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01 July 1998
It's a funny thing the whisky
By Willie Phillips

I have read with great interest the tales appearing in the Society's Newsletter, for they all have that ring of truth about them, mingled, I suppose with a certain element of surprise, for both the reader and the author.

I am not in the position to comment accurately on the veracity of the works of recent contributors such as Bill Millar, Jim Murray, Sheila Burtles and Elizabeth Bell, but knowing, and respecting them all, I can vouch for the authenticity of their comments, and I endorse their views that the industry docs not suffer fools or false expertise gladly. Indeed it is an honour to have been asked to join their ranks on this page. My old English teacher would have been proud of one of her dullest pupils! Elizabeth Bell wrote about her day with George, the ghillie, at Macallan. I well remember George's interview. "Why do you want to be a ghillie?" I asked. "Well," he said, "My grantfather was a ghillie, My father was a ghillie, my son is a ghillie, and I always wanted to be a ghillie, but my father wouldn't let me!" His delight on being appointed was indescribable, and I'm delighted that his twenty-five years as a Macallan mashman eventually gave him the opportunity and that his new enthusiasm is so infectious. It's a funny thing the whisky.

My own early days at Macallan were like entering a new world of discovery. As a student my beer intake always lagged behind that of my peers, and I found it more acceptable, then at only a slightly higher cost, to have a wee dram. Among my pals I became the whisky 'expert', consulted often on what was good and what not so good, and yet here I was, the newly appointed accountant at one of Scotland's finest distilleries, realising very quickly that I was almost totally ignorant. I had to learn to absorb knowledge, and not whisky, like a sponge. On the first day, I met with Peter Shiach, the Managing Director. "What size of wellington boots do you take?" "Do you want me to work in the distillery?" I asked expectantly. "No,' he replied, "I want you to take stock of our herd. Get your boots, and join the grieve at the farm. You're our farm manager from now on."

My life suddenly included heifers and stirks, prize bulls, feeding and bedding, fatstock sales, show rings and auction rings! It's a funny thing the whisky. The place was full of surprises, characters and stories, the whole of Speyside being indeed a farming and whisky community. My eyes were convinced it was one of the world's finest corners, my nose was attacked by new smells, acceptable and not so, my mouth experienced an entire new range of flavours, and my ears were ever open for advice, information and a new tale.

I became intoxicated with the history, official and unofficial, and with the mystery of the magical ingredient the area adds to part of Scotland's heritage. At that time, over twenty years ago, the practice of 'dramming' was still in existence; and many a tale there was to tell. The problem was that if an employee was slightly inebriated, there was no telling the source of the alcohol. Had it been dispensed by management, had it been teased from a cask, or had it been a legitimate purchase from the village store?

Tolerance was the order of the day, but as always there were little excesses. One came to our notice on a Friday evening when the Managing Director was leaving the distillery in his Jaguar. He came across one of the employees still on his bicycle in the ditch at the side of the road. Assisted, the employee recovered his senses immediately, looked at his samaritan and stated "It's a funny thing the whisky, Sir, for it puts you on the road in a Jaguar, and me off it on my bike!" Aye, it's a funny thing the whisky! Willie Phillips is Chairman of the Society."

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