Alasdair McKay, who has died at 63 of a brain tumour, was an enriching
presence in all the lives he touched. Eccentric of appearance and dress he
made visitor’s arrivals special, if confusing, by turning up to greet
them at Halifax Airport resplendent in khakis and a pith helmet. He was
ferociously bright, academically successful but with an enquiring and
questioning intelligence rather than ‘point scoring’ one – he was a
nightmare at Trivial Pursuits where he answered his, and everyone
else’s, questions, with “well, it depends…”.

Alasdair was originally from Stirling, the only child of quirky,
independently minded parents but with a large extended family of Mckays
and McEwans nearby. He was dux of Stirling High School before going to
Glasgow then Bangor Universities. He met Pat, his wife, while working in
the Geology Department at Durham and they set up home in Dartmouth, Nova
Scotia in an initially quite small house which grew with them and their
family Robbie and Elizabeth through a succession of DIY building projects.
He has been active in Clan McKay and Scottish cultural and historical
circles, as well as the Gilbert & Sullivan society of Nova Scotia playing
numerous roles over the years including the ’McKaydo’. While working
as an oceanographer he also found time to be supplier of Haggis to Nova
Scotia and beyond.

He kept his ties with Britain alive with regular visits back to the haunts
of his childhood, the McKay heartland of Caithness and Pat’s family in
Newcastle upon Tyne. He also took his family to Japan for a year which
influenced their house and garden design as well as firing Pat’s mania
for sumo. He relished both the contracts and holidays which took him to
diverse locations. When the tsunami struck the western side of Thailand,
he was blissfully oblivious on an eastern beach to the great consternation
of his family. He loved Nova Scotia which he explored by kayak, canoe,
bike, foot and ancient Volvo, and he was an enthusiastic supporter of
their charity shops where his penchant for silk ties caused Pat, with an
ingenuity born of desperation, to turn them into a bedspread and a dress.
Barred from a posh dining room by wearing ridiculously short shorts he
gained entry by donning an equally short mini kilt claiming it as his
national dress.

Turning sixty was celebrated with frequent trips on his bicycle with his
body board to the nearest surfing beach. In the all too short time since
his diagnosis he got on with the stuff of living which meant, among other
things, a swim in the sea on his 63rd birthday, watching the ospreys fish
on the Dartmouth shore, a trip to Seal Island and using his culinary
inventiveness on a glut of mackerel.

Liz Armitage