The Loch of the Green Corrie

Poets' Pub (Norman MacCaig, Sorley MacLean, Hugh MacDiarmid, Iain Crichton Smith, George Mackay Brown, Sidney Goodsir Smith, Edwin Morgan, Robert Garioch, Alan Bold and John A. Tonge)

Last night I met up with some friends and attended an evening at The Lemon Tree in Aberdeen celebrating the life and work of one of Scotland’s most well known and well loved poets, the late Norman MacCaig. It was the final event for Word 2011, the University of Aberdeen Writers Festival.

For those not familiar with his life and work, MacCaig - a man of remarkable talent and humour - was born in Edinburgh to a lowland father and Scalpay born mother. He spent most of his life split between his home in Edinburgh and the hills of Assynt in the far north west of Scotland which, as he was careful to point out during an interview shot before his death, he did not use as direct and immediate inspiration but rather used ‘to fill my [his] camels hump’. He was reknowned for his sharp wit and for 'testing' those who came to fawn at his feet.


'Oooh I love your stuff Mr MacCaig' they would say
'Why?' 

It was in Assynt that the writer Andrew Greig, found himself looking for Lochan a Choire Ghuirm (Loch of the Green Corrie) after promising the ailing MacCaig, shortly before his death, he would fish for trout in it on his behalf :

“fish for me at the Loch of the Green Corrie. Only it’s not called that. But go to Lochinver and ask for a man called Norman MacAskill, if he likes you he may tell you where it is. If you catch trout, I shall be delighted. And if you fail, then looking down from a place in which I do not believe, I shall be most amused“.

Greig penned his book ‘The Loch of the Green Corrie’ based upon his search for the loch – but it is much, much more than that – it is journey of discovery. We were treated to a screening of the film of the same name shot on a subsequent trip with Aly Bain (Scottish fiddle maestro), Andrew Greig and Billy Connolly hiking to the coire to fish. All three were great friends of MacCaigs and the film was as much an emotional journey for the audience as it was for the three ‘stars’ – tossed high on the crest of hilarity with tears of laughter rolling down our faces as Billy and Aly tore strips off each other’s fishing skills,  before the tears were replaced a very different kind and a lump in our throats when all three remembered, and missed, their friend. It was a beautiful film and so well done, I really did feel I understood the man a little more, and by the same token his poetry, by the end.

After the film, Andrew and Aly (both in attendance) read some of MacCaig’s poems, including my favourite Small Boy (which has me close to tears at the best of times, let alone when I’ve had a wee drink!)

He picked up a pebble

and threw it into the sea.

And another, and another.

He couldn't stop.

He wasn't trying to fill the sea.

He wasn't trying to empty the beach.

He was just throwing away,

nothing else but.

Like a kitten playing

he was practicing for the future

when there'll be so many things

he'll want to throw away

if only his fingers will unclench

and let them go.

A short interlude later, we were treated to Aly playing Bonaparte’s retreat before local musicians took the stage and the evening ended with a selection of traditional Scottish tunes.

Really, a bloody great night!