Here’s to an old friend, scholar and inspiration to many

By Ron Ferguson

Published:

SO HERE am I in the great city of Aberdeen. I’ve got to watch the traffic down here in the deep south. At home in rural Orkney, I have only to look out for a tractor with neeps or something like that.

This means that I can walk around, deep in thought, perhaps about Kierkegaard or Aristotle, or the musings of Jimmy Calderwood. Down in the big smoke, though, I’ve got to keep my eye on cars and buses, otherwise I might be doing my thinking in the infirmary. Life is tough sometimes.

Why am I here? No, I don’t mean that in the philosophical sense of the meaning of existence – Kierkegaard has a lot to say about that – but why am I in Aberdeen? Why am I in Aberdeen rather than, say, Kirkwall, Glasgow or Thrumster?

I’m here with my wife, who keeps more of an eye out for traffic than I do, and saves me from injury or death every 10 minutes or so, because we’ve come to a farewell social for old friends. I’m talking about Bob and Elizabeth Brown.

Bob has been the minister of Queen’s Cross Church in Aberdeen for the past 24 years or so, and much loved he is.

We go back a long way. Bob and I studied together at Duke University in North Carolina in 1970/71.

We were also both interested in fitba. Imagine our joy when, after much twiddling with dials, we managed to get commentary on the Scottish Cup final.

I had a major problem in that Cowdenbeath FC had been promoted to the top league for the first time in aeons.

How could I get the football results every week, out in North Carolina?

After much scrabbling around, I found that I could track the Blue Brazil’s progress every Monday in the Jerusalem Post, in Duke University library.

When I returned to Scotland, I went to work as a community minister in the huge Easterhouse housing scheme in Glasgow. Soon after that, the parish church of Garthamlock, which was part of the greater Easterhouse area, lost its minister, and Bob Brown got the job.

He was a terrific minister there, being available for everybody in the parish, no matter their allegiance or their background.

On one occasion, a woman rushed across the road to shake Bob’s hand. Why? “I’m going to the bingo tonight, Mr Broon,” she said, “and I won’t wash my hands till after the bingo.”

She clearly thought that shaking hands with the minister would bring her luck. I don’t know if it did. He had to sort out the problems of a parishioner whose house had been broken into and the thief made off with the unfortunate man’s trousers – and his wooden leg.

Bob Brown has always been a scholar, and on one occasion he asked me to join him for a kirk session retreat at Cartsburn Augustine Church in Greenock (whose minister, Andy McLellan, went on to become a distinguished Kirk moderator and who is now HM Inspector of Prisons in Scotland).

Bob gave a brilliant address on the presence and absence of God, but it went over the heads of most of the participants.

When it was time for questions, a meaningful silence descended upon the room. It was broken by the session clerk, who asked: “Bob, how do you spell Cartsburn Augustine?”

More silence. Then another hand went up. “Can you tell me where the toilet is?”

And that was it. After that, any time I wanted to take the mickey out of Broon I simply asked him how to spell Cartsburn Augustine.

One of the problems at that time – and still today – was sectarianism. The ministers and priests in the Easterhouse area worked hard together to break down the barriers. We did “clergy pub crawls” to raise money for Christian Aid. A minister and priest would go into a local hostelry with a collecting can; the banter was good, and we never endured any hostility.

We also staged football matches in which the ministers and priests played against a team of former Rangers and Celtic players.

Now, Bob Brown could have been a professional golfer, but he was also a fine footballer.

Football ran in his family’s blood: one brother, Craig, was manager of Scotland, and his other brother, Jock, is well known as a football TV commentator.

In one game in Easterhouse, Bob played in goal. I was supposed to be marking Billy McNeill, the former Celtic captain, but with my specs off I couldn’t see him well enough to kick him.

When eventually I was replaced midway through the second half, the man who came on for me was a local minister who was deaf. The wags on the terracing were quick to point out that a blind man was being replaced by a deaf man.

Despite Brown’s heroics in goal, we lost.

On another other occasion, Bob and I played for a Glasgow clergy select against a team of former Old Firm players before a crowd of 10,000 at Hampden Park, with the Rev Jimmy Currie, the great Burns enthusiast, commentating.

While in Easterhouse, I was pleased to conduct Bob’s wedding to Elizabeth, who has been a great support for Bob in all his parish work, as well as being a fine practice nurse and mother to David and Craig.

After a spell in a parish in Ayr, Bob became minister of Queen’s Cross. An excellent preacher and pastor, he has had an outstanding ministry in the city he has grown to love.

To my mind, the Rev Bob Brown represents the highest traditions of Church of Scotland parish ministry. He combines scholarship, outstanding preaching, breadth of reading, ecumenical outlook, and care and advocacy for the most vulnerable in this country and overseas.

It will be a great pity if the Kirk’s ministry becomes narrower in training and in outlook. Any young minister looking to see how best to do the job need go no further than to look at the life and times of my pal, Bob Brown.