Fort William. Thistles,Weeds. Photographer's Tale.
The photographer’s tale. Fort William
To get to Fort William from most places, involves a trip of a lifetime. Through unbelievable landscape, battlegrounds, twists & turns. For the Strathspey captain this would mean he arrives with his head in a sweat and his stomach in knots from car sickness.
Or perhaps it is the nerves. Neither Strathspey or The Fort had conceded to a victory or even a draw with a quarter of the season done & dusted. Both have NIL points. The battle of the bottom.
The William management team huddle on the centre-spot pretending to have a plan. They have no plan. How could they. Their team is “useless”. It is almost definitely a prayer. Will Strathspey be more useless than their charges?
The sun continues to shine on Ben Nevis, but the football pitch moves into the darkness of early winter shadows.
The ultras arrive. These are Fort William’s boys of summer, still with some optimism, still with some splendid youth. They alone sat in the one stand along the side.
In the mainstand, behind the home goal – the clubhouse with a picnic table, fence and barbed wire – are various brothers-in-law, fathers, reserves, groupies, drunks. It takes a drink to settle such nerves. And a ciggie. Elaine the lovely hard-working “go-for” (does everything & refuses to wear tights and call herself the secretary) is caught by me smoking two at a time.
Up the side behind the management and substitutes dugouts are family, and those on hand to offer “Last Rites”. Behind the far goal is Ben Nevis.
And here, stand I, after 3500 matches thinking THIS IS ME in my element.
This for me is TRUE LOVE amidst the thistles and weeds.
Stuart Roy Clarke