Udo Sonntag - A Journeyman's Journey - The Story of Jim McEwan

The central heating in the management offices in those days.

Across Loch Indaal: Bowmore and its distillery.

But just between you and me, everyone agreed that it was long past time to throw out the old carpet, because the new one looked much better. And I only found out afterwards that the carpet didn’t originate from 1779 after all, even if everyone claimed that it did. No, this carpet had already been replaced during the Second World War and was only 20 years old.

Many years later I returned to Bowmore from Glasgow in the position of manager, while James McColl was still working at the distillery. The ironic thing about this situation was that now roles were reversed. Suddenly I was his boss. Can you imagine that? I had become the superior of a man whose footsteps had always seemed too big. With his kindness and integrity, he not only knew how to educate me, but he could handle and lead any situation, no matter how tough. But even he was getting on in years, and it had become time for a generational change in the distillery office. I never saw myself as his boss, never! He was a shining icon for me throughout my life, from whom I was able to learn so many things. Even though I was officially in charge, I did not feel at all comfortable in this role, totally out of place as his boss. How could I tell him what to do, when he had originally hired me and been so protective towards me? That was an impossibility. Whatever happened, as long as James McColl worked at Bowmore, he was my boss, my advisor, colleague, confidant and my friend. No, I stand corrected, he was that to me for as long as he lived. Ultimately he took a well-deserved retirement, after about nine months of happy collaboration. I was aware that I could never become the gentleman he was, plainly without his stature. I am a completely different person. In Glasgow I learned to lead a team, but my methods were quite different. Would I have continued to employ young Jim after the firelighting situation? I don’t know, but he did. I still speak of James McColl today with profound respect, for I have not met such a character even in the years since his death. He left a huge gap in the island community, which anyone who knew him will emphatically tell you.

Davy Bell (left) and Donald McArthur – two coopers and the product of their labour.

When I look back on my life, there are a number of wonderful people who have befriended and, above all, shaped me. One of those very important people is undoubtedly Davy Bell. I would certainly not have become who I am today if he had not existed. Davy Bell was simply the person who inspired me the most. That is why I would like to give a lot of space here to remember him and to thank him from the bottom of my heart. Davy was not only my teacher in the art of barrel making. He was much more than that, and I learned so much about life from him.

When I was a young apprentice just beginning to find my way in this world in 1963, the first days in the distillery were very exciting for me. I wanted to be good at what I did, with Mr McColl’s announcement that I would have a sort of probationary period first, during which I could do no wrong, always at the back of my mind. I had no concerns that I would deliberately cause trouble; rather, I was worried that I would make a mistake because I didn’t know any better. That’s why I needed someone to take me by the hand, Davy being exactly the teacher I needed, and believe me, there couldn’t have been a better one. He’d known me as a child and took me under his wing. He knew how to ease my fears with few words and gave me a great sense of security. My place was definitely by his side, and for whatever reason, he adopted me. I was so proud to be able to learn with him, to learn from the number-one barrel maker. Every barrel maker is given a number when they join the union and every time one of them retires, you move up one. When I started, I was number 782 – but Davy was and still is number one for me! He was number one not only in Scotland, but across the world.

Jim’s teacher Davy Bell (right).

Davy had always been a well-known and respected man on Islay. You could count on him attending church every Sunday to reinforce his beliefs. Although he certainly did not have an easy life and had seen a lot of death and suffering in the First World War, this hadn’t thrown him off the straight and narrow. Perhaps that is why Davy was a great man throughout his life, not only for me, with very firmly held and reliable values. I remember very well his first words as my teacher at Bowmore, “Stay away from drinking whisky, work hard, and don’t steal whisky!”

He had experienced all too often what happened when these rules were not followed. Too many didn’t follow them, and had to bear the consequences. If you were dishonourably fired from a distillery back then, it was hard to gain a foothold on the island again. Davy was familiar with such personal situations and knew that it was usually the families, the wives and the children who suffered. This was not unique to Islay, but was a phenomenon that occurred everywhere whisky was made, exactly what Davy wanted to protect me from. I, his apprentice, was not to meet this fate. For him, his craft as a passionate barrel maker was not just a profession, but a vocation. For him, it took much more than technical skill and ability. He was looking for a fundamentally honest, sincere character, for that is precisely why barrel makers were respected everywhere. They were special men who had a wonderful charisma, and I was apprenticed with the number one.

Jim at 21 as an apprentice cooper on a sherry butt in 1968.

August 1st 1963 was not only my first working day at the distillery, but it was also to be important in my life for another reason. I showed up on time for work, perhaps even overly-punctual, having dressed in what I thought was appropriate for the job. When Davy approached me, he looked me up and down and said, “You have a hole in your shoe.” He was right. In those days I didn’t worry about shoes. I had only one pair – that was all we could afford. Davy admonished me: “You can’t possibly work here with shoes that have a hole in them. You can’t! You really need decent boots to work in.” I tried to convince him to give me a month, after which I could afford new shoes from my first wage, but at that moment it was not even remotely possible to think about new shoes. But Davy was adamant, because he knew how important decent footwear would be. So he took me by the hand to the local shoe shop, and there picked out the best pair and bought them for me. They cost a guinea (one pound and one shilling), a princely sum for the day. “Listen, Jim, every Friday you get your wages and you give me five shillings. That’s how you pay me back. You need good shoes as a cooper.” You won’t believe it, but those were the first new shoes I’d had in my life – mind-blowing! I will never forget that. It was day one of a new beginning for me that started with a new teacher and ended with new shoes.