Rev James Dey

A man who could make chocolate cakes!

I first posted this piece about High Corrie in 2015.  It was linked to the article I’d written about that unusual coterie of men and women for whom High Corrie was a special place. Just last week the last of that group, my father, Rev James Dey, passed away. In many ways it’s the end of an era. They were all men and women who had experienced the reality of war, of poverty, of suffering and hardship. Yet they were all men and women who looked to the future with courage and determination.

They helped make their world a better place for all, not just for a few. Something I’ve tried to do in my life, and see reflected in the words and actions of my own children. Life is never static. Change is always with us. I hope we always try and make those changes good ones. Just as my father did.

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Burnbank Cottage, High Corrie

If someone asks you to name your favourite book, or song, or food, or place, it’s not always easy to come up with an answer, even though the question itself seems perfectly straightforward.  Somehow it all depends on a host of factors, and in the end, for most of us, it isn’t really possible to come up with a once-and-for-all favourite.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t books, or songs, or places that are special to us – and  some that are more special than others.  For me, a very special place is High Corrie on Arran.

Sunshine on Burnbank 1973

It’s special because of the island it’s on, special because of its wonderful setting and special because of all the happy associations and memories it brings with it. Wonderful carefree family holidays, when the sun always shone (well, most of the time!) and we were free to roam the hills and shore and cycle safely wherever we chose (there were far fewer cars back then!).  Each year we stayed in Burnbank, one of the small cottages in High Corrie, a clachan designated by Historic Scotland as being of ‘outstanding historical interest’.

High Corrie United FC 1969

There was the High Corrie Burn to explore, Goatfell to climb, and a flat-ish area where we held our own ‘olympic games’ and football matches, along with a home-made two-hole golf course set on a steep slope with the sea far below.  Not far away was Corrie, and then Brodick,  so there was also putting and crazy golf and rowing boats and sandy beaches to enjoy. Adventure beckoned at every turn!

1973: My father Rev James Dey of the BBC (left) and playwright Robert McLellan relax during a break in filming in High Corrie

It was also a place where summer-holiday stories were written and where there was time to slow down and talk and think and unwind.  But it was also a place where adults could stop and unwind too.  For my parents it was a break from their challenging jobs at the BBC and in a tough Glasgow secondary school respectively. The cottage opposite Burnbank was the home of the playwright and poet Robert McLellan and his wife Kathleen. Nearby, the summer homes of the editor of the Guardian, later the Controller of BBC Scotland, the Director of the Royal Scottish Museum and many artists.  A small place but one alive with thoughts and ideas.

It’s a place I’ve been back to on many occasions and I’ve written about some of the things that made this place special not just to me and my family, but to many others. It’s good to have places like this, places that played their part in our young lives and continue to hold such a store of fond memories. Whilst I’d still find it impossible to name a favourite place, High Corrie comes pretty close!

 

‘Memory hold-the-door’ – looking after our past

The Isle of Arran Heritage Museum, Brodick

‘Memory Hold-the-Door’ is the title of John Buchan’s autobiography. Buchan was an amazing man: born in Perth in 1875 he became a lawyer, worked in South Africa after the Boer War, wrote best-selling thrillers, was an eminent historian, an MP and finally Governor General of Canada. Thanks to his autobiography we know a great deal about him and what was important to him. But he would have been one of the first to stress that of no less importance are the lives of ordinary people. How though, if not the subject of biographies, do we know how others lived? We are the people we are thanks to our memories – memories of ourselves, of the places we live, of the families we belong to. Our lives are also shaped by the landscape in which we grow up. Landscape in its full sense – historical, geographical, cultural, religious, climatic and linguistic. If, as individuals, we lose our memories we lose our identities.

The Isle of Arran Heritage Museum, Brodick

The same is true for communities and peoples. That’s why I have such respect for local museums and one of the best that I know is the Isle of Arran Heritage Museum. Take a step back into the distant – and not-so-distant past – and see why this island and its people are the way they are today. Museums of this quality are lifelines to the past and to our understanding of others and of ourselves. And this is certainly one to treasure!