James Greig at Nicky-Tams in Stirling, Scotland, 2016. Composite: Guardian Design; Courtesy of James Greig.
The Pub That Transformed Me: Learning to Shed Obnoxiousness
This ancient Scottish tavern served as a raucous, cross-generational hangout where everyone – from young students to elderly locals and curious tourists – sang themselves hoarse to classics like Fairytale of New York.
Nicky-Tams Bar & Bothy, Stirling: A Haunt of Happy Memories
Often cited as one of Scotland's most haunted pubs, Nicky-Tams is haunted for me with joyous recollections. These include the ghosts of hazy nights out, the spectre of my younger self, and the legendary cantankerous clergyman who is said to stalk its walls from beyond the grave.
Nestled at the foot of Stirling's old town, cosily tucked between larger buildings, Nicky-Tams has operated as a tavern in some form since 1718. With its cobbled floors, mullioned windows, and an ancient crest above the door, one might anticipate a kitschy, Ye-Olde-Scottish-themed establishment capitalising on its historic significance and obvious Instagram appeal. However, that has never been its true character.
An Alternative Vibe in a Historic Setting
During my regular visits in the late 2000s, the pub exuded an alternative, or "moshery," atmosphere as critics might label it. The sound system frequently blasted heavy metal, punk, and emo tunes, while the walls were adorned with vintage records. Many bar staff sported tattoos and piercings, creating an ambiance far closer to a dive bar than a folksy tourist trap.
Yet, Stirling is too compact a city for any venue to cater exclusively to a single demographic. The clientele then, as now, formed a merry blend of students, tourists, and locals of all ages, who often found themselves engaged in conversation before the night concluded.
A Rite of Passage into Maturity
Nicky-Tams was my inaugural pub experience, where I drank as a teenager during a phase of life when obnoxious behaviour often goes unchecked. Whether downing cider in a park or an empty house, one could stagger, cry, holler, or squawk along to My Chemical Romance without reprimand, barring police intervention or parental arrival.
Frequenting a pub marked the onset of a more mature chapter, offering an education in social etiquette. Those initial nights instilled the lesson that my right to enjoy myself did not override others' right to avoid annoyance. I learned to be affable and polite to those around me, though this didn't morph my friends and me into paragons of adult sophistication, sipping dry martinis while exchanging witty remarks or deep insights on current affairs or John Coltrane's music.
Collective Raucousness and Cross-Generational Bonding
Undoubtedly, we remained somewhat boorish, but far less so than if left unsupervised, thanks to the civilising influence of disapproving tuts and glares. The beauty of Nicky-Tams lay in how raucous moments became collective and cross-generational affairs.
I recall my first Christmas back home after leaving for university, when the entire upstairs room united in a hoarse rendition of Fairytale of New York. Young and old, locals and tourists alike, welled up with emotion, embraced one another, and even danced on tables. This experience remains my platonic ideal of pub enjoyment.
A Lifelong Appreciation for Conviviality
Beyond making me marginally less irritating, Nicky-Tams ingrained in me a lifelong, fervent belief in the value of conviviality, chatting with strangers, and hearty good cheer. This historic pub in Stirling not only shaped my social skills but also highlighted the enduring power of communal joy in a diverse setting.
