The ceremonials had started early on the day they laid Alex Salmond to rest: 9.47am to be precise. On the first motorway bridge coming out of Dundee over the A90 two young lads are draping a large white sheet over the railings. “RIP Alex”.

In this moment, I’m glad for the delay caused by the major roadworks at Perth, else I’d have missed this little act of homage. Ten miles further on, there’s another homespun banner and a lone supporter. This one is flanked by two Saltires. I’m half expecting it this time and so I have time to sound the horn in acknowledgment and wave at him. He sees me and waves back. I hope he’s as pleased as punch because I am … and there’s a wee bat-squeak of emotion.

Three hours later, on Strichen High Street more acts of grassroots reverence. Some regulars of the White Horse Hotel have emerged on to the street to raise a glass as the mourners begin to emerge from Strichen Parish Church. As the hearse bearing Alex Salmond begins its last journey to the local kirk-yard, a lone piper, his old friend and advisor Fergus Mutch begins to play.

Piper Fergus Mutch leads the funeral cortege of former first minister of Scotland Alex Salmond (Image: Andrew Milligan/PA Wire)

“The pipes always make me cry,” says Lucy, a native of London who has settled in Strichen. Her sister, Avril who’s been here for 35 years bows her head. “Alex Salmond was very well thought of here. There’s a lot of affection for him. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you the same."

Among those who have gathered on the High Street is Ron Blackley who has driven 20 miles from MacDuff to pay his respects. Mr Blackley was a long-time resident of Strichen and an admirer of the man he described as “our greatest First Minister”.

“He and Moira are held in such high esteem here,” he says. “He did a lot for Strichen and for the north east generally. He worked very hard for everyone, no matter who they voted for.” He points in the direction of the Salmonds’ family home. “It was a converted meal mill, one of three old mills in the village." Then he shows me the route the cortege and the mourners will take, a half mile walk to cemetery. Every departed villager is honoured with this procession. “All my family members are buried there too,” he says. And then he smiles. “I’ve been going to that place for more than 50 years and I’ve never seen it as well turned out as it is today.”

Read more from Kevin McKenna on the passing of Alex Salmond:

Across the road from Strichen Antiques, which used to be the village chippie, three women are waiting for Stephen Bruce, the fishmonger from Peterhead. He negotiates a price for his langoustines and is eager to pay his own tribute to Alex Salmond. “See when Alex was here, the north east and the fishing communities had a voice. He’ll be missed."

He sees the sign on the wall of the White Horse: “The dream will never die.” He wants to have his picture taken underneath it with Susan Forbes, manager of the tavern and her friend, Nicola. He hands me his smartphone and they all happily agree to let me post it on Twitter/X.

“Alex was well thought of in these parts,” says Ms Forbes, "He was always available and he was a man who always spoke his mind. That's appreciated here." Her husband had spent the previous day hanging a little chain of saltires on the two lampposts outside the White Horse. “We didn’t want to say RIP, so that’s why we chose ‘the dream will never die’. It’s a message of hope.

Her friend Lucy the Londoner, says she was no supporter of Scottish independence but voted for Alex Salmond because “he fought hard for this corner of Scotland and this community has been hit hard by his death.”

A young, male police officer walks into the pub and asks to use the toilet. “We thought he was a Strippogram,” says Lucy to a chorus of lusty cackles.

They’re all eager to tell me about the local Facebook page, as though to reinforce the authenticity of their affection for Mr Salmond. He had secured the funding for the lodge house at the top of the village which had been lying derelict, to be turned into a café. A Facebook petition has been started to have the road up to the lodge named after him. “He was the leader of Scotland but he never forgot that first and foremost he was a local politician,” says Ms Forbes. 

At the bar, Vera Stagno shows me a card she received from Mr Salmond just a few weeks before his death, thanking her for all her campaigning and support. She’d met him around 35 years ago when he and Moira had first moved here. “He was a familiar face on these streets and in these shops and greeted everyone warmly; friend and stranger alike.

“When he was going through those bad times, we were all with him,” she said. “We knew this man and none of us here have ever doubted him.” As she said these words, inside Strichen Parish Church, Fergus Ewing was intent on acting on them

In his eulogy, Fergus Ewing, the MSP and great friend of Alex Salmond, said: “Contrary to some recent and rather pathetic attempts to re-write history, it was Alex who led the referendum campaign. And not just that: he utterly dominated it. Similarly, Alex made the success of the modern SNP. He secured the jobs of countless MPs and MSPs. He made them. They owe their living to him. Without him they would never have got elected.

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“Ladies and Gentlemen, given the remarkable achievements of his life I cannot in this short eulogy do justice to Alex. But something that I can do, working with many others is to seek justice for Alex. And for the cause of truth and democracy. In that task I am devoted. That is for one day, but not for this day.”

On this day, a few hundred yards down the road, a look-out has been posted on the door of the White Horse to signal the imminent arrival of the hearse. The pipes begin to sound and immediately the banter and the wisecracks stop. The pub empties and every head is bowed. The ethereal notes made by a lone piper commands silence and solemnity like no other instrument.

As the saltire-bedecked coffin passes inches from me I make the sign of the cross and begin to capture these moments on my smartphone. And then I catch sight of some of those who loved this man. They are broken in their grief and I put the phone away. These are sacred moments and don’t belong on social media.