so much time with him.
Davy and Jim are working on a sherry butt for charity.
I will never forget that magical moment when I had to gather all my knowledge and skills and build my first barrel alone, using only my hands and my tools. Davy watched the process very closely, with total, emotionless concentration. His gaze was critical and let me know that now the moment had come when I was to take the reins of my future into my own hands. My pulse was racing, sweat was on my forehead. The lid held, the rings were made. The staves had the right bend, fitted together and were precisely cut. Visibly gaining confidence, I skilfully joined the staves together to form a barrel, before the great moment of truth. Now it was time! Had all the learning been worth it or was it a waste of time? Would this first cask from my hands be a good one and one day serve as a mother for a special whisky or would it just become a planter? The answer came from the relentless quality test that each cask had to face. The cask was filled with water, litre by litre, under Davy’s watchful gaze. All eyes were fixed on this new container I had made. The workers around me stood still for a moment. The two Donalds, Sandy and Wally, also paused. Everyone wanted to see if my first barrel would be tight. Davy still didn’t let on. Inside my blood was boiling with excitement, but of course I didn’t want to show it. So I stayed pretty cool on the outside too and looked like it was nothing special. But when the barrel was full and not a single drop, however small, could be seen outside the McEwan hogshead, I burst with happiness and jumped around in the cooperage. It was done! I had made my first barrel. It was my first one and it was tight. It was a dream come true, I was a cooper! The boy who had looked through the windows on the way to school had now become a proud craftsman! Now I belonged and everyone in Bowmore could see it. I had grown up, I was a man. That benevolent and infinitely proud laugh of Davy’s still brings tears to my eyes today. That day was a milestone in my career. Now I wore the cooper’s apron with even more pride than before. My dream had come true, and I had Davy alone to thank for that.
It was done! I had made my first barrel. It was my first one and it was tight. It was a dream come true, I was a cooper!
Now that I was no longer his student but his colleague, a wonderful period of working together began. Davy and I became a kind of unit over time, a dream team. I became more and more familiar with all the practices at Bowmore distillery, and got to know all the people on an equal footing, despite my younger years. Being part of the number one team was an indescribable feeling.
This fact that Davy was number one never made a lot of difference to him, which says a lot about him as a person. He was always modest. Other values counted for him, important as it was to always achieve his goals the honest way, even if that way took more time. Take no shortcuts, always go the right way: this sentence stands like no other for his philosophy, for his view of things. He always stuck to this credo. I remember, for example, that he didn’t buy his house with a loan from the bank. He worked hard and saved until he could pay cash for his house in Bowmore. It cost around £8,000, an insane amount in those days. I was there for the transaction, when a gentleman by the name of Baldy McDougall came into the cooperage. Davy had a cupboard where all sorts of important things were kept. He opened the door and took out a tin that would usually have had whisky in it … and there was the money, carefully arranged in bundles. I had never seen so much money in one place before in my life. The reward of a lifetime’s achievement, printed on paper and manifested in numbers, was changing hands. For many, many years, this man, who was and is a living legend for me, had saved every penny, to buy something of major value with it, once in his life. And I was allowed to be there! It was so moving and so inspiring for me. And of course, I wanted to do the same: one day, I hoped, I too would have a house on Islay. That’s why I was always happy to take on extra shifts or special jobs. This episode impressed upon me that it would really be worth making an effort. Take no shortcuts – go the right way, even if it is sometimes the harder way. Then you reach your goal, your success, something of which I had become more aware. Davy didn’t have to preach his values, although he certainly could have; he lived them. And that made them shine all the brighter for me and enriched me and my career. What a man of unspeakable vision and great stature. Davy was one of those personalities of whom there are only a handful in the world – what a blessing to have known him.
“Take no shortcuts – go the right way, even if it is sometimes the harder way.”
Davy Bell
Working with Davy Bell, the day before Christmas was always a highlight for me. That was the day when a beautiful ritual, one that had developed over time, took place. The day before Christmas was the day we always made sure that our cooperage was sparklingly clean. We felt that the Christmas glow should be visible, so we always made a special effort. Often this meant working one or two ‘extra hours’. Christmas also meant that we all sat together around a fire with a good dram in hand, together reviewing the past year and telling each other what we planned to do over the festive holiday. There was never anything spectacular about it, but it was just nice. I enjoyed these special days very much.
Davy and Jim – a dream team.
Davy and I were always the last to leave, and I always knew exactly what was coming. When everyone else was already on their way home, he would pull me aside and say, “Jim, my boy, now it’s time for you to get your Christmas present from me too. I have brought something special for you!” He then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. Inside was a carefully folded £1 banknote, which he solemnly handed to me. “Here, my boy, this will buy your Barbara a wonderful Christmas present.” “But Davy, there’s no need for that, it’s far too much,” I invariably retorted. But with a gleam in his eye and a kind, benevolent voice, he would always reply, “No, son, you’ve worked hard all year – you’ve earned it! Take it quietly and make me happy.” Only when that pound note passed from Davy into my possession, only then was it Christmas. Those were wonderful moments, symbolising what Davy was like, remaining humble in everything he did, but always with his loved ones in mind. It makes me incredibly happy that I was allowed to belong to this circle.
Most people retire at 65. Davy ignored this. He decided for himself when the time was right … and 65 was far too early. It was on a Friday like any other. We had all done our work and were nearing the end of the day. I was about to leave when Davy called me and asked me to wait behind. Then he came up to me and took my hand with both his hands in which I noticed was something hard and clattery. What he pressed into my hands, was nothing less than the keys to Bowmore distillery’s warehouses. Short and to the point, he simply said, “That’s it for me. Jim, now it’s your turn!” I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had only been at Bowmore for about seven years and was still a relatively young lad of 22, yet suddenly I’d been given sovereignty over so many casks. It was almost too much. “But Davy, I’m still very young and I can’t …” “Yes, Jim, you can! Now it’s your turn!” He hadn’t hinted at anything before; it just came out of nowhere. I had expected several things in my career, but certainly not this, yet I was now to be in charge of all the casks in the distillery. The shoes Davy left behind were impossible to fill – an incredibly big challenge for me. All I had was Davy’s experience and encouragement. Without my knowledge, he had already arranged everything in advance, his departure having long been discussed in the executive suites and my succession decided. He wanted me to be the cellar master, a position in which he trusted me without a second thought. It was an incredible honour for me and a huge vote of confidence. In my five years of training, I had always followed his mottoes and ideals, always taken the right path, stayed away from whisky, always worked hard and precisely, and never stolen any whisky. Now I was reaping the reward, and what a reward it was. That was Davy, no big talker, no blowhard, simply a doer with ideals. What he did spoke far louder than what he said, but anyone who thought he was now resting was to be proved wrong. Shortly after his official retirement, he
