A Journeyman's Journey - The Story of Jim McEwan. Udo Sonntag
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Davy Bell
We had a very close and, above all, deep friendship until the day I received a phone call. Many years had passed and I was no longer living and working on Islay, but as a blender in Glasgow. I learned that in Bowmore, Davy, now 94 years old, was seriously ill. Did I want to visit him again at his deathbed? I immediately flew to Islay and drove straight to his house. All the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were there in this little house that he had once paid for in cash. His son David escorted me to his bedside, to the man to whom I owed so much. There was not much left of his once handsome appearance and he had also become quite deaf. The big guns of the First World War and the noise in the cooperage had left their mark, for in Davy’s generation there was no ear protection. There he was now, lying in front of me, tired, soon to leave a whole life behind him. I took his hands, which, once bursting with strength, were now very thin and fragile. I looked into the face of an old man, but one at peace with himself. “Ah, Jim, it’s you. It’s you, Jim! How are you?” He asked me, how I was? I wanted and needed desperately to be brave when I faced him, but believe me, I found it immensely difficult. I realised that these would likely be our last moments together. “Davy, I’m fine. I feel great and I’ve come to build some barrels with you tomorrow morning …” I replied, but Davy interrupted me and shook his head a little. “No, Jim, I’m not going to build any barrels with you tomorrow. I’ve spoken to the big man up there and tonight I will leave for my great journey. But I have been waiting for you.” I could hardly suppress my sobs. “No, Davy, you have plenty of time here. You’ll see, we’ll …” “Listen to me, Jim, I’m leaving today,” he interrupted me, “but I’ve left you a gift. A precious gift. You’ll always have a penny in your pocket with it!” I had come to Davy to see him once more, to say goodbye, one of the most poignant moments of my life. “Davy, God knows you don’t need to give me anything. You have already given me so many rich gifts.” “No, Jim, listen to me, you know our secret place, where we’ve hidden a bottle or two of whisky, down there in the garden shed. That’s where you’ll find my present! You’ll always have a penny in your pocket with it …” Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Davy Bell and the Islay Boys Football Club. In front on the right are Lynne and Lesley.
Davy, a wonderful character and the best teacher I could imagine. He shaped me like no other. For that I am still infinitely grateful to him today.
Davy’s garden house held a valuable secret.
Deeply touched, I left his bedroom and looked back once more. There lay one of the most precious people to me and I could not help him. As he had agreed with the big man upstairs, Davy did indeed go that night. Peacefully, he was allowed to fall asleep forever. The sympathy shown to him at the funeral was large and worthy of the great man’s passing – the Ileachs were all agreed on that. Before I left for Glasgow again, however, I stopped and went to see Davy’s son Alan. I told him that his dad had left me a gift in a secret place. Alan was puzzled, “I don’t know anything about a secret place.” “Only your father and I knew about it. It’s in the garden house, come on, I’ll show you.”
Right here lay Davy’s hidden gift.
So we went into the shed and I showed him the loose floorboard. It was the fourth. I knew how to open it, pulling the board from the floor. Inside was supposed to be the gift that would always keep a penny in my pocket. What would be waiting for me? I cleared away some more and there it was in front of me. It wasn’t wads of money, it wasn’t whisky. It was something he had put there a long time previously.
He had carefully packed all his tools, all the axes, all the knives, all the things a barrel maker needs, in burlap soaked in linseed oil. Those tools wouldn’t rust for many years, shining as they’d done when new. Davy must have had prepared this gift many years before his death. All the tools were brightly polished and razor sharp. I had been entrusted with his tools, so that I would always have a penny in my pocket. No matter what happened to me in my professional career, as a barrel maker I could have started anywhere. What incredible foresight and even more touching generosity. It was the most poignant gift I have ever received in my life: the tools Davy used to create great things. Those tools are so inextricably linked to the cooperage in Bowmore that I didn’t take them to Bruichladdich when I moved later in life. Davy had nothing to do with Bruichladdich, having lived in Bowmore all his life. It would have been wrong for me to take this gift to the other side of Loch Indaal. If you ever find your way to Islay and visit Bowmore distillery, look out in vault #1 for the inconspicuous tool hanging on the wall … for me the most valuable tool ever.
Davy enjoys a dram from one of his barrels. Sláinte!
6 The Lifeline of Islay – the Puffers
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