Is that Wupert?
- Details
- Published on Friday, 31 August 2007 08:13
- Written by Bruce Sandison
It is that time of year again in the Highlands of Scotland. Invasion time, when the our southern neighbours arrive in hot pursuit of hunting, shooting and fishing. The moment they set foot in the City of Inverness, they start shouting at each other. They bray loudly as they march down the railway platform to the Station Hotel. They shout at each other over morning coffee in the lounge.
They roar at each other in local supermarkets where they stock up with mountains of food for their cottage: "Do you think the LODGE will have a garlic press, Wupert?"
I listen to them shopping in disbelief. They clack over cases of wine and bottles of spirits and for some unknown and uncertain reason they always buy vast quantities of oranges, porridge oats, mustard and mint sauce. The check-out point is jammed solid as they argue over who should pay and who has the cheque book: "You don't mind an English cheque, do you?" they haw, haw to all and sundry.
Even if they were mute they would be impossible to miss because of the clothes they wear, more akin to an official uniform. Chunky sweaters, plus fours, brogues and stocking tabs for the men, britches or voluminous baggy skirts for the ladies, even the occasional Inverness Cape. I suppose it is to make sure that any friends they might bump into at Heathrow know immediately that they are doing the Scottish thing.
As they await the arrival of their baggage they shout at each other and at any unfortunate who has been detailed to meet them. "Lots of fish being caught, Hamish? What's the water like? Make sure you get the rods, look there they are - grab them. Is Wupert here - oh, look, there he is! Hello old man, how is dear Lucinda?" The same pantomime is enacted as they pack themselves and their belongings into the statutory Range Rover. Every living soul for miles around is left in no doubt that they have arrived.
I really have no truck with Scots who denigrate their southern neighbours. I think Jocks who do so are narrow-minded, but I suppose it depends upon how you define being English. For instance, a Home Counties born and bred public-school educated ex-guards officer might not care to be lumped together in the same class as an out-of-work Tyneside ship-builder. A Yorkshireman would be horrified to be called a Lancastrian. In truth, as a race, the English are as diverse in their personalities as are we Scots.
I lived and worked for eleven years in the north of England in the heart of what was then the Durham coalfield, Easington Colliery, Shotton, Peterlee and Hordon, and in rural Northumberland at Bardon Mill on the banks of the Tyne near Mr Hadrian's famous wall. In all of that time I never experienced anything other than kindness, courtesy and consideration from local people. Even when I wore the kilt.
What I find hard to thole, however, is the southern Englishman, and his wife, abroad. They are invariably from the Shire Counties, the salubrious, wealthy, gin-and-tonic belt which envelopes London. For ease of reference I shall call them SEP's (Southern English Persons). For all I known, they could be from Planet Mars, indeed they may even be so, but the moment I hear their cantankerous cackle I feel my hackles rise. I never experience this when I hear the gentle burr of a Durham or Northumberland accent.
On holiday, those people are just about bearable. At least you know that eventually they will go away. The worst kind, however, are the ones who have bought themselves a bit of Scotland: "My dear, it was an absolute bargain, 5,000 acres and a lovely little six-bedroom house. Wupert couldn't resist it. He adores fishing and shooting and that sort of thing and I have a lovely time with the children on the beach. All our friends come to stay and we have lovely evenings round the peat fire." Do come, you will love it and the locals are so quaint."
For a greater part of the summer months the estates these "lairds" own are let out to paying guests, people of their own kind of course, but at the end of July, the start of the "Highland Season", the owners descend on Scotland's remote glens and moors in droves. Estate factors, keepers and gillies burnish up their boots and dance attendance on their masters. Local people, quaint or otherwise, keep their heads down and try to continue as normal.
To be honest, their antics do give, unintentionally, a lot of pleasure to residents; the constant name-dropping, the bombast about the schools their children go to, the horses they own, their stocks and shares, clubs and parties, skiing holidays and Caribbean jaunts. Best of all is when romance is in the air. Voice volume rises by at least 10 decibels. The male haw-haws inordinately, a lot, to attract his intended's attention, whilst the mating call of the female SEP is unmistakable - a sort of throaty gargle which sounds like: "Aga-Aga-Aga."
Still, bless 'em, I suppose they mean no harm and they do bring in a lot of money to rural areas. Perhaps, given time, they will begin to understand that Scotland is far more than just a cute holiday destination, that it is not simply a place where land and influence may be bought and sold by any Wupert, Dick or Harry on the strength of his bank balance. Perhaps one year, when they arrive, they will notice that we are a people in our own right? I would have no complaint whatsoever if they did, provided that they left their loud voices at home.
Bruce Sandison is a writer and journalist and author of nine books, including the definite anglers' guide, 'The Rivers and Lochs of Scotland' which is being revised and updated prior to republishing.
He contributed to 'Trout & Salmon' for 25 years and was angling correspondent for 'The Scotsman' for 20 years. Sandison writes for the magazine 'Fly Fishing and Fly Tying' and provides a weekly angling column in the 'Aberdeen Press & Journal'.
His work, on angling, Scottish history and environmental subjects, has appeared in most UK national papers, including 'The Sunday Times', 'The Telegraph', 'The Daily Mail', 'The Herald', 'Private Eye', 'The Field' and in a number of USA publications.
Sandison has worked extensively on BBC Radio. His series 'Tales of the Loch' ran for 5 years on Radio Scotland and was also broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and on BBC World Service. His series, 'The Sporting Gentleman's Gentleman' and his programme 'The River of a Thousand Tears', about Strathnaver, established his reputation as a broadcaster.
Sandison has had extensive coverage on television. He wrote and presented two series for the BBC TV Landward programme and has given a number of interviews over the years on factory-forestry, peat extraction, wild fish conservation and fish farming.
Sandison is founding chairman of 'The Salmon Farm Protest Group', an organisation that campaigns for the removal of fish farms from Scottish coastal and freshwater lochs where disease and pollution from these farms is driving wild salmonid populations to extinction.
Bruce Sandison won 'Feature Writer of the Year' in the Highlands and Islands Press Awards in 2000 and in 2002, and was highly commended in 2005. Bruce lives near Tongue in Sutherland with his wife Ann.