Soraidh leat Starman

Sùil Eile, airson an Daily Record

Tha mi nam bhalach òg, a’ ruith ‘s a rìogail comhla ri balaich eile air an fheasgar, timcheall air a’ bhucas-fòn dearg ann am meadhan a’ bhaile.

Chan eil fòn anns a h-uile taigh anns an eilean fhathast, ‘s mar sin tha am bucas dearg cudromach, samhla air an àm ri teachd.

Chan eil fios agam ciamar, ach tha cuideigin air dòigh fhaighinn dà sgillinn a chur dhan toll-airgid agus an toirt a-mach a-rithist.

Le sin tha sinn saor fòn a chur gu duine sam bith a thogras sinn. Ach co?

Corrag a’ cur timcheall an daitheal, trì àireamhean, agus tha iad a’ sìneadh a’ receiver gum chluais.

Tha an ceòl neònach seo a’ tighinn sìos an loidhne: “This is ground control to Major Tom, You’ve really made the grade, And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”

Tha mi glacte air an spot. Guth bho shaoghal eile, tighinn thugam tro Dial-a-Disc, bho Phlanaid Pop. 

‘S e Daibhabh Bowie a’ chiad chlàr pop a chuala mi, a’ chiad atharrachadh a dh’fhairich mi nam bheatha bheag dhùthchail.

Soraidh leat Starman, bi aig fois am measg na rionnagan. 

I am a young boy, running with other boys in the evening, fooling around the red phone box in the middle of the village.

Not every house on the island has a phone yet, so the red box is important, a symbol of the future. 

I don’t know how, but someone has worked out a method of putting tuppence in the slot and getting it out again.

With that we are free to phone anyone we wish. But who?

A finger goes round the dial, three numbers, and they rest the receiver against my ear.

This strange music comes down the line: “This is ground control to Major Tom,  You’ve really made the grade, And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear.”

I am frozen on the spot. A voice from another world, coming to me through Dial-a-Disc, from Planet Pop.

David Bowie was the first recorded pop music I heard, the first change I felt in my little, rural life.

So long Starman, be at peace amidst the stars.