Recently I was preparing to sing ‘Train to Lidcombe’ in a zoom memorial to singer-songwriter John Dengate. In a large repertoire, the lyrics to this song are among Dengate’s best, I think. Among the song’s several themes, the narrator develops a thirst and fantasises about ‘breweries and stills’. Given that the song concerns a ‘blazing day in January’, interest in whiskey (the Irish version) seems odd. It reminded me of how in one blazing January, I almost tasted whisky (Scots version).

A major event in the Scottish cultural calendar is the birthday of national poet Robbie Burns which is on 26 January. It is not difficult to imagine Scots gathering on a freezing night in historic stone castles and huddling around great fireplaces to eat the traditional haggis, tatties and neaps and to sip on a warming whisky. The town where I almost tasted whisky was however, in the southern hemisphere where the weather is very different in January.

The town, Coonabarabran, has several telescopes, some of them staffed by British astronomers. I suppose that, homesick, some transplanted Scots decided to hold a Burns supper. Gene and I were invited to play, but our sweaty fingers made the instruments difficult to grip. To call the evening hot is a huge understatement. The effect of the January heatwave was accentuated by the venue – a little CWA hall which was uninsulated and had just one fan for cooling. And much of the time, the fan seemed to be blocked by blokes lifting their kilts for a relieving breeze.

The Scots however showed their determination by piping in the haggis and serving the traditional boiled vegetables. When most locals had probably dined on cold ham and salad since Christmas, the food came as something of a culture shock. But worse was to come. When I went to the little serving hatch to investigate some liquid refreshment, I returned with a jug of warm tap water and two glasses of whisky ready for the inevitable toast. In retrospect, it seems a wonder that no-one died!

When the time for the toast arrived, it seemed incumbent upon a guest to sip the whisky generously provided. I raised the glass to my lips, and this is when I almost tasted whisky. I swear that when I tipped the glass in order to pour the liquid, the whisky evaporated! That was the only time I tried to taste whisky and still I do not appreciate its attraction. At least the tap water remained in liquid form long enough for me to get it into my mouth. Dengate’s talk of breweries is understandable, but stills are surely a sign of his fevered imagination – and perhaps the narrator’s heat stroke.

Image credit: Burst

Dr Tony Smith is a former academic who now spends time busking and writing songs and reviews. He lives in the bush in the NSW Central West.