Diary of a Shopkeeper, 20th August

We all experience the death of friends and family. If this were a private diary I would doubtless write about such sad losses from time to time. However, the subject hardly seem suitable for a semi-humorous, semi-polemical account of a shopkeeper’s life. But there can be exceptions. If the person concerned is a public figure, at the end of a long and successful life, then a few words of celebration seem appropriate.

And so this week I come to praise Robbie Shepherd. For many the name – and the voice that springs to mind when it’s mentioned – is so familiar that no introduction will be needed. But for anyone who grew up out of earshot of BBC Scotland, I’ll give a little background.

Shepherd was born in 1936 in Dunecht, a dozen miles west of Aberdeen in the rich farmlands between Dee and Don. It’s a place as filled with visible history as Orkney. There are stone circles and standing stones all around. The Iron Age fort on the top of Barmekin Hill is a few miles south; Lewis Grassic Gibbon climbed it to write the final pages of Grey Granite.

Back in the 17th century, a local laird, Alexander Seaton, was known as the Wizard of Skene. He made a pact with the devil, and in exchange won remarkable powers. One night he ordered his coachman to drive across the barely-frozen Loch of Skene. All went well till the driver looked over his shoulder and glimpsed Auld Nick sitting in the coach with his master. At which point the carriage plunged into the midnight water and the servant drowned.

Robbie Shepherd didn’t focus on history and folk tales of this kind, though he would have known them well. Rather, he had a passion for promoting the language and music of the area.

He presented Take the Floor on BBC Radio Scotland for 36 years. He came on every Saturday evening, marking the end of the working week with his cheery greeting, some jaunty accordion, and the promise of Saturday night fun. I was usually mopping the greasy floor of the butcher’s shop where I worked, which was a different kind of dance. Scottish Country Dance music is not a genre that’s given much intellectual attention. It doesn’t need it: if the job is getting a room of folk to move their feet more or less rhythmically, a good Scottish dance band is unbeatable. What Robbie Shepherd did bring to the music was seriousness, intelligence, and genuine enthusiasm. He had discerning taste, and was tireless in promoting new acts as well as well-established ones.

I met him twice. His brother lived in the village I grew up in, over the hill from Dunecht, and I was friends with his niece. She was a Bowie fanatic and was playing me his latest release when Robbie put his head round the door to say hello. I wish I could remember some pithy comment he made about Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps).

The second meeting was a decade later, in the summer of 1987. A play I’d written, Sharny Dubs, was touring Scotland and Robbie invited me into the Beechgrove Studio to talk about it, and to choose some favourite music. One track was ‘Princie and Jean,’ written by Geordie Corrigall and sung by Tam Reid, King of the Bothy Ballad singers. Robbie was an engaging singer himself. His album, The Best of the Cornkisters, features photos by my uncle, Doug Westland, on the cover. Less familiar to Robbie was my second choice, ‘Letter from America’, by The Proclaimers, which had just been released. He was fascinated by this new act and their powerful version of Scottish history.

After the recording we sat in the studio for some time while he asked me more about my play and my take on the music and culture of the north-east. I’m sure I didn’t tell him anything that he didn’t already know, but it was typical of him that he asked questions and listened with interest to my replies.

Robbie, we’ll be looking for you!

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 23rd August 2023. A new one appears weekly. I post them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.