Angus's Corner
From our correspondent and skilled taster Angus MacRaild in Scotland.

I first met Dick and his son Jon on Islay in 2010. They arranged a tasting of all the Port Ellen annual releases, which were duly opened and enjoyed, fortified by a small loch-full of scallops. I recorded tasting notes for each of the Port Ellens by hand on the back of an A4 envelope (which I believe is somewhere out there in the ether of Drumnadrochit to this day).

But the lasting memory, and the most meaningful event, of that day was meeting Dick and Jon. It isn’t too often that you click immediately with people in life, but we did, and a profoundly unserious, hearty, fun-filled and life-affirming friendship followed from the dregs of that wonderful party.

If Jon is the hyperactive, Salmon-coveting, joy-producing engine at the heart of Fiddler’s in Drumnadrochit, then Dick was the steadying and guiding force that brought an old school charm and wry sophistication to that outfit. My impressions of Dick were always that he was a product of a different generation’s experiences and values, but he represented the best of those times and he knew instinctively which side of the serious and un-serious divide in which to place his life’s priorities: he loved his family; he took his business seriously; he knew when to let his hair down and have a damn good time! 

Dick was indeed old school in many ways, but he was a deeply passionate and thoughtful man. He could become immensely animated about politics, he was one of the people that taught me that others with wildly different views from your own can still come at their life’s perspectives from a position of caring deeply about the world, about society and about others. We often disagreed with boundless stamina, but when I think about it, most of his political views were concerned with the future and about how the world might be better for his grandkids. 

He was a gentleman, but he was also cheeky, inexhaustibly capable of silliness and a storytelling raconteur. It was only a couple of months ago in Edinburgh that he put us all to shame by staying up until three in the morning, regaling us with stories and fulfilling the role of beating heart of the party. What makes his sudden departure so shocking, is that he seemed to possess some kind of energetic enthusiasm that suggested he would be with us for years. 

Perhaps the most important thing to say about Dick, is that he was kind. He took interest in people, noticed them, the things they liked or were good at, and he encouraged people and engaged with them. He was forever pressing me to write more: “When are you going to write a bloody book?!” was usually a sentence I’d be on the receiving end of before the first dram was poured whenever we’d meet. 

He was not a whisky geek in the sense many of us are. He was not obsessive about micro-detail, but he was deeply appreciative, understood quality and exercised quietly impeccable judgement. He liked old style whiskies, but also old-fashioned ones, meaning he enjoyed old Gordon & MacPhail malts bottled at lower, easy to sip bottling strengths. He adored the old-style lusciousness and generous fruitiness of richly sherried Speysiders. Most of all, he held a profound soft spot for old Miltonduff. He was someone you could dram with and the whisky was what it should be: a delicious supporting act for the main show of good conversation and revelry. 

It was through whisky that, along with a wonderful group of likeminded friends, we shared some of our greatest collective experiences in recent years. Our trip to Brora in 2013 ‘Broracademy’; the Pre-War Whisky Tour in 2014; the Islay Odyssey in 2015; our trip to Jerez in 2017; various Whisky Show Old & Rare get togethers in between; then, finally, our recent weekend in Edinburgh. If you’ve been a regular reader of Whiskyfun over the years, you might be aware of just how many really incredible, often historic bottles were opened on these adventures. One of the constants through it all was Dick Beach, glass in hand, happy as a Salmon at the top of its ladder, to just be there enjoying the company and another hefty measure of something ancient and delicious! 

There are a lot of fun and cherished memories from these various trips we shared together over the years, but when it comes to Dick, it’s probably his pithy, politically incorrect and entirely accurate summation of the situation we all found ourselves in, while sipping a large dram of something clearly very dark and delicious, he chuckled and said “God, it’s a lovely way to get pissed, isn’t it!”

It so happens that I have a few centilitres remaining of a special old Miltonduff on my bottle shelf, and also just so happens that, for whatever reason, I never recorded notes for it before. Perhaps the universe is saying something. When my own father passed away, I remember my mind continually circling back to the nagging question: where is he? I’ve felt that same, haunting question in the back of my mind these last few days since Dick passed. I have no idea about the answer, but I know he’ll exist in countless happy memories for many people and for many years. His profession was hospitality after all, and through what he and his son and wider family have created in Fiddler’s, he brought a lot of joy to visitors from all parts of the world. A legacy that lives on in every plate of fish n chips, every cold pint and every delighted traveller that alights there. Here's to Dick, but also to Jon and to their family.