“I SEE KEN DODD DIED TODAY....”

"I SEE KEN DODD DIED...."

The annual "Forth Valley Open Studios" is almost upon us,starting this weekend,when Art Studios & Workshops in & around Stirlingshire open up their doors to the public.Here in Larbert & Stenhousemuir there are more of these than you might imagine—from the Delta Studios in Lochlands,featuring a variety of artist's studios,workshops & gallery,at one end,to Barbara Davidson's long-established Pottery at the other.In between is Mark Lancaster's evocative Photography in Burnhead Road & of course,at Larbert Cross itself,Marjory Simes' "Wee Larbert Art Group".
If your treating yourself to what promises to be an entertaining & informative promenade 'round these colourful events,why not rest your weary feet & enjoy a refreshing cuppa--or perhaps something a little stiffer-- at Larbert's "Commercial Hotel",sat betwixt them all at Larbert Cross itself.
Here I must confess to an interest,having been a regular at this fine establishment since around the age of 15.Family-run & Family-friendly,The Commercial was once,in the nineteenth century—as the "White Hart Inn"—one of around half a dozen such hostelries at the cross & about old Stirling Road,but is now the sole survivor.It's history goes back much further than that,though,& it is recorded that our national bard himself,Rabbie Burns,stopped her for a few ales en route from Carron Iron Works to the tombs of The Bruces.These fine funerary memorials can still be seen today,in the tranquil churchyard of Old Larbert Church,just opposite the hotel.

It's history might go back even further.Nineteenth century excavations in the adjoining field uncovered ancient Roman Amphorae & broken glass vessels indicating the presence on the site of an old Roman Pub or "Thermopolium",probably serving wayfarers & troops on the nearby river crossing & road from the 2nd century AD.It's an amazing thought,but it is quite possible that Emperor Antoninus Pius stopped here for a beer & some Larks tongues in Honey while supervising the construction of the great wall that bears his name & exists to this day just a mile South of here!

Emperor Antoninus Pius.

Later,another noted regular was James Finlayson,known to generations of silver-screen lovers from his many appearances in the classic comedies of Laurel & Hardy.Finlayson was born opposite the Commercial in an old tenement block—long vanished--& is remembered as having enjoyed a drink or two here,prior to departing for Hollywood & the New World.It has often puzzled me as to why there is not a more visible recognition of one of Larbert's most famous sons.I have long envisioned a grand bronze sculpture of "Fin",in the classical tradition,erected by the cross itself,& pointing hither & thither,confusedly.Maybe something by the likes of Alexander Stoddart?
In the event I made my own modest contribution,some years back,when the new owner acquired a small canvas of mine portraying Finlayson in a characteristic pose.Along with many other interesting pictures it can be seen there to this day.

More recently,notable guests have included,"The Damned"—proto punk/goth rockers—for whom the Commercial is the hotel of choice when touring,the rooms being both cosy,modestly priced & with all modern conveniences.Their hotel bedroom-smashing days long behind them,I fondly recall enjoying a few post-gig beers with Captain Sensible & the rest of the band,discussing—for some reason—anti-depressants,long into the wee hours.
When I first started drinking here,it was all a bit different;being the early seventies,it was all a bit more Spartan,more masculine--ladies being quite infrequent visitors.Maybe just as well.
"Big Sandy" was the owner at this time,which would be around 1971.He was a ruddy complexioned,rotund bearded character—like one of those serious-biscuit-faced folkies from the Corries,or Dubliners.He was OK with us youngsters,though.After having pissed himself laughing at our attempts to falsify our dates of birth he was quite happy to serve us as many half-pints of Ushers as we could manage.Often he could be found,slumped imperiously behind his bar,flanked by his two faithful,drooling hounds.On one occasion,with a drink in him,he surprised everyone in the bar,by—for no apparent reason—pulling out his not insubstantially proportioned penis & slamming it,sausage-like, onto the bar.With a large kitchen knife in his other hand he challenged his customers: "If any o' ye's can beat Mr Pego here, then get it oot an' I'll chop it off!" Unsurprisingly,there were no takers,& his wife soon appeared,to beat him about the head & hurry him away.
Later in the seventies,the bar could get unexpectedly lively,as young lady-nurses from the nearby Bellsdyke Psychiatric Hospital descended on the pub on a Friday night.Briefly released from their onerous duties & with their spirits charged-- to a near nymphomaniacal level --with a cocktail of vodka/diluting orange shots & babycham, theywere like a wild,Amazon horde.On nights like this,The Commercial was no place to go for a quiet read of the paper by the fire, nursing a Fowlers Wee Heavy.
I could go on,but thankfully,things have long since settled down & the days of people falling asleep beneath the pool table—or,indeed,on it-- are a thing of the past.Under it's current owner,young Mr Risk,the hotel is quietly thriving,people from afar being attracted by the Commercial's mix of fine ales & wines,warm welcoming ambience & friendly service & attention from management & staff alike.Sunday &Tuesday nights are especially recommended if wit & humorous repartee is your thing.
Just one thing.Should "Mein Host",apropos of nothing,casually mention to you:"I see Ken Dodd died today",do not ,under any circumstance,respond with a query.