I received a message some two years ago that a friend I had grown up with in an Orphanage in Scotland, had died suddenly. I had recently spent time with him catching up on each other’s lives, our children, partners-past and present, what was then currently preoccupying us, what other passions were around and of course reflecting on memories of our stay as children at Aberlour Orphanage in the Highlands of Scotland.
Due to circumstances beyond my control I could not attend his funeral, but I had the great fortune of paying my respects to my friend in person at his resting place last month in Aberdeenshire. I wanted to see where his final resting place was to check my own impressions as to what it would look like, knowing Billy well. My impressions were correct. We did know each other well.
There is no greater compliment to bestow on someone than to recall the impact they made on you after they have passed on. Billy, my friend and brother, was one of those. We were amongst a dozen or so children living in the Orphanage nursery for several years before moving on to one of several other large houses for boys in the Orphanage grounds, catering for older children, Spey House. Somehow Billy stood out. He was quiet, popular, bright, handsome, and very funny. He was a great talker and told marvellous stories. He was much loved.
For several decades afterwards we went our separate ways and then, around forty years later, quite by chance, in undertaking research on my life under the parental care of the Scottish child-care system with a particular focus on Aberlour Orphanage, we reconnected. I still remember that moment. He was still quiet, thoughtful, peaceful, fun to be with, full of marvellous stories not only about himself but of others, some of whom I knew. He wrote poetry and was accomplished in it. He had children now of his own whom he loved and cared for and was in active contact with. He had had partners but life had taught him that he was destined to live a solitary life-not lonely. His passions demanded space and spending time on his own to write, think, reflect, without the background noise which most of us as readers, would regard as critical factors in any life worth living.
He desired a quiet life and consciously made that reality happen, both in his paid employment decisions and in his private life. He and I were soul mates having many things in common. Nothing was off the agenda when we met and talked. He shared his poetry and other writings just as he and I shared our life stories. We were brothers. We visited the village of Aberlour together where Aberlour Orphanage was located during its 92 years of operation between 1875 and 1967. Billy’s memories of his time there were far more detailed than my own, and he triggered recall of aspects of my time there, by mentioning incidents, highlighting structures we passed by in Aberlour, noting names of significant people he remembered at Aberlour-both children and staff, and helped bring to focus our shared past which only those who have played a role in it, can do. Such treasured individuals are slowly disappearing as we all are becoming older and gradually leaving life’s platform.
Which is why those individuals play such an important role in my life. They are paving stones, including my own, on which I stand.
Billy’s son, Blair, met me in Aberlour, and kindly drove me to Billy’s final destination. This intergenerational connection to Aberlour would have put a smile on Billy’s face. The resting place was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was in the countryside far distant from the noise of car and population traffic. A natural setting perfectly reflecting Billy’s outdoor pursuits of hill and mountain walking, being free, having space to think without clutter.
‘Bury me neath The Billowing Tree’