A Comrie policeman returned a clock which had been stolen from a house in Comrie. The house owner decided to thank him by buying him a box of chocolates. She drove down to the Dalginross Bridge and parked her car momentarily there and went into the shop where she bought the chocolates. When she came out she found that her car had been ticketed by the same policeman. So, instead, she took the chocolates home and ate them herself!
A heavily laden horse pulling a load of logs up the Balloch stopped due to the weight on the cart. To encourage the horse they took it down to the foot of the hill, allowed it a breather, and someone put a potato up its hind quarters. The horse then took off up the Balloch at a fair pace, and continued on to Anaba Brig where it delivered its load to a Scout camp! No sweat!
The author’s grandfather, David McNaughton, was being kitted out for service in the Scottish Horse in the second Boer war when it ended in 1902. He was a teetotaller and a staunch member of the Temperance Society. They held their meetings on a Friday evening. Often he was accompanied home to the Ross by a close friend who swore that he too was alcohol free. However, every Friday evening he fell off the wagon. Always after crossing the Ross Bridge my grandfather took the Ross road home, whereas his friend took the Back Road towards Aberuchill. Often he could be heard for a time bawling and bellowing, “Can ye get yersel hame awricht? Are you aw’ richt the nicht, Davie, are you aw richt?” with his voice getting fainter as the roads drew away from each other!
At age 38, although married with two children, my grandfather was called to the colours in 1917 and served in France in the Black Watch! On the ship going over a stupid officer slammed a hatch on his hand, mashing it. This meant he could not fire his rifle and could not be used in the front lines. Instead he was sent to guard coal mines in Northern France, and later acted as a guard at the great POW camp at Étaples. Probably this accident saved his life as many of his friends and comrades were killed within a short period of time in the line.
It was considered bad luck if, in a bedroom, the foot of the bed was facing the door! Please do not ask me why!
Never place red and white flowers in your home. The colours are associated with blood and bandages!
Amongst the many local characters of recent days one stands out for her eccentricity, and also as one who keeps up the traditions which belong in our collected, and cherished treasure chest, of characters. She was known as “Scooter Annie” and so called because she drove a low-powered motorcycle, complete with sidecar. That in itself is no sin other than its top speed was about twenty miles per hour. In the event of one driving behind her and trying to pass at appropriate spots in the road, her motorcycle would drift out towards the centre of the road, making overtaking impossible.
She was approached several times by the police department; however, as she always appeared to be over a hundred and fifty years old, they had a tendency to approach her with caution. This had something to do with her age, but more importantly she came equipped with a violent temper, a strong voice, and a rich vocabulary!
There were several young constables, who over time, approached her to offer driving advice, who, all of a sudden, began to suspect their parentage which had been voiced to all and sundry at several decibels! In the event that through ill luck you were found to be in very slow-moving traffic on our windy roads, it is possible that you were in the middle of a cortege, or possibly, you may be have been driving behind “Scooter Annie.”
It was a Friday night, and as usual, the village lads had had a good night down at the pub. They knew that their pal Farquhar was only allowed out on a Saturday night, and he was missed. The reason for this was that he was married to a tyrant of a woman who appeared to be several times larger than he was, and she would not let him go out to the pub twice a week. On their way home they decided to try on a joke and broke an empty milk bottle outside Farquhar’s door. They stooged around for a moment and heard Farquhar’s wife “Big Bella” bawling out at the top of her lungs to her loved one “Hey, the gless in the windae’s nae broken on the inside, awa oot and see if it's broken on the ootside.” The lads crept away giggling all the way home!
Many folk may no doubt wonder what happened when someone died in the upper reaches of Glen Artney in the old days. During the summer they were brought down to Tullychettle graveyard, and there interred. However, others who had requested they be buried in Comrie, and those who died during the winter, had a somewhat different journey. They were immersed in the River Ruchill, and other burns and streams, to keep them supple, and when the spring came were brought down to the village for burial. I just put that in as some, with more enquiring minds, would find this interesting!
Oddly enough it sometimes rains in Comrie. These two photographs show the result of a spate in Finduglen after a cloud burst in 1910.