Snapshot: My dad: ‘Darvel’s own Sammy Cox’
I have good memories of family holidays. In the 60s and early 70s, our annual summer trip was to Scotland to stay with my grandparents and catch up with aunts, uncles and cousins. We travelled by train from Hucknall in Nottinghamshire to Kilmarnock and onwards by taxi to the small Ayrshire town of Darvel (the birthplace of Alexander Fleming, as the town sign indicates). Hats off to my parents for managing such a trip, particularly in the early days, with a baby, a toddler and the associated paraphernalia and luggage.
Of course, as children, my brother and I were oblivious to the logistics. We were just excited about getting on the train. I distinctly remember on one occasion Dad telling us: “We’re going on a diesel train this year!” My dad, Andrew Muir, was born and grew up in Darvel, as did the footballer Sammy Cox, which brings us to the photograph.
Between 1948 and 1954, Sammy Cox was capped 25 times for Scotland. In the 1948/49 season he was part of the so called “Iron Curtain” defence that helped Glasgow Rangers to win the domestic treble: League Champions, Scottish Cup winners and League Cup winners. In Darvel, he was a legend. He was also down to earth, approachable and generous. If boys were practising their football skills in the park, he would join them for a kickabout and coach them along.
In the late 40s, my dad was a regular player with Darvel Juniors. When one of the annual carnivals was being organised and floats were being put together, Sammy arranged for the loan of the Scotland kit and the boys of Darvel Juniors were the proud recipients. The float was pulled around the streets of the town and this photograph was taken.
Who got to wear Sammy’s jersey? My dad, as he and Sammy happened to play in the same position. There’s Dad, to the right of the post in the middle of the float. Just below him the poster proclaims “Darvel’s own Sammy Cox”.
In the 50s, my dad and Sammy went their separate ways. Sammy left Rangers and played for East Fife for a short time. My dad was called up to do national service and spent time in the Middle East. By 1959, Sammy had emigrated to Canada and my dad had moved to England, married my mum and was settled in Hucknall, where he and Mum still live. I took Dad back to Darvel in 2012 and heard a few stories of his youthful antics. This photograph gives me a glimpse into that world and will always be treasured.
Jayne Muir
Playlist: Elvis, crocodiles and castles in the sand
Polk Salad Annie by Elvis Presley
“Down in Louisiana, where the alligators grow so mean / Lived a girl, that I swear to the world / Made the alligators look tame / Polk salad Annie, ’gators got your granny”
In 1972, we would race across the island of Anglesey, the days were always sunny, the car windows always down, us three kids hanging out of them to feel the speed, Mum driving with super-big sunglasses, a Benson & Hedges gripped between her lips, her blond curly hair whipping with the passing air. The eight track would be on as loud as it could be, with Elvis on repeat, words unravelling in a way that we didn’t need to make sense of.
My mum worked, made soup and drove us to the beach in her old Vauxhall Ventora, chilling Martini Rosso in a hole in the sand, while we dug castles. We were 12, eight and five … living a wild life in an old Welsh farmhouse, sometimes at school, often exploring alone in barns, sometimes watching Blue Peter with a lamb next to us on the sofa. It was a time when I didn’t need to think: we just drove and sang, shouting “Lord have mercy” in Brummie accents … safe in the knowledge our granny would not get got by a ’gator, because my daddy once duelled with a crocodile and won!
That was then. Soup Maker and Croc Fighter are now singing with Elvis, but we’re still hanging our heads out of the window yelling, cos this is the only thing that makes sense.
Amanda Kowalik
We love to eat: My Norwegian gran’s spinach soup
Ingredients
1 big onion (chopped)
Sunflower oil or butter to sauté
2 sticks of celery (chopped)
1 large potato (sliced)
3-4 broccoli and/or cauliflower stalks (diced)
500g spinach (fresh or frozen)
Good-quality vegetable stock powder
Nutmeg to grate
Salt and pepper to taste
In a large saucepan, gently sauté the chopped onion in a little butter or sunflower oil. When the onion is soft and almost see-through, add the celery. Keep stirring and moving the onion and celery in the pan to avoid it browning. When the celery is soft, add the potato. Stir well to mix. Add the diced broccoli and cauliflower stalks. Add water to the pan to just cover the vegetables. Simmer gently for 7-10 minutes or until the vegetables are soft.
Add the washed, fresh spinach, stirring it in to the mix, then switch off the heat. This will wilt the spinach rather than boil it to death. (If using frozen spinach, defrost beforehand and add in the same way, and heat thoroughly.) Add vegetable stock powder to taste, or use homemade chicken or vegetable stock. When the spinach has had a few minutes to wilt down, blend the soup until it is smooth and velvety. Grate some nutmeg over it.
My grandmother would serve the soup with a soft-boiled egg, halved and placed yolk up in a shallow soup bowl. A drizzle of cream or sour cream works well, too. The bread my grandmother served with the soup would be a homemade, dark, wholemeal Scandinavian-style loaf with rye, whole wheat and linseed, giving it a lot of texture.
I grew up in Narvik, in the north of Norway. It is so close to the Arctic Circle that winter lasts from mid-November, when the first snow settles, until the big thaw and the return of proper daylight in April. My grandmother, Astrid, had a little south-facing kitchen garden where she made the most of the 24 hours of daylight during the short, Arctic summer. The first harvest of spinach grown under the midnight sun would be celebrated and turned into this soup.
Kari Barth
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