John Farquhar Munro, Ardelve – Eulogy | |
04 February 2014 The funeral service for the late John Farquhar Munro took place on Saturday 1 February 2014. A huge crowd gathered for the service at Ault na Chruinn at 12 noon. The eulogy was given by Dr Hugh Dan MacLennan and it read as follows: John Farquhar Munro 1934-2014 Died Kintail Aged 79 Born 26 August 1934 Mar thuirt mi rim bhean an diugh agus sinn a’ siubhal an seo: “Cha chuireadh e iongnadh sam bith orm ged a bhiodh a’ ghrian a’ spealgadh nan creig aig meadhan latha.” I said to my wife as we travelled through some pretty dismal weather to get here: “I wouldn’t be surprised if the sun came out at mid-day.” Just look out of the window please. He fixed it. Celia, Shanae, Paddy, your five grandchildren and one great grand-child [MIA] – brother Winkie, and sisters Mary and Christine - and indeed the extended family of the west Coast and way beyond gathered here today, it is a privilege and an honour to have been asked to deliver this eulogy to one of my greatest friends. The last time I sat with JF looking out over the magnificent vista which was his sitting room window, I knew I wouldn’t see him again. I had a funny feeling I might be asked to do this. That hasn’t made it any easier. It’s been a remarkable week looking back on the last 30 years or so I shared with him. John Farquhar Munro and I shared many things: happy days; a love of the Highlands and its people; its culture and its sport. Yes, he was a shinty player, and what’s more his roots were in Harris - which clearly elevated him onto another plane altogether. We shared the full panoply of life’s rich tapestry; we faced down the same demons, we laughed at the same things and we shared the same values. We even - in the nicest possible way - shared my wife Kathleen, and more of that later. And what is not generally known perhaps, we were in fact related through bonnie Jeannie Munro of Harris, for whom songs were written, “Cailleach an Dòrnaidh”, his mother, of whom I had heard so much as a young boy. Bha do ghibhtean-sa làidir, Air am measgadh le gràsan, Anns a’ phearsa bha àluinn, Loma-làn de na chèil; An tuigs’ bu luachmhoir’ gu gleidheadh, An toil a b’èasgaidh gu maitheadh, ’S na h-uile aigneadh cho flathail, Fad do bheatha gu lèir.
Bhiodh do chomhairl’ an còmhnuidh, Le do chobhair ’s do chòmhnadh, Do luchd-gabhail na còrach, Rèir ’s mar sheòladh tu fèin; Dheanadh tu ’n t-aindeonach deònach, Is an t-aineolach eòlach – ’S b’e fìor shonas do bheòshlaint, Bhith tabhairt còrr dhaibh de lèirs’.
These lines, composed by Rob Donn for a minister in Dùthaich MhicAoidh sum up, in part at least, the ability and talent our friend took with him all the way from Clunie Lodge and Allt a’ Chruinn, to the very heart of the country’s political establishment, and three Scottish Parliaments. I had a text this week which went as follows, and I quote directly: “Hello Hugh Dan I graduated on the same day as you etc… My late mother Jessie MacRae Jetta MacLeod taught John Farquhar in the fifties. When he became an MSP she said… “I never imagined that that naughty little boy would go so far!” Then she would chuckle and say, “He had a wonderful sparkle in his eye, and maybe I should have known.” Well, da-rìribh as he would say himself. To John, the fancy protocols of Parliament were a bit of a trial as we all know. He preferred the original site of Parliament on the Mound at the top of the Royal Mile because he could keep an eye on the comings and goings in the High Court when he was out packing the pipe – the very same pipe which he stuck in his sock when we went on a visit to the Regional Parliament in Halifax Nova Scotia. The political skills which I saw him hone in the chambers – I use the word loosely - of Skye and Lochalsh District Council and then Ross and Cromarty – were the groundwork for a remarkable political career which saw the bold boy at the heart of many of the key events since 1999 – and never, lest you think it might have been – unwittingly. When in Skye he, along with David Noble (there’s nothing personal here David!) - ran the Council in a sort of parallel universe. Meetings were held and started when Munro could make it through from Auchtertyre, the giveaway always on arrival the slightly oily hands and the whiff of WD40, masked only by a stronger blast of the Bogey Roll. The boss himself’s a fly one He’s as gallus as can be Driving up to council meetings With no tax or MOT When crossing on the ferry He never pays the fee No wonder he’s the boss man at Munros From Dornie to Killillan From Lochcarron to Achmore; At six o clock each morning It’s to the yard we go Digging drains, or driving artics Or fitting a new door; We’re the boys that’s working for Munro. [courtesy Tommy MacKenzie and the full poem appears in the order of service] JF was never, never, disrespectful of the institutions within which he operated. One only has to think of the way he insisted on attending the Scottish Parliament’s Moment of Reflection whenever he could. Ah - the moment of reflection which saw him nod off in the Parliament one day. By then, many of us were aware he wasn’t in the best of health. Shame on the Scottish media for portraying him as a man asleep. As he said himself, “It was a moment of reflection”. And as we reflect now on the CV of a practical man, a doer, who was impatient with rhetoric – the empty kind most of all – we cannot possibly fully chart the sometimes swirling and heaving waters he negotiated. A man who practised rather than preached, as Brian Wilson said this week; a good man, a kind man. JF’s education came in The Academy of Life in Clunnie and Allt a’ Chruinn; Plockton High School, Merchant Marine College, Sharpness His Career History is the most problematic aspect of all his life, because it is virtually impossible to cover in its totality. The official version shows that he was, working backwards - from 1971-1997 a Crofter. 1975-1993 Civil Engineering and Quarrying Contractor, Bus operator, heavy haulage contractor, Self-employed 1965-1975 Manager Contracting Company 1961-1965 Plant Fitter - Kings, Road Construction 1951-1961 Merchant marine, perhaps the most colourful and challenging period of his life, which included attempts to stowaway on the Queen Mary and blagging his way from London to Inverness on the train with no ticket or money. The date 1959, when his life changed immeasurably for the better and he stopped drinking, two years before he meet Celia at the Plockton Sailing Club Dinner Dance, was pivotal and provided him with the platform which was to see him go from bread van deliveries to a senior and much respected figure in the Scottish Parliament – indeed the Father of the institution, its oldest MSP In 1999 he was elected to the first Scottish Parliament he served there until he stood down in 2011, three years ago. Prior to that, he had served as a local councillor with the various Highland local authorities for 33 years. Ironically, that fantastic level of commitment to local politics and life never saw him honoured with the Freedom of Skye for example. Why bother, Celia said to me the other day “he had that anyway” - and it’s often been said he never ever paid a penny on the old Skye ferry. With his roots in Kintail and his home life such a huge part of his existence, it might surprise some of you that JF enjoyed some aspects of the city throng captured here through a shared love of Gaelic by the North Uist poet Domhnall Ruadh Chorunna. Referring to Gaelic he said: Is ma bheir sibh blàths dhi, Fàsaidh i gun mhaill Is sgaoilidh i cuid ghàirdean Anns gach àird gun taing; Is thig iad far an t-sàile As gach ceàrn a-nall Nuair gheibh iad an t-àileadh Aic’ air sràid nan Gall Ho ro illean èiribh. And they will come, from everywhere overseas, when they get the scent of the Gaelic, on Lowland streets, Horo Lads stand up….. Incidentally, he spent a lot of time asking various police personnel he met in Edinburgh did they know Lindsay Loades from the well-known local family who had donned the uniform. She was always guaranteed a very warm welcome when on duty in Parliament. JF just loved stravaiging round Edinburgh showing off his beautiful Kintail Gaelic. Da-rìri – Indeed, he did. Having lived a life which was very different from most other MSPs, JF brought his own remarkable interests and influence on health and transport issues in particular to the fledgling Scottish Parliament. And these interests went way beyond the cliched portrayals of the Highland crofter, albeit with stylishly crafted tweed suits, his interest and commitment to Gaelic, and related rural affairs. He was a good man who fulfilled what was beyond reasonable in delivery at times. It is often forgotten that his constituency even took in half of Inverness at one point. One of his greatest disappointments was his failure to make progress with his Proposed Human Organ Transplantation (Register) Bill. I know that this was something he had hoped he could deliver, but it wasn’t to be. He was very proud of his work on Achd na Gàidhlig, the Gaelic Act, which he co-sponsored with Mike Russell. His greatest achievement, however, and his most compelling arguments were reserved for the Skye Bridge. When the PFI-funded Skye Bridge opened in 1995 it was expected that locals would pay at a special rate. Instead, a blanket toll was introduced which eventually rose to £11.40. The outcry was immediate. Over 100 non-payers were convicted of criminal offences in the biggest act of public disobedience the West Highlands had seen since I read this week the “Jacobites landed at Glenfinnan”. Throughout the struggle, JF spoke vigorously on the protesters’ behalf. He was immensely proud of his part in ensuring that the Scottish Executive eventually bought the bridge out from private hands and abolished the tolls in 2004. Proud too of being awarded ‘Maverick of the Year’ title in the Herald Scottish Political awards the previous year. And even as a Free Spirit - that’s some going when you consider the opposition – people like Margot Macdonald and Donald Gorrie with whom he struck a great friendship; the ken-speckle Jamie MacGregor and Mary Scanlon, perhaps the most unlikely engagement of all – who admitted recently that they used to walk home together and frequently dined out. It must have been like herding cats in the Parliament in all honesty trying to get that collection to toe any sort of Parliamentary line. And the institution was much the better for that. We should also congratulate Jamie Paterson for his forbearance and patience throughout this period in Parliament. Predictably perhaps JF was against the original Lib-Lab pact at Holyrood. He’s been referred to as an eternal backbencher - he thought he was much more powerful and could get more done there. The truth is John F was never interested in toeing the party line to further his own ambitions and the interests of his constituents. Remarkably, it is said that he got through his sessions in the Parliament without opening his original lap-top; mighty rare was his use of the mobile phone and certainly the Blackberry; Facebook and Twitter, it’s as well he hadn’t heard of them. He much preferred a net or a rifle. Watching John Farquhar performing in Parliament was a joy to behold; he knew everyone; they spoke to him with genuine respect and affection. He was rarely, or barely, frisked by the security men – I suspect they feared what they might find in his pockets – nuts and bolts, screwdrivers or the dreaded WD40. He was always busy, difficult to find and a nightmare at times when it came to scheduling and attending to deadlines. He would always be on time for a feed though as I discovered; he always relied on his team, whether it was in Inverness where he had persuaded my wife Kathleen to work with him for a time in his Inverness office, and in Parliament with his various happy helpers running around attending to his every need, writing speeches he might mislay, and making the tea. He got more mileage out of teabags than he ever did out of his beloved blue Merc registration NO JFDID - and he got in excess of 500,000 miles out of that. Parliamentarians of every political hue - from the First Minister downwards - have paid tribute this week to John Munro including Charles Kennedy, in whose propulsion to Parliament JF played such a significant role. None of the tributes I have read mention his prowess as a poet. His cannon extends, as far as I know to just one poem which has survived; to his mother. I have a dear mother in Cluanie’s green glens Whose hair shines like silver, her eyes gleam as gems No money, no riches or fortunes I own That dear loving mother so proudly I own.
She toiled for me daily with sweat on her brow She reared me from childhood to what I am now She knows all my failings oft times told me Please remember for always, the advice I gave thee.
I adore all her motions and kind loving ways My memory shall hold her to the end of my days You can keep all you riches and jewels from me If you leave me one treasure, my mother mo chridhe.
[There is, apparently, another poem for the Dornie Hall which I’d love to get the words of if any of you can help me] Nuair a rinn Ailean Caimbeul "Tilleadh Dhachaigh" cuide ri JF bha e ag innse dha gun robh e fhèin air cluinntinn - agus bha e a' creidsinn - gur e Cladh Chlachan Duich a bhathas a' ciallachadh le Crò Chinn t-Saile san òran. 'S e fear de Chlann Mhic Rath a sgrìobh e agus bha e ag iarraidh dhachaigh chun an àite san robh a chuid cinnidh air an cròthadh còmhla. Allan Campbell reminded me this week of JF’s view that he had heard and believed it was the graveyard at Clachan Duich which was being referred to in the famous song Crò Chinn-t-Saile. Written by a MacRae who wanted to get home to where his people were gathered together, its words sum up better than I could ever do the reason we are here. A good man; a kind man. A Christian man. Da rìribh. It is time for John Farquhar to go home. …….. Théid mi dhachaidh hi ro dhachaidh Théid mi dhachaidh chrò Chin t-Sàile Théid mi dhachaidh ho ro dhachaidh Théid mi dhachaidh chrò Chin t-Sàile
JF’s own translation was I will go home I will go home to the fold of Kintail I will go home I will go home to the fold of Kintail
Gu robh Dia maille ris, agus sìth aig anam. Post Eulogy Note The first and last verses of Tommy MacKenzie’s “The Munro Song” were part of the eulogy and the full poem, which is set out below, appeared in the Order of Service. The Munro Song From Dornie to Kilillan, from Lochcarron to Achmore At eight o’clock to the yard they go to find out what’s the score Digging drains or driving artics or fitting a new door They’re the men that’s working for Munro
Once they’ve had their orders and they were off again With joiners mixing concrete and electricians digging drains When you’ve asked then why they did it they always just explain We’re the boys that’s working for Munro
There’s four artic drivers with lorries old and new From Portsmouth up to Lerwick they’ll go anywhere for you There’s Ruaridh and there’s Dougie, there’s John and Iain Dubh They’re the artic drivers for Munro
When they’re on the timber they really are quite slick Heading to the pulp-mill they really give it stick But when they’re coming home again they aren’t quite so quick It’s a long way from Cluanie to Munro’s
The six wheeler driver I’ve often heard it said They nicknamed him the Russian because his hair is red But on a Monday morning his face is bright red too All because he’s working for Munro
And there’s Johnny Renick he’ll drive anything at all He’ll even drove his car through a hedge that’s six foot tall They tell me Murdo Raj is building a great big wall To keep out the loader driver at Munro’s
The snowplough driver ‘Prom Prom’ he likes to drink in style Just offer him a large one and he’ll blether for a while He’s got all the bloody scandal from Inverness to Kyle If you want the news, just ask Harry at Munro’s
If you want some entertainment on a Sunday you should go To Dougie MacKinnon’s caravan, Number 4 at Dossers Row The accordion’s always playing and the beers and whisky flow That’s where all the boozers hang out at Munro’s
The boss himself’s a fly one, he’s as gallant as can be Driving up to Council meetings with no tax or MOT When crossing Cal Mac’s ferry he never pays the fee It’s no wonder he’s the boss man at Munro’s
Tommy MacKenzie |