'The Plerick Incident', Sunday, July 6, 2014

On Sunday, July 6, 2014, a black Chrysler PT Cruiser, HY05 VWF,  was witnessed lying berthed and becalmed in the Plerick, that basin of no-man’s land between the back of the Nethertown and the Uppertown of the Braehead.

It is believed this was the first, and, to date, the only time a motor vehicle had been upon this ground. This probably not by choice but by common sense, in that there is no real entry or exit point to this urban howe for anything other than pedestrians and any arrival of carriages by way of the brae makes departure nigh on impossible without external aid. Therefore, any attempt at such mechanical manoeuvre would be a fruitless exercise, and total folly. In short, the action of a dullard.

So it can be acknowledged, with little doubt, that the driver of this particular vehicle has achieved some status within the village. It would be fair to say not ‘celebrity status’ but a position, certainly at the time, more akin to that of ‘village idiot’.

While that may appear harsh and, perhaps, even litigious, the writer of this and the driver have an agreement that descriptions and all depicted actions therein, some of which would normally be considered defamatory, will not entail legal proceedings, given both parties are one and the same.

What is intriguing is that there are two versions of events leading to this spectacle. While they may differ in many aspects, there are also considerable similarities, all of which are contained in the photographs. The frample of facts only exists in the precise progress of the vehicle to its destined resting place in the Plerick.

The first version was just that. The tale immediately recounted on the day. Some would insinuate a bland, over-simplistic explanation, with room a-plenty for a more colourful backfill. And, indeed, the second report, emerging many months later, did indeed provide more details and would certainly merit a nod of approval from John Jack and subsequent inclusion in any updating of ‘An historical account of St Monance, Fife-Shire, Ancient and Modern, interspersed with a variety of tales, incidental, legendary & traditional’ (Andesite Press). It could also be suggested the late former Provost and councillor, James Braid, would heartily endorse the latter version, though expressing relief that such wanton recklessness brought no harm to man, woman, child or beast.

As for the driver himself? Apparently he was initially unaware of the second tale circulating but, on its recounting from a local clatterbus, fell silent; either through a realisation that truth will win out or that it brightly outshone the previous version and was loudly knocking on the door of the library of village folklore.

The original narrative was thus.

The driver had been visiting his mother, resident within Isaac Mackie House, Elie, and, in his haste to catch the Wimbledon men’s singles final between the blistering Balkan Novak Djokovic and silky Switzer Roger Federer, either failed to secure the handbrake or it suffered slippage. It then propelled a mere few inches backwards to catch the lip of the camber on the drain at No 16 Braehead which provided just enough momentum for the vehicle to traverse the road and roll down the brae into the Plerick. The driver had just heated a bowl of potato and leek soup when fellow Brahead resident John McBain, who had witnessed the incident from his window, knocked at the door to inform the driver of his vehicle’s plight. Word soon spread and the stranded car attracted a bemused clamjamfrie. A rescue truck had to be summoned and employed to retrieve the marooned motor saloon, at a cost in the region of £65.

This version, within a matter of weeks, was robustly challenged, with much incidental background information now emerging from a variety of sources, all of whom to this day remain anonymous. While their narrative remains completely unverified, it creates a thought-provoking fable, providing in particular a moral lesson for those who regularly imbibe the demon alcohol. Therefore as to whether it is fact is irrelevant; it is the lesson that is important, and the tale more enduring for it.

This version has the driver, a former editor of  the then Leven-based East Fife Mail and a former East Neuk reporter, departing for a rendezvous on the Saturday evening. It is not suggested to where he journeyed. Whisky-eyed worthies and wobbly Waid pupils did not witness him in any of the local hostelries so it is assumed this was a private visit or a clandestine sojourn to a rumoured speakeasy nestling in the Colinsburgh countryside. A visit to his mother in Elie has been discounted. This was a July evening and the driver, untanned and clothed in a shirt, long trousers, socks and shoes, would have stood out quite dramatically on a summer evening in those genteel surroundings. It is likely he would have been encircled by a bronzed sockless group, all clad in designer wind-cheaters, shorts, and deck shoes, and thereafter ushered to very edge of the burgh boundaries and warned not to return until he was the owner of a holiday home. As a local journalist and scrivener our driver would have known this peril and avoided such humiliation.

Wherever the driver’s destination was that evening, we do know he held strong views opposing drink driving but either through sorrow or celebration he is alleged to have thrown caution to the wind and copious amounts of hard liquor down his thrapple.

What happens next is uncertain. We can assume Mr Brian Souter’s rare Stagecoach services had ceased for the night, thereby ruling out a bumpy, ticketed return to St Monans, if indeed an omnibus halt was anywhere within his vicinity. The option of a taxicab hire was not taken. Perhaps the driver’s pecuniary position was enfeebled by gorging the bar till or contributing to the liquid consumption kitty? We shall never know, but what allegedly followed was a serious error of judgement; he decided to drive home.

We have no witnesses to this black Chrysler’s homeward voyage from whoknowswhere. We know not if it roared recklessly down lanes and back roads of the East Neuk's boondocks, or weaved slowly from verge to verge as the driver’s rheumy eyes sought out the beckoning street lights of St Monans and the road home.

However, the shadowy sources do pick up his arrival in Queen Margaret Street in the historic burgh, and, at reaching the Braehead junction and within yards of his domicile, he failed to negotiate the 90 degree turn, and driver and vehicle, narrowly missing the telegraph pole, plunged down into the Plerick.

It would be enough for this tale to reach its finale here, but no! More drama from this motorised demmie was yet to unfold. The inebriated but uninjured driver exited his vehicle and still had the wherewithall to lock it. But his state was such that, try as he might, he was unable to scale the steps by the Masonic Lodge or those by the side of what is now Ms Helen Marshall's carefully tended garden and seating area. Stranded and uncoordinated, the driver had no option but to slowly, and with much difficulty, crawl up the brae, humple across the road and then slither across his doorstep.

It should be noted that such a kerfuffle in this neb-o'-the-morning drama should have attracted some attention. However, it must be pointed out that at this time, police office Tracy Elder and her family had not yet proceeded in a westerly direction to take up residence within a dwellinghouse on the Braehead. Had that relocation taken place prior to the incident then it is highly likely, even at the late hour and in night attire, law enforcement duties would have required to be assumed. With the traditional  "'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, what's going on here then?", the driver would have been apprehended and the true story duly recorded and entered into constabulary, prokitor and subsequent court reportage, no doubt featuring  such acronyms as D&D, DIC, DUI, DIP, as well as others further into our Latin alphabet. Alas this clarity was not to be afforded us.

But still  the tale does not end there. What transpired next is a mystery of major significance. In the ensuing morning not a single witness walking westward to the Auld Kirk, or eastward to the Congregational Church or Gospel Hall, saw the black Chrysler. It was as though a divine veil had been thrown over the evidence of the earlier debauchery and recklessness, safely blinkering the good kirk-gaun folk from the offensive sight nestling below them.

But be mindful this was a day both of mass and meat and there were those who did not adhere to the callings of the traditional Sabbath but ventured harbourwards through the Plerick for a helping of bread rolls, milk, newspapers and cross-counter cheery banter. They have no recollection of seeing the stranded vehicle, but perhaps they were misty-eyed in anticipation and the conclusion of that morning’s chirpy exchanges.

It has also been suggested that the motor car was viewed by some as an installation work by artist Martin Salvage, perhaps a statement on the space a hard-working creative can expect to display his visions at Pittenweem Arts Festival, or even a piece in preparation for the St Monans Arts Festival. 

Whatever! It is unlikely we shall ever know why so many failed to see beyond the vehicular veil, cast perhaps by the lingering magick of the tragic Maggie Morgan, whose tormented ghost must surely wander the village streets.

It was John McBain alone who, while strolling the Braehead on an early afternoon constitutional, appears immune to the mass blindness, and rouses the driver from his drunken slumber who has no recollection of events in the hours previous.

From there, the stories converge into one, becoming dull, boring and not worthy of note.

And at the end of the excitement, the incident is perhaps best summed up, when a worthy, who had witnessed the hired winching of the vehicle from the smacher on the perimeter of the Plerick, clutched the arm of the roufu' man standing beside her, unbeknownst to her the driver, and with her other hand, pointed a bony finger at the car and said: “Whoever did that, is one right, daft bugger.”


One final detail: Djokovic defeated Federer in a five-set thriller,  6–7^(7–9), 6–4, 7–6^(7–4), 5–7, 6–4. The driver missed most of this exciting encounter.