Sandy Bell's

After a day job meeting in Edinburgh today, a trip to the Alexander Bell Institute of non-specific study for a well-deserved pint. Sandy Bell's has been my favourite boozer in Edinburgh for more years than I care to recall.  I have been drinking there since the 1970's.

Not a lot has changed in that time other than the clientele I first knew have got older and some have died.  New ones have cropped up in their place though and the pub seems as busy as ever.

Sandy Bell's is synonymous with music of course.  Traditional music.  I have many happy memories of Sunday afternoons in particular with Ian Grant, the moothie player.  A wonderful player and a fount of knowledge regarding pipe tunes in particular.

The pub was also a labour exchange for traditional musicians.  I picked up many paying gigs simply from being in Bell's at the right time.   It was always the right place.

This afternoon I fell in with some old pals.  One looked frail and much older than he should be. The rest were in fine form though and we recalled many others we used to share the pub with.

Hamish Henderson the folklorist (to nominate only one of his many hats) was a regular in our day.  In death a papier mache bust of Hamish sat above the bar with a bottle of whisky to keep him company.

The bust is no longer in the pub but on loan to the national museum across the road.  To the disquiet of those who knew Hamish, the bottle of whisky does not accompany him in the museum.

Tam Flanagan, the disappearing fiddle player.  This was Tam's joke on himself.  He had to endure a number of successively progressive amputations of his legs.  Not surprisingly with such as that to endure, Tam took refuge in drink.  His fiddle playing and general outlook on life suffered as a result.  He wrote some good tunes though.

Jimmy Greenan was a whistle player who had a withered left arm, the result of childhood polio.  A super player, and a man who did not suffer fools gladly.  Jimmy was a true artist musically, but unrecognised and unlauded.  He died in solitude. We remembered him today in Bell's.

It is true that their likes will not be seen again.  As we blethered in Bell's I sat in the seat that Ian Grant customarily occupied. With his flowing moustaches and ready wit, he was the glue that held together a disparate bunch of cronies who played together on a sunday afternoon.

Ian hailed from Forfar originally and was often joined on a sunday by his brother Dave who had remained in Forfar all his days.  Dave was a big fan of trad jazz as well as Scottish music.

I remember Dave showing off an old Saxophone he had bought at a sale.  With a knowing smile he asked me if I knew what kind of Sax it was.  I looked it over.  It wasn't a Tenor or an Alto so I took a guess and said;

"Well Dave, that's a C-Melody Sax."

"How the hell dae you ken that?" was Dave's response.

"I'm a big Frankie Trumbauer fan Dave." Says I.

"Frankie Trumbauer and the Mound City Blue Blowers?  How the fuck have you ever heard ae them?"

I just smiled and tapped my nose.

Everybody I have written of so far is dead.

Ewen Forfar is still alive though.  We talked of the time I walked in and met him having a tune with Emmylou Harris and a Television Crew.  It's not like me to be stage-struck but Emmylou is very charismatic and as she looked into my eyes and shook my hand I would have done anything for her.

Though today was strictly a social call to Bell's I hope to be spared to have a tune there again.  And to recall those who have made the place the wonderful pub that it is.

The friends I have drank there with.  The pints I have swallowed, the tunes I have learned.  The sorrows I have drowned. The friendships I have forged.  The lovers I have lost.  Bell's has seen a lot of my life.