Neil McIntosh, 1947 - 2026

NEIL MCINTOSH IN MEMORIAM My name is Brian Dunnigan and I would like to talk about my friendship with Neil as two Scots. Both of us are East coast Scots born on opposite sides of the Firth of Forth with family and roots in the West Highlands and a shared language of Tunnocks Caramel Wafers, pints of Heavy and Creamola Foam, as well as tartan ,kilts, bagpipes and a good malt– not to mention words and phrases like baffies, bampots, stramash, heid the ba’, and the tawse (a leather belt used in Scottish schools to beat rebellious pupils like us) Neil and I met later in life but there was an immediate natural affinity in our shared high and low cultural background and our interest in politics, history and education. Our bond was confirmed in regular family gatherings and summer holidays to Spain, Greece and Turkey – then Orkney, Shetland and a memorable 70th birthday trip to St.Kilda across a glassy sunlit sea. We alternated the hosting of Burns Suppers, dressed up in our kilts, addressing and stabbing the haggis and celebrating with Burns and other family and friends the pleasures of song and poetry, conviviality and friendship. There was much laughter and loving between us at these gatherings with Neil’s wit and wisdom and love of Scotland front and centre. But Neil was not just a romantic expat Scot for he had a very powerful and real connection with place and landscape especially around Plockton which for him was a place of childhood refuge, wonder and nurture. A place where he felt most at home. It was a privilege to be invited there and to dance in the streets and at the ceildh during the annual festival. Like Burns – Neil was a good democrat but he was not above putting me in my place in the highland hierarchy. For example he took pleasure in pointing out my family line through the Macphersons was merely a cadet branch of the the composite Clan Chattan – whose leading clan was of course the McIntosh’s. Neil was a man of words, he loved the poetry of Sorley Maclean and Norman McCaig. He was an elegant after-dinner speaker, chairman and conversationalist. We had many rich sometimes combative conversations over many years ranging from the personal to the political. But towards the end words failed him. Sentences begun but never finished – words left hanging in the air. I would sit with him for hours quite happily waiting for some revelation that never came. One day while Neil was still mobile and living at home we visited a local café together and sat with our coffee in the garden not saying very much. But we had a conversation. Views were exchanged. Observations made. A memory shared. I held his hand. Time passed slowly. The clouds drifted by. A robin joined us at the table cocking his head from side to side looking curiously at two silent fellow creatures. Later as we collected Neil’s Walker and headed home he suddenly stopped and gave me one of his big smiles. “You know” he began “that was great but its funny I can’t remember a word we said” Well we remember. And I remember. He was my friend. And I will miss him more than words can say. BD 27/1/26