The Scotsman named…

I heard him before I saw him, the Scotsman with the booming greeting, hollering at a young couple I mistook for family. I didn’t know then that he’s that way with everyone, embracing all as precious treasures, friends and strangers.

He boarded the same bus as us in Alloa, Scotland.

“Whar is it yer heided?” he asked.

“Culross,” I replied nervously. I’d been trying to say the name of the village all day long and everytime I said it, someone either laughed at me or corrected me or questioned me.

“Kenross?” the bus attendant asked.

“No,” I’d replied. “Culross.”

“It’s not Culross,” said the lady smiling at me from her high seat. “You don’t say the L-sound.”

“So it’s Cur-oss? Cur-ious? Cur-us?” over and over I attempted it throughout the day until I finally figured out it sounded like Coors, the beer.

“Aye! Ah used to live in Coorus,” said the Scotsman. “Ah ken it well. Well enuff to be a t’er guide. Mah dar’ says Ah could be a hysterical t’er guide. Not historical. Er ye gonna to see the whale?”

“The whale?” I asked. “There’s a whale there?”

“Hav’s ye not read aboot it?” The Scotsman asked. “Wershed up on da’ beach a yer ago.”

“No,” I replied. “I didn’t know anything about it.” Tim sat silently beside me, trying to make out the words of The Scotsman. He was entranced but could only understand about every 5th word the fellow said.

“Whar is it yer from?” The Scotsman asked.

“America,” Tim replied, figuring out that question.

“Oregon,” I added.

“Why is it yer here? R yer moving to Coorus?”

“No, no,” I said. “Just a day visit.”

“Whet’s yer names?” he asked offering his hand by way of more formal introduction.

“Karen,” I said reluctant to use my given name anymore. Thanks social media.

“Ah! Thet’s my sister’s name!”

Tim had to repeat his name five times before The Scotsman who kept calling him Tom got it right. Apparently The Scotsman was having a hard time with Tim’s accent, too. Between our conversation The Scotsman would turn to the quiet woman in the side seat and make some comment about us or about hisself and the two of them would laugh. At one point he fell onto her seat from his standing position above us. He apologized and she told him she was fine but I wondered was he inebriated? But then he sat down and I could tell he was not. He was simply a dramatic character, the Scots embodiment of Robin Williams.

“What’s your name?” I asked. “You didn’t tell us.”

“Ricdiculous,” he said.

“Ridiculous?” I replied. “Your kidding.”

“Ah’m not,” he said. Then reaching for his wallet he pulled out his ScotRail card and showed us. It read: “Ric Diculous.”

“That’s your Christian name given at birth?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. Then went on to explain that his father was never around, it was his mum who raised him. So for 10 years he told his mum he was going to change his name to Ric Diculous. His mum didn’t believe him until the day he did it. Only on his bank cards does he use his given birth name. All other ID has his chosen name “Ric”.

We arrived at his stop way too early. The Scotsman told us to enjoy our day and to stop by the pub and tell them that Ric Diculous sent us. “Ye won’t git a free meal but they’s will treat you whal.”

When he left the bus, the quiet gal turned to us and said, “He’s sore in the heid but everybody knows and loves him.”

“Because he’s so nice to everyone,” I said.

“Yes,” she added.

Meeting The Scotsman was the best part of the trip to Culross. The village is the site where much of the shooting of Outlander took place. It’s billed as the most authentic looking 17th-century burg in all of Scotland. It sits on a firth and is surrounded by scenic farms, barely visible on the grey-fog day that made me appreciate why so many Scots felt most at home in the Smoky Mountains. On the crag above the town is the abbey. This is the town where St. Mungo was born, and where for hundreds of years, monks at the abbey mined coal from the nearby hills, and home to the still intact Culross Palace. There’s a good pot of tea and tasty scones served in Bessie’s kitchen which is part of the old palace. We did not make it to the pub as it took way too long to get to Culross and we were running out of daylight.

If you go, don’t do what we did. Don’t get off the train at Stirling. Take it to Alloa and catch the #8A bus from there to Culross. It will save you hours of waiting. It was in Alloa, decades ago, when a young band played their first ever gig at the Town Hall opening for a popular singer Johnny Gentle. The youngest member of the band, George, was only 16. The oldest, Paul and John, were 18. A few months later they dropped the Silver part of their band name and became just The Beatles.

Everywhere you walk in Scotland there is a ridiculous amount of history to treasure.

Karen Spears Zacharias & E.J. Wade are the authors of the forthcoming The Devil’s Pulpit & Other Mostly True Scottish Misadventures, available for pre-order now. (Mercer University Press).

Karen Spears Zacharias

Author/Journalist/Educator. Gold Star Daughter.

1 Comment

Valerie Grernfield

about 4 weeks ago

Love this 💕

Reply

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