The vegetable Beechgrove Garden Jim can’t stand

Gardener Jim McColl reflects on four decades in charge of the Beechgrove Garden, his love of Scottish music, his hatred of one unfortunate vegetable, and what’s turning him into a grumpy old man.

The Beechgrove Garden is now in its 40th year.

I was always destined to be a gardener, if there’s any truth in the rumour that the genes have a story to tell. My father had a sister and two brothers who were involved in horticulture, and my father was a gardener all his days.
My maternal grandfather was a railwayman.

He drove puffer trains from Glasgow to Carlisle, and like so many of them he had an allotment. During the Second World War, when my father was away for King and Country, I spent a lot of time with him scrabbling about in the soil.

My children haven’t inherited green fingers. My son lives in Cambodia – he married an Australian girl and they have a hotel. I wouldn’t like to garden in that climate – it’s very hot and steamy. My daughter is a sports fanatic. She’s got to that Iron Man – or Iron Woman – stage.

I never thought Beechgrove would go for so long. When we started in ’78 we were chuffed to be asked back. We were astonished by how well it was received. It was on at ten o’clock on a Friday night. The boys were coming back from the pub at that time, but when they were in they sat down and got a reminder of what they should be doing the next morning.

I’ve always been into Scottish music. Since I was a boy I’ve listened to it on the radio, then I was fortunate to be compère of the Scottish Philharmonic Orchestra concerts for 20 years. Some of those people remain firm friends.

I play a piano accordion – badly. Mind you, I find I’m really quite good after midnight, when people become less perceptive. So often, being able to play an instrument breaks the ice. You can be somewhere that has a piano, and somebody will say, can anybody knock out a tune on it? And, before you know where you are, there’s a raging singsong.

Jim McColl can’t stand celery

I can’t stand celery. There were chores that you became inured to, especially in the early days. There were jobs you had to do by hand and they were boring as hell. Washing clay pots on a cold morning was one, and planting celery for hours on end was another.

I hate the bloody stuff. My skin smelled of celery for days afterwards; it put me right off eating it.

I can be your classic grumpy old man, especially when I see people teaching others in a way that makes me wonder if they were ever taught properly themselves. That gets irritating.

When I’m grumpy, I say I can’t be polite any longer, I’m running out of time!

One of my favourite places is Loch Finlaggan on Islay, the seat of the Lords of the Isles. There’s a couple of islands in the middle of the loch. There’s a boat there now, but at one time you had to walk across a causeway that’s hidden by the water. That was how they defended themselves – if you didn’t know the code, you were going to get drookit.

You can get yourself out on that loch and just sit. You can almost hear the people of the past going about their business. It’s sublime.

I’m a member of the Rotary Club in Inverurie, and we have a Glee Club. There’s a fiddle player, a couple of guitar players, a squeeze box and a pianist. We go and entertain the old folk, but given our average age must be about 75, all of us could just as easily be in the audience.

I was awful at history at school but I enjoy historical novels. I’m on a Nigel Tranter at the moment, set in the 12th century. I like anything that’s not too intellectual. I’m a great fan of Rebus and Bernard Cornwell – I love Sharpe, he’s a real rogue.

At heart I’m just an ordinary bloke doing an ordinary job, but doing it in public. The consequences are people can stop you in the street, or phone you up to ask about things. Fortunately, I like people. Life is hectic but if you don’t have time for people, you must find life awful difficult.

This interview originally appeared in our June 2016 edition.