A Boy in a Storm

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A wee poem called Places

on June 20, 2021

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Our Night Out

We were 17 and thought ourselves invicible. Members of the Edinburgh schools ‘Tuesday Group,’ a club for senior pupils keen on mountaineering, we had already been exposed to some wild and exciting days out in the Scottish hills in our young lives. On this occasion, three of us, Sheila, Oliver and I, decided to tour the Cairngorms and climb Ben Macdui during our December school holidays, and when day-light was at its shortest. I don’t remember why! To improve our chances of reaching the summit, we bivvied the night before at the Shelter Stone: a well-known refuge at the base of the Shelter Stone crag, formed by a rock-fall. The word ‘shelter’ makes it sound grander than a boulder above your head actually is. I don’t remember getting there, though I recollect poor weather as we crossed the plateau and dropped down to Loch A’an. We must have trusted that between the three of us, we would somehow navigate the Cairngorm plateau in bad weather, somet...

Féith Buidhe

This is the Tuesday Group on Ben Nevis, spring 1978. We had just climbed Tower Ridge. I'm second from the right in my Boroughmuir rugby shirt. Peter Cliff, our instructor, is obvious. Monday 22 nd November 1971 was a definative point in my life. Our family had just moved to Edinburgh after what could at best be described as a difficult time. I joined an Edinburgh primary school, Sciennes, and met a bunch of children who were nothing short of amazing; welcoming, kind and the stability I needed. I loved that school. Our homework was to bring in a news item, which meant cutting an awkward hole in the family paper. This particular Monday the news was grim. A group of Edinburgh school children were lost on the Cairngorm Plateau. By Tuesday the extent of the tragedy was known. Five children perished, together with an assistant. Only the teacher and a boy survived. Although we knew this was terrible, as ten-year-olds, such events seem a...

Out of the Blue

My side of the story When I was growing up I had absolutely no thoughts about policing one way or another. I knew no-one in the force, and it was absolutely the last thing I ever considered for myself. Any encounters I had were inconsequential. There was the Morningside bobby who stopped me one night as I went home from what we shall call 'a liaison', no doubt suspecting me of housebreaking at 03.00. After that, he always waved. On another occasion, I got a flash of the rotary blue light of a panda as I was ‘making progress’ on Morningside Road. I recall the Suzuki T-500 being quite a spirited bike. Then there was time we gave a young officer a cup of tea as he stood outside our flat during the Toxteth riots. That must have been a tough gig. Our flat was strategically positioned to give a grandstand view of the Merseyside cops in their RS2000s chasing stolen cars out towards Speak and the airport. I suppose the chance to drive the RS2000 might have been inducemen...

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A wee poem called Places

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