From illegal gambling to building the first Tibetan temple in Europe - extraordinary life of a Buddhist monk in Scotland
I was led by a chatty frenchman down a small driveway a short walk from Eskdalemuir, the village at the foot of the first Tibetan monastery built in Europe.
Ludo is a resident there, and had just been playing me a song he composed about The Scotsman that day on a guitar missing three strings.
We got to the bottom of the drive, and he pointed to a pair of feet in sandals sticking out from behind a wall, basking in the sun.
“That’s Drimay. I’ll leave you here.”
I’d first heard about Drimay, who was born John Emery, further down the valley while walking to Kagyu Samye Ling in Dumfries and Galloway. Drimay is his dharma name, a name traditionally given to ordained monks and nuns.
Follow for more stories on Hay’s Way by signing up to our newsletter here
He was one of the first people to build the monastery after co-founders Akong Rinpoche and Chogyam Trungpa moved into a former shooting lodge north of Eskdalemuir in 1959. They fled Tibet after it was invaded by China with a vision to build a Tibetan monastery to preserve their culture.
Drimay, 86, spent decades of his life under the guidance of Akong before practicing as a monk. During his time at Samye Ling, he got to know David Bowie, “a regular” at the monastery, and saw “all the musicians of the day come here” including The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Annie Lennox and Leonard Cohen.
“These people used to come up and talk to Akong Rinpoche to sort their heads out,” he said.
I asked him if he sought out Akong for a similar purpose.
“Oh yeah,” he laughed. “I was trying to sort my life out in London and it wasn’t working, so I came here.”
Drimay spoke about memories of growing up in London as a child during World War Two, when houses being bombed was the norm, and how he spent nights snuggled up to his uncle’s two cocker spaniels - Punch and Judy - to feel safe.
With relatives involved in illegal gambling, he became embroiled in London’s gang culture in Notting Hill Gate where his family moved to after the war.
“The area is now really posh, but it wasn’t back then.
“There were big families controlling the area, and you either paid them or the police [for protection].”
Fed up with the hand he was dealt in his youth, Drimay got a job as a waiter in an exclusive casino in Curzon Street where he learnt how to become a croupier. Not long after, he was offered a job to set up a casino in Kathmandu.
“It was for the king of Nepal and the brother of the prime minister of Bhutan.
“I didn’t know where Kathmandu was, and when I asked someone they said it’s where temple ball is from, which is good hashish. I smoked dope back then so that was me off.”
It was then, around the age of 30, when he first met lamas - spiritual leaders in Buddhism - from Tibet.
“In Nepal I was so impressed that while this terrible situation was unfolding for them, these lamas from Tibet were so calm and considerate. I thought they were amazing. So when I came back to London, and heard there were two Tibetans in Scotland, I wanted to find out more.”
A final push to book a one way ticket to Scotland came after he was given a proposal to deal drugs.
“I had a friend who told me ‘this guy can supply you to deal’ and he was IRA. I said ‘don’t think so.’ Another guy introduced me to a man from Notting Hill Gate police station who had busted some of my pals, then wanted to give me the dope to get rid of it. That’s when I decided to move here.”
At 32, Drimay got the train to Lockerbie and then walked 15 miles to where Akong was living. Chogyam was recuperating in a house nearby having been in a car accident.
“I never met Chogyam, and I am glad I didn’t because he was getting into western society: sex, drugs and rock and roll, and I was trying to get out of that.” Chogyam left for the US in 1970 and Akong took the leadership role in developing Samye Ling.
Drimay spoke about how arriving in the valley for the first time felt like “coming home.”
“I cried for ages. I realised I’d been searching for that feeling of coming home since I was a kid.”
For the next two decades, Drimay, with the help of members of the community, which grew over time, built the monastery. It was established in 1967 and officially blessed on the 8th of August, 1988 by the Dalai Lama.
“It was just bare ground when I arrived,” Drimay recollected.
“There was a hill where the temple is now and we had to dig it out.
“They are still building, it’s ongoing.”
However, tragedy struck in 2013 when Akong, who continued humanitarian work in Tibet, was stabbed to death in China amid a financial dispute, reports at the time said.
Speaking about his death, Drimay said: “He knew he was going to die.
“I was with him just before he left and he was rushing around talking about what needed to be done. He said there needed to be a bigger temple, because more monks and nuns coming. Two days later he died. I realised he was talking about what he wants for his next life. Samye Ling is changing and growing today and it’s becoming a proper monastery, which is what it was built for.”
Akong’s brother lama Yeshe Losal Rinpoche is now the abbot of Samye Ling and vowed to continue his brother’s vision.
I asked Drimay what his dharma name meant.
“It comes from Sherab Drimay, which translates as ‘stainless wisdom’.”
He paused, then I got a glimpse of his casino days when he put on a cocky front and said: “Yeah I am pretty cool”, before bursting into laughter.
“But everyone calls me ‘Dreamy’, probably because I liked my dope.”
Asked if he could part with some of that wisdom, he said: “You have to learn to laugh at yourself. We are not kind to ourselves. We judge ourselves and are hard on ourselves and we judge other people and are hard on other people. We have to learn and be kind, but also not take ourselves too seriously and be able to laugh at all the f**k ups we do continuously.
“I love being alive.”
Peeling myself away from our conversation, I thanked him for being so accepting of my impromptu visit to his home.
He replied: “It’s fine, I was just sitting in the sun waiting for you.”
Comments
Want to join the conversation? Please or to comment on this article.