Though readers may find it hard to believe now, in the early seventies the necropolis of Aberdeen, eighty miles east across moor and mountain, was a major draw for troops from ISK. A football team that regularly topped the then Scottish First Division, lots of pubs, a dancehall and plenty of fresh fanny to chase was an irresistible draw.
Getting there, however, was more of a problem. Few troops had cars so it was bus or thumb to Forres, then a two hour train journey, pricey, complicated and often just too much to contemplate after a week’s work, especially if the previous few weekends had been hard ones on the hill.
So, imagine the excitement one week when one of the troops was offered the use of a mate’s Ford Escort whilst the latter was away on detachment. Said troop and two others plotted their escape. Signing up for the weekend on Monday they separately called off during the week, pleading having to work the weekend. The Team boss was no fool and had an inkling of what was in the offing. However, as all three were stalwart troops he was prepared to let it go, this time!
All went well and Saturday afternoon saw the three ensconced behind one of the goals at Pittodrie, the AFC ground.
Fast forward to Monday morning. The local rag is the Aberdeen Press & Journal; know colloquially as the “Braemar Beano.” At some point on Saturday afternoon a spectacular goal had been scored, so spectacular that it warranted a full 8 x 6 photo on the back page of the “beano.” And, yes, you’ve guessed, as clear as day, behind the floundering goalie and triumphant striker, sat our three heroes. Even if their faces hadn’t been so easily recognisable, they were three of the biggest and hairiest buggers on the team at the time. Mid winter in Aberdeen’s cold, of course, and the final clincher was the fact that all three were resplendent in their regulation issue fleeces and duvet jackets. One of them even had on his Dachstein Mitts and balaclava (a sartorial master stroke that apparently didn't affect his pulling chances later in the evening. They like them tough, these Aberdeen gals!)
Supping his Monday morning brew, the team boss grabbed a quick read of the paper before settling down to the day’s work. It’s rumoured the malevolent grin that spread over his face upon seeing the back page was a sight to behold. Quietly all three were called in one by one for a “quick chat, nothing important”. Upon entering the boss’s office the first thing they saw was the paper spread out on his desk. What could they say? What could he say? To the boss’s credit he left it at that. And guess what? It was a long time before any troop tried to skive off to the bright lights of Aberdeen, borrowed Ford Escort or not!!