(Dalmally)
When I first went to Dalmally, or properly Croitchuarain (although the tin shack will always be “Dalmally” to me), the first number of my age was a “2”.
I returned there this weekend for it’s 100th anniversary, not, in fact, of it’s building, but of it passing into the hands of brother Berts family. (It’s more complicated, but the principle is there).
If my age was an odometer, the first number would now be a “5” with the “6” coming into clear view at the top of the dial. So for 30 years, at least, that antique prefab fever hospital building on the Oban road has woven it’s way in and out of my life and stories.
Of course now, it is inhabited 365 days. Windows are fixed, plumbing works, water runs, and the garden is lush with veg and fruit trees. There was still space for a stage, although not on the gable end , which I proudly remember repairing with only axes and chisels (“What do you mean we don’t have a saw?”).
The Forrestry harvested most of the surrounding woods, so it’s not quite so lost in the dark and trees, but even with the new out buildings, wind turbine, and hot water (what a joy that would have been 20 years ago), it’s a little like stepping back in time, or stepping into a memory.
I felt that the goal of 100 songs for 100 years was “ambitious”, but not really out of keeping with a million other plans that have been hatched in and around that place.
Personally, I felt that my musical contribution was long on quanity (what! I’m back on stage again!) but sadly lacking in other areas. However the goal was, I think, more or less reached (did anyone actually count), and I’m sure in the future tales it will be recounted as 100 songs.
The stand out act of the day was, fittingly, young Mr Sam Richard, and perhaps, as a fellow musician and of course actual family shareholder in the place, he can in his own time carry the tradition forward.
I’d like to believe that, in some arcane way, we still live there in spirit, and that if you listened carefully, you might still hear, two friends scheming over clinking glasses about some wild plan (probably involving sewers), or maybe, just catch the last few notes of a blistering guitar solo echoing by the stream.
You can take the people out of Dalmally, but somehow, for many of us, you can never take Dalmally out of the people.
Next week on IaDL: I appear to be working nights.. (sighs!)
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 