During the winters of his widowhood Granpa Buik – full name – David Chalmers Buik, Sen., of Dundee – held “making sessions” with the whole family before bedtime come. He had purchased a knitting machine, and while he sat making the family jerseys, the girls got on with their allotted tasks, and the boys their studies. But there was always the break for stories and fun.
My grandfather’s pride in his family forbade him to accept and social invitation which excluded any of his children, and I have often heard my elders tell of their walking to Lochee to visit friends, while passers-by stopped to count them. My grandfather, a well-known character in Dundee for more than 50 years until his death in 1936, always hoped his sons would follow his example of indulging in hobbies.
Our concerted effort by the male members of the family was the setting up of a “factory” for making model yachts. Needless to say, the factory was the kitchen, while the store-room was the parlour. When it was fully stocked, a regatta took place on Stobsmuir pond. To occupy his time, he bought a little newsagent’s shop in the Hawkhill, and among the hundred and one goods which he stocked were classical gramophone records. Potential customers were allowed to hear a larger number before making any selection. Indeed, he did not care whether or not he sold them. His back shop became a recital room.
Before he acquired the shop Granpa possessed a motor bike and sidecar. Now he deemed it necessary to have a solo bike as well. His doctor tactfully suggested that it might be better to have a small car instead of the two vehicles, but my grandfather firmly declared that a car was only for old men. When he decided to overhaul it, the kitchen became the centre of activity. Every piece was thoroughly inspected, cleaned and oiled before the engine was re-assembled. Granpa, with all the impatience of a genius, forgot where he was, and started up the engine to test it out! Off it went with a roar, and down came Granma’s dinner services from the shelves, ending up in smithereens on the floor. When the roar died away, knockings could be heart from the outside door at the end of the long lobby. On opening it, Granpa was confronted by the landlord, who lived immediately below and who was exceedingly hard to placate.
Among the many relics of his active life are a number of poems and a bundle of sermons. The latter date as far back when, at the age of 19, he belonged to a sect which disapproved of paid ministers. Selected members took turns in “exhorting the brethren” and young Mr Buik had been one of those who were chosen to undertake the task. Judging by his earliest sermons, all of which were methodically dated, he had accepted the responsibility with the greatest enthusiasm. As time went on, however, he began to ponder over the narrow outlook of his Church, and voiced his opinion about it. His brethren were scandalised at him and he was promptly escorted to the front door, where a ceremony of excommunication took place. With the following words: “David Buik” – pronounced Daavid Booeek – “we solemnly lock you out of the Kingdom of Heaven”. The great key was turned and he was left outside. Years later, the locker-out and the locked-out were reunited to laugh over the incident, but my grandfather never sought readmittance there.
Although my grandfather did not appear to evince much interest in his grandchildren, my last memory of him was at the old West Station whence he had come to see me off on the train which was taking me to Glasgow to embark on my music studies. When I sat my first examinations he was dying in Dundee Royal Infirmary and as soon as their results were published I felt prompted to post them to him in the Infirmary instead of to my parents. A nurse called later at my home with the slip of paper which she had found tucked inside the jacket of his pyjamas after he was dead.
By Mary Esplin Olsen
The Courier and Advertiser, Friday October 23rd, 1970