In Memoriam SJM

So the day for the funeral of my old pal Stevie Milne. And Johnny came up to pay his respects too, as well as another school pal, GMcC, and G herself.
And it was a fine sending off, starting with Zappa’s Black Napkins. And in there, for a period of contemplation was Dylan’s Blowing in the Wind. Seldom has it sounded so good.
Stevie had arrived down our way from rural Aberdeenshire when I was in 3rd year at High School. And we soon discovered a shared love of music. And - a great thing - his folks lived on Malleny Croft, a traditional farmhouse outside Balerno, and Stevie had the bedroom in the low single story outhouse. It meant we were well away from his wee brother and sister, and from his folks - and so was his bass guitar and amp. So come a Saturday afternoon, Dougie Edwards and myself would pick up a bottle of Woodpecker cider each and stroll along the Lymphoy Road, to sit in his room and listen to early Dylan or some prog rock. A musical awakening for me. And soon Dougie was replaced by another couple of lads who lived on farms up above Balerno: Johnny and Barquey. There was something about these boys that was different to my fellow suburban dwellers that attracted me. Their free spirit. Their lack of materialism. A wildness. Motorbikes and long hair. And always the music.
I smiled at one photo of Stevie in his funeral booklet - lying comatose on a sofa. How often did he end up like that. The photo here (which I took along to the funeral) is of Brenda and himself setting off on the walk from Balerno over to Carlops and then on to West Linton for the Folk Festival there - a one day event - in 1976. Johnny and his then girlfriend Evelyn were also with me. Anyway, we had a grand day there (the Dave Brown Band seems to stick in my mind) and eventually took our leave - someone drove us as far as Nine Mile Burn for the walk home. And Habbie’s Howe was in full swing - I remember a piano being played - so we stopped in for beers. Then off on the path on the miles through the hills in the darkness; eventually Stevie called a halt and lay down in the heather. Leave me! Leave me, he shouted and fought us off as we tried to shift him and get him moving again. On another occasion we just gave up on him. It meant no one else could use the toilet for several hours on that occasion. Ha. And the trip to Blackbushe to see Dylan, climbing out his dormers to lie on the flat roof in the sun, the trip to Dens in ’86 where we lost it, playing the oven trays on strings with a bread knife. There's a skill that's disappearing. And his wedding; only four of us there apart from two old aunties who showed up to chuck confetti about. The years went in, he settled down Musselburgh way and we saw less of him. And eventually he made a trip to London last May (he never did go abroad) - phoning his daughter to say he’d found this great eatery - Pret a Manger! 
So it was good to see Johnny (Barquey is up north working somewhere) and share a bit of a reminiscence about the wee man. And Brenda was glad to see the pair of us. Now he's gone with hardly a trace. We’ll miss him.