Old Grey Townie

Downsizing has its advantages, especially in the greatest little town in the world

By: George Peper

Two months ago, my wife and I traveled to St. Andrews for the bittersweet purpose of closing on the sale of our home there, a home and a town we’d been fortunate to enjoy for 30 years, seven of them as full-time residents.

The most painful part of the process was the packing-up of our belongings to be shipped on a cargo freighter back to the States, knowing with each sealing of a cardboard box that we were leaving our beloved home for good. 

Then my wife, who a decade earlier had surprised and delighted me by suggesting we pull up stakes from suburban New York and move our primary residence to St. Andrews, surprised and delighted me once again.

“Maybe we should take part of the proceeds from the sale,” she said, “and look for another place in town—nothing fancy, just a bolt hole. We have too many friends, too many ties to St. Andrews, to just blow out of town.”

I took a while to consider that—okay, I took four seconds—then said, “Let me look online to see what’s available.” An hour later, we stopped the packing process and called a realtor. A day later we took a look at a property that had caught our eye, and a week later—less than 24 hours after closing on the sale of our home—we closed on the purchase of an apartment. 

It’s perfect—one bedroom (no more room for self-invited guests), no yard to tend or lawn to mow, and plenty of parking spaces. It’s three blocks from the Old Course, one block from the town, and less than one block from the nearest pub. And the building even allows dogs—well, one dog per apartment, but since our two West Highland white terriers look exactly alike, I figure that won’t be a problem, we’ll just walk one dog at a time.

Best of all, it’s quiet—very quiet—and for good reason. We now live in what I would characterize charitably as a retirement community. 

I figured I’d be a part of one of these sooner or later, but never did I think it would be in Scotland, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it, despite the brutal truth that I more than meet the 55-and-over standard for entrance. You see, Scotland is already sort of an oldish place—everything here has an ancient aspect—and in St. Andrews if it weren’t for the youth infusion provided by the university (itself 600 years old), the average age of the citizenry would be, shall we say, rather advanced. They don’t call this the Auld Grey Toon for nothing.

Libby and I realized we wouldn’t be joining a group of Olympic sprinters but the truth is that many if not most of our new neighbors ambulate only with the aid of “zimmers” (Scottish for walkers).

“Look out,” said one of them as she passed me in the hall on our first day, “I’m taking this little honey out for my first test drive and we’re not quite used to each other.”  At least they haven’t lost their sense of humor.

The place has three floors—51 apartments total—and there is of course an elevator, a spacious one at that, complete with a seat in it for those who have trouble standing for more than a few seconds. When I commented to one of my co-residents on the size of the lift, he said, “Ah yes, there’s a reason for that, you know. It needs to be deep enough to accommodate a coffin.”  I’m still not sure whether he was making a joke.

Still, the place is empathically not an old folks home—everyone takes care of their own meals, there are no nurses or orderlies wandering the halls, in fact no supervision at all except for a “warden” in the person of a young lady who drops by weekday mornings for an hour or two to check on things. Otherwise, we’re on our own—or so I thought until the first night.

We’d completed our unpacking, had dinner, and I’d decided to take a shower before turning in. Our bathroom had an electric water heater, so when I spied a red cord just inside the door, I assumed it was used to crank up the heat and I gave it a brisk yank.  A few seconds later, out of nowhere blared the loudspeaker voice of a middle-aged British woman….”ARE YOU ALL RIGHT IN THERE???”

What I’d in fact pulled was the panic cord, sending an emergency message to who knows where and prompting a concerned reply from who knows whom.

Instinctively grasping a towel to cover up, I stammered, “Y-yes, I’m fine, thank you, just pulled the wrong switch… sorry,” then shouted an explanation through the door to my wondering wife, who had managed to hear Dame Whoknowswho.

Suffice it to say, our future in St. Andrews stands to be almost as rich and interesting as our past. Meanwhile, we’re awaiting delivery of our medic-alert pendants, checking out the latest model zimmers, and making lots of old friends in the greatest little town in the world.



  1. George: I’m very happy for you that you have retained some roots in Scotland. I remember reading a previous column covering your home there and it was obvious that you enjoyed it immensely. I enjoyed it almost as much just hearing you tell about it.
    Keep up the great work.
    Best regards

    — Larry Seekman · Friday October 18, 2013 ·

  2. George,
    Great to hear your roots are going back down in St Andrews. For a housewarming present let me send you some golf balls. No, better yet, I’ll send you two tennis balls for your Zimmer.

    All best wishes,

    — Bill Yates · Friday October 18, 2013 ·

  3. George,
    Much enjoyed your article- you must be relieved to know that Gibson House, for the really elderly, is less than half a block away!
    Take care

    — Ronald Sandford · Friday October 18, 2013 ·

  4. George,

    I was happy to read of your return to St. Andrews. Your articles are always wonderful reminders of great times, and introductions to new adventures, in the place we players all love.

    Ed Lyle

    — Ed Lyle · Saturday October 19, 2013 ·

  5. George: Your home on the Old Course was (is) beautiful and I know you were sad to have to leave it. Thankfully, you re settled in St. Andrews so we all can enjoy more stories. I’m glad you didn’t move back to NYC. Stories about Scottish golf are far more interesting!

    — Dave Clark · Monday October 21, 2013 ·

  6. George,
    Having played the Old Course twice now and after falling in love with the “ AUld Grey Toon”- I loved reading your book and your quest to break par on the Old Course..having a house right on 18 made me jealous of you..

    When I read that you were selling the house and leaving St. Andrews I was actually sad for you.. but keeping a small apt in a 55+ community still keeps you connected to St. Andrews.. and it doesn’t matter where you lie your head at night, it matters that you are in the “Auld Grey Toon”.. congrats and God bless.


    — Morais · Tuesday October 29, 2013 ·

  7. George,

    When I first heard that you were selling your house, I thought that you might be in ill health and getting back to the US for Medicare.

    I am delighted that you decided to stay on although the lack of a second bedroom may well have cut your list of friends in half.

    Best wishes.


    — Bob Huntley · Friday November 8, 2013 ·


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