Читать книгу A Journeyman's Journey - The Story of Jim McEwan - Udo Sonntag - Страница 15

In addition to Davy Bell, in the early days there was someone else who was incredibly important to me: James McColl. In the early sixties he was the manager at Bowmore Distillery, the man who pulled the strings. For me as a young, wild man, he was a role model through and through, with a stature possessed by no one else in the village. No matter when or where I met him, he was always smartly dressed, his light temples reminding me of a Hollywood hero from those days. Having adopted this man as one of my idols inevitably I someday wanted to become like him and radiate that sense of dignity.

Perhaps it was the fact that our birthdays were on the same day, 23 July, of which we were both well aware. Whenever I met him on that day, even before I worked at the distillery, he always said, “Well, Jim, today is a special day for us! All the best, my boy.” That phrase meant a lot to me … and it said a lot about Mr McColl. He treated everyone as an individual and forgot about no one. He knew a good word didn’t cost much, but achieved a lot; at least it did for me. There was an uncanny kindness expressed in James McColl’s words and tone. He knew how to command great natural respect and authority with just a few well-considered words. His demeanour and speech were characterised by a sense of decent morality, marked by honesty and sincerity. His word was his bond. If he promised something, you could count on it. For as long as I knew him, I never heard him swear, a real achievement for an Ileach in those days. It was certainly also one of the qualities that fascinated me about this great man, and for whatever reason, I never wanted to disappoint him. I always wanted to do my best in the presence of the man who gave me my one chance to realise my dream at Bowmore distillery. He changed my life. You never forget your first job; you never forget the day you got your first wage. I had grown up, left my childhood behind, and become a breadwinner. Such moments are among the greatest in anyone’s life. I don’t even like to think what would have happened if Mr McColl hadn’t given me that chance back then. Surely my life would have been completely different. Who knows what would have become of me? But today I know that there is no such thing as coincidence, for even then, my story was written somewhere, and it was now time for me to turn a new page, start a new chapter. And James McColl was instrumental in this.

Wanting to do my best was my way of saying thank you, but when I think back, a particular story always comes to mind, which I would like to tell you here.

In the distillery’s administration offices there were two fireplaces that had to be lit in winter. One was in the Customs and Excise office, the other in the distillery office. Every day the fire was lit by the cleaning staff early in the morning, so that the offices were pleasantly warm at nine o’clock when the employees and the manager arrived for work, in the days before central heating. One day, however, the cleaning lady was absent, and there was no one there to light the fire. I had only been employed for a few weeks, so I didn’t know too much yet, therefore I was often given jobs that were not necessarily part of the core tasks of a barrel maker. It must have been November 1963, but in any case it was my first winter at the distillery. I was told to look after the fire, because, after all, my working day started well before nine o’clock. Mr McColl showed me in great detail how the fires should be lit. I have to admit, because it was tedious work, I was not very enthusiastic about the task. First, small and tiny pieces of wood had to be collected from the endless expanses of the cooperage, which then had to be lit with paper and other easily combustible things. Often the fire went out and you had to start all over again; sometimes it didn’t burn properly and it smoked. Then it was a matter of bringing in broken barrel staves as fuel. Anyway, it wasn’t my idea of fun, so I looked for creative ways to get the job over quickly and effectively with as little effort as possible, coming up with what I thought was a brilliant idea. Next to the cooperage was the peat fire over which the malt was dried in the kiln. So all I had to do was grab a shovel, pick up a good portion of embers and take them upstairs to the office. “Jim McEwan, you’re a clever guy!” I thought to myself, feeling very proud of my idea. It saved me a lot of work. My plan was to open the office door, before carrying in the shovel full of glowing coals, empty the shovel directly into the fireplace and start the fire that way. What a simple but ingenious approach!

Behind these walls, Jim learned the trade of barrel maker.

The plan worked perfectly on the first day, as well as on the second and third. Very slowly and carefully, I balanced the hot material in the office and manoeuvred it into the fireplace without any accidents. Slowly, I got used to this form of pyrotechnics. In the distillery I was just the boy with the glowing shovel. No one worried about what I was going to do with it. But what happens when you think you’re all too ingenious, when you lull yourself into a deceptive sense of security? You become careless and unfocused. I’m sure you can see where this is going. It may well have been the fourth or fifth day, and casually, far too casually, I was on my way with my shovel. I came to the open office door, stumbled, lost my balance and the entire load of red-hot coal landed on the carpet with a crash and a hiss. Small clouds of smoke rose and there was a beastly smell. All I knew was that this carpet had been there since the distillery was built in 1779, and I, Jim McEwan, had ruined this precious relic. I felt like crying and I went into a total panic. There was glowing coal everywhere, creating a situation with which I knew not how to cope. Apart from the fact that there could have been a fire, it was a disaster beyond words. For almost 200 years, this carpet had adorned the room and I’d scarcely been in the distillery for more than a few weeks … and it was already destroyed! I’d been given this wonderful chance to learn my dream job, and now I would lose it again because of my stupidity. That simply could not be allowed to happen. After I had used the shovel to move the glowing coals into the fireplace and at least removed the immediate fire hazard, I slowly calmed down a little and began to think about how I could make this ruined carpet look a bit better. Another flash of inspiration: I simply moved the desk a little to the side and put one leg up on one of the biggest spots in the hope that no one would discover it. However, the acrid smell of burnt carpet was everywhere in the air and it wouldn’t be long before Mr McColl would arrive at his office. I threw open all the windows and aired the room as best I could, but realising that all my efforts were probably in vain. But my job and my future were both at stake. It was impossible to imagine what would happen if I were thrown out. So all I could do was wait with my head bowed for the employees to arrive, still hoping that no one would notice anything. How stupid I was, because the stench was still in the air, and there were just too many holes in the carpet not to notice. Then Mr McColl slowly entered the room. Examining the situation, he wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “Oh my goodness, there’s been a fire here! The smell everywhere, the holes everywhere!” I heard him say quietly, for I was already on my way back to the cooperage. I was the one responsible for the fire. Within seconds he was standing in front of me: “Jim McEwan, do you have something to tell me?” I tried to look as innocent as I could and hesitantly said, “Um, no sir, I don’t think there’s anything to say.” “Well, come on then!” He dragged me by the ear up to the office and demanded that I explain the scenario. “Maybe there was a spark from the fireplace?” I tentatively stammered by way of an attempted explanation. “Show me how you light the fire,” he insisted. “I wanted to save time so I could build more barrels, so I came with a shovel full of coal,” I said, trying to soften him with a little lie. “I’m insanely sorry if I did any damage,” I stammered almost inaudibly. “You’re sorry? You don’t realise the damage you’ve done. The carpet has been in this office for 200 years. It would probably have been here for another 200 years. I will withhold your wages. You’ll have to pay for it. There’s nothing else for it!” He was really angry, but again he kept his composure and didn’t swear. “We’ll buy a new carpet and it will come out of your wages, I can tell you that!” That hit home! All I’d been asked to do was to light the fires and now I had created this irreparable damage. And then came the inevitable speech. “Why didn’t you just admit that you had done this? Why didn’t you just say that you had a mishap, that you tripped and it just happened? No, you chickened out and lied to me! I showed you how to light the fire properly. As you can see, with good reason, because if you had followed my instructions, we wouldn’t have this drama.” I felt sick as a dog at that moment because he was right. I felt even more miserable because he didn’t shout, making his words all the harder to bear. Why hadn’t I mustered the courage to stand by my recklessness and stupidity? The announced pay cut only hurt half as much as the certainty of having caused this man so much disappointment. “Jim, this is a golden opportunity now. Learn from it and behave yourself in future or you’ll get into trouble, real trouble, I can tell you!” So there I sat, 15-and-a-half years old, with Christmas just around the corner. I was pretty desperate and that must have been how I looked to him. But what followed showed how generous this man was. A new carpet was indeed bought and laid. I’d already calculated the likely cost and I almost felt sick. It would take years to repay the damage, years! But I had to go through with it; there was nothing else for it. But I was glad I didn’t have to pack my bags immediately, otherwise it would have been one of the shortest careers at Bowmore to date. I had almost burnt down the distillery out of recklessness, but I had been allowed to keep my job. That was Mr McColl, a really fine man. Because if one thing was clear to him at that moment, it was that I had really learned my lesson. To this day, I still light a fireplace exactly as James McColl once showed me. Never again in my life have I used glowing coals for this purpose. When the new carpet was finally in the office, I hardly dared to walk on it, content to look at it from a distance. I wanted to take care of it, because I would be paying for it for years. But Mr McColl made sure that not a single penny, not a single one, was deducted from my wages. For that I am still infinitely grateful to him today. Can you imagine such a great character? Anyone else would have fired me immediately and rightly so, but he saw the big picture and knew why he hadn’t fired me. A truly great man who holds a special place in my life to this day.

The central heating in the management offices in those days.

Across Loch Indaal: Bowmore and its distillery.

But just between you and me, everyone agreed that it was long past time to throw out the old carpet, because the new one looked much better. And I only found out afterwards that the carpet didn’t originate from 1779 after all, even if everyone claimed that it did. No, this carpet had already been replaced during the Second World War and was only 20 years old.

Many years later I returned to Bowmore from Glasgow in the position of manager, while James McColl was still working at the distillery. The ironic thing about this situation was that now roles were reversed. Suddenly I was his boss. Can you imagine that? I had become the superior of a man whose footsteps had always seemed too big. With his kindness and integrity, he not only knew how to educate me, but he could handle and lead any situation, no matter how tough. But even he was getting on in years, and it had become time for a generational change in the distillery office. I never saw myself as his boss, never! He was a shining icon for me throughout my life, from whom I was able to learn so many things. Even though I was officially in charge, I did not feel at all comfortable in this role, totally out of place as his boss. How could I tell him what to do, when he had originally hired me and been so protective towards me? That was an impossibility. Whatever happened, as long as James McColl worked at Bowmore, he was my boss, my advisor, colleague, confidant and my friend. No, I stand corrected, he was that to me for as long as he lived. Ultimately he took a well-deserved retirement, after about nine months of happy collaboration. I was aware that I could never become the gentleman he was, plainly without his stature. I am a completely different person. In Glasgow I learned to lead a team, but my methods were quite different. Would I have continued to employ young Jim after the firelighting situation? I don’t know, but he did. I still speak of James McColl today with profound respect, for I have not met such a character even in the years since his death. He left a huge gap in the island community, which anyone who knew him will emphatically tell you.