There's a lot of Bains out there too
But there was only one Tam Bain
I can still remember it as if it were yesterday; Saturday 29th March 1975; the young Gubster who had just turned 14 was in ebullient mood (At long last seeing Rangers win the league does that to you I suppose) as along with his old man, his granda and a family friend called Hector McGee we sashayed through Waverley Station looking for the first train to get us back to Glasgow. Just previous to that I had been smuggled into a corner of a lounge in the North British Hotel and who popped in but John Greig, Colin Stein and Bobby McKean. I've had correspondence telling me that these players couldn't have been in the lounge in such a short space of time after the game but they were there alright and JG actually steered an exuberent fan, draped in a Union Jack, out of the Lounge. A taste of things to come perhaps?
But anyway I digress. The three adults had bought a bottle of sasparilla perchance a litre; a small mouthwash to help them on their way back to Glasgow. And as we looked for an empty carriage who should we spy sitting with plenty of room but a small, dapper wee gentleman with large spectacles and his big buddy who seemed to be twice his size. The big guy was called Jim Paterson and the wee chap turned out to be a certain Tam Bain, both were contemporaries of my granda and they had all sat in the Main Stand near one another for years.
So the drink flowed among the adults and that only served to provoke the endless theological debate between my old man and his old man as to who was the greatest Rangers player of all. Sod Ali v Frazier; this Baxter v Meiklejohn contest was THE greatest fight of the 20th Century in our family. Tam Bain was never to be swayed in his opinion that 'Big Woody' was the greatest 'Ranger' he ever saw. His brother Andy (the wan legged cigar tapper) is also of that opinion. We are a broad church indeed.
But I remember that big Jim Paterson threw a wee bit of philosophy into the argument and said a thing that has always stayed with me, even 32 years down the line. He said that you had to also judge a player on what effect he had on the rest of the team and what extras he gave when he came to Ibrox and therefore no one could ever question the effect that Jim Baxter had on Rangers Football Club. They, all of them, agreed that the Rangers left half before Baxter (Willie Stevenson, who became a star for Liverpool in Bill Shankly's early 60s side) was a brilliant half back but he wasn't ever a Jim Baxter. I can't be sure for certain but I've got a sneaky feeling that big Jim's glass was topped up by my old man (who was doing his barman) that wee bit more than the others for the rest of the journey home.
So we got back home to Glasgow and went our separate ways. My old man and me were heading for home and were accomponied by my granda and Hec. That saspirilla had to be finished and there was plenty more where that came from. Tam Bain and Jim Paterson automatically hailed a taxi for Bridgeton X. Incidentally, Jim Paterson, who truly was one of nature's gentlemen would die almost exactly nine years later to that very weekend. In the wee small hours of Sunday 25th March 1984 when later on that day a certain Alistair McCoist started making his own mark at Ibrox.
When Tam Bain and Jim Paterson went back to Bridgeton I'd say it was odds on they would have made their way to the old Burns Bar on James St. By the time I had got ridden of the bumfluff (and most of the plooks) and was legally able to purchase alcohol in 1979, Burns Bar was no more but had re-opened up as The Keystane Lounge in Landressy St just across the road. And that's when a lifetime of getting to know Tam Bain really began.
By the early 80s my time was out and yippee of yippees, Friday day shift was a lunchtime finish and my granda and Tam Bain would be doing their respective rounds all around 'The Toll'. Bridgeton X can mean a lot to an awful lot of people and it can mean nothing to a whole lot more. To people who were born and bred there it was referred to simply as 'The Village.' Much to the consternation of me mam, I felt duty bound to soak in that village atmosphere. My old man on many occassions felt duty bound to shepherd me through the soaking in period.
Auld Tam Bain (ATB from now on) would hold court in what was known as the North East corner (the far end corner as you came in through the main door) of The Keystane and anyone who drank there knew what was pinned on the walls and more importantly why. And the weekends were frequented by literally dozens upon dozens of different characters, larger than life in their own different ways, not only the locals but from further afield who came to listen to and join in the patter and 'do the knowledge'. Oh, and stick a gin and tonic down the auld yin's thrapple. I'd say that as well lubricated thrapples go, Tam Bain's could be said to be particularly moist.
By this time ATB had been joined in the North East corner by John Bradley one of the flyest and most incorrigible rogues I have ever met. Just a few years ago he tried to punt my daughter a Rangers top, even though she was wearing the same one. 'I've got that one on' she said somewhat bemused. 'Ah but that one is wet hen, you've been out in the rain so you'll need another fresh one' replied Brad. To put you in the picture as to the extentent of Brad's notriety; I've already mentioned ATB's brother Andy who is as well kent and respected a Rangers fan in any circles you care to mention. But ATB also had another brother who still stayed in Bridegton and was also quite a character in his own right. That was William and he was known forever as 'Scadger' Bain.
Scadger was a pal of a certain Arthur Thompson (yes THAT one) and they'd regularly meet up in Bridgeton of a Friday afternoon and have a wee blether about this and that. Frequently they would head to The Keystane and join ATB and Brad. Again, anyone who was familiar with the seating arrangements in the NE corner would know that Brad had a special seat up against the wall, slightly behind the bar. That way he could see everyone coming up to that end of the bar from the front door and during the summer when the back doors from the car park were opened, which allowed people to come into the pub from the tunnel behind the bar, he could see them coming in from those doors as well.
Arthur Thompson was impressed by this seating arrangement and legend has it that the conversation went along the following lines one Friday many years ago;
AT - 'John I like that seat of yours, it's a cracker'
JB - 'Yup, it's the best seat in the house'
AT - 'You can see everyone coming into this pub from all angles'
JB - 'That's why I sit here Arthur'
AT - 'John, I like that seat so much I'd like to buy it off you so that I can sit in it everytime I come in here'
JB - 'I can't sell this seat to you Arthur'
AT - Why not John?'
JB - 'Because Arthur, I've got more sodding enemies than you!'
Latterly when shifts would suit I'd spend many a delightful midweek afternoon, usually in July, in the company of ATB (in his 80s), Brad (in his 70s), I McB (in his 60s) and JK (in his 50s); yours truly being a mere stripling in his 40s. Sometimes my old man would come along too. They'd be sitting there, the eldest two, studying the form and then the hotpots would be debated over before deciding on what to back.. And ATB still got his wee turn on a regular basis. You'd know this when you walked into the pub, ask them what they wanted to drink and then enquired as to their health. ATB's reply was invariably, 'Tip Top son, absolutely tip top.' It's hard to come to terms with the fact I'll never hear that cheery refrain ever again. After after the bets were made they would then regale us with stories of Bridgeton and the east end from the turn of the 20th century onwards. On these occasions, JK would look at me as if to say, 'I hope you're taking this in boy, because you will never get this sort of education anywhere else!' And that's what it was, an A level in the history of the east end of Glasgow. I think it was Brad who once said, 'See that that Jack House, he knew f*ck all about Glasgow!'.
One day even a certain Mr Suck was in the company and ATB and Brad told us about the old clothes shop that Celtic manager Willie Maley owned in the Calton. It was called Welsh's and it was started up by a certain Pat Welsh, a fenian (in the proper terrorist sense) who was on the run from Ireland suspected of murder and who was on the yahoos first ever board of directors. GS just looked at me in disbelief but with a smile on his moosh. I tell you the 'tic book' that they maintained Maley ran for the yearly Confirmation dresses seemed to get bigger with every passing round of drinks. But that was how that NE corner worked. Part historical facts and no opportunity to get ripped into Timmy ever passed up.
But let's go back to the beginning; ATB was born in May 1918 and was a Ranger from the off. He would always remind the younger generation coming through how easy they had it in terms of going to games thanks to Jimmy Clark and the advent of supporters' buses in general. For Gers fans of ATB's generation they would often walk to games at venues such as Airdrie and Albion Rovers. They were regarded as 'home games' in that they were within a few hours reach on Shanks' Pony from Bridgeton. It puts some of our woes regards standing in queues and waiting on buses in the here and now into perspective.
Obviously he had great memories of the Struth years of the late 20s and early 30s but I always got the impression the Iron Curtain side was his favourite ever side. We were in my uncle's van going up to Tannadice for the first leg of the League Cup semi of February 1984 and I asked him what was the best right wing combination he ever saw playing for Rangers because he saw three legendary partnerships; was it Archibald and Cunningham, Waddell and Gillick or Scott/Henderson and McMillan? Without hesitation he said Waddell and Gillick and with the emphat nature of his reply you got the impression he was thinking to himself why I would ask such a stupid question? And as I had said earlier he was a dyed-in-the-wool Willie Woodburn fan till the day he died. A great footballing defender who would have taken on the world for Rangers cause was I think a major appeal.
About ten years ago I gave him a hand with the drinks in the pub and I reeled off that Iron Curtain defence side; Brown, Young, Shaw, McColl, Woodburn and Cox. Waddell, Gillick, Thornton, Duncanson and Caskie (which didn't actually play together all that often) I then said one of that team once played in a winning side against Celtic at Celtic Park in the Scottish Cup; who was it? He took the cigar out of the mouth, thought for a few seconds and then said Jimmy Caskie. He played in a St Johnstone side that caused an upset before the war. Now remember this was sixty years after that actual cup tie match had taken place and he answered it no problem. You simply could not and cannot buy that sort of knowledge.
He was lovingly referred to as George Burns because of the grey hair, the large frames he wore and the big cigars he always had perched between the lips. But the favourite auld granfather look was a take on; tell you what he was a major hitter in the blasphemy world series. JK came back from his annual sojourn to Ardoyne a few years ago and said, 'Tam that yahoo mob and that Parades Commission are still blaming The Billy Boys for starting one of the Belfast Riots in the 1930s'. 'You're f*cking right we did!' was the reply. Then there was the time when another of my uncles and his mates spiked his half time Bovril at Ibrox with about a gill of 'Old England'. He always looked at Bovril in a different light after that. 'Those cheeky c*nts have now spoiled me for Bovril for life. It'll never again taste the same or as good', he once told me years later. And I wouldn't even begin to describe what he thought of the yahoos. Let's just say slightly uncomplimentary and leave it at that.
Despite his age he seemed to thrive in younger company and although he was less than 'tip top' over the last few years my last dealings with him sadly turned out to be a comedy of errors. You see I had him marked down as an absolute star turn, the ideal candidate for these new Follow Follow podcasts; his memories and reminiscies would have been something, especially for the younger FF subscribers to hear.
At this point I could go into a long-winded story of how it took me a few weeks to tie him down (failing health was slowly but surely taking its toll) but the bottom line is I explained what was involved in a Podcast to him on the last Friday in July and he was all for it. I think the notion of 'Tam Bain Internet superstar' tickled his fancy. So we finally settled on doing the Podcast for the following day. But then we realised that would clash with the Chelsea game and because of the timing involved it just wasn't feasible for all concerned between Tam himself and the FF Podcast team. The Sunday would have been ideal in that we could all have had a leisurely three/four hours Podcasting and a few GnT's would have helped the proceedings flow. But he had an appointment for Gartnavel that day so that was out. And because I was on holiday the following week we decided to leave it till I got home. Sadly that Friday in July was the last I saw him what with my holidays and going straight back to work.
So there you go, that's my 32 year voyage around Tam Bain and I've merely scratched the surface of the man. A loving family man and grafter all his life; he worked in Singers and had his own wee glasses frame business going and boy oh boy did he enjoy his retirement. But time waits for no man and time moves on although not always for the better. Truth be told losing his wife, moving from that daily routine in his own wee corner of The Keystane (it closed last year) allied to getting on a bit all conspired to knock the stuffing out of him. Yet when I had heard he had passed away, a selfishness kicked in because I thought of a missed Podcast opportunity for the website as opposed to just an automatic sadness for his family.
As I said I've barely scratched the surface of that wonderful old reprobate and anyone reading this who knew him will have their own host of memories. But tell you what, the images and memories of sitting in the corner of that hostelry in Landressy St in the company of ATB and Brad, listening to their stories in such a wonderful and comfortable atmosphere will stay forever. And maybe that is the saddest thing of all. But again that is where in death, selfishness kicks in with those of us still remaining.
Tam Bain was loyal to his roots to the very end and his last words to JK earlier in August before he passed away were these, 'Son, these attacks on our loyalist songs; something NEEDS to be done about this!' But I personally think it is fitting to to leave you all with another of his favourite sayings. 'Let there be no confusion, we ARE the people!
I don't know who loses out the most here; the Rangers family in general or what remains of Protestant Bridgeton. Because one thing is for sure of all the characters who made Bridgeton what it was in the 20th Century, Tam Bain was undoubtely up there with the best of them. Sleep well old man, the pleasure in knowing you and being in your company, was all mine.
The Govanhill Gub.