From hero to zero for tiny Scottish village

By BILLY ADAMS

To the uninitiated, it is a strange scene. An American tourist, camera poised, smiles broadly as he takes a picture of a phone box. Then the shutter clicks again, and a few times more after that. When he finally walks off down the street he is like an excited schoolboy. He seems like a man who has just achieved a lifelong ambition.

Which he probably has. This, after all, is not just any old telephone but the old weather-beaten box made famous by the classic film Local Hero , from where Burt Lancaster was regularly updated on his plans to put an oil refinery on the site of a beautiful Scottish fishing village.

Seventeen years on, tourists from around the world still come to that tiny seaside hamlet which nestles beneath sandstone cliffs on the north-east coast of Scotland. At first glance Pennan, with a few houses, an inn and the telephone box staring out towards the North Sea, seems like the sleepiest of sleepy villages. But scrape away at the facade and a very different picture begins to emerge.

Although only 21 people live here all year round, today this is a village in turmoil, bitterly split by rows over money and accusations of dirty tricks and lies.

It is a story worthy of another film script and surrounds attempts by the makers of television's Hamish McBeth to set a major new drama series there.

The British Broadcasting Corporation had commissioned Zenith Entertainment to make a drama about a young single mother trying to get away from the rat race of London to live in a remote Scottish village. Executive producer Adrian Bates scoured the country for suitable locations and when he saw Pennan and its telephone box, he knew he had found the perfect spot.

Like the character Peter Riegert plays in Local Hero, Bates set about persuading the villagers of the merits of his plans. At a public meeting he outlined how more than £3 million ($9.8 million) would be pumped into the depressed local economy. The crumbling harbour wall was to be repaired and £800,000 would be spent on a project of the villagers' choice.

For a fishing village which has only one surviving fisherman, it was great news. In a downcast community recently forced to cut school buses and close public toilets because of lack of funds, some locals felt like they had won the lottery.

For almost two decades Pennan has revelled in the worldwide acclaim of Bill Forsyth's popular movie, which centred around the fictional Highland village of Ferness. In the feelgood film, oil magnate Lancaster falls in love with Ferness, cancels his project and everyone lives happily ever after. The most memorable scene has Riegert making a call from the telephone box against a stunning display of the Northern Lights.

Hordes of tourists still come to photograph the red box, which has been made a listed building, and to sip a dram in the Pennan Inn across the road. It is said that people ring the phone box from all over the world, and passing locals or staff from the hotel always answer.

When the latest producers came calling, those villagers were hopeful that more international acclaim would result.

But they had not counted on the reaction of their Dutch laird, Julia Watt, a reclusive elderly women who, because of ancient feudal laws, has the sole power to grant or refuse permission to film in Pennan.

If the programme-makers went ahead without her say-so she had the right to take legal action.

Watt, who with her late husband bought Pennan's feudal title for £2000 in 1948, was unhappy about the disruption the production would create at various points for the next three years. But she said she would abide by the wishes of the majority of villagers, and after conducting her own private poll, claimed that there was a four-to-one majority against the project.

This poll by the "feudal superior" prompted an all-out revolt led by the owner of the Pennan Inn, Brenda Kutchinsky, who organised a public meeting where a vote of the 59 people who stayed in the village for at least some of the year was held. This time the result was in favour of filming - by 50 votes to nine.

"At that point she [Watt] knew she had nowhere to go," says Kutchinsky. "And she phoned me afterwards and said, 'I am the superior. You will do what I want.' To be honest, that's when the whole thing changed from something about filming and money to a matter of principle. Who in this day and age wants to live in a society where someone else tells you how to live your life? It's ridiculous."

As the row escalated, the local Member of Parliament, Alex Salmond, was called in to act as an "honest broker." He took time out from his job as leader of Scotland's main opposition party, the SNP, to suggest a referendum on the issue.

Ballot papers were sent to all those on the electoral register - a grand total of 83 voters which included not just those who lived locally, but those in far-flung parts of the world who owned holiday homes in the village.

"Whatever the outcome, I believe that what is important is that the majority decision in the referendum - which will reflect the wishes of the community as a whole - should be the one that prevails," said Salmond.

Unfortunately for him, Watt had other ideas. She informed London-based Zenith that she would not abide by the referendum result. The film crew would not be allowed to use the carpark, which she owns, and another woman told the producers that if they filmed her house she would sue.

With filming due to begin at the end of July, Bates felt he had no choice, and took his production, and money, elsewhere. The series, 2000 Acres of Sky, starring former Eastenders actress Michelle Collins, will now be shot in Port Logan, a tiny village in the south-west of Scotland.

Pennan, meanwhile, remains bitter and divided. Two weeks ago the result of the referendum was announced with a substantial vote backing the production. Of the 69 ballot papers returned, 49 supported the filming and 20 were against.

But it was too late. "We've won a moral victory but it is a hollow victory," says Kutchinsky, who has formed an action group to campaign against Watt's powers. "Our village is split. There are some people who doff their caps to Mrs Watt. But the reality is that the local economy is in a bad state and really could have done with the money this production would have provided. I still find it hard to believe that in a so-called devolved, socialist country at the start of the 21st century, one woman is above everything we hold dear and live by. I thought we lived in a democracy, but I must be mistaken. This is medieval, and we are very sad and angry."

Watt, meanwhile, believes the final outcome was the right one. "Pennan is a very small village," she told one newspaper. "To have a film crew working here for too long would just add to the congestion."

Ironically, the law which gave her the powers to reject Zenith was recently abolished by the devolved Scottish Parliament. But the Abolition of Feudal Tenure Bill has yet to receive royal assent and will not be fully implemented for two years.

The act will remove the right of feudal superiors to control a range of activities, including filming.