RIP - W A P 'Sandy' Fyfe (SHR, 62-67)

William Alexander Paton Fyfe: School House Red, 1962 - 1967

Born 21st January1949 - Died 16th July 2024

Rory (son)

This place meant everything to Sandy. Growing up here, this room was full of cow muck and wintering cattle and the ceremony room next door was mainly piled high with tatties or full of pheasants. The transformation of these old farm sheds has been remarkable, but what Sandy was really good at, was gathering around him an amazing and committed team of people that held huge amounts of respect for him. Brian, Ross, Stevie, Willie, Darren, Claire, Sophie, Sam, Alistair, Scott, all the caterers, photographers, florists … and everyone who has, over the last 20 years, helped build Kinkell Byre into what it is today, has liked and respected Sandy and that is a great reflection on his character. Frippy has received floods of amazing letters and messages from many of them. It has been so reassuring for his family to have these people around over the last couple of weeks, as supportive as ever and to hear and read their kind words about Sandy.

Sandy’s wave at the window to everyone who came in and left the farm is now famous and many have already said that it will be sorely missed. His well worn seat at the bar had become slightly less used at recent weddings but he was still sneaking out for a cheeky negroni or a few bottles of thistly cross at the last two student events, Oktoberfest and May Ball, taking full advantage of his honorary membership of the Kate Kennedy club, a very rare accolade.

I was always astounded by my father’s incredible memory for people, places and stories. Mum always used to say, as he started on some new anecdote, that he still came up with stories that she had never heard, after nearly 50 years of marriage. It was something that he retained right to the end, although he slowed down a bit, he could still be relied on to recall the precise details of events that had happened decades ago.

Sandy and Frippy are the most incredibly hospitable couple. Dad has held court at an endless stream of house parties, dinner parties, lunches, breakfasts, drinks parties, football matches, barbecues, that go back as long as I can remember right up until the last weeks of his life. Many letters have streamed in from their many friends remembering these occasions and Sandy’s happy, friendly presence. He welcomed my teenage friends with an open drinks cupboard - Kinkell is the only house I have seen with a drinks cupboard that is actually an entire room - Sandy happily allowed the use of his house for parties and was happy to chat away to almost everyone. A few B&B guests would occasionally get on the wrong side of him and be submitted to the famous “Grumpy bowf”, but they generally deserved it. It was impressive to go to the R&A Clubhouse with him, where he had been a member for 57 years and knew almost everyone and was clearly loved and respected.

In later years, he was so uncomplaining it was extraordinary. Bound to his chair and finding movement difficult, he would never complain and remained happy, friendly, smiley right to the end. Behind every great man there stands someone like Frippy. She has been there through everything, also uncomplaining, totally devoted, and fascinated by her friends and other people. Sandy made many good decisions, but the best by far was his choice of wife. They were a great team. Frippy was always there for him right to the end, and despite her own challenges that she has faced in recent years.

It is a testament to Sandy’s character that during his last couple of weeks at home, needing a wheelchair and unable to walk without a zimmer, he was still trying to get on a rib speedboat to visit the Bell Rock lighthouse, 14 miles offshore. He even managed to get into the rib once but had to turn back because of rough seas. The very morning Sandy was taken away to hospital by ambulance, he was meant to be making a second attempt at the Bell Rock. It was one of those dead calm days, sun shining, the sea out there a vast expanse of glass. I will remember him every time I look out there, soaring across the waves to the Bell Rock.

Sophie (daughter)

I want to say a bit about who Dad was to me, and I think to many people. It is striking how the same themes have come up in all the wonderful letters and e-mails we’ve received. I think this is a reflection of his total authenticity- there was no pretence at all. People who met him only very briefly speak about his kindness and generosity – he was incredibly generous materially, as a host, a father and a friend and his generosity of spirit was even more remarkable. He would engage with open- mindedness, curiosity and good humour and without judgement with people he encountered in all manner of contexts – one of the things that made going to a restaurant with him so much fun was the chats he had with the waitresses. One friend who didn’t know him well at all, remembered the kindness he’d shown her at our wedding – when he’d come and found her when she was drunk in the toilets at the end of the evening. She said that she could still remember the look he gave her – a ‘smirk with kindness’ and no judgement at all – I think I can picture that look.
It is humbling to read messages about all he did for the local area and local business – I don’t think he realised all the lives he’d made such a difference to, and  certainly didn’t show it if he did. His quiet unassuming modesty meant that much went unacknowledged. He loved all that surrounded him – Scotland, St Andrews, his home, his business, his friends, his family, his cocktail of the moment, his breakfast - all were very much a part of him and vice versa. He took lots of pleasure in what he had and the people around him – never complaining, not even when the physical challenges he struggled with became quite extreme. And of course Mum was an
enormous source of support to him through everything.

Dad’s open mindedness extended from people to food, drinks and jobs – in all, he tried out lots of different things to find what he liked best – whatever cocktail the students were drinking, he’d try out – sometimes with an extra twist he’d thought of to improve it, for example his ‘Smirnoff Ice and vodka’ phase. The benefits of the work he put into establishing the absolute best way of eating the simplest things have been passed down the generations – his approach to a boiled egg, for example is often replicated in our house now. With the same spirit, his career path went from accountancy, running a newsagent (selling amazing ice cream!), interviewing for a dating agency, setting up a mapping business, working for a nursery, pheasant rearing, off road driving, and finally the venue, which definitely brought him the most joy of the lot. I will miss him hugely and remember him in everything from the boiled egg to the big view out to sea.

Kate (daughter)

Dad had an incredible sense of adventure from which we have all benefited, few fathers would have created a death slide in the garden for their children or given them a car to bomb around the fields in. When the ignition broke on this car, I remember being both surprised and impressed as Dad fitted a doorbell to start the engine.

I have great admiration for Mum and Dad who managed to pack four young children and a dog or two into a tiny campervan and head to the West Coast for a few weeks each summer. We went for wonderful walks (although this wasn’t appreciated at the time) to beautiful beaches where Dad was often the first one in the water (irrespective of whether he had his trunks on or not). Mum recently recalled it got to a point where we all refused to go on anymore long walks. Dad’s solution to this, was to buy a boat and the long walks were replaced with boat trips, mackerel fishing and on occasion waterskiing. Although these may be distant memories, it is undoubtable that these family adventures have instilled in us all a love for the outdoors, particularly the Scottish Highlands, and the need to share this with our families.

In more recent years, although limited by his loss of mobility, Dad always remained incredibly positive, he seemed so content sitting at the kitchen window, waving happily at everyone that passed by, armed with his binoculars and marine tracker app. It was brilliant how he used his quad bike to get out and about; joining us for picnics on the beach, taking Tara for walks, driving large numbers of grandchildren precariously around the farm and golf course and, of course, keeping a close eye on what was going on around Kinkell.

Laura (daughter)

For those here who don’t know me, I’m Laura or as dad would have it Lopsy, Limpopo or affectionately and most frequently, Lump. Dad had a unique way with language, twisting and making up words which more often than not lead to some form of affectionate mockery or teasing. It is his sense of humour that keeps coming to me when I think of him and incredibly he was able to hold onto this right up to the end while he was in hospital. I think of him laughing and of the slightly knowing sparkle in his eye that so many people have mentioned in their letters to Mum.

The other abiding image I have of Dad is sitting at the table in the dining room or kitchen at Kinkell. Growing up, Mum and Dad created a real open doors feeling here, there was rarely a moment that there weren’t people passing through. They hosted with such enviable ease and generosity and both showed a genuine warmth and open minded interest in our friends. There was always delicious food, large gins and ample wine. Dad seemed so comfortable in these surroundings, so comfortable in fact that he’d almost certainly fall asleep at some point during the meal. But I know the comfort he felt was passed on to those around him, making people feel so relaxed and at home.

It wasn’t only here that dad excelled at entertaining. He was one of the most enjoyable people to go to a restaurant with, he did eating out seriously well. From loaded potato skins in the 80s in Glasgow, to Welsh Rarebit as a pudding option in London. He was always so enthused by new discoveries that he’d want to relive and to share them. There was a bottle of sherry we had in our local tapas restaurant in London which on my next visit to Kinkell he’d stocked up on not with not just a couple of bottles, but with a whole two cases. I’m grateful for him teaching us all that simply surrounding yourself with good people, wine and food can bring you a lot of joy.

Geoffrey (friend)

We were born 5 weeks apart, lived a mile apart and soon found ourselves in a
playpen while our parents drank gin. Just a few weeks ago Sandy was drinking a gin
in my pub over the hill, 75 years having gone by.

In the intervening period we had a lot of fun, Sandy had great wit and took no
prisoners. At an early age he used to say “Geoffrey, I live on A road but you are only
on a B road”.

We were extremely spoilt and fairly childish. Not long after our 17 birthdays we both
acquired new Triumph Vitesses, one of our favourite games was driving round St A
firing water pistols out the car windows at each other and also unsuspecting
pedestrians.

Sandy was my best man and because there was a problem with Church organ in his
speech, he could not resist mentioning something about the groom’s organ. Again, at
my 50 th when commenting about my hippy past he said “unlike Bill Clinton he did
inhale”!

My best holiday ever was with Sandy and some girls in Malta at the Fyfe villa. We
were there for a month. We water skid every day and partied at discos in the
evenings. Poor Val had the task of trying to look after us thank you Val. Some of you
may not know Sandy was a very good water skier. He could stand on a rock with the
pull rope coiled in one hand baton in the other then give the signal the boat would
go, and he could time his jump to land on the water and ski off.

Above all Sandy was kind and very generous. On one occasion when passing
through London on my way north we met at the hungry horse in Fullam. As always
after an exceptionally good supper I set off in a taxi to get the sleeper. Unfortunately,
I left my wallet and ticket in the taxi. I managed to get back to hungry horse where
Sandy paid off the taxi, poured me another drink and put me up again.

When Sandy and Frip moved back to Fife, Sandy had a pheasant farm. So we
shared a shoot for a few years. Those were great times and many here may have
witnessed some of the shoots. We were helped by the wonderful team, including the
late Ian Duncan (Ann may be here) and many ladies with dogs, perhaps Valerie or
Marylin are here.

Sandy losing you is big blow to us all and I end with a short well-known poem which
encapsulates my sense of loss.

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows,
What are those blue remembered hills
What spires what farms are those;
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain
The happy highways where we went
And cannot come again.

Our condolences to his wife Frip, Children Rory, Laura, Kate and Sophie and extended family