If you've ever seen the Schwarzenegger movie "Total Recall", or read a lot of SF, you'll be familiar with the idea of implanted memories of places you've never actually visited. The average Brit arriving Stateside carries the same kind of mnemonic baggage simply because of the cultural marinade they've been soused in since birth, starting with my own generation of "Baby Boomers".
We don't need a translator for words like "sidewalk", "flashlight", "elevator" or "faucet". We know that "jaywalking" is illegal and, after "Perry Mason", "The Defenders","Petrocelli", "LA Law" and 20 years of "Law and Order" we could probably recite our own Miranda rights for the arresting officer. He'd probably take us down to the Bullpen and run us through the 3rd. degree for being a limey wiseguy.
Rather than heighten reality this false familiarity can make large parts of America seem like a big film set. I made the mistake of timing my one-day visit to New York in the grip of a bad hangover. At one point I actually found myself touching the wall of a building near the entrance to Central Park at Columbus Circle. Such is the nature of hangovers I'm not sure if this was to check whether the building was real or whether I was. Next time I visit I'll be sane and sober, New York demands that kind of respect.
I found most of the Americans whom I met to be perfect hosts, welcoming and proud of their country. They almost all showed an interest in Scotland and a surprising number asked the same question : "Have you ever seen the Loch Ness Monster ?".
It shouldn't have surprised me. To the average American Scotland must seem like a speck on the map. Surely all the natives live within a 20 minute walk of Loch Ness ? America may have been saturated with Scottish influences in the past but the traffic is very much one-way in the present. Tartan Day may be an effort to redress the balance but Nessie is still the best known Scot, with the possible exception of Sean Connery.
At that time I had to admit that I'd only ever visited Loch Ness once and that the monster wasn't for putting in an appearance. Since then I've been in the vicinity a few times but still no sightings. It's strange connection to make but whenever I think of Nessie, which isn't often, I inevitably think of Roger Moore.
No, there isn't a Nessie /famous Scot / Connery / James Bond/ Moore connection going on here. I only wish my mind worked in such a straightforward, logical way. The connection lies in my TV watching past when "The Saint" series was a weekly feature on the Carlin family viewing schedule.
Even as a child I realised that Roger Moore was a pretty awful actor. He was always the least convincing "Hard Man" I've ever seen on the large or small screen though he has occasionally shone in roles were he sends up that very image ("The Persuaders" being a good example). If you think I'm being too severe then take the time to read Simon Winder's sensational "The Man Who Saved Britain". This is the funniest factual book I've read in ages. It does an humorous hatchet job not only on Moore but on the whole James Bond bandwagon. Only someone who was once enthralled by the whole shoddy glamour of the 007 industry could write such a bittersweet, indignant, hilarious cri de coeur. I write as a fellow sufferer who once walked through life with an imaginary John Barry soundtrack playing in the background of my life.
The fact that we stuck with "The Saint" probably had a lot to do with the simple fact that we only had two TV channels to choose from in 1960s Britain. Like most of the ITC series of the time it offered an hour (including adverts) of reasonable, undemanding entertainment. Most episodes were instantly forgettable but odd scenes stick in my mind from two of them in particular.
There was one episode that feature Voodoo and took place in Haiti. We knew that it was Haiti because a subtitle came up on the screen telling us so as some stock footage of a Caribbean harbour cut away to an interior shot of Simon Templar's hotel for that week.
(I suspect that it was always the same hotel set with furniture juggled around. There was little variety in the way that ITC series like "The Saint", "The Baron" or "Man in a Suitcase" established a sense of place.
The subtitle "London" would inevitably feature a shot of traffic in Piccadilly Circus followed by an interior shot of the hotel reception : desk with bell, leather club chair, hat stand with umbrella. With "Rome" you got traffic passing the Colosseum and interior shot : desk, bell, club chair and bust of the Venus de Milo. "Paris" was identical except for a shot of the Eiffel Tower and a quick swap of a plaster Napoleon for Venus.
Exotic locations like "Marrakech" featured ceiling fans and a potted palm as part of the decor. "Port au Prince, Haiti" would be much the same with the addition of mosquito netting at the window. Exotic hotel sets also ditched the club chair in favour of a high backed rattan chair.)
Not surprisingly, I don't recall many details of the hotel in Haiti but I do remember that this episode introduced the word "zombie" to my vocabulary. Back in those more innocent days zombies weren't as ubiquitous as they are today. I recall that I found the idea of the "living dead" more than a little unsettling having not yet reached my 10th. birthday. Nowadays I find I take them more in my stride. They're generally quite placid as long as you don't get between them and their methadone or Buckfast.
It was the other memorable episode that surprised me by leading to some unsettling thoughts more than 40 years later. This one was set in Scotland, in a hotel on the banks of Loch Ness. Not similar to London at all : reception desk, bell, leather club chair draped with a tartan shawl, hat stand with 3 umbrellas and a stag's head mounted on the wall.
Most of the plot escapes me but, in a nutshell, the Loch Ness Monster appears to be going on the occasional, nocturnal rampage. Several badly mauled bodies have been found near or in the Loch with monster-sized paw prints nearby. Simon Templar and several other guests are staying in an isolated hotel asking, "Who'll be the next victim ?". Even in the 60s the country house mystery had been around for a long time (Agatha Christie was still alive and well) but to an 8 or 9 year old most things are new and exciting. Especially when a monster is thrown in for good measure.
The big climax is what really impressed me. The murderer is revealed to be one of the guests. He had been using fake, plaster monster claws on the end of a couple of heavy poles to literally cover his tracks. He tries to make his escape in a rowing boat as Simon Templar pursues him to the water's edge.
The Saint is left helpless on the shore as the triumphant villain vanishes into a convenient bank of fog. Out of the darkness there is a sound of bubbling water, a man's scream and a loud splash... and something else. What was it ? A distant fog horn or a monstrous roar from some great, reptilian throat ? Time for a close-up as Roger Moore cocks a quizzical eye brow. (By the time he was playing Bond ten years later he had widened his dramatic range and could manage to be quizzical with both. Alternately.)
I know that this all seems incredibly naff now that I've written it down. Nowadays the viewer would be left in no doubt about the baddie's demise. The budget would be bigger and we'd get a close-up shot of a CGI leviathan chomping down on an actor laden with exploding blood bags and prosthetic limbs ready to snap off as the computer generated jaws converge on him. Perhaps it's my age, because I would never have imagined myself writing this in my younger days, but SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT TO ONE'S IMAGINATION !
Sometimes imagination can be a little too powerful as I discovered a few years ago when I found myself staying at Fairburn Lodge near Inverness. I was taking part in a work-related event but really enjoyed the facilities and great walking opportunities there. During the day. Night time was a little different, especially since this was Northern Scotland in late January. In the Summer it's great to live in Scotland, though it does tend to rain a lot. In June / July it can stay light until 10 o' clock at night. The flip side of this is that it can get really dark really early during the Winter. As dark as the Earl o' Hell's waistcoat as some colourful local might say, if he,or she, wanted to unnerve you.
As I made my way along a forest track for an after-dinner walk I didn't have or need the help of a colourful local. I managed to put the frighteners on myself. Half a mile away from the lodge I realised that I wasn't going to get a break in the clouds to allow me to stargaze. No streetlights, no moon, no stars; there was just a powerful wind gusting through the trees. Naturally enough this was when my mind decided to do a little wandering of its own.
What did I find myself thinking about as I picked my way along that rutted path, hemmed in by tall trees creaking their branches overhead ? Was it tropical sunshine, golden beaches, potted palms or exotic rattan chairs ? You won't be surprised when I write the following word : no.
No. Carlin's thoughts, in their own inexplicable, unpredictable way had meandered towards memories of the Saint standing on the banks of Loch Ness and a hideous bellow echoing in the darkness. What made it worse was that my"interior vision" of Loch Ness was 40 years distant in mind while the real thing was a few scant miles away just beyond those dark, groaning branches. I can remember giving myself a metaphorical shake at this point and saying what all we supposed adults say to our "inner child" at times like that : "Don't be so stupid!"
I didn't quite get to the point where I was whistling to convince myself that everything was OK as I found my thoughts creeping towards even more creepiness.
What was the other scary connection I'd always made with Loch Ness ?
Oh no !", I thought, not wanting to acknowledge it, "Boleskine House".
That wasn't the type of place I wanted to be thinking of on a cold, wet Winter's night. You may never have heard of it but Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin certainly had when he bought this secluded estate back in the 60s during his "occult period". It had once been owned by Aleister Crowley, the self-proclaimed magician, 60 years before. All sorts of terrible rituals and hauntings are supposed to be associated with it and, of course, it's built near the side of Loch Ness. For all I knew it could have been right around the corner.
I wish I could say that I gave a manly guffaw and continued on my post-prandial perambulation
like a true, British adventurer. Suddenly I came to the decision that I'd had enough of muddy tracks for that particular evening. It's amazing how quickly you can find a path back to light and warmth when you really want to. My inner dialogue went something like this:
"Move it, move it! Don't dare think of that scene where Dana Andrews is walking through the woods in "Night of the Demon"
""Night of the Whaaa..?"
"You know, that old black and white film based on the MR James story "Casting the Runes" ? The one with the big, glowing devil crashing through the trees?"
"MR James ? Didn't the BBC do all those Christmas ghost stories based on his work ? Most of them set in the middle of Winter.....? Oh, Mammy!"
"Did you just cry for your Mammy, you lady boy? Just shut it and keep those legs moving, Fat Boy. I think I can see electric lights up ahead."
That's how I found out that I'm only a good sceptic on a sunny afternoon in my own house. I also discovered that it's possible for an "inner child" to beat up a grown man of 50 and shove his logic and deduction where the sun doesn't shine.
During the Scottish summer there's usually a Nessie sighting or two. It's funny how that coincides with the tourist season. Sadly, the only recent story is about how two local Monster centres resolved a legal wrangle.
Oh, for the days when the "Fortean Times" was able to point out that the scientific name coined by the late Sir Peter Scott for the monster: Nessiteras rhombopteryx is an(unintentional?) anagram. Shuffle the letters and you come up with "Monster hoax by Sir Peter S".
Maybe St. Columba's "exorcism" of the monster back in the Dark Ages has finally worked. I wish I'd remembered that on a certain cold, windy night. What is it with those saints and Loch Ness ?
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