The Courier and Advertiser (5) – November 1966

On the eve of his departure for Australia, farmer and dance band leader Ian Powrie continues the story of his life.

Between shows at Liverpool, I drove back to Auchterarder

to work on farm by IAN POWRIE

MY wedding in 1951 was a big occasion for me in more ways than one. The band at the reception was like a Scottish dance music ‘Who’s Who’.  Providing the music were Jimmy Shand, Bobby McLeod, Angus Fitchet, Jack Ewan, Bill Wilkie, my brother, Bill and my father.When Leila and I were able to have a belated honeymoon, we were invited to Tobermory by my good friend, Bobby McLeod. We had just arrived when Bobby called in to say, “Right, Ian, I’ve got a dance fixed up for tonight, so you’ll be bringing your fiddle.”

 GREAT MAN

 My father maintained a keen interest in the band activities right up until his death in March last year. He was a great man for Burns Nichts, Hogmanays and such like. I’ll never forget the Hogmanay 1964 when we played at the New Year celebrations in the City Hall, Perth. My father was none too well at the time and unable to get in to see the show. I remember with particular affection the band going along to visit him after the show to wish him Happy New Year. They gave him a wee tune and he managed to take a small sherry, which was foreign to his character, as he was more at home with a dram. That New Year is a wonderful memory to me.

DREADFUL

A few months later when we were in the North touring, we had to surmount tremendous obstacles to get back for a TV engagement. We had called at Ballintore, which is quite dear to us as Jimmy Blue wrote a polka called “The Ballintore Fishermen”. Behind schedule, we set off on the long run to Glasgow but at Inverness, road conditions were dreadful. I attempted to attach chains to the wheels but, unfortunately, they wouldn’t stay on. We backtracked and tried the coast road. After a terrible struggle, we reached Grantown, where we got stuck again. I tried the chains once more. We fixed them with wire from fences at the roadside, but they were so loose, they knocked holes through each mudguard. At Aviemore, we encountered even more snow. As one of the chains had dropped off, we just couldn’t move at all. We pushed and shoved for a spell, then one of the tyres burst. Completely disheartened, I phoned Leila and asked her to phone Andy Stewart at the studio to tell him we were trapped in the frozen wastes and unlikely to make the show. By this time, it was 10 am. We were supposed to be in Glasgow at 12!     

In over a foot of snow, we managed to change wheels. Then we slithered our way to the high ground where, by good luck, the roads were a bit better. We dived out while the lads whipped off the chains. I ran to a phone box to let Leila know we had a chance of making the show after all. Incredibly, we were rehearsing in the studio at 3 pm. I was pleased we made it because the show was STV’s tribute to Andy Stewart in “The Man Behind the Star” series.

LONG WAY

We have come a long way with Andy since the early “White Heather Club” days. It was quite a thrill when we were asked to accompany him to Australia and New Zealand in 1963. In addition, we played many theatres and TV shows together. One memorable tour was that of Shetland. You know, it’s a most incredible place. Even in this day and age, a television set is only a bit o’ furniture peekin’ round the corner of the sideboard. They still love homespun entertainment with fiddles, accordions and things. It was a pleasure to go back again with Andy and the boys this year. I believe Andy is returning for a third time next year with my band under Jimmy Blue.

During an English tour with Andy, we stayed in Liverpool for a week. Several nights after the show, I borrowed

Dixie Ingram’s sports car and dashed home to do some work on the farm during the early morning. After doing some bits and pieces about the place, I drove back to Merseyside for the next night’s show. These dashes from shows to farm worked out very well. I think it’s enough to say I haven’t employed a full-time man on the farm for some time.

I pride myself on having a fairly good memory.  I dinna forget many things but for some obscure reason I seem to forget my fiddle and my kilt now and again. One day, I set off for Glasgow to do a “White Heather Club” show. When I arrived, I discovered I had no fiddle. I managed to get a hold of an old violin, but the best bow I could get was that of a double bass. I’m sure then tone couldn’t have been up to much. At least it got me through.

The Courier and Advertiser (5) – November 1966 cont/…

PLEASURE

In my years in the band business, several people have impressed me. Andy Stewart is one. I enjoyed the pleasure and thrill of working with other well-known names…Kenneth McKellar, Robert Wilson, Jimmy Shand, Moira Anderson.

Bobby McLeod, who became Provost of Tobermory, was another artiste I was proud to be associated with. Bobby and his band were contemporaries of ours and we travelled up the ladder at the same time. I’ll remember with pleasure these happy years in Scottish show business and the firm friendships I made. Next month, I set off to start a new life in Australia.  As I’ve said, breaking away will be difficult. However, I’ve always been one for new adventures and I’m looking forward to the challenge. But we’ll come back to Scotland for this will always be the home o’ my ain folk.

The Courier and Advertiser (4) – November 1966

On the eve of his departure for Australia, farmer and dance band leader Ian Powrie continues the story of his life.

Those old jalopies gave us nightmares by IAN POWRIE

WHEN I came out of the R.A.F., I worked away with my father at Bankhead driving tractors and generally making myself useful. At this time, Jimmy Shand was beginning to make an impact in the Scottish country dance music field. I think it’s fair to say this was the start of an era. Other names like Cameron, Hannah, McLeod, Fitchet and the Hawthorn Band began to make their presence felt as well. My father was still playing in a small way with his band at wee local functions. But things were beginning to happen in Scottish dance band circles. Eventually, I took over my father’s band and gradually reformed it.

 BROADCAST

 In April 1949 we made our first broadcast. In those days the band consisted of Pam Brough on piano (the band’s present   pianist), Bill, my brother, on accordion, Bert Smith on bass, Hugh Mclntyre on drums and myself. It really was exciting time for bands. Scottish dance music was the trend and new bands and sounds were springing up all over the country. In the early days when we couldn’t afford good transport, we used old cars which at times caused me nightmares. Shooting breaks and band-wagons had not been thought of. Every band depended on huge old cars to ship equipment and members.

First car we had was an old 25 hp model. I don’t think there was ever a greater monstrosity on the roads of central Perthshire. It had a twisted chassis, brass discs behind two of the wheels to make it run true, the “con-rod” had come out through the engine just before I bought it, it wouldn’t stay in any gear, and it had a big copper patch screwed on the side. I simply couldn’t afford anything grander. Everywhere we went, the tyres blew out and, just to make things worse, it only averaged 10 m.p.g.  We struggled away with this brute for a time. Finally, I was forced to go to my father and borrow £600 for equipment and, thankfully, a better motor car.

WIRELESS

 I think this was the turning point for me. I bought a magnificent Morris 16 with wireless…and in those days this was really something. This car did over 100,000 miles and never let us down once. When it was done, I moved on to an ex-army vehicle with huge balloon tyres. It turned out to be the coldest, noisiest thing I’d ever been in.

LOADED

I remember one night we rolled along to a dance at Strathdon. We were loaded to the roof with instruments, ‘mikes’ etc. And as we turned a corner within sight of the hall, a half-shaft went. We unloaded everything and carried it to the hall.  Once the shaft had gone, it was impossible to shift the vehicle. Neighbouring famers lent a hand, and finally, we got some lads to work on the truck. As they worked away in the dark, I was playing at the dance, wondering if we were going to make it home. In addition, 1 was sweating about the cost of repairs. Happily, we did get home but that dance put me about £12 out of pocket! Driving home that morning, I vowed I would never use or even get in the army truck again.

 TOWED HOME

 So, into Perth I went and ended up buying a big American car. I had the springs strengthened and fitted heavy duty tyres. One      night, travelling back from a dance in Kippen, the car started to boil- up furiously.

 I crawled along very slowly until we reached Dunblane where we had to call a halt. I phoned my brother at Bankhead and explained our predicament. My father came along and towed us home. The funny thing was …he towed my mighty vehicle with his tiny 10 hp van!

The Courier and Advertiser (3) – November 1966

On the eve of his departure for Australia, farmer and dance band leader Ian Powrie continues the story of his life.

Robert Wilson gave us our big break by IAN POWRIE

BETWEEN 1949 and 1952 there were several changes in the band, hastened by my brother, Bill, being called into the army.

At that time, Pam Brough, my pianist, decided to leave to spend more time with her growing family. The line-up then read- Jimmy Blue on accordion, Sandy McArthur on supporting accordion, George Grant on drums, Bert Smith on bass, Gordon Clark on piano and myself on violin. This was a very good band and we all worked hard to make it so.

Jimmy Blue’s arrival reminds me of one engagement in the North during a blizzard. We loaded the big Packard with our gear. Underneath everything was the spare wheel.

CUP OF TEA

As we drove north, conditions deteriorated. To cheer ourselves up, we stopped at Grantown for a cup of tea. When we came back to the car, it had developed a list. A tyre was flat. There was nothing for it but to unload everything and put on the spare. By, the time we changed wheels and repacked we were well behind schedule. On the coast road, near Forres we were surprised to find spring-like conditions. The roads were clear of snow and the fields were green. When we reached the Elgin

hall two hours late, we found a large crowd getting very impatient. The rest of us were experienced enough to know that

we would be greeted by some harsh words. So we sent our new recruit, Jimmy Blue, in first to explain. Naturally the comments directed at him were none too complimentary. However, the dance turned out a great success. To compensate the dancers for their wait, we paid for an extra half-hour. Another memory came during the “On Tour” programme in 1961.

DOG-TIRED

We had been playing at a dance in Aberdeen. From there, we had to drive through the night to Renfrew Airport for a morning flight to Stornaway. Our rehearsal call for the show was scheduled for mid-morning. We drove all through the night, still in our band uniforms, stopped for a quick cup of tea at Mickie Ainsworth’s house in Scone, then dashed to Renfrew. Within hours, we were hard at it rehearsing in Stornaway. After rehearsals several members of the band were near to tears.  One actually broke down. We were dog-tired and the extra-special effort put into the important rehearsal drained everyone mentally and physically. The following year brought a funny experience – which also taught us a lesson.

While in Glasgow, I took the opportunity to buy two big tins of paint. I put them in the back of the band bus and we set off for home. On the way the conversation started to get heated. To emphasise a point, crashed my foot down. Unfortunately, it landed on the brake pedal. The paint shot forward from the back of the bus. The lid came off one tin and white gloss paint almost smothered Arthur Easson, my drummer. When we let him off at Callander, he was in a terrible state. Back at my farm we had to strip down the whole bus and wash it out with paraffin. Not an ideal chore for three in the morning. Our chats in the bus were much more restrained after that.

SNOWDRIFT

In the winter of 1962 after playing a “White Heather Club”, we were forced to abandon the bus in a blizzard. With traffic piling up on the main road 1 decided to try back roads, which I heard had been cleared by snowplough. On the Glendevon Road conditions worsened. We ended in a drift which virtually covered the bus. We struggled to my farm, about five miles away, on foot. Early next day 1 returned to dig out the bus. The road home was still impassable. Eventually I had to drive over 60 miles to reach the farm – a point-to-point distance of only 5 miles!

A Christmas I remember with some feeling is that of 1963. We had been booked, along with Andy Stewart, for a special programme to be inserted into a marathon TV show for Christmas Day. Accompanied by a camera team, we boarded an R.A.F. transport plane at Turnbridge bound for Shetland. On arrival we were bundled in to a bus and driven through the island. Then we boarded a boat and sailed to the island of Yell where another boat was waiting. Through Yell we went and on to another boat to take us to Unst. Eventually we reached our destination and, after a lengthy rehearsal, taped a wonderful show. Of course, we had to travel back in exactly the same fashion. After all that, our show yielded only 2 minutes of film for the ‘spectacular’.

People often ask when my band broke through to the big time and I always find difficulty in pinning this down.  I think a lot of our success could be attributed to Robert Wilson on the “Personal Appearance” radio series. During the show’s run, it built up a tremendous audience, mainly thanks to Robert’s popularity. He really was a first-class person. I have him to thank for our breakthrough into records.  After a programme in Inverness, I was having a wee blether with Robert when he said, “You know, Ian, it’s a wonder you haven’t tried recordings.”

BEST SELLER

I told him we had tried but finished results had been none too successful. I felt our lack of success had been due to inexperience. “Well, man” he said, “You’re making the kind of sound I like to hear. I think I’ll drop my recording manager a line.”  He was as good as his word and I was asked to make a test-recording by Robert’s recording manager – none other than George Martin, the man who looks after the Beatles’ disc interests today. That test turned out to be the most successful recording the band has ever made. It was also one of our best sellers. It was called “Bothy Ballads for the Gay Gordons”.

The Courier and Advertiser (3) – November 1966 cont/…

In 1960 I was faced with a big decision. Things were going well for the band, and I had to make up my mind whether I was going to be a fiddle player or a farmer.  The White Heather Club was getting under way and we had formed a bond with Andy Stewart, who occasionally took over as host from Robert Wilson. Things looked bright for us, so the whole band turned professional.  Leila and I moved from Bankhead to a house in Perth to settle down in my new life as a full-time musician.

SPARE TIME

I enjoyed life in the Fair City, but quickly found I was having a lot of time on my hands. After dashing about on a farm during the day then flying off to engagements, life in Perth was foreign to me. After 14 months in the new bungalow I got a chance to buy West Kirkton Farm, near Auchterarder. I jumped at it. But later, I must confess, I was worried about the move. With the passing years my worries were dispelled as property prices increased. My busiest year was 1962. The band had been booked for a 23-week season in the Glasgow Empire with Andy Stewart and, during the day, I was hard at it on the farm. At harvest time I was driving tractors and organising everything before dashing off to Glasgow at tea-time. After I’d left, Leila kept on working. Occasionally she phoned me at the theatre to keep me in the picture. One night she phoned to say she’d managed to get the last 40 bales under cover. You’ve no idea how pleased and happy I was with her effort, especially when rain poured down the following morning. Only the farming fraternity will appreciate fully how much her achievement meant to me.

The Courier and Advertiser (2) – November 1966

On the eve of his departure for Australia, farmer and dance band leader lan Powrie continues the story of his life.

These grand old bothy nichts

I WAS born in 1923 – the year my father went up to Whitehouse, a farm at Strathardle, Bridge of Cally. There, he was a sort of grieve/gaffer lad. Then we moved to Maryfield, at Blairgowrie, where my sister, Mary, was born. We moved on again to Henry Thomson’s estate at Coupar Angus. That was when I started school at Bendochy. I often think about old Dominie Gibson, and my infant mistress, Miss Irvine. My two brothers, Jim and Bill, were born at Bendochy. Soon we shifted once more, this time to Essendy, between Blairgowrie and Meikleour. My youngest brother Alan was born there.

Through all our moves, my father gradually improved his status. By the time we reached Essendy, he was in full charge of the farm. He was a great old boy – whose name was well-known in Scottish music circles log before I came along. With his wee melodeon, he used to play away in the bothy in a style being recreated these days on television. He became known as “The Angus Ploughman” and made records at the same time as Jim Cameron and the Cameron Fiddlers. Dad was a great band enthusiast. He kept his band together until the war started. In those days, I played piano accordion, although I had started out to learn the fiddle when 1 was five. While staying at Bendochy, I was tutored in fiddle-playing by Adam Rennie – the newsagent in Coupar Angus. After a quarter there, I went along to Jim Ogilvie in Blairgowrie. In those days I delved into the classics and never attempted Scottish music on the fiddle. Like most youngsters of that age, tuition was forced on me although I never had to be asked to play the instruments.

In the mid-thirties few ploughmen had wireless sets. All the entertainment was ” kinda hand-knitted.” But although it wasn’t difficult to get me to play, it was a problem to get me to lessons. So I was plugging away at the classics while my father and other fiddle players were concentrating on traditional music. I had been forbidden to play Scottish stuff for so long that, eventually, my interest sagged. When I did manage to try my hand at Scottish music, it was like a release.

It was usually at bothy nichts I got a chance to really enjoy my music. A nicht would usually start with somebody coming along for a cup of tea or a chat. Before long the melodeon would come out for a tune. Then someone passing, hearing the music, would come and join in. Next minute they would dash off home for their instrument. Before you could say “Jock Robinson,” there was a big pot o’ tatties peeled, the stovies were on the fire, and we were in business. It was incredible. Bothy nichts were popular in the late summer months when the weather was still mild. Ploughman lads would sit outside on the dyke and play away on their melodeons. Before long, their efforts would attract others.

CEILIDH

I’ve done this myself. One night, I was biking home from a music lesson in Blairgowrie with my fiddle on my back. As I passed the Lunan bridge, I heard the Watsons at Aikenhead playing away on the fiddle. Without any ado, I went up and gave them a tune on my fiddle. This was round about tea-time. Before long, a ceilidh was in full swing! Not so long ago I received a letter from the Watsons. The father, Jimmy Watson, composed a lot of grand tunes which I put into a collection and published. They wrote to say they had lost all the original manuscripts. At the moment, I’m trying to supply them with all his material.

Moving on from the musical side, I volunteered for the RA.F. in 1942 and was given my pilot’s training in this country. I was placed on deferred service before being drafted to Canada to complete my training. I’ll never forget the atmosphere in those days. Most young lads were straining to get going. I remember during our spell with Tiger Moths at Derby we had 12 hours in which to attain a certain standard. Then, on the strength of our performance, we were told whether we would be allowed to continue.

CANADA

Eventually, I was sent to Canada to complete the course. I trained there on various models until 1946. During this time, I didn’t play the violin once. I felt the atmosphere was wrong for that sort of thing. In the N.A.A.F.I, there was more preference for someone jangling ‘Roll out the Barrel’ on the piano.

We were kept hanging about in Canada until V-day. While we waited, three or four alternatives were offered to us. The first was to sign on for forest-ranger service. This offered plenty of opportunity for flying. Only snag was the minimum term of service – eight years. The R.A.F. was also open to us as a career but again the term was lengthy. If I’d gone for this I would probably be flying Lightnings today. Another alternative was to opt for ground staff.

DECISION

Finally, for those with reserved occupations, such as agriculture, there was the chance of a Class B release. By this time, my father was manager at Bankhead, Dupplin, for Lord Forteviot. What was I do do? Become a bush pilot, an RAF pilot, a member of ground staff or come home to the farm. Eventually I plumped for a Class B release.

PHOTO William Powrie, Ian’s father, who achieved recording fame under the name, “The Angus Ploughman”. In pre-war years, he ran his own band and delighted in playing at bothy nichts.