Betty White

There is a rider to this piece of script. I wrote it in mid-December. On the last day of 2021 , on a freezing day, I walked the winter wonderland to Lonsdale Quay to catch the sea-bus. I was off to meet a friend and his family who were flying back to the UK that night. It was a bright, blue, cold day. I was carried along by the views around me. They were familiar  yet there was so much that was new because of the unusual whiteness, the deadening effect of snow on noise and, in the quiet moments away from traffic, the tweeting of birds and the activity of ducks on the water. I wished ‘Good Afternoon’ to oncoming walkers and, if I received a cheery response, then added an ‘Happy New Year’ for good measure. I had a ten minute wait for the sea bus. Once aboard, I texted my friends to tell them I was on my way.  I set aside all of my winter paraphernalia on the empty seat next to me, the gloves, my walking pole , my new sunglasses. Then I checked my phone for a reply. As I was doing so I overheard over my right shoulder snatches of a conversation, a woman’s voice. “Such a shame”, “What a life”, “Wish she could have made it” and somewhere in the midst of that “Betty White”. Yes, dead 17 days before her hundredth birthday.  Selfishly I became grumpy because the news meant that I would have to rewrite this piece, I was less concerned about the passing of an icon than the impact of her death on my piece of frivolous frippery. Ho hum! Here it is as it would have been if she had become a centurion. RIP Betty White.

Today, January 17^th 2022, Betty White, the actress and TV icon, turns 100 years of age. I am not going to spend a great deal of time on dear old Betty, you only have to ‘google’ her, Dear Reader, to learn more about this remarkable woman.  And, I have to confess, I have seen her infrequently on TV. But I would recognise her face if it was flashed before me.  However I am interested in Betty White and what she has lived through in the span of her long life, the reason for which will become clear as you read on. So I have googled 1922, the year of her birth.

She was born some months before Howard Carter and his archaeological team discovered the tomb of the boy king Tutankhamen. The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) was founded with a fee of 10 shillings for anybody who owned a radio, a TV was still many years off. The Lincoln Memorial in Washington was dedicated. Amongst the guests present was Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s son. In Canada insulin was first used to treat diabetes.  Mussolini took power with his fascists in Italy, some 11 years before his German counterpart, Adolf Hitler.  The British authorities imprisoned Gandhi in India, the Irish Civil War began and, some 5 years after the Russian Revolution, the USSR was founded. And on Tuesday, January 17^th, as I mentioned before, Baby Betty arrived.

At the same time, somewhat removed from Betty’s place of birth, in rural Aberdeenshire in north-eastern Scotland in the hamlet of Clola, the mill owner was no doubt going about his business. Being January it would likely have been cold, there may have been snow on the ground. The mill stream, which now passes under a tarmacked  road, may well have been frozen. I do not know, Dear Reader, what work a miller does in the harsh months of winter. Does he grind grain as usual? Indeed is there grain for him to grind? Were his mill stones, which, incidentally, now grace the entry to a residential driveway in the neighbouring village of Mintlaw, softening by grinding or were they laid up for the season? The miller’s wife would have been busy with their only child, Margaret, but she would have had help at hand because the birth of her second child was imminent.  The miller would, of course, have been very happy to have his little girl but, no doubt, in his heart of hearts, because of the times, he was secretly hoping for the birth of a son.  He would have wanted  a male heir to take over the business, possessed with the energy and suppleness of youth to fix the leaky byre  or load the meal for delivery while his aging bones sought a warm fire and an afternoon nap.

On Wednesday, January 18^, 1922, the miller’s wife Eleanor gave birth to a boy, a ‘loonie’ in the local Doric vernacular. He was to be christened James Watt. He was to be the first of three boys, George and Billy arriving at two year intervals thereafter.  Because he was named James after his father, Jim, he was to be called ‘Wattie’ an affectionate version of his middle name.

As you may have realised, Dear Reader, I really have little or no interest in Betty White other than an historian’s interest in the years through which she has lived. No, my interest derives solely from the fact that she is one day older than my father would have been had he still been with us. I will not be raising a glass today to toast Betty’s birthday though I do wish her the best of days. But, friends, I will certainly raise one tomorrow in memory of my Dad, Dr. Wattie Davidson, 100 years old on January 18^th, 2022.

“Here’s tae ye, fa’s like ye, damned few and they’re a’ deid.”