Blairallan

Blairallan

The village is unspectacular. There would be no other word to describe
it, resembling as it does the many other villages that populate this
area of Aberdeenshire. The village was originally founded in the
mid-16th century, but it would be unrecognisable now to its original
inhabitants. Perhaps the only thing familiar to them would be the
circle of standing stones; a reminder of a much more ancient past and
located three hundred yards from what is now the village primary
school. The stones themselves have lost all their cultural
significance, nowadays being used (as they often are) by the village
teenagers for assignations l'amour and (sometimes quite memorable)
bouts of underage drinking. Local historians (and they are divided into
two groups - one each from the Universities of Aberdeen and Dundee)
argue about their original purpose. One believes that they had some
form of religious importance, possibly of a sacrificial nature, whilst
the other think they were an early version of an observatory, from
which the ancients scanned the night sky for portents and omens. The
only thing these different groups of historians do agree on is the age
of the stones. Both groups believe they are 3,000 years old, predating
Christianity in these parts by some 1300 years. The locals, most of who
don't care much about either their or their original purpose call them
the "Old Men" in reference to their uprightness.
Much has taken place to change the face of Blairallan over the last
century. Apart from two world wars the most important event was the
discovery of oil in the North Sea. This turned the coastal city of
Aberdeen (approximately 25 miles northeast) into Europe's self-styled
"oil capital", consigning its rival city Dundee (approximately 60 miles
southeast) to relative obscurity. This left Dundee famous for only two
things - one, the publishing empire of DC Thomson, the other the fact
that the rail bridge over the River Tay once collapsed in a storm
killing all the passengers of a steam train unlucky enough to be
crossing at the time. (It must be noted that neither of these things
brings in nearly as much wealth or economic growth as black gold has to
its rival, hence the hostility between the inhabitants of the two
cities.)
The village square of Blairallan is based around the Mercat Cross, a
Celtic cross fashioned out of granite which was first erected in the
mid-17th century, but amended in 1920 to form a permanent memorial to
those villagers who gave their lives in the Great War. Blairallan has
been no stranger to sacrifice. Villagers have answered the call many
times and joined the Gordon Highlanders whenever our nation has been
threatened. As well as casualties in the two World Wars, the village
had lost sons in other conflicts - against revolutionary France, in
India, in southern Africa and on the Northwest Frontier. Each year, on
Remembrance Sunday, the old people of the village march sombrely behind
the Boys' Brigade Pipe Band along the main street to the Mercat Cross
where they pay their respects to fallen comrades. There is no one alive
in Blairallan now who remembers the war of 1914-1918. The numbers who
remember the second are getting fewer. One day there will be no one
left. Who will remember the dead then, I wonder?
Formed around the square is what the locals call "the shops". As a boy
I was often sent by my mother or grandmother to "the shops". The use of
the plural makes it sound more important than it is; like it is some
kind of major commercial centre that serves the surrounding area. In
fact there are only three shops and they have been there for what seem
like ever. The largest is the Spar supermarket. It is a supermarket in
the same way that a rowing boat is a "ship". It was once the local
branch of the Northern Co-Operative Society and despite its name change
in the 1980s (when the Co-Op closed down) it is still referred to as
such by the locals. Parents young enough never to have known it in its
previous incarnation still send their sons and daughters to the "Co-Op"
for milk and bread. In the Spar you can buy anything you need to get
you through the week, although most people now use it as a convenience
store, preferring to make the journey to one of the larger superstores
in Stonehaven or Portlethen. The only thing that can't be purchased in
the Spar (which also doubles as the Post Office) is fresh meat. That
particular commodity is the preserve of Cowan's the Butchers, next
door.
There has been a Cowan slaughtering his own meat in Blairallan for
almost a century. The shop is currently owned by Barry Cowan, captain
of the village rugby team and a bad-tempered divorcee suspected of
having fathered at least four children by three other women (none of
whom he ever walked down the aisle of the local Church of Scotland).
When people see him drunk on a Friday or Saturday night they tend to
keep away for he is not a man to be tangled with. This can be hard for
the village has only one pub - The Gordon Arms, run by Patricia
Campbell, a landlady known for her hospitality, much of which has taken
place after normal licensing hours, to the (great) annoyance of the
local constabulary. There is another watering hole - The Laird of
Blairallan, but this is a hotel situated a couple of miles outside the
village on the main road to Aberdeen, and on a cold, wet, windy night
in the middle of winter few villagers venture that far out past the
street lights for fear of being run over on their way home (the rural
communities of these parts being well known for their unofficial sport
- drinking and driving). And besides, it charges hotel prices for its
drink, something not likely to endear it to the inhabitants of an area
not known for profligacy with money.
The last of the three shops is currently a caf?. I say currently
because the business changes hands as regularly as the seasons. In the
past it has been a bakers (1890s - 1960s), a barbers (1963-1965), a
unisex hair salon (1965-1966; that's how long the swinging sixties
lasted in Blairallan), an antique (junk) shop (1969-1975) and a craft
shop (1975-1990). The shop has lain empty for long periods only twice -
1966-1969 when the owners decided to retire and forgot to sell it and
from 1990-1996 when the local council decided that it wanted to use the
shop as a tourist information office. That particular project never got
off the ground and in the end they sold the shop to a Dutchman -
Michael Jongbloed who has opened up a caf?; frequented mostly it must
be said by the local youths. The caf? is spoken about in whispers by
many and on its first day of opening it was "raided" by Malcolm Young,
the village policeman in his official role as an officer of Grampian
Police. Since no evidence of anything illegal was found there have been
no other raids, although Malcolm has been spotted enjoying a cappuccino
there on more than one occasion.
You can only exit the square from two roads; the first takes you north
out of the village and is called the Aberdeen Road or the "main road"
by the locals. The second takes you south until it joins the A90, where
you can head to the coast, or turn inland. The village itself fans out
from the square in all four directions. North is the oldest part of the
village and home to many fine detached houses. To the south is the
council estate, built in the 1960s, but now mostly populated by
owner-occupiers who took advantage of Mrs Thatcher's promise to allow
everyone to become a homeowner. It is not unusual to see these
well-built granite houses selling for upwards of ?75,000. Considering
they were bought for less than ?10,000 this shows a remarkable increase
in value. To the west and east are the new estates, built in the
property boom period of the 1980s and 1990s and given exotic names by
their developers - Hillcrest and Simpson Mains being the two most
sought after locations. At this point it should be noted that property
prices are not as inflated as they are in the similar-sized villages in
Royal Deeside which lies fifteen miles to the north. In Blairallan,
property values have grown steadily over the years, reflected in the
relative stability of the population. There has been a ban on new
developments since 1998, much to the chagrin of Frankie Bowman,
otherwise known as the "Kit House King". Frankie is Blairallan's only
true local millionaire, making his fortune in the 1980s by importing
kit homes from Scandinavia and assembling them on his family's
farmland. This first development named The Beeches (in recognition of
the fact that he planted beech trees amongst the properties) proved to
be the foundation for his now highly successful company Frank Bowman
Homes Ltd. It has since been followed by Frank Bowman Exclusive Homes
Ltd and Frank Bowman Apartments Ltd. In fact, many cynical locals, no
doubt jealous of this local hero, have joked that the local council
should consider renaming the village Blairbowman. Frankie has made no
comment on this matter.
On what used to be the outskirts of the village sits the local parish
church. The church is considered by many to mark the boundary between
the old and new villages, sitting as it does at the brow of the hill a
quarter of a mile north of the Mercat Cross where the last of Frankie's
developments, Allanvale begins. The minister, Mr MacDougall is in his
sixties and has been at the parish since 1966. He is shortly to retire
and is currently "bedding in" a replacement by the name of Matthew
Farmer (no 'Mister' here), a young twentysomething fresh from
university, handsome in a boy band type of way, and single-handedly
responsible for doubling the size of the congregation (especially
amongst the 14-40 female demographic). The church has been doing good
works in the area for close on one hundred and fifty years and their
Boys' Brigade Company (1st Blairallan), has the largest number of
recruits in the area; 40 in the Junior Section (5-11 years) and 30 in
the Company Section (12-18 years). The local scoutmaster Brian
Unsworth, an Englishman who lives in a neighbouring village, describes
it as a "Christian Fundamentalist paramilitary organisation" and rants
on at length about it to his scout pack (all six of them when they turn
up at once).
Across the road from the church sits the Police House for no other
reason that it's a large enough property to house the local bobby and
act as a police station. The cell is located in the basement and
comfortably holds two criminals at once, although an exception had to
be made when Barry Cowan became involved in a brawl with a man he
suspected of sleeping with his wife. It should be noted that the man
was sleeping with his own wife, not Cowan's, and that Cowan just got
upset because he was also seeing the man's wife on the sly and looked
on her as his sole property.
As you drive out of the village past the Police House and the Church
you pass recently erected houses, a petrol station and the village
hotel The Laird of Blairallan, once privately-owned by locals, now part
of a nation-wide hotel chain. After that you are on the road to
Aberdeen and as I am now doing you are strongly advised to keep
going.