Club News Members

George Gibson, long time Honorary Member of the Isle of Skye Golf Club passed away recently at the grand old age of 96.

He was the last remaining survivor of those who attended the meeting at Sligachan Hotel in November 1964 when Sconser Golf Club was formed.

As I've written here many times George along with another very fine gentleman Iain Fullarton was instrumental in introducing myself and Ian Marr in particular to the mysteries and intricacies of life on the golf committee at Sconser.

We were to be the new 'young blood' providing a counterpoint to the cantus firmus.

George was an integral part of the club from day one and some time ago when I was involved in writing the club's history he shared this story with me.

Overflowing with enthusiasm the members of the new club started work by setting out and preparing teeing areas and greens on the parcel of land made available to them by Ian Campbell, Sconser. The layout design of the course was conceived by Dr Frank Deighton, a champion Scottish golfer of some considerable renown.

Resources were minimal but volunteers were plentiful and George fondly remembered taking his 'turn' to hand mow the greens. On one particularly lovely summer evening he completed his task bare-footed!

He also recalled partnering Dr Deighton in a ‘bounce’ fourball round the Sconser links as together they planned, discussed and developed the work needed to be done on the course.

Initially a member of Portree Golf Club George 'moved south' and was to be a major player in the development of our golf club. He wasn't a headline-maker or a flash Harry instead electing to work away quietly under the radar and to good effect. He was always a voice of reason.

In addition to holding various other committee posts he eventually captained the club in 1982 and 1983 and I was proud to succeed him as skipper.

George was not a Skye man instead hailing from a hamlet called Gowkhall.

I know where that is as it's only eight miles from where I was born but most readers will I suspect have to consult Google.

When he came to Skye to work for the Water Board he became a very accomplished footballer and he was also a very steady and reliable golfer.

When he retired he moved to Inverarnie(another Google search required?)and there in almost splendid isolation he was able to develop his other passion as a very enthusiastic twitcher. I know that on at least one occasion in the company of a group of like-minded individuals he journeyed all the way to Portugal-not to play golf but to watch birds!

George's life was not without humour and back in the day many of the tallest tales emanated from the annual golf club outings to Boat of Garten Golf Club.

Here are a few examples where George was front and centre.



Space Invaders



George liked to hang about with us 'younger guns' and on one memorable occasion we were very comfortably billeted in a hotel in the then brand new and rapidly developing Aviemore Centre. The video arcade game Space Invaders had just been invented and was grabbing the headlines worldwide so when George saw this tabletop game in the hotel lounge he was well up for the challenge. Down we all sat and watched as George popped some money into the slot triggering all sorts of beeps, gurgles and assorted electronic noises as the machine kicked vigorously into life.

By the time he had removed his jacket and popped on his spectacles(he really was the most deliberate of men) there was a final flurry of noise and flashing lights and GAME OVER flashed brightly before us.

We howled with laughter.



I recently penned a tribute to another major contributor to our golf club, George Neill and in researching some detail I found out that George had never used bad language.

I don't think that George Gibson ever swore either but his catchphrase of exasperation was most certainly 'damn me' or the variation 'damn it all'.



Marag Dhubh



The halcyon days of the annual club outings mostly took place long before the Skye Bridge was built so we had to make sure to catch the last ferry from Kyle of Lochalsh at 8:45pm on Sunday.

We would play 18 holes on Friday night, 36 holes on Saturday and another 36 on Sunday before the manic drive home. In my wee group tradition dictated that we stop at a particular chippy in Inverness for food. There was to be no choice-everyone had to have a black pudding supper and wash it down with a particularly sweet and horrible soft drink called Vimto.

To fully appreciate the denouement of this particular tale contemplate the marag dhubh 'marinating' all the while in George's stomach during the three hour journey home.

Following that annual food ritual on one epic occasion with Claude Cameron at the wheel and George, Ian Marr and yours truly as passengers there was to be a rather unexpected and unwelcome conclusion to his day.

Now George was a single man who lived his life of comparative luxury in very comfortable digs in Portree. His landlady Molly was something of an angel so when he finally made it back to base late on Sunday night he was rather taken aback to discover that she had kept his dinner warm in the oven for him.

So as not to disappoint and appear to be ungrateful he manfully forced down every last mouthful.

Some weeks later came this confession.

He had felt so bloated the next morning that he had voluntarily absented himself from work opting instead to wander in the nether regions of Molly's garden. There he was to spend the day contemplating the medical condition known rather politely as 'trapped wind'.



Cheeseboard



I am indebted to Thomas Marr for triggering my memory on this one. Over the years he recalls hearing his dad and I roaring with laughter as we relived this occasion time and time again.

It concerned yet another club outing and this time we stayed in a small hotel in Grantown-on-Spey. There would have been 15 to 20 of us on these jolly boys outings so the scene here is the dining room with the aim to get as much food down our necks as quickly as possible before heading off to the town to see where the action was.

With two courses already ravenously devoured and only one to go the Saturday evening was revving up nicely as we made our choices from the dessert menu. Everyone except George opted for the stodgiest options to put a lining in the stomach to soak up the beer and the drams to come. When the waiter-who was also the hotel owner-brought over the 'cheeseboard' what a vision appeared before us.

This four-wheeled, double-decked chariot was a thing of great beauty groaning as it was with the cargo of goodies laden upon it. The top deck was filled to overflowing with the most splendid array of cheeses while the lower deck held biscuits of every shape, size and texture.

The trolley was placed beside George.

No doubt he would have enjoyed a biscuit or two with some fine toppings but after the vultures had demolished their own desserts many pairs of covetous eyes were then focused upon this potential bonus opportunity resting so very tantalisingly close. It proved to be just too great a temptation for the growing boys to resist and so powerless to intervene George simply sat back in resignation as the first jackal scuttled off with his booty. Very quickly everyone else joined in and within minutes there was neither a morsel of cheese nor a crumb of biscuit to be seen.

Some plastic wrappings and little balls of rolled up silver paper from the cheaper end of the cheese selection were all that remained. Some time later the 'waiter' returned to collect his 'cheeseboard'.

Poor George sat there head bowed and no doubt monumentally embarrassed while the rest of us shoulders heaving were struggling to stifle the laughter which was barely contained within us.

George was one of the boys so if you fly with the crows?



He was a nice man he was a good man and he was a gentle man.

May he rest in peace.





JOHN MARSHALL