Fish and Chips and Sherbert Lemons

The search for fish and chips in an unknown area can be problematic.

This was the case last week during our family holiday in the Scottish Highlands.

There can be had some guidance on the usual bulletin boards in a rented house or in the comments provided by previous guests. Amongst the raft of leaflets on local attractions and guide books on everything else there may be nestling a takeaway menu.

We did our best to self cater in the first few days having stocked up at a Co-Op in the nearest village on a daily basis either on a specific round trip of 8 miles along the single track roads or in passing on our way back from our activities and outings. About mid way through our Scottish week we had a yearning for something different and in a democratic process the YES vote went for fish and chips.

The variable internet at the holiday house meant that it was a case of wandering around the rooms looking for a signal strength of sufficient duration to log on a search for anything on our mobile phones. The best place was actually when sat at the wooden picnic table and bench set on the brick paved patio just above the steeply banked garden which ran down to the tow path of the Caledonian Canal.

This was acceptable and indeed very pleasant during the unseasonably warm September days but less so in the dark and midge laden air of an evening or into the night.

In the latter conditions I found a link to a local chippie called Sammy's.

The place had a good rating and a few glowing testimonials as to the quality and size of the portions from a range of anonymous persons but from such a geographical spread that they just had, like us, to be seasonal visitors.

A distinct advantage was that Sammy's was the closest to our location at only 4 miles away and so the hazardous and tortuous route on the darkened narrow roads, even more so in the hours of darkness was tolerable.

I set off with a small slip of paper handwritten with the choices of the family clasped in my left hand gripping the steering wheel in mortal fear of mis-judging a bend, stalling on a steep incline or having to reverse if meeting another vehicle on the roadway or a stray sheep.

There was a regular flow of double trailer wagons heavily laden with freshly cut timber from the large Forestry Commission sites further up the valley and these easily claimed the right of way even if best placed to manouvre into a shallow passing place.

The  directions from the web page sent me to the main road and then across into a large 1950's Council Estate. The size of the estate was quite a shock at first for a visitor whose attentions were more drawn to the natural attractions of Ben Nevis, The Great Glen and the sea lochs but then again those servicing the lucrative tourist industry must, after all, live somewhere.

It was a tidy spot with neatly kept gardens and driveways and a busy flow of cars and pedestrians through its streets.

I looped around the main estate road in search of Sammy's and must have passed it without noticing it at the back of a parade of neighbourhood shops.

Back tracking I saw the illuminated sign in the shape of a caricatured prancing cod on a low post war single storey building and I pulled up on the courtyard in front.

The large window of the premises was a bit steamed up but there seemed to be a lot of people standing inside from hazy silhouetted shapes idling along in a clockwise direction. I expected all assembled to stare me out when I entered as I was in my vacation wear of shorts, sweat shirt and best bright trainers but they were an accepting and easy going crowd.

There were a lot of children milling about at a far counter or careering about on strap-on roller skates or those shoes with built in wheels in the sole. I found this unusual for the usual health and safety conscious environment of a fish and chip shop and it was certainly something I had not experienced south of the border.

The explanation was not one of unruly and undisciplined kids or slack and inattentive parenting but the fact that Sammy's was a most unusual combination of chippie and sweet shop.

The far counter, which was so much of a draw for the younger generation consisted of a large array of plastic trays with penny and three-penny goodies, chocolate bar displays and a multi-coloured Slushie machine which dispensed on demand a stream of bright and gawdy iced liquid into eagerly held plastic beakers.

Behind on about half a dozen shelves were the transparent bottle sized jars of boiled, fizzy, fruity, minty and flavoured sweets which I recognised from my own childhood when my meagre pocket money would be rapidly blown on a quarter of sherbet lemons, icing sugar coated bon bons or liquorice torpedo's.

This reminiscent sight was a real blast from the past and I could not help but stare at the wonderful goods on sale.

I must have been daydreaming of those idyllic years as I was startled by a gruff female voice asking me "Ken I be helping you with anything?".

I had reached the front of the queue in what seemed like an instant but was certainly more than twenty minutes.

In an obvious English manner I asked for four portions of fish and chips.This brought on a vague expression from the lady and the rest of the staff before I remembered that the correct order was for four fish suppers.

This was accepted and I congratulated myself on speaking the language only to spoil it with the comment of "that does include chips doesn't it".