Coalburn Accordion Club – November 1982
By Jim Hamilton
The following is from Volume 17 of the “Coalburn Chronicles” an amazing piece of work by the late Jim Hamilton who was born in the village in 1922. Primarily the Chronicles record the history of the village from earlier written records, extensive interviews with elderly residents and photographs but Jim was also broad-minded enough to record current events in the life of the village. The Chronicles eventually ran to 80 volumes each with the content of a B&F. Truly a wonderful record for future generations of a small Lanarkshire mining village.
The older I become, the more I seem to suffer from the alleged disease of the senile – nostalgia. Fortunately it is relatively painless ; if truth be told, this sentimental yearning for the past is a balm against the ravages which time takes of the body and I like to immerse myself in visions of bygone recollections, a sort of dreamy reverie of yesteryear.
But what made me start writing in this vein? When I saw that Coalburn had started one of the spreading phenomena of the 1980’s, a Box and Fiddle club in the summer of 1982 and were arranging monthly concerts, I paid my subscription but found I could not spare the time to attend the first concerts of the 1982-83 season. (One of the drawbacks of my preparing ‘Coalburn Chronicles’ is that I have to try to spend part of every evening in my study, either researching, drafting or typing so it severely cuts down on my social activities.) I was determined to attend at least one of these concerts so chose to be present when the November musical evening was being held. The weather was sufficiently bad as to deter anyone intending to be present from setting out from home. As I drove south from my home in Hamilton to Coalburn, swirling snow, sleet and hail alternately swished across the headlights of my car and the windscreen wipers toiled furiously to clear away the accumulating moisture to allow me some limited but hazy visibility.
I parked in Garden street and when I got out of the car, a gale force wind from the Haxie Hills threatened to blow me about 300 yards backwards into Wee Coalburn Farm. Stalwart folk are the Coalburnites. As I neared the Institute steps, I could see some hooded figures walking bent against the wind in order to reach the sanctuary of the entrance hall. Once inside, and I was getting my wind back, I looked around at the War Memorial and the Memorial to Jimmy Findlay containing the names of the Queens since the inception of the Gala Day.
I climbed the steps to the Main Hall just as I had done hundreds of times to ‘the pictures’ or to concerts, or in early manhood for the late-night dances.
Upstairs I got a warm welcome from Hugh and May Conneghan. Hugh looked spruce in a Daks-check jacket of distinctive pattern and May had more embonpoint than when I first knew her when she and Hugh were courting.
But what made me start writing in this vein? When I saw that Coalburn had started one of the spreading phenomena of the 1980’s, a Box and Fiddle club in the summer of 1982 and were arranging monthly concerts, I paid my subscription but found I could not spare the time to attend the first concerts of the 1982-83 season. (One of the drawbacks of my preparing ‘Coalburn Chronicles’ is that I have to try to spend part of every evening in my study, either researching, drafting or typing so it severely cuts down on my social activities.) I was determined to attend at least one of these concerts so chose to be present when the November musical evening was being held. The weather was sufficiently bad as to deter anyone intending to be present from setting out from home. As I drove south from my home in Hamilton to Coalburn, swirling snow, sleet and hail alternately swished across the headlights of my car and the windscreen wipers toiled furiously to clear away the accumulating moisture to allow me some limited but hazy visibility.
I parked in Garden street and when I got out of the car, a gale force wind from the Haxie Hills threatened to blow me about 300 yards backwards into Wee Coalburn Farm. Stalwart folk are the Coalburnites. As I neared the Institute steps, I could see some hooded figures walking bent against the wind in order to reach the sanctuary of the entrance hall. Once inside, and I was getting my wind back, I looked around at the War Memorial and the Memorial to Jimmy Findlay containing the names of the Queens since the inception of the Gala Day.
I climbed the steps to the Main Hall just as I had done hundreds of times to ‘the pictures’ or to concerts, or in early manhood for the late-night dances.
Upstairs I got a warm welcome from Hugh and May Conneghan. Hugh looked spruce in a Daks-check jacket of distinctive pattern and May had more embonpoint than when I first knew her when she and Hugh were courting.
I paid the modest charge for admission of 75p to Charlie Thomson, one of four men at the tables who were in charge of receiving the guest musicians and club members. I immediately thought of how Charlie’s father, the late john Thomson would have enjoyed being present on such a night of music making for there had been no more loyal, attender of the Coalburn Amateur Orchestra on practice nights. I can still see John arrive, always with his violin case tucked inconspicuously under his arm and he would give those already assembled busy erecting music stands, his quiet yet warm salutation.
I looked round the sea of faces and first spoke to John Mowat and his wife who were obviously set to enjoy the musical feast that lay ahead. I noticed that Willie MacKenzie, a Committee member was walking around the tables and giving everyone a warm welcome. His cherubic face seems ageless.
I thought it was time to find a seat and there was an empty one beside Bobby McLean and Robert Nicol. I was soon enjoying their observations about the previous concerts and their repartee about some of the players. I did not catch on at first to bobby’s repeated references to the highlight of the evening being a pie all present would get at the interval, but got the message when he explained that what was special about the pie was he was involved in the distribution.
As I talked with Bobby and Robert, I had time to look round the Welfare Hall as it has been know for over fifty years to distinguish it from other halls in the village such as the ‘Victoria’ or ‘Masonic’ or ‘Shepherds’. The old domed ceiling was no longer visible as a false ceiling, artistically constructed, covered what was part of the glory of the Welfare Institute when the building was opened. The dance floor area had been reduced in size with tables round three sides placed on an attractive shade of carpet.
I looked round the sea of faces and first spoke to John Mowat and his wife who were obviously set to enjoy the musical feast that lay ahead. I noticed that Willie MacKenzie, a Committee member was walking around the tables and giving everyone a warm welcome. His cherubic face seems ageless.
I thought it was time to find a seat and there was an empty one beside Bobby McLean and Robert Nicol. I was soon enjoying their observations about the previous concerts and their repartee about some of the players. I did not catch on at first to bobby’s repeated references to the highlight of the evening being a pie all present would get at the interval, but got the message when he explained that what was special about the pie was he was involved in the distribution.
As I talked with Bobby and Robert, I had time to look round the Welfare Hall as it has been know for over fifty years to distinguish it from other halls in the village such as the ‘Victoria’ or ‘Masonic’ or ‘Shepherds’. The old domed ceiling was no longer visible as a false ceiling, artistically constructed, covered what was part of the glory of the Welfare Institute when the building was opened. The dance floor area had been reduced in size with tables round three sides placed on an attractive shade of carpet.
Yet another sign of the changing times. Now the men and women attending dances sit in couples or groups at tables ; fifty years ago, there was segregation of the sexes with the ladies traditionally sitting facing the stage from the left and opposite, along the wall adjoining Garden Street, were the men. When the M.C. announced the dance and the music started, the more confident males would strut or run across the floor – as the evening wore on the scene after a dance started resembled a battle charge – to choose the favourite girls as dance partners.
But back to the present. I counted there were over a hundred persons in the hall. There were a fair sprinkling of ladies, many with grey or ‘rinsed’ hair and for men, many were like me, with more skin showing on the top of our heads than actual hair. One attribute most of us had in common – expansive smiles showing we were enjoying ourselves and expansive and corpulent bodies. I thought back and remembered how slim most of us were while in the first flush of youth.
All the while there was activity at the bottom of the hall with men going to the bar, placing their orders, handing over their money and arriving back at the tables carrying trays of beer and ales and small glasses of the ‘heavy stuff.’ Lithesome young girls were already busy removing empty glasses from tables.
Also, at the bottom of the hall, men and women and boys and girls were arriving with accordion and fiddle cases and preparing to take their part in the evening proceedings. There was an eager air of anticipation.
The piped Scottish music which had been playing softly through the loudspeaker pending the actual start of the concert was switched off and Alex Gray, a fine upstanding figure of a man, appeared on the platform to announce the first artiste after some words of welcome. I have nothing but admiration for Alex as he has been a credit to the name of Gray which has been prominent in the village for the last hundred years.
Then the feast of Scottish music began and I was at times in a state of reverie, it may be that I did not write down all the names of those who participated. My notes show that I listed the following performers :- Jamie Hope, aged 12 years from Coulter; Alan Gardiner, also aged 12 years from Lamington; Jimmy Divers from Clelland who never took his hat off so I could not estimate his age but many years have passed since he had his 12th birthday; all were accomplished players of the accordion and we had a succession of fine players on the ‘squeeze-box’ – Arthur Ramage (Rigside), Jim Smith (Lesmahagow), Nelson Callan (Wishaw) and Charles Todd (Carmichael). Two young lassies, Una Bryson (Chapelton) and Elaine Hastie (Carluke) came on stage with accordions about as big as themselves. Both played beautifully, executing pieces with different tempos and rhythms with such perfection that they were given extended applause. Adam Ried on accordion with John Houston and Annie Robertson on violins played as a trio and their selections were mainly old Scottish tunes seldom heard. Joe Vettraino (Hamilton) played a whole repertoire of accordion music in virtuoso style.
In succession we had artistes playing reels and waltzes and strathspeys and haunting tunes of old Scotia. We saw button-keyed accordions, piano-keyed accordions and even some electronic models.
The highlight of the evening was the paid guest star – all the others performed unpaid – and then he took the stage, he soon showed his professionalism. Alex MacArthur of ‘Take the Floor’ broadcasting fame was a consummate accordionist, at ease with his audience and his expertise was apparent as he fingered with precision, and could provide a definite lilt and emphasis as appropriate to the pieces he played. His pleasant personality revealed his regular association with Box and Fiddle Clubs because he could preface each set with an appropriate introduction and he could name-drop to let us know of his familiarity with the leading stars of the Scottish Dance Band scene like Will Starr and Jimmy Shand. We were also given an insight into just how widespread are the Box and Fiddle Clubs as he regaled us with stories of amusing incidents when visiting clubs in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland.
At the interval I had moved nearer to the stage to join my brother Alex, his pal Jimmy Weir, and that familiar figure of the Coalburn Dance Band scene some years back, Jock Gardiner. Like me, they were appreciative of the valuable work of the Committee who had arranged a fine programme of concerts for the club members during the winter months. I also had a chap with Bruce Shaw between his appearances on stage as he proved to be the expert on drums when any of the soloists or ensembles wanted a steady and dependable beat. Even Alex MacArthur called for his services and was generous in his praise of Bruce’s drumming.
One face, that of a lady, kept me wondering for half the evening as to her name. She had come round at the interval selling raffle tickets. I knew I should recognise her but her name evaded me. She had matured graciously and must have been a very pretty girl in her youth. I eventually had to ask and I was told the ticket seller was Mattie Pirrie. I had not seen her for upwards of thirty years and she had been selling me tickets even then – as a bus conductress on the Lesmahagow to Douglas run.
I had intended to finish at this point but I promised one person that, if I wrote a report on the concert, I would mention his name. I had been quite entranced with this man sitting at the front and I could see he was kept busy but I could not make up my mind, from where I was seated, as to what his duties were. I had finally to go up to the man and ask what he was doing. “Recording the music on ma tape-recorder”, grinner Charlie Muir. I’ve kept my promise, Charlie, I’ve mentioned your name.
But back to the present. I counted there were over a hundred persons in the hall. There were a fair sprinkling of ladies, many with grey or ‘rinsed’ hair and for men, many were like me, with more skin showing on the top of our heads than actual hair. One attribute most of us had in common – expansive smiles showing we were enjoying ourselves and expansive and corpulent bodies. I thought back and remembered how slim most of us were while in the first flush of youth.
All the while there was activity at the bottom of the hall with men going to the bar, placing their orders, handing over their money and arriving back at the tables carrying trays of beer and ales and small glasses of the ‘heavy stuff.’ Lithesome young girls were already busy removing empty glasses from tables.
Also, at the bottom of the hall, men and women and boys and girls were arriving with accordion and fiddle cases and preparing to take their part in the evening proceedings. There was an eager air of anticipation.
The piped Scottish music which had been playing softly through the loudspeaker pending the actual start of the concert was switched off and Alex Gray, a fine upstanding figure of a man, appeared on the platform to announce the first artiste after some words of welcome. I have nothing but admiration for Alex as he has been a credit to the name of Gray which has been prominent in the village for the last hundred years.
Then the feast of Scottish music began and I was at times in a state of reverie, it may be that I did not write down all the names of those who participated. My notes show that I listed the following performers :- Jamie Hope, aged 12 years from Coulter; Alan Gardiner, also aged 12 years from Lamington; Jimmy Divers from Clelland who never took his hat off so I could not estimate his age but many years have passed since he had his 12th birthday; all were accomplished players of the accordion and we had a succession of fine players on the ‘squeeze-box’ – Arthur Ramage (Rigside), Jim Smith (Lesmahagow), Nelson Callan (Wishaw) and Charles Todd (Carmichael). Two young lassies, Una Bryson (Chapelton) and Elaine Hastie (Carluke) came on stage with accordions about as big as themselves. Both played beautifully, executing pieces with different tempos and rhythms with such perfection that they were given extended applause. Adam Ried on accordion with John Houston and Annie Robertson on violins played as a trio and their selections were mainly old Scottish tunes seldom heard. Joe Vettraino (Hamilton) played a whole repertoire of accordion music in virtuoso style.
In succession we had artistes playing reels and waltzes and strathspeys and haunting tunes of old Scotia. We saw button-keyed accordions, piano-keyed accordions and even some electronic models.
The highlight of the evening was the paid guest star – all the others performed unpaid – and then he took the stage, he soon showed his professionalism. Alex MacArthur of ‘Take the Floor’ broadcasting fame was a consummate accordionist, at ease with his audience and his expertise was apparent as he fingered with precision, and could provide a definite lilt and emphasis as appropriate to the pieces he played. His pleasant personality revealed his regular association with Box and Fiddle Clubs because he could preface each set with an appropriate introduction and he could name-drop to let us know of his familiarity with the leading stars of the Scottish Dance Band scene like Will Starr and Jimmy Shand. We were also given an insight into just how widespread are the Box and Fiddle Clubs as he regaled us with stories of amusing incidents when visiting clubs in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland.
At the interval I had moved nearer to the stage to join my brother Alex, his pal Jimmy Weir, and that familiar figure of the Coalburn Dance Band scene some years back, Jock Gardiner. Like me, they were appreciative of the valuable work of the Committee who had arranged a fine programme of concerts for the club members during the winter months. I also had a chap with Bruce Shaw between his appearances on stage as he proved to be the expert on drums when any of the soloists or ensembles wanted a steady and dependable beat. Even Alex MacArthur called for his services and was generous in his praise of Bruce’s drumming.
One face, that of a lady, kept me wondering for half the evening as to her name. She had come round at the interval selling raffle tickets. I knew I should recognise her but her name evaded me. She had matured graciously and must have been a very pretty girl in her youth. I eventually had to ask and I was told the ticket seller was Mattie Pirrie. I had not seen her for upwards of thirty years and she had been selling me tickets even then – as a bus conductress on the Lesmahagow to Douglas run.
I had intended to finish at this point but I promised one person that, if I wrote a report on the concert, I would mention his name. I had been quite entranced with this man sitting at the front and I could see he was kept busy but I could not make up my mind, from where I was seated, as to what his duties were. I had finally to go up to the man and ask what he was doing. “Recording the music on ma tape-recorder”, grinner Charlie Muir. I’ve kept my promise, Charlie, I’ve mentioned your name.