HISTORY

The following article was written by Alistair Brown-Scott and appeared in the 2002 Civic Week programme:

In August 1951, I was a young soldier on end-of-course leave from No. 4 Training Regiment, Royal Signals, Catterick Camp, Yorkshire, where I'd learned to touchtype as a keyboard operator, working on teleprinters. Vastly different from bedding closes, shovelling muck and shawin' baigies at Coldstream Mains. Which is what I'd been doing before I joined up. My leave just so happened to coincide with Civic Week.

After dumping my kit at my home in Market Street, I made a call on Eddie Cunningham, whose barber's shop was just round the corner on the High Street. I used to like sitting in his shop listening to his stories. Particularly his tales of service in the Medical Corps on the Normandy beaches and in Belgium in 1944-45. Eddie was someone I very much liked and I admired. "Gadge", he says, Eddie always called me Gadge, "I want you to play the horses ower the brig on Thursday afternoon." Apparently a ride to Flodden Field was to take place to commemorate the 'brave of both nations'. He couldn't do it, he explained. He always cut hair at the Hospital on a Thursday afternoon, which was the Town half-day, and he didn't want to let them down.

First problem. No pipes or Highland dress of any description. My brand new, worn once, Boys' Brigade kilt and jacket had been handed in when I left Coldstream in February. "Nae trouble," says Eddie, "yase ma pipes." That was a privilege, as Eddie had the sweetest sounding set of pipes. Hendersons, I think. One of the best manufacturers around. "What about uniform?" says I. "Gaun ower tae the Newcastle Arms and see Alan Leishman, and he'll gie ye his kilt. He'll no be yasin' it. He's ridin' a cuddy." It had all been pre-arranged before I'd arrived home, so how could I say no.

Alan was indeed riding a Cuddy. He was the self-styled 'Coldstream Representative', at the other Border Common Ridings, and now, 'it was Coldstream's day', in the words of the town song, specially composed by Charlie Elliot, and J. Mallabar Carrick, for the Civic Week. Alan was heading our own Cavalcade of horsemen across Coldstream Bridge and on to Flodden Field, on the Thursday afternoon. Alan was one of the instigators of Civic Week, feeling that the town needed livening up after the dreary war years, and after all, what Kelsae could dae, so could we. Alan also used to write a monthly newsletter to Coldstream servicemen wherever they were serving, and very welcome it was too, with all the news that mothers didn't put in their letters from home.

So it was that on the Thursday afternoon, waiting at the Marriage House, there was I, attired in Alan's Black Watch kilt and tie, sporran, hose, shoes and Balmoral Bonnet, the white shirt was my own. And, of course, Eddie's pipes. Just after twelve o'clock there appeared this multitude of horses and riders. 'Ah'd never seen sae mony cuddies in yin place in a' ma life.' It looked like they were about to charge across the bridge like the 'Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava', but some judicious stewarding soon restored order. After all, it was the first time, and this was history in the making. A gesture from Alan and a choice word or two from the riders had me hoisting the pipes ooto ray shoulder, striking up ''Blue Bonnets over the Border', Nervously! No that's the wrong word. Terrified was more like it, I set off across the bridge with the Cavalcade at my back, and on reaching the Corahill side I gratefully lowered the pipes and waved those gallant lads and lasses on their way. All over in the matter of a minute. But it was history, and I was part of it. I was a proud lad that day, and still look back with pride to that momentous occasion.

But it wasn't finished. Oh no! There was no lament at the Flodden Memorial that year, although I did play in subsequent years, and didn't even get up to the service. I stood at the gate at the bottom listening to the relay on the loudspeakers. When it came to the minute's silence, suddenly, there was this thin 'Big Hoose' voice, singing, 'Scots wha hae'. It was Wendy wood, of the Scottish National Party of the day. Those days their members were few. but they did make themselves noticed and heard. The newspapers had been full of it for days before. I think her view was that we should not be going to Flodden to honour the English, and she was against the whole proceedings, and also, Home Rule for Scotland was her aim. It took almost another fifty years for that to be achieved. However, she didn't stop the ceremony, but she certainly made her presence felt.

Yes. It was a day I've never forgotten, and is one that I continue to treasure in iny memory. What a shame that I was unable to do it again last year in 2001. That would have been an extra-special day for me, fifty years on. But as Rabbie said, "Ev'en the best laid plans o' mice and men, gang aft agley." Sadly, it was not to be!