I've been looking up a couple of photos from a long time back to entertain you both, and have jotted down a few memories too. I'm still ransacking the place for a couple of choice little sketches I made of Bill frying up some black pudding by torchlight in the dark of the kitchen in Upper Gylen, (mid-morning I think, but the little alcove always was pretty black) wearing his ever-growing trousers (they used to creep down over his shoes) and peering down at the frying pan as only Bill could do. but so far no luck. But ... here are a few titbits from an earlier age.
We will have met around the students union sometime in 1968 though I don't remember it, quite possibly through a guy called Mark Fleischer, known later as the Fleischerishi (he pushed meditation BIG-time) though I think anyone of a less-than-mainstream bent soon got to know each other; it was a small-enough campus for that. The main things I remember about Bill were his friendship with Steve Nicholls (did he tell you about Steve? He lives in Papua New Guinea as far as I know and used to keep a python as a student. He once grew a vast and magnificent black beard because he lost his razor ...) ... and the others were the two minibus jaunts he organised for friends and anyone interested.
One was to Avebury; what an amazing place. And how come it was so little known - then, anyway. I'll always remember the size of the church door which I didn't have to bend down to get through - but everyone else did!
The other was to Tintagel. Both brilliant choices of course, and enhanced by his seemingly encyclopedic knowledge - though I will admit I'm easy to impress!
Then there was a meandering car journey through north Devon and the Quantocks in early May with Jo and myself and Bill, through narrow lanes with Jo botanising as he went no doubt - sudden halts to see what that intense blue was, and the like - and filled too with tales historical and mythological, plus a bit of geologising. I'm guessing, of course, as I don't have quite that degree of recall for detail, but it seems pretty likely. We were on our way to see Dave and Ali in Kingston on the Welsh borders (Dave Weekes whom we've sadly lost touch with completely.) I've a photo of bill walking down the street reading the paper which Jo says was in Minehead. Jo thinks he came north with us later, as far as Glasgow if not all the way to Ardentrive, but neither of us is very sure.
Then there was the time, probably earlier when I was still at Uni, when Bill asked Linda if she'd make him a pair of trousers, she being a dab hand with the sewing machine. He chose some wonderful material: a lush purple sateen shot with dark green (think starlings but with purple as the main hue) in a large and florid diamond pattern in purple. Think shiny lurid curtains ....
He wore them a lot, though I don't imagine they lasted too well.
He was famous for his stinky socks, sorted once Alison got hold of him and introduced him to cotton as opposed to nylon I would guess - but much earlier than that he brought Bob Bailey down to Exeter from Birmingham, and Bob stayed with us in Haldon Road where he duly decided to wash his nylon socks and dried - no, melted - them on our two-bar electric fire ...
Nuff said. I still tease Bob about that. So ... those were the days of nylon footwear .. horrible stuff!
The best trip we did was to Lewis and Harris. There were seven of us; Rod and Beth, Heather, Bill himself and Adrian, and Jo and me. We stayed in Adrian's granny's council flat in Stornoway, and went to Callanish - of course, and to the Pictish Broch at Carloway, and to the pub at Rodel where we met an old one-eyed fisherman and the Luskentyre Sands. (Have to tell you that my oh-so-intelligent auto-spell suggested polystyrene in place of Luskentyre!!!) and had such a great time. Also took in plenty of weavers selling Harris wool socks (great and warm; holes in a week) and lengths of Harris tweed; both Beth and Heather were big on weaving.
That was the time when Bill famously held up the Stornoway ferry on the return trip so that two small hobbits didn't get left behind. He was very proud of that!
The night drive back from there was memorable; we had a bottle in the car with us but had forgotten to bring any water so were forced to drink half of it neat before stopping to fill up with water from a stream tumbling down the rock at the side of the road. Just the three of us - and I'm pretty sure we did that bottle proud. Jo says we were both in the front seat. No seat-belts then ...
Past Eilean Donan shimmering in the moonlight and back down to Oban where we met up again with Rod Beth and Heather, and someone from Ardentrive came over to fetch us in the boat.
And then I have great memories of an afternoon on one of your last visits, sitting in the porch at gylen with you and Bill and Susan from the ferryhouse - don't think Jo was there - and I can't ever remember laughing so much. It was a good day.
