With Great Reverence
By James Collins, Fri Dec 9th

With Great Reverence

One of the things I meant to do when I returned to Scotlandfour years ago was to look up an old Scottish friend that I'dlast seen some twenty years ago in London. In truth I had awhole hatful of ambitions and intentions on my list, and ratherto my own surprise and to the utter amazement of my wife anddaughter, I've gradually managed to tick them off over the lastfew years. Alright, I know you can't wait to find out what wason this list, so I'll just run through some of them briefly.First of all, since I was no longer a full-time musician, havingdeveloped the guitarists version of tennis elbow, I neededsomething else to fill my time, and the only other thing I wasgood at (apart from snooker) was art. I had always painted andsketched, mostly landscapes, although I rarely sold anything.

I had an idea that there was a market for pet portraits if Icould reach it, and and the way to do that seemed to be via theinternet, so I bought a computer, digital camera, printer etcand hired a local company to design and run a website for me.After a while I realized that it was much cheaper to design yourown site, so I thought I'd have a go - how hard could it be,right? Very hard, was the answer, as anybody who has tried itwill tell you, but after two years of HTML, jpg's, links,virus's, backache, eye strain and late nights I finally got thehang of it, although as a result of being self-taught I find I'mquite knowledgeable about some aspects of web-building andappallingly ignorant about others.

Another project near to my heart was the search for anysurvivors of the Scottish side of my family - a side I had lostcontact with as a child. This was one of the reasons I'd gone onthe internet in the first place, and yes, there were stillCollins's living in the Edinburgh area and Cowdenbeath, where Iwas born.

When I made the trip down to Fife, I met my cousin June, whotold me about my dad, who I never really knew, and about mygrandad, who was a miner (as all the men in the area were beforethe mining industry was destroyed by the - but don't get mestarted). Grandad was known as Tiger Collins because of his redhair. My cousin also told me that I had a half-sister who hadbeen looking for me for years, and was under the impression thatI had emigrated to Australia.

I had known that I had a sister but what I didn't know was thatshe lived just twenty miles from where I used to live inEngland. I now know there are Collins's across west to Glasgowand probably all the way over into Ireland and down to Dublin inCork, where all Collins's ultimately come from. I'm alsoconnected to the Donaldsons (my middle name). The Donaldsons orClan Donald were Lords of the Western Isles at the time of theJacobite rebellion, but that's a story for another time.

Another idea that I had was to own a collie and after I lost myPatch I acquired a border collie cross called Oscar and we'vejust bought a rough collie as a companion for him. We call herDaisy May. There are a couple of items still on my list - Ican't find a decent snooker club and there are no chess clubswithin easy reach, but there is one idea that will never berealized. Lindsay Cooper, my old friend from London died theyear we moved up to Scotland.

I found this out recently when I finally got around to making asearch on the internet. When I knew him he was the spittingimage of 'Animal' from Hill Street Blues - remember the littleguy with the dark hair and the droopy moustache? - except he hadthe broadest of Glaswegian accents. He played the double bassand also the cello. He played jazz but he also loved Bach.

I'm talking about a time before I'd met my wife. I was veryyoung and, it seems to me now, pretty dumb, but I was luckyenough

to be living in a house of bed-sits - or one-roomapartments - peopled mainly by musicians. It was run by a littlewoman called Angie, who was near the end of her career as adancer. At this time she had a whip act with a guy calledDennis. It was quite a skilful act, as he had to crack this whiparound her throat from a distance, and, as she explained it, onelittle mistake and the whip would throttle her.

Angie liked a drink or two and always wore dark glasses. Shedid not get on well with her partner. I think he had once beenmore than her stage partner, but now they bickered constantly,like an old married couple. Dennis was a big man with a littlegoatee beard. He had a soft, whiney voice, like David Beckhambut he was mighty strong. I remember once giving Angie a lift inher minicar (she didn't drive), after they had had a row. Hecame out of the house and stood in front of the car to make itstop and then twisted off the wing mirror with one hand andtossed it in the gutter. Then he just ambled off. A nice guy,really, I don't think he ever hit her.

As I said, most of the tenants were musicians. There was Maggie,who had a great voice and adored Billie Holiday. In facteverybody in the house adored Billie Holiday, except one guy whowas a second-hand furniture dealer. There was George, anotherbass player, who, on being hauled up in front of the captain ofa liner when he was working on a cruise, stood eyeball toeyeball with him and told him that he (George) was just as goodat his job as the captain was at his. He probably was, too.

Then there was Kenny Vick, who was a jazz guitarist. He was veryfastidious and tidy, and would follow you about the room,picking up any bits of fluff or crumbs thst you might havedropped (a trait he shared with my mother). He was a greatplayer though.

I learnt from all these people (with the possible exception ofthe furniture dealer, who nobody liked anyway), but the one Iremember most is Lindsay Cooper. I remember playing flamenco ina pub while he read Frederico Lorca poetry in English (his idea)and I remember him dragging us all down to a music shop whichhad a sale on. He insisted that I buy a book of Bach's partitasand sonatas for violin. I couldn't afford it but I bought itanyway. I still have it on my bookshelf, and I would never partwith it.

We used to get together in someones room about once a week totalk about whatever came into our heads. One time the talkturned to South Africa. (This was long before the end ofapartheid). The conversation was animated as usual. Everyone hadsomething to say except Lindsay, who said nothing for about halfan hour. Finally the talk died down and everyone looked atLindsay expectantly. He said nothing for a while, then clearedhis throat. "South Africa's a turnip". There didn't seemanything to add to that.

Although he had a love of classical music he wasn't a greattraditionalist. He thought that the past was sometimes ahinderance to creativity. I didn't have his bold, fearlessapproach then, and I havn't got it now. I remember asking him,at one of our gatherings, how he could ignore something like thepaintings of Rembrandt and he said he would get rid of them. Iasked him how, and he said he'd burn them. Nobody said anything.Lindsay looked around, noticed the stunned silence and hastenedto make amends. " Oh, but with grrreat rrreverence", he said inhis broad Glaswegian accent. Rest in Peace, Lindsay.

James Collins http://www.pet-portraits-scotland.com Email:collinsdallasart@tiscali.co.uk

About the author:James Collins is an artist, writer and musician who lives in theScottish Highlands. These days he specialises in portraits ofpets and other animals, but he still finds time to paint anddraw the beautiful and rugged landscape of Scotland. He liveswith his wife, daughter and three dogs in a house overlookingthe Moray Firth.