Nan Calder 1916-2006

On 11 September 2006 my Gran, Nan Calder, died. 31 years and two days after her husband Jim Calder, and one week before her 90th birthday. I've know her my whole life - she was very involved in bringing me up and I miss her. Here is the eulogy I delivered at her funeral - it tries to do the impossible, it tries to summarise 90 years of life.

"Facts & figures don’t tell Nan Calder’s story!Word’s like Care giver, home-maker resilient and loving person do.  But a few facts and figures serve to remind us of what a remarkable person she was, what a survivor.
• Born during the great war, bringing up children during the second world war – but she survived• Caught the Spanish flu that killed one quarter of the world’s population in 1918 – but she survived.• Widowed for 31 years – but she survived• Broke a hip in her 80’s – but she survived• Broke the other hip – but she survived• Confined to a wheelchair recently – but she survived
• Danced twice a week until she was over 80 – and she prospered• Married 38 years, lived nearly 90 – and she prospered
• Directly responsible for 22 people on this planet – and she prospered

And her many roles to us all…..

• Daughter, sister, wife, aunt, mother, friend, confidant, grand-mother, great grand-mother, and just recently great great grandmother

And other numerous other things too:

• A baker, a marmalade maker, a bramble picker, an amateur actor, a knitter, a babysitter, a crossword lover, a gardener, – the list is long! But if I had to settle for one word I’d say loving!

Then there’s the things I remember….

Like the time the Doctor suggested she have the odd menthol cigarette ‘for nerves’. I remember her sitting in her kitchen manfully dragging on a cigarette and hating it. She looked up and said ‘..but the Doctor said it’s good for me..’

* Like when she told me of her summer holidays staying with her mother’s 15 brothers and sisters in a room in kitchen in Springside
* Like trips to Blackpool winter gardens, me dancing round the floor standing on her feet – then off to see the clown Charlie Corollie
* Like the time we stayed in a B&B in Dublin near the start of the troubles the night they blew up Nelson’s column. I remember her trying to explain to me aged five why the 200 foot column we had seen the day before was now a pile of rubble.
* Like getting the train to Glasgow on a Saturday simply to go to British Home Stores for a pot of tea.
* Like making me my tea most nights when I came home from school – like her mother did with my school lunches when I was at primary school.
* Like flying to Dublin on her own well into her 70’s to visit her long standing friend Valerie, the Dublin Landlady.
* Like reading the racing pages for her mostly blind father on a Saturday afternoon
* Like taking tea with her sister Betty at BHS in Ayr on their visits into town and discussing the antics of the swans on the river below as they sat.
* Like taking coach trips around Europe with her friends well into her 70’s
* Or like just 3 weeks ago – visiting the Ayr flower show in the rain – she held the umbrella while I pushed the chair. She liked the begonias, but didn’t like the crowds.

But now we no longer hear her voice, though it is she who brought us together and who does so again today.

Now it falls to all of us who loved her to continue the example she set us. Her spirit continues to light the way. Her spirit lives on in the eyes of those 22 people She cannot go on with us now but as Moses said to the children of Israel when he knew he would not cross over into the promised land:

‘be strong and of good courage. Fear not, for God will go with you’

We were all of us fortunate that, in that famous Irish phrase, Nan Calder lived to comb grey hair. Like her mother and father before her she had every gift including length of years.

The Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for mourning, never speaks of death, but speaks of peace and speaks of fortitude.
Its closing words say:

may our hearts find a measure of comfort and our souls the eternal touch of hope.

Two Wheels are better than Four

Current Steed - BMW K1100LT

I vaguely remember my dad had a scooter. In the 1960's I remeber being taken to church on the pillion, but always on sunny days. Then there was a gap before my dad bought an ancient old Honda two stroke 49cc. It had pedals which you needed to crank along to start it up. He gave it a bright blue and red paint job. When I was 16 he let me use it to dot around town - I even had a cream round (door to door cream deliveries), and I remember once or twice being allowed to do the round on it - I was the envy of all the other cream boys!. He used it mainly to go back and forth to work from home to Atlantic House. The journey took     him along the by-pass and his reasoning was that a more powerful bike would only tempt him to go faster - he wanted to be slow and conspicuous. To help with this he wore his CAA yellow jacket (this was before the hi-visibility jackets you see now). 

Sometime later he invested in a Honda Melody scooter; small, plastic and yellow - pretty modern but still 49cc. It was bright yellow, again it was his main transport to work. It reached 30mph downhill with a good tail wind. At the time I was dating Louise who lived on a farm 16 miles away in the Girvan Valley. I had a summer job on the boats on the sea front - I'd quit at around 4pm then cycle down to the farm. I'd usually work in the evening - usually bailing - then we'd have some time together. Next morning I'd cycle back home then to the beach ready to start at around 11:00. 

Honda Melody Circa 1979

The great innovation came when my dad offered the yellow 49cc scooter for my trips to the farm. On reflection presumably the cycles were keeping me pretty fit; anyway it was great scooting down the road on the scooter. The road itself went through Maybole - after that it was pretty wiggly. It was on that stretch where I had my first fall - myst have been going at 10mph, round a corner on which someone had dropped gravel. Over I went, onto my knee. Bike was ok and I was limping a bit. I continued to the farm and experienced for the first time someone taking a nail brush to my knee to get the gravel out - arrgghh. I think she got most of it out, but if I look now, I can still see bits of gravel under the skin - at least I think I can.
One of the fun things about the farm was that they had a old 125cc scrambler-type bike of indeterminate origin. We used to use that thing to zap around the local roads and up (and across the fields). It was great. On summer days Louise and I would zoom up the hill at the back of the farm and along the forstry track and just chill for a while. I guess you could say that's where I learned to ride a proper bike.

Suzuki DR125 - Manchester 1986-88

After that I was off to university and had no more to do with two wheels (powerd two wheels), until I got my first job 5 years later - apart from one memorable incident. My folks had moved to Linlithgow just outside Edinburgh, however the scooter (the yellow 49cc one), was left back home for my use. One day I fancied some adventure so I decided to drive it up the A71 to Linlithgow - around 60 miles. An awesome journey for such a wee bike but it managed just fine - there's a steep hill just out of the clyde valley which it struggled with - I thought I'd have to get out and push. When my folks found out they were a bit miffed - I think the thought of it scared them, but I was fine. 

I found myself working in Manchester - well not quite - I lived south of the city centre in Chorlton-Cum-Hardy but worked north of the centre in Oldham. I think it took three buses to get there - a right pain. Right around this time my dad died. My suggested I take the scooter to use in Manchester - the yellow 49cc job. First thing was how to get it down there. Option 1: drive it down the A6 (not allowed on the M6) for 240 miles - didn't fancy that. Option 2: take it on the train - so that's what I did.

At that time (mid-80s) you could put things in the guards van - but it depended on the whim of the guard at the time. You turned up at the station, bought your push-bike ticket, presented yourself by the side of the train and waited. If the guard gave you the nod you were ok - but you still had to lift the bike onto the train. If he scowled at you you were knackered and, despite having the ticket, had to buy a new ticket and wait for the next train to try again.

So after watching one train disappear without me (fierce looking guard) I lifted the moped onto the train and off we went. Those were also the days you could sit in the guards van with your cargo; I'm glad I did as the petrol started to leak (you were supposed to drain petrol before transporting) so I had to sit with a plastic bag trying to collect leaking petrol - I couldn't hide the smell though.

Manhandled the moped off the train at Manchester Victoria then suddenly realised for the first time that the roads in Manchester were somewhat busier than in rural Scotland. Undeterred I set off - phut phutting along Deansgate and down Princess Parkway at 29mph. Our house in Chorlton had a garage so that's where the bike lived. My fellow housemates did comment on how small the bike was relative to my 6'2" frame. But I didn't care, to me it represented a way out of the tyranny of multiple bus journeys to work.

My office was at Metropolitan House, Oldham some 12 miles North of Chorton straight through the city centre. I devised a cunning route that included scooting across the Daily Express building loading bay - this cut out a busy set of traffic lights at the junction of Great Ancoats Street and Oldham Road, and shaved around 3 mins off the journey. Later on I even adjusted the route to include Daisy Nook park just the the East of Oldham Road. I loved this route in particular since it was off the busy road and through a nice green space - however I think any time advantages gained on the loading bay were lost in Daisy Nook.

Metropolitan House itself was a 5 storey 60's concrete panel building. Greater Manchester Resesearch and Information Planning Unit was on the 4th Floor. The 3rd Floor was occupied by the West Pennine Housing Assocation, can't remember the second floor, while the ground floor housed the Council Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages. We always had the pleasure of watching newly married couples emerge from the registrars and for ritual confetti throwing on a 2 square metre patch of grimy grass out front - overlooked by the 6 storey multi-storey car park. A grim place for a wedding!

Out back there was a narrow lane leading up to a fire exit - that was where I parked my bike. I could have used the adjoining multi-storey, however anything parked in it was prone to being scratched, bumped or bumped-off. In the early days (probably 1987) I had a colleague Miles. He had saved for around 10 years, since he was 22 I think - to buy a sporty SRi thing. He parked it in the car-park but was so obsessed with it that he mounted a mirror above his desk so that he could keep an eye on it while he worked. One day he wasn't looking in the mirror when I spotted a guy with a hammer poised to smash the side glass - I stuck my head out the window and hollered in my broadest brashest Scottish Accent 'what the F*** do you think you're doing F*** off'. Counfused and I reckon more than slightly discombobulated, the fellow looked up and fled. Meanwhile Miles hared off down the stairs and appeared in the car park in what seemed like seconds - it would have taken a decent sprinter around 3 mins to do that run - but with 10 years of savings at stake miles was faster than any 100m pro. Meanwhile my scooter was wrapped up in a 6ft chain out back safe and sound.

After a while I got tired going at 29mph and one day took a bus to Rochdale. I'd heard there was a good motorcycle shop there. I got off the bus, went into the shop and bought myself a 125 trials bike - Suzuki DR 125. I'd been looking at trials bike brochures - I had been particularly impressed by the Honda Transalp which had just come out at the time. But it was way out of my price league, plus at 600cc you needed a full bike licence to ride it - which I didn't have. The guy in the shop asked if I knew what I was doing - I said yes, then remembered I hadn't brought my helmet - embarrassed I bought a red helment and off I went. I hadn't ridden a proper motorcycle for years so I wobbled around the shop car park for an hour, stalling and stuttering until I was confident enough to head for the open road. That journey home was the longest of my life, around 20 miles right across Manchester at rush hour - there seemed to be around a million sets of traffic lights which meant I had to use the gears, something I wasn't that confident with at all: how did you know which gear you were it?

Back in Chorlton my house-mates were impressed, but I think they also thought I was stupid - none of them ever had a bike so they didn't know the biker secret - its great fun! What a difference though - my 12 mile commute still took the same route: across the loading bay, daisy nook (only when it was sunny), but only took around 20 mins - fantastic. My parking space was still the fire exit lane round the back of metropolitan house.

I always loved maps - big ones small ones, all kinds. My job involved using maps extensively - paper maps on my desk and electronic maps in Geographic Information Systems - GIS. That's when I realised how close Oldham is to the moors - Saddleworth Moore in particular. On sunny days I'd head out of the office, and head up to Saddleworth. On-route I also discovered Dovestone's Reservoir and the cliffs above it - what a place. Halfway up the road on to the high moor you could stop at a parking area with a panoramic view of the reservoir and the cliffs. I'd take my can of juice and some sannies and a book. Parking up the bike then reading for a couple of hours as the sun fell behind the cliffs was what I looked forward to all week. Sometimes that would do me, other times I'd hop on the bike and go up past the parking area and on across the moor, sometimes as far as Holfirth, sometimes Huddersfield and once to Mirfield (which I later discovered was where Patrick Stewarti.e. Cptn Jean-Luc Picard) was born.

What a great area. Being an off-road bike, well nearly, I was always looking for small tracks I could zip down in search of genuine off-roading. One time I found a disused quarry - it was horse-shoe shaped and had a relatively flat area in the centre. On one pass I decided to zip up a steep gravel slope - not knowing the first thing about off-road biking I immediately fell off and the bike came down on my leg. Just then it started raining and got very dark and overcast. I couldn't start the bike and soon realised the gear leaver had come off: i had also bent the front brake lever. Suddenly I wished I'd taken off-road lessons!. I managed the get the bike started again but realised it was stuck in second gear and I couldn't change it. I limped off down the road - it took me two hours to travel the 35 miles home - all in second gear and all on the back brake.

At the time I was still riding around with L plates. And no matter how much I tried to dirty them up they still beamed out to anyone who care to look that I was a learner. So one day I took myself off to the Urmston motorcycle learner school. It looked like a bit of old airfield with some portacabins on the corner. I had this idea that you took a few lessons - enough to get you through the test. By that time though (1989) they had beefed up the test. I soon discovered that you had to attend saturday classes for a few weeks (maybe 3 months). The classes were theory and practice. The theory seemed to consist of one particulary smart-arse woman making up difficult questions. The only one I remember was 'you are on the motorway at night, you see red cat's eyes to your right - explain'. The answer was that you were in a contraflow going the 'wrong' way up the opposite outside lane! This was asked with a sneer and a look of sheer disappointment when someone got it right. The practical was riding round between pained white lines practicing stopping on time. I remember there was a test where you had to stop your bike so that the front tyre was exactly between two horizontal lines. She looked at me on my scrambler-type bike and sucked her teeth 'your tires are bigger than normal bikes - you'll never pass this one'. After a few practice runs you had to designate your official run i.e. your run that they would mark you on for your test. I nodded and said I was going for the test run. I did it - the look on her face was priceless, you'd have thought I'd just pissed in her soup!

After a few weeks of this they took us out on group runs around the roads. We had the radio headsets even in 1989 - it was most disconcerting having the instructor babbling away in your ear. 'Numer two, more to the left' or 'roundabout ahead, remember mirror, signal, manouver (position, speed, look)'. After a few weeks I was handed my pass certificate - I had passed the theory and the practical. I put my name down for the test straight away and got a date back for October 1989.

I reported for the test at about 09:30 - it was the West Didsbury test centre I think and it in the middle of a residential area - like a village square. It was raining so I had all my foul weather gear on - including my dad's old CAA high visibility yellow jacket - yes the one I used to wear on the moped. The tester emerged from the front door took my name and gave me my instructions: 'go round the block and keep turning right then stop when you get back to me'. Off I went - this was the easy one - turning right. I got back to him and he said 'do the same but this time don't use your indicators, use hadn signals'. This was the hard bit - to turn right with hand-signals you had to take your hand off the throttle - this meant your speed (and balance) had to be perfect. I managed, and got back to him in one piece. Then he said: 'now go the other way - left round the block until you get back to me - only this time I'll step out into the road somewhere along the way, hold my clipboard up - your job is to bring the vehicle to a safe and controlled stop'. It was the emergency stop! Off I went; about half way round he stepped onto the road and I stopped perfectly. He told me to go back to the test centre. When I got back he was there - he said 'congratulations you have passed - safe driving'. He handed me my certificate and dissappeared back inside. Total time for test: around 10 mins, total distance driven, around 1/2 mile. Awesome! I ceremonially tore the L plate off the bike and binned them. I was a biker at last. I decided to take a celibratory ride on the Motorway for the first time. I decided I could head up past Salford Quays (before it was fancy - it was still derelict factories then), and out the M602 for a couple of miles - I could then turn off heading for Stockport and drop down to Didsbury - a nice circle. Bloody hell - 60mph (which was what the bike could do with me on it) didn't seem very fast on the motorway! Also there was the problem of lanes. The lanes seemed around 100 yards wide - where do you position the bike, left, middle or right. Whereever I tried to put the bike it seemed to leave a motorway width of space on the otherside of the lane. Decided that 125cc just wasn't designed for the Motorway!.

Blackpool trip...


My first bigger bike was a Honda Transalp - a big thumper - got it in 2004!

Honda Transalp - 2004

Letterewe Wilderness - June06

We'd planned it for a long time - possibly around 20 years. We wanted to climb Scotland's two most remote Munro's: A'Mhaighdean and Rhud Stac Mhor.

They're both hours form the nearest road and at our age require camping on the appraoch, although if you're extra-fit you can do it all in one day.

Stats are: 26 miles round trip with around 5000ft of ascent - too much for 43 year-old legs (mine at least). 1June we met at Perth Travellodge - 100 miles for me 230 miles for the lads: they had an overnight there, i had an early start 6am. Got there at 7:30 and we had a full English with all the trimmings. We left at and got actually on the hill at 2pm. I have to say we stopped for a call of nature at layby 177 on the A9 and ran down the banking to be discreet - what a mess - a small rubbish dump really. Arrived a Kinlochewe and decided that Tea and scones were in order - for energy of course. I was amazed how much they've improved the road through Achnasheen -its now great and straight two-lane all the way to the head of the glen where it turns into a mess again all the way down the hill to Kinlochewe - it'll be great when its finished, thought I'm not sure I really like the idea of the area becoming so accessable. Tea and scones in the tea shop: the propriator had a bush red beard, slight pot belly, was wearing ron hills and a CAMRA T-shirt and spoke with an English accent - obviously a beer fan!

Anyway turned into Poolewe and parked next to the bridge - sun was out, high cloud and about 5 other cars in the car park. Shouldered the ruc-sacs and off we went. A word about the rucscaks - tents, sleeping bags, cooking stuff, food, clothes etc etc - mine weighed 50lbs - bloody hell, had to sit it on the boot of the car to get it in on.

Walked in along a well maintained stalkers path - awesome cliffs on the right, glimpses of the bothy in the distance. High cloud, quite warm. Finally got to the causeway - waves on the left, calm on the right with A'Mhaighdean towering to our left - slight mist on the top and smirring by then...I think it was round 8pm (we set off at 2pm).

Dumped stuff in the barn - there were 6 squaddies there already cooking tea (smelled horrible - the food that is) - they had the most awful south west scotland accents (i'm from there so I should know) - one of them even mentioned Kilmarnock. Anyway the barn was pretty basic but a palace if you were caught in a storm. We put up the tents then made food in the barn with the Trangia. The lads laughed at the rations (stew and dumplings) but they tasted great. Sat around the barn for a while - then later on a couple of rock climbers turned up; an American woman and an older lake-district guy. Chatting for a while then off to the comfort of the tent. I always preferred my own tent to a bothy (much more cosy). Also called home on the mobile - earlier we'd spotted a mobile phone mast maybe 15 miles distant - it looks all the way down the valley - we all got a signal from it - so much for the last wilderness! Anyway it was great to talk to home.Then settled down with the ipod ( yes first time I took it with me on a trip like this - listened to Lisa Gerrard - great mood music especially given the location - brief thought that we'd camped on a bog, was it goint to flood then whiskey then bed! perfect.

Slept for 8 hours solid to the gentle drumming of rain on the tent overnight. First look out the tent: the mist was down to around 20 feet over the tent roof - dissapointing! Heard the lads rousing in the other tent so got a brew on - wet outside so passed cups of tea and food back and forth between tents with my ski-pole. Eventually had to brave the elements. Saw the army guys departing (with fishing rods), so took up residence in the Barn for brekkie. We resolved to give it to 2pm to clear before deciding what to do. Weather stayed much the same, so we decided to walk out. E used the handy phone signal to book us into the bunkhouse at Kinlochewe (£10 per person) that night - again thanks be to mobile phones. I suggested that we go across the belach above Dubh loch to Loch Maree - then head south to Kinlochwewe - around 4 miles to the loch then 8 miles down the side: this would be a classic traverse of the wilderness. We decided to do that. When we got to the foot of the belach Malc had pretty sore knees so he headed back out the way we came in while E and I carried on with the classic traverse. Pretty hard going up the 1000 feet to the belach but once over that Loch Maree started to reveal itself - awesome seeing it from this side. Headed all the way down to Letterewe - seen it a million times from the road but from this side (incongruosly) saw it had a swimming pool- help m'boab a swimming pool in the wilderness. Also lots of evidence of pony dropping on the way down the hill - we reckon during stalking season they take people's equipment to Carnmore by donkey or pony - while the people walk - would be great. Reckoned if I was bill gates I'd have my summer residence at Letterewe.

We trekked down the eastern shore of Loch Maree - glorious, high cloud, sun was beginning to come out. We missed the path and ended up hacking through some woods about a mile south of Letterewe: had to climb the side of the hill to re-gain the path. After that it was a lovely (if long) walk all the way to the foot of the loch. I was amazed how much rain had falled the previous evening - all the watercourses were high and it was very wet underfoot. Having reached the Southern end of the loch there was more to go - we followed the river for quite a distance (probably only a mile but at this stage I was feeling it, so it felt more like 3 miles. By this time I was around 15 mins behind E - he's always been a faster walker than me. Thanks to our Mobile phones working we called each other a few times to chart progress. Eventually he called and said he'd sent Malcolm up to the road end in the car (malcolm had walked out in 4 hours - via waist deep river crossing, got the car, driven to the bunkhouse, had tea and a shower). Malcolm came up to Incheril and as I walked past the graveyard I could see him waitning in the car!! Excellent, it saved a pain in the butt final mile on the road. Straight to the bar at the Kinlochewe hotel for four pints. Food had stopped serving so Edward and I munched 10 packs of crisps and other rubbish. Then to the bunhouse: never been there before - really clean with triple decker bunks and a great shower. Two people were already tucked up in bed so quietly we showered (fantastic) and hit the sack. A wee whisky and some ipod (Lisa Gerrard again) and a great nights sleep - what a great walk - not what we planned but a good alternative.

Next day a full English breakfast at the Kinlochewe store (guy looked grumpy about making it tho'). M and E had to hit the road - 600 miles to Manchester to go, but I decided to take an hour and drive down Torridon to look at my favourite mountain Liatiach - awesome as usual - and (annoyingly) all clear. Felt like the old man of the hills having done most of the Torridon mountains - awsome place - must re-do Liaitach sometime. Then it was time to head for home - stopped off at Bruar for venison jerky. Home and a bath - most welcome.

Must say the legs were a bit sore for a week afterwards. No feet problems bar a couple of bruised toes. Main thing was a swollen ankle (M noticed it when were were watching a movie), and a sore knee - must be age! Possiblly Glen Affrick in October with S (who'se just recovering from a major operation) - will we great to get back out with him back on the team. I don't have a video of this expiditon so I will have to make to with a snippet from a 2003 cycle near Grizedale with Ed and Ste.

Breast Cancer

May06: Breast Cancer: Last year mo went through mastectomy, surgery then chemo and radio therapy. She was off work but had (and still has) a very positive mental attitude. Having come throught that, gone back to work, got a promotion, started a University course, joined the gym and run a charity race event, everything was going fine. Then one day on a regular check-up, the Oncologist thought she found another lump. Mo was skeptical, however within 30 mins she'd had a mammogram, scan and biopsy with results due early this week. I had a long arranged mountain walk with my mates Malc and Ed arranged, so off i went with a heavy heart worrying about the outcome. Meantime Mo was at home doing the same. In the wilderness the phone worked - she sent me a couple of texts saying she was having a 'wobbly moment'. Then on Tuesday she got the all clear - no problems at all.  Got me to thinking though; every time there's the slightest lump or bump we'll have the same checks then the wait for news. On the one hand this will be stressful, on the other it means she'll be monitored much more intensively than most.

Sep10: happened again - its 5 years clear but a period of realy uncertaintly - what if this what if that - followed by glass of wine to celebrate all clear!

Chemistry

Tired of being a GP-created chemistry set.
Beta-blockers, ACE inhibitors, Statins and asprin. Been taking them for last five years after 3 of 4 bouts of arythmia.  Trouble is they have an effect on NO2, which ultimately had to be countered by a dose of Vitamin-V, then Vitamin-Cialis.  Worked allright but seemd line one dose of drugs were countering another.  Finally canned all but the asprin: results spectacular.