Remembering Gerry's Private Bunkhouse between Achnasheen and Achnashellach...

On 3^rd November 1985 we had decided to stay at our first ever Private Bunkhouse. We had all been members of the YHA for upwards of 30 years, but they were spread a bit thin in obscure parts of the Highlands.

On the other hand Private Bunkhouses/ Hostels were just coming into being, and we thought that we should try one, especially as we were venturing into territory that had little other accommodation.

Our first choice was Gerry Howkins Bunkhouse situated between Achnasheen and Achnashellach at Craig in Strathcarron. This wonderful location is little known, fairly remote, and contains a goodly number of out of the way wonderful Munros.

On arrival, first impressions were that the Hostel was a bit spartan, and the proprietor, Gerry himself, was equally spartan when it came to vocabulary.

There was one large mixed dormitory for about 10, and I think a couple of family rooms. The long, whitewashed building, was previously occupied by railway workers and the Inverness to Kyle of Lochalsh railway passed the door. You could, if you wish, virtually shake hands with the passengers. If there were any!

Gerry himself occupied one end of the building. There was a kitchen, toilet ("one sheet per sheet!”) and a shower for 50p. The wooden floored, communal living room had old, cosy arm chairs, a dining table for about 8, on which there were a number of old wine bottles with candles in them.

There was assorted home made décor, pictures and memorabilia. A home made “frieze” depicting some Christmas long past added a touch of colour. Odd lumps of bog wood, skulls, and other natural objects were scattered about, with another collection embedded in plaster to form loo tiles.

A TV was a thing of the future, and possibly still is. A little cubby hole contained a small selection of food, with appropriate prices and a box. The best feature was the large log fire which then, especially in winter, was kept roaring away.

There were also hand written notices. One, on the biggest chair by the fire said “This is Gerrys seat, but if he is not here then you may use it”. Another, over the fire, said “If you smoke then Please Go Outside, walk down the drive to the road, turn right, start walking, and don't turn around....” 

When we said that we were going climbing in the hills, Gerry just crossed himself, and carried on with whatever he was doing.

We were unfamiliar with Bunkhouse procedures. In YHA Hostels it was commonplace to be given a job by the warden e.g. sweep the bedroom, peel potatoes, wash up pots etc. We assumed that at private hostels there would be no job. We were wrong.

Having made a big issue out of cleaning a window, even though it was pitch black outside, and dusting the fireplace, even though it made no difference, Gerry approached us and said “Well, ARE YOU NOT GOING TO DO A JOB THEN ??” 

We hastily and readily confirmed that we were up to it. At least he was now talking to us!  The job he assigned to us was to carry some tree trunks from the fairly nearby river, drag them over the railway line, avoiding the 4 hourly trains, and store them by his saw bench, and, if time, log one or two up. It was a big job.

One of my friends joked “Now then Neville, that's not really a job for a Chartered Accountant” (even though I had been renovating derelict cottages for the last 10 years or so ).

Gerry picked up on the word “Accountant” and professed that he was in trouble with the Income Tax Office as he was three years behind with his accounts. I said that if he gave me his paperwork then I would look at it.

Coming from Blackpool, I was used to what we loosely called “incomplete records!”  i.e.  A bit of paperwork and a lot of imagination. No double entry bookkeeping would be anywhere within 150 miles of here.

At least he had kept a record of fees collected, bank statements, and a few electric bills etc. After about 3 hours I had produced three years financial accounts, whilst my two friends were struggling lugging dead trees.

I little knew that I was to be Gerry's Accountant for the best part of the next 10 years or so. What should I charge him? Because he did have the good grace to ask how much he owed me. I suggested that £50 per year would be about right, but that he needn't pay anything now as I would just take future bed nights off the bill.

I never did get anywhere near straight as extra work followed each time I made another, annual, visit. His overnight fee at this time was around £8.

The following night my friends asked what the job of the day was, to be told it was to carry on logging until nothing was left. I sat their smirking by the fire, just leaning back enjoying myself when Gerry said to me “Are YOU not doing a job tonight? That logging will take more than two people?” So a lasting relationship with Gerry was started!!

It soon became apparent that Gerry was a man of few words, more an assortment of nods and a bit of mime, until he got to know you. We soon discovered that Gerry was a nice guy, and that he had a number of obsessions. One, already mentioned, was a hatred for smokers. Another was the plight of Aborigines and other underdogs. He also dabbled in Herbal Medicine.

Our first few visits to Gerry's saw few changes to this timeless place. What few improvements that were made later were no doubt compulsory demands from Health & Safety authorities, referred to at “F'ing B's by Gerry.

There is no doubt but that Gerry was a “one off”. He was also, definitely, a hypochondriac, and was usually to be found on some new Peruvian Indian cure, or special “bean” or new herbal treatment.

Cooking his evening meal was an important part of his day. Reputation has it that when someone “peed in his pot for a joke”, he chased them with an axe. But then who wouldn't!! 

On another occasion he was to flip his lid over someone having being smoking whilst he had been out for a short while. He blamed one of my team, came into the dormitory at about 1am on a freezing night, flung all the big windows open, and started screaming abuse.

Another guest that night, Gerry's Doctor, then admitted that he in fact was the culprit, whereupon Gerry berated him over his ignoring the Hippocratic Oath, killing his patients.

Eventually he calmed down and told his Doctor that he could leave in the morning, rather than now, in the early hours.

On another occasion it was myself who felt the brunt of his mood when, on returning from a sojourn at the local (7 miles away!) pub, I put my iced up boots on the fire to thaw them out. Apparently burning leather is akin to cigarette smoke.

After our first visit, Gerry would often come out with us to one of the two local pubs. There was one in each direction about 7 miles away. 

Sometimes it was the first time that he had been out for some weeks.

One night we asked him to come with us to the Achnasheen Pub but he advised us that he was banned!! We wondered what on earth you had to do to be banned from a pub in Scotland!

Anyway we phoned the landlady (who we called "Bloody Beryl" on account of her using the adjective every second word) and permission was granted. Surprisingly, Gerry produced a snooker cue from somewhere in his quarters.

One night, Ian decided to take a shower. He entered the required 50p but had difficulty getting hot water. After 20 minutes he gave up, dressed and came back into the Common Room. He was confronted by Gerry who said “You have had a really long shower, I am afraid that you owe another 50p.”

One day we invited Gerry to accompany us to the Lochcarron Hotel for a meal in the evening. When we left the Bunkhouse he was looking smarter than any of us, washed and scrubbed, clean clothes, beard trimmed and combed.

Arriving at the hotel we enjoyed some banter, exchanging stories etc. In due course the meals arrived. Gerry had ordered fish. After a few minutes he turned to me for some help. He had a fish bone stuck in his gums, so he removed his teeth, opened his mouth wide and offered up a gaping cavity for my examination. It was not the most appetising spectacle. Anyway, bone removed, teeth replaced, it took a few moments to restore my appetite.

On one occasion we discovered that a Pine Martin appeared to be living in one of Gerry's outbuildings, but the hut was so overgrown we couldn't really get a good view and had to be satisfied with the noises emanating from within. He liked his garden and I was surprised and grateful when he dug up a small Rhododendron Tree for me to take home to my wife. 30 years on it survives!

One hilarious evening at the Hostel we spent an hour or so inventing Dance Moves, concluding eventually that Gerry was the most innovative.

During one of our stays, Gerry announced that he was going away for a few days, by train, (from Achnashellach), to see his mother. He intended to leave the Hostel unattended, with notices left advising of room prices etc, and relying on honesty.

We armed him with a four pack of beer and as his train passed his building we duly waived him off, receiving a raised can in return.

One night at the Achnasheen Hotel Bar we could hear "Bloody Beryl" chivvying her husband. “We have a dozen elderly B guests coming from B England, someone near B Birmingham. They will be here on the B 8pm train.”

Her husband responded  “Shall I light a fire in the Snug?”.

“Not B likely” replied Beryl. “We don't want them in the B Snug, we want them in the B Bar!!”

“There is a problem” her husband continued, “They have phoned to say that there will now be 14 of them, but the minibus we have borrowed only has 12 seats.”

“That's no B problem” said Beryl, they are Old Buggers so at least two of them will be unwell!"

Back to Gerry!

Whenever Gerry knew that we were going up to stay, he would phone me with a long list of supplies that he would like bringing up, as Lidl in Blackpool was better value than he could obtain in the wilderness.

There would usually be 3 or 4 of us in the car, complete with a case each full of clothes for the week, rucksacks and walking gear, food and drink supplies, possibly sleeping bags and tent etc. Any and all spare space would then be filled with 40 toilet rolls, 24 large chocolate blocks, cleaning materials, and a long list of Gerry's sought after money savers.

Sadly Gerry died in 2015 but his son continued to run the business.

Gerry's Hostel/Bunkhouse was one of the few venues to which we returned on a number of occasions, and thus Gerry became one of a relatively small number of people living in the Highlands who we grew to know well. Scotland is such a big, spartan, country, that, even doing the Munros and the Corbetts, you may only visit a particular area once every two or three years.

Sometimes you would maybe hire a static caravan, sometimes camp, sometimes stay at a hostel or small B and B. Occasionally you would sleep in the car. During the day you would be out from dawn to dusk, and be ready for bed after being fed and watered.

It was difficult to get to know any of the local people well enough to become friends, so, after 45 years of 2/3/4 visits per year it is sad to say that we seldom got to know any individuals really well.

Gerry was a major exception! A few others would just about remember us maybe?!

If you like this blog please give me a star rating, a comment or a 'heart' below. Or all three would be amazing! If you scroll right down towards the end of the page you will find where you can do this... and see other people's comments. Huge thanks for interacting it will keep me posting!- Normal Neville.