Erdal, too, is no financial slouch even though the interest charged by the Baxi Partnership, the fund set up to help companies like Loch Fyne Oysters become employee-owned, is as soft-pedalled as the fact that Noble’s family money originally came through selling community-unfriendly armaments. But who really cares? Erdal’s point is that money, people and bivalves can all thrive together without either wrecking the countryside or squabbling. It is a very good point.
The book is liveliest in its depiction of Noble and Lane’s early struggles: when the loch froze and their only assets were a ‘handsome larch pleasure boat’, an old wet suit and a ‘dingy with a hole in it’. We also go on a ‘prawn run’ with Lane and learn how walruses are good for publicity. But the story is also a panegyric to the world before ‘elf‘n’safety’ removed all the fun. I’m sure the prawns boiled in antique and rusting ‘Steaming Edna’ retained a certain tang that may have vanished now that even the hot taps in the loos at the Oyster Bar bear the anxious warning ‘hot water’. I can feel Johnny Noble shudder.
Success, however, is very beguiling, particularly success built on soggy and smelly foundations. Amid the gloom of the credit crunch and the glower of the Scottish weather, Erdal’s book is a welcome beacon of hope. He also reminds us that though you can now go to Loch Fyne restaurants all over the UK and even eat a Loch Fyne oyster in Dubai, there will always be something pretty special about eating in the place it all started. He’s absolutely right. We’ll certainly be going back.
Katie Grant is an author of historical fiction and a columnist for the Scottish Daily Mail
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