Dunblane, community sport and legacy…
I grew up in Dunblane, in central Scotland. Technically, our imposing 12th Century Cathedral gave us city status without the need to apply to some bureaucrats. But, for those of us who lived there in the 70s and the 80s (and the 90s for that matter), it was just a village. It will always be a village to me.
We had all the hallmarks: butchers, bakers, a toyshop, a gentlemen’s outfitter, an ironmonger. There were newsagents run by men whose faces were etched with more lines than the maps of their morning paper rounds. The High Street closed at lunchtime on Wednesday and I still wonder what all those busy people did with those quiet mid-week afternoons.
On Sunday mornings, the beautiful, calming sound of the Cathedral bells was carried far and wide. My bedroom window would often be slightly ajar, allowing the music to fill the room: the loveliest of alarm clocks. As the years went by, and hangovers were gradually introduced to my life, the noise became less soothing.
All of my childhood years — my school years — and a good part of my adult life, were spent in Dunblane. It is still home to my mum and dad and many of my oldest and dearest friends. I go there often. Living in Edinburgh, I think I appreciate its place in my life more. When I go there, I try to spend time in places that I once knew intimately. I reflect and daydream.
One of those places is the golf club. I’m still a member, essentially renting an important piece of my past.
I was never very good at sport. In my dreams, I played football and golf at a pretty high level. I scored a good few goals for Celtic — playing alongside Charlie Nicholas — and I think I won the Open Championship a couple of times. But in real life, it took me years to get my golf handicap to single figures and the best goal I ever scored was a 25-yard left foot volley in the golf club car park that went in off a tree. I only played tennis during the latter stages of Wimbledon, when real tennis enthusiasts were at home watching that competition on television, leaving the courts free for marginally talented fantasists like me.
Thankfully, others in the town excelled. One of my oldest school friends seemed to be good at every sport. Andy Barclay was a tall, skinny boy — ridiculously good at golf, tennis club champion and the big target man for local amateur football club, Doune Castle. He was like Mark Hateley without the ludicrous blazers and also starred for a famous (at least in our world) Dunblane Sporting Club side, the midfield of which was undoubtedly the inspiration for Xavi and co, but which is probably heavier and less manoeuvrable today than the Nou Camp itself.
Andy now coaches some of Scotland’s best young football talent and there is something deeply comforting about that, given the sustained under-performance of our national team.
Then there was my next door neighbour. Callum Davidson was good at everything. I often think he could have carved out a successful professional career at any of the sports he played, or become an astronaut. He happened to choose football, giving up his engineering studies to pursue a career that took him from St Johnstone to Blackburn Rovers to Leicester City to Preston North End, where he was club captain, and back to St Johnstone, where he is currently assistant manager and a high performing manager-in-waiting.
Watching Callum play for Scotland was a wonderful experience and I remember the magnificently impolite noises of approval from pub regulars when, playing for Blackburn Rovers, he upended David Beckham live on Sky TV one Monday night.
The McKenzie brothers played rugby. Kevin played 14 times for his country before his career was cruelly cut short by injury, and the exceptional talent of his younger, slightly cockier brother Mark — a good friend of mine — should have gleaned similar rewards. The Stirling County team of which they were a fundamental part were Scottish Champions in 1995, knocking a few establishment noses out of joint in the process.
Across town, the Murray family seemed to live at the sports club. It was a modest place — two squash courts and four tennis courts — and it’s the only place I ever remember seeing Judy Murray. I think I maybe saw her in the post office once.
I was introduced to Judy recently. My view of her had been shaped — as I guess it had to be — by the media and by other people’s opinions of the role she played in driving two brilliant young men to the top of world tennis and multiple Wimbledon, US Open and Olympic successes.
Over tea and scones at Cromlix, just outside Dunblane, I listened carefully as this apparently steely but in reality gentle and thoughtful lady talked to me — softly and unassumingly — about her passion, which is essentially teaching people to play tennis and teaching other people to teach people to play tennis.
It’s fair to say that I was — am — enchanted. There is something special about Judy — the tenacity, the passion, the patter, the humility.
I offered to help her promote the things she cares about, for nothing other than the feeling that I am contributing to the long-term good of the town we both call home and hopefully the generations that will follow ours. We spent some time together, talking about her frustrations and her hopes.
Every conversation I have with her is an uplifting one and I don’t think I have known a more tenacious advocate for a cause. At the Davis Cup in Glasgow, in the immediate aftermath of Andy and Jamie’s doubles victory over Argentina, I watched her brush up against some of sport’s most senior administrators (you know the type) and it was a wonderful thing. A spectator sport in itself. Advantage Murray, every time.
Closer to home, Judy is the inspiration and the driving force behind one of the most ambitious community sports projects in Scotland, or anywhere else as far as I know. Her vision, if realised, will provide a world-class community tennis, football and golf facility on an under-used and under-valued piece of land between Dunblane and Bridge of Allan, and create a vast army of sports coaches stretching well beyond our home town.
To those concerned about the green belt (those of us who call Dunblane home care about it too), it should be said that the Park of Keir project makes that land more accessible than it has ever been and 85% of it will be woodland and parkland to be enjoyed by many more people than enjoy it today.
Furthermore, it represents an appropriate legacy for the achievements of new world number one Andy Murray and his brother Jamie. Their contribution to Dunblane is immeasurable and they inspire countless people of all ages. My mum thinks nothing of sitting up through the night to watch Andy Murray play, and then getting up in the morning to watch the highlights.
For me, as somebody who loves Dunblane, it is inconceivable that we might let an opportunity like this pass us by. I am far from alone in holding that view. There is a quiet body of support in the town, perhaps more so from people who have lived there for a long time.
The ball (inevitably) is in the Scottish Government’s court, following Stirling Council’s decision to turn down the proposal for narrow planning reasons. Hopefully, Scotland’s Ministers make the kind of return that has put Andy Murray at the pinnacle of his sport.
In doing so, they will be building an enduring facility for people of all social backgrounds that will encourage many more people to play football, golf and tennis, strengthening local sports clubs and building healthier and more prosperous communities. Scotland will be a better place for it.
