Each week, the self-righteous and highly judgmental journalist Rab McNeil puts one of the country's weel-kent creations, names or faces under close scrutiny in his Scottish Icons series. This week, Sir Jimmy Shand falls under his Sauron-like gaze...
A GOOFY character at my old school always had the right quip for any occasion.
One time, he espied a particularly unfashionable pupil with an LP under his arm. Many of the chaps went in for this sort of thing, parading their rock/prog tastefulness with something by Led Zeppelin or King Crimson.
Uncool Harold, known as Harry H … well, I shall omit that detail as it involved an unfortunate uprising in the showers, used to chum about with another character called Lord Snooty, whose family must have fallen in the world or – which is to say the same thing – become socialists, as he had come to our municipal dump from a private school.
These two would earnestly discuss physics and God’s existence. So, Harold was an unlikely character to have a trendy album under his arm. “What have you got there, Harry?” asked our goofy hero. “‘Jimmy Shand’s Hits of 1902’?”
Of course, it turned out to be something classical. But we relate the tale merely to illustrate the unfashionableness of this week’s Icon. For Sir Jimmy Shand played the accordion. Now, I am on record as describing an accordion and fiddle festival as the most miserable evening of my life, far outstripping family bereavements and relationship break-ups.
That said, ’tis true I’ve mellowed noo. I like Phil Cunningham, the theme tune in Amelie, and Jonna Jinton playing the peculiar contraption in her Swedish vlogs.
Thus am I able, as ever, to approach this subject with coruscating objectivity and almost workaday neutrality, even if, after listening in the interests of research to Jimmy’s most famous hit, The Bluebell Polka, I have written to the Arts Minister calling for it to be banned.
All jesting aside, Jimmy’s records sold by the millions. In the 1950s and ’60s, his concerts in Britain, Ireland and yonder America – including New York’s Carnegie hall – drew huge audiences. Twenty thousand attended a performance in Aberdeen. Even Adolf Hitler, a controversial dictator, allegedly got to hear of him (see below).
Kilt it on accordion
Jimmy’s music was associated with Scottish country dancing which, to this day, remains legal in many rural areas. On stage, speccy and kilted, he seemed diffident, which only made him more likeable. Although bald, he seems to have been morally stable and did not wear shin-length shorts in winter.
The baldness began at birth, which occurred on 28 January 1908 in the Fife playboy resort of East Wemyss. He was one of nine children. His father was a ploughman turned coal miner and a talented melodeon player.
The family moved to the bright lights and decadence of Auchtermuchty, and Jimmy left school at 14 to follow his old man down the pits. During the 1926 General Strike, he performed benefit gigs, but the dispute ended his mining career, though he always maintained strong bonds with pit communities.
In between labouring work, he played parties and weddings, having long since taken up various instruments. One day, Jimmy and a friend were looking in a Dundee music shop window. His pal persuaded Jimmy to go in and try an accordion.
The owner was so impressed he offered Jimmy a job – as a travelling salesman. Sounds a bit like: “As a musician, you’d make a good salesman.” But that was indeed correct, as Jimmy’s skills inspired potential buyers. Furthermore, he got to learn from talented customers. And he got the use of a van to drive himself to gigs.
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Talent on tap
Jimmy failed a BBC audition because his foot tapped in time with the music, which was deemed unseemly and louche. However, no one could see your feet on a gramophone record and, in 1933, he made two of these, thereby launching his career properly. The following year, he and his hell-raising feet were broadcasting for the BBC Scottish Home Service.
Stomach problems stopped him joining the RAF, so he spent the war years in the Fire Service. On New Year’s morning, 1945, he made his first broadcast with “Jimmy Shand and his Band”. Soon, he was a full-time musician, touring relentlessly, and often driving home to Scotland at night after gigs in the south of England.
How pleasant to picture him driving hither and yon in his wee van. But there was a racier side to Jimmy: he loved motorbikes and fast driving. Blimey. Bit Jekyll and Hyde, no? More reassuringly, as his Guardian obituary recalled: “Whatever international hotel they might be in, he would famously order for the band: ‘Sausage, egg and chips for six.’”
In 1953, he had his only top 20 hit with the aforementioned Polka, produced by George Martin, later of Beatles fame. Speaking of whom, Jimmy recorded more tracks than the Beatles and Elvis Presley combined. Fair to note too, as the Pipes-Drums website does, that many of his compositions are “staples of the Highland bagpipe repertory”, including the marches Dundee Military Tattoo and Kirkwall Bay.
In 1972, after touring took a toll on his health, Jimmy went into semi-retirement, playing only small venues, old folks’ homes and charity gigs.
Out of his box
In his late eighties, he recorded an album and video with his son, Jimmy Shand Jr, another celebrated box player. Dancing with the Shands reached number nine in the UK video charts.
Somebody mentioned yon Hitler earlier, so what was the story there? Well, in 2020, sensationalist, Dundee-based tabloid the Courier published a story headlined ‘Did Hitler play a part in former Fife miner’s journey to stardom?’
It seems Jimmy had co-designed a new type of accordion that was less offensive to the ear. The prototype was to be made by Hohner and shipped to Scotia from Germany just before the Second World War kicked off.
However, nothing arrived. Realising the gravity of the situation, the UK Government contacted Germany, and Hitler was allegedly informed as a matter of urgency. Like many evil people, he had taken piano lessons in his youth and consequently ensured the instrument was sent to Sutherland Street, Dundee. Accordions aside, the rest is history.
Jimmy played for The Queen at Balmoral and became a Christmas regular at Windsor Castle.
He scored an MBE in 1962 and a knighthood in 1999. The following year, on 23 December, he died in Perth Royal Infirmary, aged 92, following a short illness.
His funeral service in Auchtermuchty Church had to be relayed to an overflow annexe, while more folk stood outside in the snow. A tape of his music was played, and one mourner recalled: “I have never seen so many feet tapping in a church.”
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