as an adventure but as a patriotic duty to "battle for the right". His patriotic poems have the element of a Clan Mackay chieftain rallying his kinsmen to battle.
"No tyrant born can make us quail
While Freedom' s our delight.
Let bullets fall like winter's hail,
We'll battle for the right."

He wrote some moving tributes in verse to the ships and the men lost at sea. I am thinking of "Heroes of the Jarvis Bay", and the poignancy of "The Loss of The Royal Oak", as well as the moving little poem "Her Only Son" telling of a mother' s grief.
The constant theme is his immense pride in the serving sons and daughters of his own native Caithness. Thurso, during the second war, was the end of the line for the troop train, transporting thousands of service men heading out to join the great fleet of ships at Scapa Flow. "The Jericho" as the train was called, travelled from London, and was of vital importance as a line of communications between the British fleet and Whitehall.
I was then a small child of seven, immensely proud of the fact that, with my little green cartie made out of a wooden fish box, I delivered the churn of milk needed for the "Cuppies o' Tea" to refresh the troops arriving at Thurso station on the Jericho train. I have always thought that I should have been mentioned in despatches!
Thurso, in the early 40s, was awash with service personnel. There was a Polish contingent billeted at Thurso Castle and a substantial naval presence at Thurso's Ormley Lodge. My father's main interest was to contribute, in some way, to the war effort by using his skills as a musician, writer and poet to lift spirits and boost morale.
He became a prolific contributor to both local newspapers, writing articles on every conceivable topic, some humorous, some patriotic. He also penned appreciations and poems of condolence to the families of lost loved ones and wrote messages of encouragement to parents of men fighting in the front lines of Europe.
His familiar figure, fiddle case under his arm, sheets of papers clutched in his hand, would be seen heading purposefully towards the centre of Thurso's town activities - to "Joe's Cafe" or the Courier Office. He always wore a wide-brimmed hat and in winter a long tweed coat. Herbert Sinclair wrote of him: "There was a touch of the waywardness of the poet about him, but an artist he was, and he looked like one".
Joe Cardosi was a "Real Freend" in a small back room behind his cafe, my father would meet with other Caithness musicians. They would gather together in the evenings to play their lively music and engage in lively conversation. There, matters of great importance would be debated with vigour. Sometimes stories would be told and odes sung that might have brought a blush to a maiden's cheek and the laughter and merriment would often challenge the birds' early dawn chorus.
How I would have loved to have been the proverbial fly on the wall at some of those Ceilidhs.
"Nae tears shall ever weet ma e'e
For men or matter
While joy and mirth run rim free,
Wi' them I'll clatter."

One of my father's best known and most recited poems, written in the Caithness dialect, is "The Midgie". There were few Thursonians who were unable to recite a line or two from his verses about this little pest. He recited it in a variety show "Holiday-A-Bout" which toured Caithness and also in a BBC programme on the Scottish Home Service.
"The Caithness Violinist" or "Fiddler Bob", as he was sometimes called, was a lover of people, a born entertainer, who loved to touch the heart, engage the mind and tickle the funnybone.
"Ah've sailed 'e seven ragin' seas
An up 'e Murrumbidgee
But roch altho' they were at times,
They're neithing til 'e midgie."

My parents' marriage, after years of hardship, finally failed, and they decided to part. There were now many moments of "dull care" in his life, but always there was his music making to console both himself and others. "My fiddle wis ma Sweetheart a' ma life
Her bonnie music drives dull care away."

My father, now in poor health, retreated into the world of his muse. The death of his beloved mother in 1944

[moose and Lindsay]

his failed marriage and the consequential loss of contact with his children were taken as heavy blows. Now he felt, I think for the first time, that he was alone. It is easy to understand how this could break the stoutest heart.
"Life' s composed of joy and sorrow,
Hidden snares we cannot see,
Who can read unborn To-morrow,
Or what it holds for you and me."

He spent the rest of his remaining days in a small cottage known as "The Dowager' s Cottage" on the Braal Castle Estate in Halkirk. Braal Castle dates back to before the 14th century, part of a tree-lined estate located by the lovely Thurso River. Braal's tranquillity belies its gruesome history, involving the cruel death of local Bishop Adam who imposed crippling butter tax from surrounding crofters. They marched to Braal Castle, home of the Earl of Caithness, to protest and asked the Earl to intervene on their behalf, which he refused to do. The people turned their anger on the Bishop, killing him by boiling him in his butter. Some think that the Caithness Earl jokingly advised this resolution to the problem, and unfortunately for the bishop he was taken at his word.
The Caithness Violinist spent almost all of his life entertaining his "Own Fowk". He always had a ready ear to listen and comfort anyone down on their luck, and he was always there with open arms to lift their spirits.
"Nae thought o' self stood in your way,
When merth was saught you did not dither
With song or fiddle, verse or lay
You cheered all Caithness hearts, dear brither."
Donald Mackay [Brother]

Sadly, my father, the Caithness Violinist, died in January 1952. He was found in his humble cottage on New Years Day, in a serious and weakened condition from internal injuries which he had sustained from being hit by a vehicle whilst returning, on foot, to his cottage after attending an evening function.[This is believed to be his own account of events] How he managed to reach his home is still a mystery.He was taken to Dunbar Hospital Thurso where he died on the morning of the 3rd January 1952, from pneumonia.
"Sleep on! dear Bob,sleep on dear friend in all tranquillity, In the calm of
death that stills the storm Of life's tempestuous sea"
Anon.
How poignant an ending to the humble poet's troubled life. This gentle man who had so often used his pen and his music to comfort and console the lonely, the sick and the bereaved, a man who's heart had gone out so warmly to others, was, at the dawning of a New Years Day, alone, unaided and in pain.
"Take me Home, take me Home, Jesus take me Home, When my life is ebbing fast be thou with me at he last, Jesus take me Home"
On the day of his death the Caithness Courier printed the last of my father's published writings called "Reflections" this piece is almost prophetic of his own passing.
Whenever the sand in the hourglass runs out someone slips away from life and is seen no more,
It may be you, it may be me, But old father time just doesn't bother to stop and see who it is,
He just keeps jogging along, moto perpetuo.
How many dear old friends and loved ones have we not laid in their last resting place yet
Although Time came to the funerals as he always does he did not stay there long.
Time only holds us for a short period, then he lets us go whither.
Money, position, fame, mean nothing to time for he has us all when he wants us-until we too pass on.
It is clear that there was a warm affection between the "Kaitness Fowk" and "Fiddler Bob" who brought laughter and merriment to gatherings from "Berriedale til Bogswa". The pages of tributes that filled the obituary columns of the newspapers at the time of his death testify to how greatly he was mourned.
"We miss you for your music sweet that
could so mist the eye,
We miss you for your lilting reels, your
songs and odes forbye
We miss you when life seems so void
With sorrow at our door
Yours the word and yours the pen
To cheer when hurts were sore."
Anon
He had a light-hearted infectious humour that endeared him to the young. My fondest memories are the dream-like memories of a five-year-old child. I had a small fiddle, my father and I would stand together, as if on a stage, tapping our feet to his music while I mimicked his movements.
The natural rapport and affection he shared with the young was fondly demonstrated at the time of his death. At the usual Saturday night dance, the hall packed to overflowing, Bill Jones accordionist and leader of the band performing that night, led the young people assembled in a moments silence in honour and respect for the poet.
"How sweet are Nature's rural flowers
That bloom in sunny June
How cosy are the sheltered bowers
That hide us frae the moon.
How fair she looks that lo'es me,
As we baith go burlin' roon',
Dancing to the fiddler in the gloamin'."

How enchanting my father's life seems to me and how I admire the spirit of my Highland forebears. They knew hard times but passionately lived life to the full. They were boisterous in their joys and open hearted in times of sorrow. "Faults and failings, love and laughter,
Make us what we are I say
Happiness is what we're after,
Let it come from where it may".

My father now lies beside my dear mother in the churchyard at Halkirk, in Caithness.

[Sporran]

In response to the excellent thread on old Thurso shops, I've taken it upon myself to start a post on old places long forgotten (the weird and wonderful included) as well as notable folk (the weird and wonderful also) who may have lived or had some connection with the town.

So here's a few titbits to get y'all started...

The Standing Stones crossing Thurso River: If you go across the Ellan Bridge (coming from the Springpark end) and look directly under the bridge at low tide, you will see a couple of the orignal standing stones that people used to cross the water before the bridge was built. I don't have any more history on them, so if anyone can shed some light on this, I'd be very greatful.

The Bandstand in Sir John's Square: A marvellous piece of architecture. It stood in the square for almost 70 years, until the local council removed it as "an improvement". In it's place? A lovely fountain which was beautifully lit underneath. Vandals ensured it didn't last long, and while a flower bed was dedicated to whoever it was(?), I'd love to see the Bandstand back in its rightful place. (Who can remember the tourist information point built within it?) An appeal was made to re-instate the bandstand - several hundred signatures were compiled to support this apparently - but thanks to Thurso community council, the idea was shelved. The reason? Trafficing problems. Weird, eh? Cars and lorries had to 'suffer' the Bandstand for 70 years. God knows why this would be such a problem now. Ah well... progress an all that.

This thread's a good idea, Pepsi! :)

I do remember the Bandstand in Sir John's Square, and would like to see it back as well. I had forgotten about the tourist information point eventually built within it, but you have jogged my memory. I never did know why it was demolished - I can't ever remember it being in a state of disrepair. But if it was for the reason you mentioned, then it was an utterly stupid one!

[dragonfly]

am I right in remembering a paddling pool down past the boating pond down towards the road bridge???

[Buttercup]

am I right in remembering a paddling pool down past the boating pond down towards the road bridge???

Yip, I remember that paddling pool we spent a lot of time there during the school holidays - we hadn't money for the boating pond, but I don't think it lasted too long did it?

[gleeber]

Cheemag Irons was the nickname of a very honourable character who was well known throughout Caithness when I was a kid.
Sometimes he got himself into a wee bit of bother with the authorities, probably due to his fondness for a wee bit of the "cratur"
On one appearance in Wick sheriff court, the police inspector was giving evidence against him.
We were first alerted to the activities of James Campbell (not his real name) better known as Cheemag irons at 10pm on Friday night. The inspector continued to give his damning evidence.
When it was Jameses turn to defend himself he stood up and said, "your honour, I was having a good time on Friday night until the bobbies turned up and spoilt it. He continued, their leader, Inspector Robertson, better known as leatherlugs.......

[Sporran]

Does anyone else remember "Punch" at the Viewfirth club? I can't remember his real name, but in the 1970s, he sat outside the dance hall at a table with a cash box, and we bought our entrance tickets from him. He was an owlder Thirza mannie wi' a limp, and not very tall. He always looked very dapper - his grey hair was slicked back, and he always wore a dark suit, with waistcoat, shirt and tie. After the dance was over, it was also his job to motivate the lingerers to leave. He'd walk around the dance hall calling out (in town crier fashion, almost) "Homes to go to! Homes to go to friends!" Sometimes, of course, he wasn't available, and somebody else had the task of calling out. But none could deliver with quite the same panache as Punch!

[The Pepsi Challenge]

I think my mum remembers him, as she worked in the bar around this time. I'll ask her for you.

[Sporran]

Thanks Pepsi! Gosh, I probably knew your mum too, then! :o)

[Sporran]

Giving more thought to this thread, I remembered that the founder of the Boys' Brigade, William Smith, was from Thurso. He was born in Pennyland House in 1854. Here's a link with more information:

http://www.boys-brigade.org.uk/aboutus/swas.htm

[laguna2]

Does anyone else remember "Punch" at the Viewfirth club? I can't remember his real name, but in the 1970s, he sat outside the dance hall at a table with a cash box, and we bought our entrance tickets from him. He was an owlder Thirza mannie wi' a limp, and not very tall. He always looked very dapper - his grey hair was slicked back, and he always wore a dark suit, with waistcoat, shirt and tie. After the dance was over, it was also his job to motivate the lingerers to leave. He'd walk around the dance hall calling out (in town crier fashion, almost) "Homes to go to! Homes to go to friends!" Sometimes, of course, he wasn't available, and somebody else had the task of calling out. But none could deliver with quite the same panache as Punch!

I remember Punch.

[Whitewater]

A touching and fitting tribute to the "Caithness fiddler". My aunt and uncle lived at Braal at the time (Davie Sinclair), and I was told many fine stories about "Fiddler Bob". But being born in 1942, most of my memories have have been passed to me through my parents and aunt & uncle. From what I learned, he was a much loved and respected person.

I enjoyed your tribute, well done.

[The Pepsi Challenge]

Here! Here!