Test day challenge
28th October 2005. I really do wonder why I do this. There’s not much in it for me apart from having a good tale to tell over a dram or three.
By Dave Goulder
I refer to organising certification test days. We have no Dry Stone Walling Association (DSWA) branch in the far north of Scotland, for what population there is here is concentrated in Thurso, Wick and the sprinkling of small coastal towns until you get to the mighty metropolis of Inverness. Then another vast area with relatively few people lies between there and the city of Perth; a rough total of over 20,000 square miles plus all the islands. I’ve occupied the post of dry stone dyking instructor here for more than forty years and, as the self-appointed representative of the DSWA for the Highlands, I’ve become a sort of focal point for all things stone; organising courses and tests, locating dykers for projects, providing ‘expert’ opinion in disputes, but without the back up of branch members to share in the pitfalls it can be lonely in the pit. My wife, Mary, sees to the admin leaving me free to handle the practical side of things; all the usual jobs that test co-ordinators have to do, plus other tasks – like laying down sheets of corrugated iron on six inches of mud, sweeping four inches of snow off the spare stone laid out the day before, etc. We wait until there are enough candidates to justify a test day then fire out the invitations. It always seems to be in winter, or either side of it.
This test eclipsed all others. The Rosehall Estate had provided our usual test sites but as it had recently acquired new owners I needed to look elsewhere. I drew several blanks with local crofters for one reason or another so I visited one of the two farms in the village. The farmer wasn’t home but his dogs were and I got a healthy bite on the thigh instead of a site. My motorcycle suit prevented any blood loss, but that farmer won’t be getting dykes fixed at a bargain rate. Imagine the H&SE investigating the case for four candidates and two examiners all half devoured! I opted for the other farm, now owned by Mohammed Al Fayed but tenanted by a real farmer, and found three good stints (gaps in walls) for a couple of tests with the remaining one half a mile away.
I visited one of the two farms in the village. The farmer wasn’t home but his dogs were and I got a healthy bite on the thigh instead of a site
Then the weather changed. One hundred mph winds hit the Highlands causing landslides, flooding and fallen trees, blocking all the roads and rail links. Two of the candidates and one of the examiners lived on islands and had to leave home the previous day. Ferries were delayed (though thankfully not cancelled) so each had to find accommodation over the weekend. Then a huge larch tree at the top of our drive crashed into the car park effectively filling it. I leapt out with my chain saw and succeeded in taking the top off the tree before the power failed (my saw is electric). Result: no space for cars and our own vehicle on the wrong side of the stockade.
Test day: the scene as before. Candidates began phoning in asking for alternative routes as the road on the map supplied was blocked in several places. At least Jamie, the other examiner, was here but without transport so I arranged for a couple of bicycles to enable us to visit the two sites. One by one the candidates arrived, surprisingly cheerful after epic journeys to get here. Inevitably the start was delayed and while stripping out his stint one of the candidates discovered a spring in the centre of his cheek-end (Gateway end). Bring in old fence posts to stand on and dig out a channel for the water, repeatedly climbing over a brand new barbed wire fence to achieve this. Whilst all this was going on, the Estate had arranged to put on a clay-pigeon shoot that afternoon. Barbed wire, mud, constant gunfire and a NATO exercise also fixed for this week with the inevitable low flying planes. Two examiners were now cycling between sites in a war zone!
Darkness began to fall; the male testees completed their stints and trooped back to the house to get their marks, but poor Shona, the only female candidate, was still putting finishing touches to her cheek-end. We examined it in the gloom, both concerned at what appeared to be a running joint at the top of the face. (However, daylight would show the suspect stone to be a flat triangle, cutting into the wall.) Four passes. Bar meal and single malts in the Achness Hotel. Tomorrow I’ll get the rest of that tree… If I only knew. Next day the water went off. My knee gave out with tendonitis!! Why do I do this? Is it only for the glory?
Dave Goulder has produced a book on the establishment of the first independent hostel in the Highlands (he was warden throughout its short life). Hamish MacInnes, Aly Bain and The Magic Roundabout are all in there. Contact Dave for details.
