HE WAS A GIFT, WHOSE LEGACY WILL LIVE ON
THERE is a small hand-painted, wooden picture of Bill McLaren that takes pride of place in my home. I have been looking at it a lot since Doddie Weir died. It was a parting gift to me as I was about to leave the great man’s house in the Borders a few years ago.
‘Robert, I am looking for a good home for this,’ said Doddie. ‘It was sent to me as a gift from a well-wisher who made it specially. I know you wrote a play about Mr McLaren and loved him as much as me.
‘Called me the mad giraffe, Bill did, and I loved it. I am mad. I am tall as a giraffe. Keep it safe for me in the future.’
He didn’t say, “When I am gone,” but he didn’t have to. It is now one of my most cherished possessions.
I had the privilege to watch him as a player for Melrose, Newcastle Falcons and Scotland and on his day, he was world class.
Forget those who dismissed him as a ‘daft laddie’ when he played. You don’t get picked for Scotland — especially by Jim Telfer — or the British and Irish Lions if you are like that. He had a great rugby brain and although he may have not taken life too seriously, he did work hard at his sport which is why he made it all the way to the top.
As is always the way at such times of loss, memories of him over the years have come flooding back since his death.
From meeting him just after his MND diagnosis six years ago outside the shop in Edinburgh that made his special tartan suits, where he gave me his first interview about his illness.
‘Ach, okay let’s talk a wee bit, seeing it’s you,’ he said, knowing he might get in trouble for talking.
To being caught in a bear hug by him along with his friend Scott Hastings and television presenter Rhona McLeod (he did have arms that long) as he announced an MND fundraising initiative at Holyrood Park.
To seeing my son Bruce’s face light up as he met him after a sponsored run on behalf of MND.
Doddie and I bonded over our love of steak pie (with or without beans on the side was the big debate) and shared more than a few laughs as I drove him around his farm on his electric buggy.
It was his laugh I will always remember more than anything. It was a joy to behold. Especially when you had been the cause of it. On one occasion, I suggested his former Scotland team-mate and close friend Gary Armstrong join him in his Speedos at one of his aqua aerobics sessions.
The thought of them bobbing up in down, little and large, in the local swimming pool really tickled his fancy. There was a booming laugh then tears of joy streamed down his face. I had made Doddie Weir laugh. That meant a lot.
He always had an inquiring mind and no subject was ever off limits. When we chatted about how I had got on at the 2019 World Cup in Japan, he was nearly as interested to learn about their famous automated toilets than he did the rugby.
‘I am getting one of these Japanese toilet things in,’ he said as he gave me a tour of his new bathroom suite that was laid out to make life easier for him. ‘All these buttons, moving the seat. Having a warm bum when you sit down. Amazing.’
He ran his life from his ‘control room,’ another name for the snug off the kitchen, where he had a supply of Guinness that he drank through a straw.
In the early days of MND, he answered emails on a big screen in front of him. He couldn’t take much chocolate but actively encouraged others to eat the bars brought for him which was fine by me.
It was, of course, sad to see him deteriorate over the years.
When I first went down to his farm, we got stuck into a steak pie bought by his close friend and confidante Stewart Weir, who is no relation but was like a brother to him. Doddie could still use a knife and a fork but the last time I visited, his wife Kathy had to feed him. We also used to go out on his beloved buggy and he rode all around the farm, which was tucked away in the Borders countryside. Sadly, the last time I went down to visit, I had to drive him around, with him struggling to get into the passenger seat.
That was the time that his fellow Scotland international Craig Chalmers phoned me by chance. I put the phone to the ear of Doddie and his face lit up. The banter between the pair as the sun went down was great to eavesdrop on.
He still had a positive outlook on life throughout his illness, even if the humour turned a little dark now and again. He would certainly take no offence to the following tale...
‘Carl Hogg and Gary Armstrong are two of my best mates and every time we used to go past an undertakers they used to slow down and ask me if I wanted to nip in for a fitting,’ said Doddie with a smile on his face.
‘My mate Robbie Brown is an undertaker in Melrose and he used to ask whether he would have to order an extra-long hearse.’
It was that black humour that kept Weir going through the dark days, although the death of former Scotland prop Tom Smith at the age of just 50 — two years younger than Doddie when he passed — hit him hard.
He could also be philosophical when it came to facing death. ‘My brother in law was a sheep farmer who died at 54,’ he said. ‘Maybe him up there wanted a sheep farmer. Then a teenager I knew died and so maybe my brother-in-law wanted someone to help with him with the farm in heaven. When I go, I could maybe help them out up there too.’
Such was his spirit, that you wished Doddie could buck the trend and survive for many more years with MND. Maybe they could find a cure in his lifetime. That would be just reward for a man who helped raised nearly £9million for research. Deep down, though, we knew that time was not on his side.
The first indication that his health had deteriorated came two days before Scotland played New Zealand earlier this month.
Scotland head coach Gregor Townsend is always upbeat before any game, whether there is pressure on him or not. The chance to take on the All Blacks would always get him going. Yet he was downcast when he named his Scotland squad on that Friday afternoon.
He was delighted that his pal Doddie was going to be guest of honour at the game five years after he delivered the match ball at the same fixture. Yet he made clear that Doddie, whom he had visited at home on the Wednesday evening before the game, may not be well enough to attend.
That he did make it with his whole family was testament to the spirit of the great man. The way both captains, Jamie Ritchie of Scotland and Sam Whitelock of New Zealand, came to the touchline to meet him was a poignant moment that will never be forgotten.
I was standing up the back of the main stand, only a metre away from Townsend, who was in his coaching box with his head stuck in his notes.
The moment Doddie appeared he took a break and put his face right up to the TV screen in front of him. He watched proceedings with what looked like a tear in his eye. He knew he was going to coach at a big match but his love for Doddie was more important than that. He didn’t want to miss a minute.
That news of Doddie’s death came 13 days later when his rugby family at Melrose were gathered at the Greenyards on Saturday afternoon was apt. They were celebrating a thumping 63-15 win over rivals Gala and spirits were high in the clubroom. That changed when the news came through of his death but as the night went on, the stories started flowing and there were smiles. A glass was raised in fitting tribute to the gentle giant who brought joy to all those who ever had the privilege of meeting him.
The Melrose minis section were training on the main pitch at the Greenyards, where the club flag was flying at half-mast on Sunday morning, just like Doddie used to do as a youngster. He was a gift and his legacy will live on through them, and all those who met him.
He had such a positive outlook on life throughout his illness