The Auld Toon Chronicles
by

Charles Thomson


Dunnottar summer holidays were here. Dunnottar School’s red gates were closed for eight weeks and Miss Wilson’s homework wid be shelved and forgotten aboot. Only the janitor Mr Jamieson would be left to walk the deserted classes like a lonely ghost.
Oor first summer project was on its way, to build ourselves a raft fae old oil drums that were washed up roon the backies.

Auld Granda Park wid be sittin in his wooden shed carving oot een’ o’ his walking sticks or een o’ his shepherd’s crooks, tae which he wis a dab hand, wishing that we were a’ back school, bit he wid havee to put up with us for a bit longer I’m afraid. At least he supplied us with rope to tie oor oil drums together. He wid be spared fae us throwing auld breed crumbs on top o’ his shed roof for the gulls tae annoy him wee their unholy clatter.

Sone old planks o’ wood wid have to be collected tae be collected tae use as a platform on top o’ the drums, an’ there wis’ always plenty o’ them lying aroon, an we were ready for the launching in the Carron Burn, an’ then like Jimmy Dickie in his boat The Bella tae conquer The North Sea, or at least The Stoney Bay along with a guarntee tae be soaked tae the skin for a’ oor efforts.

As for Miss Wilson she wis’ probably preparing more homework for us when we returned tae the school with a scowl on her already stern face.

The Bervie Braes were also a favourite o’ oors especially after getting it for returning home soaked after a hard days rafting oot in the bay.

Up we wid go after getting a couple o’ butteries fae’ Dorris at the back door o’ Aitken’s Bakery, along Kings Street, turn right up Castle Street, past the gas works where we wid call on one Graham Johnstone fae Dawsons Buildings.

From there we wid take the path up past the auld drinking well an’ stop an’ hear some o’ auld Jock’s stories. (He wis always there sitting by the well)

We would continue up the path that eventually led to the trees (which can still be seen to day from the small harbour)

Graham being the tallest o’ us wis nominated for climbing one o’ the biggest trees an’ tying the rope to one of the branches. This automatically gave him the right tae try it oot by having first shot.

I can picture it to this very day, Graham on that swing o’ his flying oot’ above Mr. Gibson’s head who was busy tending tae his garden plot that lay at the foot o’ The Bervie Braes. “Daft loons. They’ll end up wee mare broken legs than they can afford.” But that did not stop us fae’ oor aerobatics. Aye’ this wai’ the life. Not a care in the world, an’ the world doon below us as we glided through the air like clumsy birds.

The harbour at this time wis full o’ fishing boats like The Trustful, The Scots Lass, The Mary Gowans, The Sweet Promise and of course The Bella.

We wid often go doon tae the old pier tae talk tae Jimmy Dickie when he wis’ mending his fishing nets an’ creels wee Oola, Frankie Broons dog that wis’ always wee Jimmy, an’ wis a first class fisher dog in it’s ain right.

Wee the summer holidays still in full swing, every day would prove tae be an endless adventure, enhanced wee tireless fun.

Mony a morning wid see us, aye, Graham Johnstone, Allan Bruce, Leslie Aitken an’ whoever, raking doon the beach for empty lemonade bottles which we wid’ rinse oot in the Carron Burn before taking them roon tae Sidney Smith’s grocers shop on the corner o’ Bridgefield in return for money that would be divided oot among us an used to get us loons into the swimming pool.

I can still remember Sydney. Now you never picked them up from the beach?

Of course we never did. Leslie wis’ one o’ the first o’ us to get his swimming club badge for swimming a length o’ the pool, an’ for the size o’ us at the time it wis like conquering Mount Everest.

On oor way back tae the Auld Toon an’ if we had money left oer’ we wid nip intae Muggie Arthur’s Shoppie at the corner o’ The Cowie Bridge for a mix. Another contact for empty lemonade bottles for enterprising Auld Toon Loons.

One of our more ambitious projects must have been the planning o’ our great robbery. Aye relieving Miss Wilson o’ her much prized apples that grew in her back yard at Dunnottar Avenue and could be reached by the back path that wound the side o’ The Carron Burn along fae the White Bridge. Aye her little bratts were aboot tae’ become Dunnottar’s infamous robbers.

One o’ us wis’ even armed with a catapault just in case, as we crept along the back wall tae’ the apple trees which were pillaged at great risk. Miss Wilson was probably inside preparing oor work with delight oblivious to the fact that she wis’ being robbed o’ her much prized apples.

They would then be carried and distributed evenly inside the security o’ The the high dyke that surrounded the army cadet headquaerters at the top end o’ The High Street, remembering tae’ keep oot o’ sight fae’ Gerry the Giant, his hoose wis’ right across the street an’ he could look doon on us if we weren’t careful.

Looking across we could see a shadow moving aboot inside a window o’ Dunnottar School. Maybe it wis Miss Wilson preparing for oor return, or worse, maybe she’s seen and noted oor every move and making ready her black-board treatment.

Saturday afternoons were sometimes a treat for us Auld Toon Loons, for it meant that when we got oor pocket money we would all troop along to the picture-hoose. Graham Johnstone, Allan Bruce, Leslie Aitken and myself would walk up past Findlay and Mains the ironmongers where one o’ us would nip in to buy some fishing gut and sinkers if the money allowed, before making oor way past the tannery (Now Salmon Lane) on our way tae the flicks.

This is where we encountered Thud, the manager fae Hell, who run the place with an iron fist. Aye Thud a well built man that could oot growl any rock wyler.

On one occasion when we were caught by Co-Co the attendant wee his torch for shouting cheek at the rock wyler. Oot, oot.

Ejected fae the flicks.

This wis’ when it wis’ decided to go ghost hunting in the ruins o’ The St. Leonards Hotel, across the road fae Fetteresso Primary School.

It wis’ Allan of a’ people who wis’ first in tae’ glimpse the spectre, stepping carefully fae’ joist tae’ joist o’ the haunted hotel. (Allan is now the owner of the splendid premises with his wife Wilma.) Maybe he is still looking for that ghost o’ long ago.

Making sure that we arrived home about five o’clock, oor parents were none the wiser o’ oor ghost hunting expedition.

The evenings too were full of great excitement as we used to all pile into Mr Aitken’s red Bedford van armed with our towels and trunks and head into the baths at the Beach Boulevard in Aberdeen.

This was a square Victorian structure that once inside seemed to echo every word, especially the strange accents o’ us Auld Toon Loons.

It was an outing and a half, and I still remember them fondly to this day with a smile on my face.

And still Miss Wilson wis’ preparing for our return tae Dunnottar.

With the summer holidays still very much with us, much of our time wis’ spent roller skating up an’ doon The High Street fae Mary Poppy Annies shop at the top end where The Cannon is situated, doon tae’ McKenzies the baker’s across fae’ the cross where we used to aboot turn and head back up towards the top at full speed ahead, getting closer and closer tae’ Miss Wilson’s ripper tongue waiting for us, and the end of oor holidays.

This is where at The Squarries we used to hear the sound o’ the bagpipes skirling oot’ o’ Scrappie Stewart’s hoose. Aye George wis’ practising again, blowing intae the wind. (He was tae’ become The Queens Piper wis’ George.)

I wonder if Her Majesty skated up there at Balmoral when George used tae’ bla’ his bagpipes tae’ her?

This is where we loons fell in with Alexander Malcolm (Plucker), and George Cormack, olympic Auld Toon roller skaters, complete with adjustable butterfly roller skates.

George Leiper wis’ careful when stepping ootside his door incase he collided with the enthusiastic skaters, even Muggie Jean wid side-step us loons wee her broon shopping bag tae’ avoid the pests on their skates.

If God meant us tae’ go as fast as that he would off given you wheels instead of feet. (But he did!)

One needed wheels tae’ get awa’ fae’ Miss Wilson. **********

A natural progression fae’ roller skates for us Auld Toon Loons wis’ the cartie, engineered with wood with v shape cuts sawed into the front to allow the wheels to turn. We bolted an axil on from pieces picked up fae’ scrapie Stewart’s yard at the top end o’ The High Street where we also got the pram wheels (minus the baby of course.)

This all steered with a piece o’ rope with all the precision o’ your best Ford on the market. (Although I am not going to swear to this.)

Thumping doon the path at the back o’ New Street we rolled at new breathtaking speeds, that with even today’s technology would find it hard to record. And all with an old piece o’ wood and Scrapie’s pram wheels.



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