This week I’ve had some good news in regard to my medical condition. I am also talking a little bit about my father and our relationship. Importantly, I also want to talk about “Bees” and how I have learned to manage them. I suffer from melancholy from time to time but it normally mingles poignant and loving memories that offer a strange comfort, so these pensive moods do not cut too deep. However, the “Bees” need to be managed and dealt with and I, in the past, have sought help to tackle them. This was a game-changer. I have had many messages which include directly or allude to how I handle the “perceived worry” about my health, especially the unknown end result. I do not dwell on these worries due to what I have learned in the past when the “Bees” took me close to a point of suicidal depression.
“One should celebrate sporting wins, exam passes, successful fishing trips, competition wins or similar with outward sharing joy. But, equally, in failures, there is no need to share them, just admit it and accept it. However, personal life-changing events, good or bad, should be embraced with a stoic acceptance. Your own personal life-changing events may have a greater impact on your friends and loved ones than yourself. You always need to be aware of this.” Peter McSporran
Medical Update
On Sunday evening I received an email from my surgeon with some very encouraging news. It appears, as yet, the tumour in my stomach has not spread to any other organ or part of my body. I post the contents of her email verbatim below. They will now focus on how to deal with “the alien”.
“I already saw the result of your tests! Fortunately, no secondary lesions were found in your liver or any other organ: the suspicion raised by the initial CT scan was not confirmed on the liver MRI); additionally, the thorax CT scan and PET did not show any other lesion besides the one within the abdomen.
Next Thursday we will discuss your case with a multidisciplinary team - I will call you to let you know our plan of action from this point.”
I have subsequently had a conversation with my surgeon, she has said they will go ahead with the surgery. The team has said the risk factor in spreading cancer precluded any biopsy. Therefore, they will try and arrange surgery for the tumour’s removal as soon as possible. This may only be in January. Due to the size of the tumour, 16cm x 13cm x 10cm; it will be open surgery.
My Father
To me, my father came over as someone with a very strong work ethic, was highly disciplined in his behaviour and outwardly ascetic. With no religious base, a hard, but fair taskmaster. He did not suffer fools lightly. In his world, there seemed to be a lot of fools and I seemed to fall into that category more often than not. I always believed he was tough on his employees, however many of them stayed with him throughout the time he was a Kiliechronan. I believe this is always a good gauge on a person’s management skills and fairness as an employer. The agricultural workers were mainly locals, Malloch’s1, and they stayed for extended periods and worked on the estate throughout all the time that I had lived and visited there. My father did have some inbuilt prejudices. He advised me against ever employing Roman Catholics and people with beards. “They cannot be trusted!” he said. I have had a beard since my army days in Rhodesia, the majority of my adult life in fact, and I have never asked a prospective employee about their religious beliefs having none myself. He hated people talking in Gaelic, especially at livestock sales. He was a non-Gaelic speaker and he was always suspected they were talking about something to do with his stock, or him personally.
His take on religion seemed to have some contradictions. He bemoaned the reluctance of farmworkers
who belonged to the “Scottish Wee Free Church,” refusing to work on Sunday, yet he would not allow me to go fishing on Sunday afternoons. For myself, I am wary of all religions in whatever guise. This is from my own experience. I, therefore, may be biased. Religion can offer some comfort, but can also cause much distress and conflict. With regard to my father's politics, an active member of the Conservative Party, I remember supporting a member of staff over an issue when I thought my father was being unfair. He immediately rebuked me and asked, ”What are they teaching you at that school? Communism?”
My father came from farming stock in Kintyre as noted in “My Stepmother and The Man on the Hill” and had been educated in Bellochantuy and Campbeltown. I know he attended Bellochantuy School, a village on the west coast of Kintyre, north of Campbeltown, because two of his school friends there, I subsequently met. That was Archie Black from Tangy, his son now runs the same family farm and the late David Smith, Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Finance of Rhodesia. The latter got me my first job in Rhodesia with his brother Hamish.
I cannot find any record of tertiary training undertaken by my father. I can only presume he ascended the management farming ladder through his grandfather’s reputation, his own garnered farming skills, mentor support and initiative. In this modern world, this recognition is rarely given enough credence much to all our loss. I do know he was a good sportsman and supplemented his income by competing in local Highland Games. He was a runner of some note. I hate running. At boarding school, whenever they did not know what to do with us, they sent us on a cross-country run. Usually, when the weather was too inclement for supervised sports. Running does not need a referee or umpire, so the masters could adjourn to the staff room for tea and smokes. The army, meanwhile, just made us run everywhere in training which further added to my dislike of this extracurricular activity. In this instance, later events made me appreciate the need to be fit.
When I was born my father was farming on Dalgig Farm in Ayrshire. In what role I am not sure, but certainly in some sort of management. This was a model farm taken over during my father’s time by Lord Manny Shinwell, a former English Trade Unionist of Red Clydeside2 fame. At that time, he was a Minister in the Labour Government. How did a radical trade unionist and Labour Minister come to be the owner of a model farm? Admittedly, the area is known for its coal deposits. My father had no particular liking of him as an employer and decided to leave. Knowing my father’s politics, it is little wonder. The man in question, Shinwell, was blamed for the energy shortage in 1947, post nationalisation of the coal industry. Once again I wonder how he could own a farm by 1950? I certain
Needless to say, this is why I was born in Irvine, Ayrshire. When I was two years old, we moved to Killiechronan on the Isle of Mull where he built his reputation as a farmer and businessman. Most days he spent in the office or attending meetings, but on summer evenings and every Sunday morning, I accompanied him around the estate. Maybe I was there just to open the many gates, but I absolutely loved those times together.
We talked about sheep and cattle, he taught me about many things from the importance of lime and slag on the hill paddocks, to making a profit. Furthermore, I learned he was probably the world’s worst shot. He was not bad at rabbits with a twelve bore shotgun but failed at geese when he targeted the large flocks that dropped off on their way north or south. Red deer were also a target species, especially those that dared eat his crops at night. On the hills they had value for stalking clients, in the cropping fields, they became pests, which needed to be eliminated. It can be said, he had little impact on the red deer population on Mull. The geese also fared well. He just did not have the patience to hunt them successfully.
He lived for his sheep and cattle. Probably the timber and building enterprises on the estate were more profitable than the livestock; livestock was his forte. He was successful in both the show ring and sale ring. His cattle were sold to many countries around the world, including Russia, Denmark, Germany, and Canada. When I was home he took me to the agricultural shows, where he enjoyed collecting trophies. Sheep and cattle sales too, where he often obtained top prices. Wonderful! Annual leave and the highlight of our year was a week at the Royal Highland Show. He had many connections with farming and agri-business personalities throughout Scotland, these events allowed like-minded people to congregate and “chew-the-cud.”
He did like to watch sport, unfortunately, every match or race on our television took place in a snow blizzard. It was hard to make out the form of the contestants, let alone identify the team or players. He tried everything to get a clear picture on our TV, being on the west side of the Isle of Mull, in those early years of television, all his efforts failed. He even put a mast up on the hill behind the house, some three hundred metres away, to no avail.
Many investors and farming estate owners sought his advice, with him residing locally, he often acted as their factor. He built Killiechronan up into a model farming enterprise, with lots of divisions. Livestock, crops, timber sawmill, carpentry, building, horticulture, fishing, and stalking. The original money came from London through a company known as the Chalmers Property Investment Company. The only other Director and the major shareholder I ever met, was Henry Rupert Hood Barrs, MD and Chairman of Scammel Trucks among other things. I think any board meeting in the business was a two-man affair, Hood Barrs, and my father. Most of the time though, my father was left to his own devices as Hood Barrs resided in London.
Of course, after I left for school at the age of nine, I only went home for the holidays. When I finished school, I returned to Mull even less frequently. In 1973, ill health forced my father to leave Killiechronan on his doctor's advice.
For his final years, he took up an administrative role with Caledonian MacBrayne now known as Calmac Ferries in Oban. In addition to that, he privately kept a few cattle and a small flock of sheep on rented land until his death in 1987.
In his life he never raised a hand to me, however, my motivation was the fear of disappointing him. Although I tried hard to please, it did not seem to stop me succeeding in disappointing him many times (I think?). My sister did tell me he learned of my passes at Auchincruive (West of Scotland Agricultural College) with pride when reported in the Scottish Farmer. He was in hospital, unbeknown to me, at the time. They equally had no idea where I was. Playing rugby in Norfolk, England, and running a sugar beet co-op.
He only told you something once and you did it. He only mildly swore, “bloody” and “bugger” were his worst. I never once heard him fart. He was not religious, I never knew him to attend church unless for funerals or weddings. A habit I also adopted. He loved his Jaguar cars. The roads on Mull were just not suitable for both this type of car and my father's fast driving; he kept his Jaguars on the mainland in Oban. Speed traps were rare and there were no top speed limits, so when travelling with him our trips were both exhilarating and scary.
He rarely visited me at boarding school. I do not think he ever met one of my teachers - from the time I left home at nine years of age until I left school.
He did leave me a legacy of some unanswered questions. He rarely visited me at boarding school. Why? I am sure it was not a lack of personal interest. Was it loneliness or opportunity that led him to his extramarital affair with my stepmother-to-be? Why did he not pro-actively try to resolve the rift between my sister, Morag, and my stepmother Flora? When I questioned him about not taking a stand on this issue in later life, he said, “Better to let things be as they are.” This just did not sound like him. Are all fathers an enigma to their sons?
The “Bees”
I was aware of the existence of “Bees” in my head from a very early age. I just did not know them as “Bees”. My first real memory of them was when walking along the road one day at the age of about five, I met and stopped a girl on a bicycle who I had misidentified. The girl stopped, to my horror, she was not who I had thought she was. I nearly died of embarrassment and this awkwardness worried me late into the night and many more nights to come. So at a very early age, I learned the yet to be identified “Bees” could be brought about by embarrassment, worry, or guilt. At that age, they all related to past events, the future seemed to offer no worries.
It was only when I was in the army in Rhodesia that the “Bees” were identified by name for me. In my year of National Service, many of our intakes came from Bulawayo. They were great guys, many of them being tradesmen who worked for the railways. Bulawayo being the railway headquarters, was where the main service yards were located. Two memorable characters from Bulawayo were Bower and Taffy Owen, members of my platoon. Taffy was not a Welshman. Bower at one stage became very unresponsive and distracted to the extent he was not only a danger to himself but also to his fellow soldiers. I picked up on this and tried to get to the bottom of his problems, with little success. I was becoming impatient with him. His mate, Taffy, however, brought some clarity to the situation. He said, “Hey Sarge, ek se, go light on him as he has “Bees” in his kop”. Translated, “Hey sergeant, I say, go easy on him as he has “worries“ in his head.” When I asked what he meant, he said, “His honey wrote him a ‘Dear John’ letter and he thinks his best boet (friend) is ‘naaiing’ her (taken his place in her bed).” Bower’s “Bees” were taking him into a place where his own self-preservation was no longer important mainly due to sleepless nights and exhaustion. Being operational, hardly a word is spoken most of the day and rarely at night. This leaves plenty of time to listen to the “Bees”.
“If a thought starts with, ‘What if I had done this?’ get rid of it immediately”. Peter
Another example of a bad case of the “Bees” was seen in an individual in a group of my fishing buddies who annually went fishing on the Zambezi. We always camped on the banks of the Zambezi with the wildlife all around, both on river and land. His problem was he had fallen out of love with his wife and met someone else from overseas. He was a successful farmer. To follow his heart, it would mean leaving his wife and children, in addition to giving up his farm. His “Bees” manifested themselves in him trying to decide what the right course of action would be. He just could not come to a decision. When we all retired to our sleeping bags every evening, he remained by the fire and tried to drown his “Bees” with alcohol, a dangerous concoction. Eventually, he would fall out of his chair in a drunken, exhausted stupor. Each morning we would awake to find fresh lion and hyena spoors nearby, but luckily they never harmed him. He couldn't have cared less. The “Bees” had gleaned him of all logical thought. To the extent, he missed fishing most mornings. The outcome was the woman in question left without him, he remained with his wife, and Mugabe cadres took his farm. I do not think he had any say in any of these events.
In summary “Bees” are things that worry you night and day. They are particularly active at night when you lie in bed with nothing else to distract you. Lack of sleep compounds the problem and in some cases can lead to paranoia. This paranoia can be enhanced if drugs or other stimulants such as alcohol are brought into the mix. These are not a necessary essential ingredient but can add to the rapid multiplication of “Bees”.
“Most concerns of the future coupled with a “what if” either do not happen or with time become trivial. Looking back, you may well wonder why you spent sleepless nights worrying about them. Especially if you had no means to influence them.” Peter McSporran
A lot of times “Bees” manifest themselves from past events, “What if I had only?” and possible future events, “What if this happens?” The past events you cannot change and the future is full of unknowns, which you may not have any control of anyway. This is especially true of health or heart, not so much in your work or enterprise. That is, in other words, most things instigating “Bees” are totally outside your control. Events in the past that could not be changed, events that might not happen. Some of them are so minor that if you have a good night’s sleep it is enough to exterminate them. Their modus operandi is to not allow you to sleep, from this exhaustion they multiply with your increasing mental and physical tiredness. You have to learn how to manage the “Bees” and in doing this you will find your life becomes more relaxed and much simpler.
In my case when we lost the farms, our livelihood, our pensions, and resources in Zimbabwe we had to seek a new life. It was extremely traumatic. I felt so stupid, we had not recognised the risk and diversified out of farming into alternative businesses. We chose to move to Zambia. I put together a scheme that allowed other farmers to follow us North. Part of the problem were tobacco companies, which had lent some of the money (had us by the short and curlies), decided to screw us on the price of tobacco.
Meanwhile, my own farming partners were not playing fair and my relationship with them was no longer tenable. Around then, I was spending a lot of my time in remote forests in South West Zambia looking after a forestry investment supplying South African clients. Unfortunately, they were defaulting on payments for the timber. I was experiencing total sleepless nights because of all these issues. As for the “Bees”, they were going round and round my head in ever-increasing agitation. The nights were long in the forest especially without electricity, last light until dawn. My personal “Bees” propagated into extreme numbers.
On returning home from one trip from the forest, Rozanne and I organised the whole family to go on a fishing trip to Mozambique. It was to try and relax. I ruined it by taking to my bed whenever I could with depression. That was, whenever I was not fishing. I did just about recognise my selfishness and concern I was causing my family on that trip. On returning to Lusaka, with Rozanne’s coaxing, I’d agreed to visit a Clinical Psychologist, Sue Gibbons. Sue was brilliant in helping me deal with my problems. Simply put, she let me talk through my issues. This is not definitive or totally accurate in the recall, I got to recognise all the issues propagating “Bees”. Once identified, she then had me break them down into a number of categories which are roughly described below.
1. Those events from the past that could not be changed.
2. Those existing events that I felt guilty for, but had no control.
3. Those that I had no influence or ability to change.
4. Those I could change or influence to improve the situation.
5. Finally, recognise those opportunities that existed, compatible with my skill-set, knowledge and something I could meaningfully pursue.
I then had to meticulously record the time spent on each. On a spreadsheet! We found, much to my chagrin, over ninety percent of my time awake, both night and day, fell in the first three categories.
She then showed me various ways to help me relax and start focusing on the latter two. Not easy, for a short while I was medicated to achieve this. I stopped the medication once I could accept my thoughts for what they were and able to identify those that were causing me stress and were taking up precious time that should have been allocated to opportunity and positive actions. Over the years my ability to do this has improved. One has to consciously make an effort to keep the “Bees” at bay. Taking active control before their establishment is key.
I had asked Rozanne to accompany me to these sessions and to my shock and horror her reaction showed me the extent of my selfishness and self-pity. My depression was impacting on my whole family in a massively negative way. I had not recognised it as I was too busy, “listening to the bees”. Rozanne’s support through this trying time was immensely valuable. I had not recognised Rozanne had her own issues to deal with in addition to mine. After all, losing your farm and being uprooted from the country you considered home is traumatic in itself. Why should she not have her own wounds?
“If one causes needless harm to their fellow man or the flora and fauna of this earth, you deserve to have guilt. Those that do not recognise or fail to take their guilt on board are very dangerous people.” Peter
Keeping your mind proactive in positive things such as family, work and personal well-being is so important. The major part of the process is to keep the “Bees” out of your head. It takes effort, I have to think about the many times I have laid awake thinking only about events in the past or future that I cannot change or influence. How much worse is it when you cannot sleep? Life is easier when you recognise and eliminate destructive thoughts.
Maybe age helps, for when I heard the news of my latest health issues, my second bout of cancer, I did not lose any sleep. Nor, did I spend time worrying about what was ahead. That I was leaving to the experts. My personal affairs are up-to-date with the help of my wife, Rozanne.
I have had so many calls and messages asking how I handle the worry. I simply try not to think about what I cannot change and accept, “whatever will be will be.” I put my confidence in the hands of medical professionals. “Dr Google?” It can instigate “Bees” in a layman's mind. I just get on with what I can deal with and by following doctors orders!
I have used this philosophy for nearly twenty years. It has also helped so many friends who, when made aware of my past problems, felt comfortable approaching me. Of course, the first challenge is getting people to recognise they have a problem. Once they do they can set about managing the “Bees”. Remember this is my own self-help and my own take on dealing with “Bees.”
1 Person from the Isle of Mull.
2 Left-wing activism on the Clyde during WWI
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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