The journey this time is a very short one in to Edinburgh. We approach what we believe is the Forth Road Bridge. It seems to have some rather disconcerting gaps in it. Ah! Fortunately this is not the Forth Road Bridge, or at least not yet; it is still under construction. I am disappointed that no one is actually in the process of painting the real Forth Road Bridge. There are warnings of a running event in the city but we are aiming for the north of Edinburgh so hope to avoid this. We later discover that this event is not until tomorrow and that it is the Edinburgh marathon. I am quite excited to be directed down Quality Street; this does actually appear to be the Quality Street. It might have been better if we had not been directed down Quality Street as we are in the midst of another sat-nav fail. This time it knows where site is (unlike the last two destinations) but seems to think that our caravan will fit down a road blocked by bollards with the gap between them barely wide enough for a car, sigh.

Today is the first time since we reached Scotland that we have been able to go out in tee-shirts, well Chris is in a tee-shirt; I still have a jumper on. We are trying to find the Chapel of Rosslyn, which has associations with the Knights Templar, always a fascination for me. Wouldn’t you think it would be in a place called Rosslyn? Nope. It is in Roslin, which is not what I was putting in the sat-nav! When we find it, along with four coach loads of other tourists, there are guide leaflets in every language but English. The rationale behind this is that the interpretation boards are in English, so we won’t need a leaflet. I would like to take one home so I opt for French on the grounds that I may understand one word in three. First comes the Old Rosslyn Inn, which was opened from 1660-1866 but is now a private house. It was patronised by ‘celebrities’ such as the future Edward VII, Walter Scott, William and Dorothy Wordsworth and Robert Burns.

The Chapel was begun in 1446 by Sir William St Clair, Prince of Orkney, who owned nearby Rosslyn Castle. What was known as the Collegiate Chapel of St Matthew, was intended as a private chapel so masses could be said for the souls of the St Clair family. The chapel was built in an over the top gothic style using local stone and probably employing French masons. It took forty years to ‘complete’ but was half the size of that which was originally planned, perhaps because the impetus was lost with the death of St. Clair.

One advantage of all the tour buses is that we can eavesdrop on a group’s commentary. A French guide explains, in very good English, some of the symbolism behind the many carvings. She is aided by a green laser pointer. Our attention is drawn to over 100 green man carvings. This pagan symbol is not unknown in chapels but so many of them is very unusual. There are, understandably, carvings that are full of religious symbolism as well as animals and plants. The plants include maize, which is strange as it was carved fifty years before Columbus discovered America. There are angels playing instruments, including bagpipes, a dance of death and depictions of the seven deadly sins. There is a legend attached to two of the carved pillars. One was supposed to be executed by the master mason and a more elaborate one by the apprentice, who was inspired by a dream. The incensed mason then killed the apprentice in a fit of jealous rage. Two of the gargoyles are supposed to depict the mason and his apprentice, complete with head wound. Ironically, the mason is sited so that he stares at the apprentice’s column.

The chapel is associated with the Knights Templar, early twelfth century warrior monks whose role was to protect pilgrims on crusade and to find and guard treasures from the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. The chapel came to prominence because it features in Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code and the visitor footfall increased five fold as a result. After the Reformation, prayers for the dead were no longer customary but the chapel is still in use for regular services. Monck stabled the horses of the Parliamentarian forces in the chapel in 1650. By the eighteenth century it had fallen into disrepair and as a ‘ruin’, become a focus for Romantic poets and artists including Turner. Its initial restoration was inspired by Queen Victoria and now there are 175,000 visitors a year, many of whom seemed to be there on the same day as us. I was a bit disappointed that there was not more information on the Knights Templar but it was fascinating nonetheless.

On the way back to the van we call in at Currie, where my granddaughter’s ancestors came from but no luck with the graveyard here. There are some very unusual stones there though.

Chris has managed to get his phone to tell him that it is currently 7 degrees (whatever happened to phones that made telephone calls?). What his phone doesn’t tell him is that there is also a wind chill factor of quite a lot. I packed thermals to go to Canada and arrived in temperatures of 27 degrees; here the reverse seems to be true. Undaunted – well maybe just a little daunted – we go forth and search ancestral areas. A quick trip to Chapel of Garioch first. It has to be a quick trip, it is very small. I photograph the cross slab known as the Maiden Stone, one of many Pictish relics in the area. Then it is on to Old Rayne, a few cottages larger than Chapel of Garioch and with a church that is over two miles away from the settlement. As we get out to explore the graveyard we understand the attraction of Penge (south London) where my children’s ancestor from this area ended up. It is truly freezing, although I have to own that Penge probably lacks the scenic value of Rayne.

As the temperature has encouraged us to be pretty swift with our churchyard excursions, we are now much too early to go to the museum at Insch, so we return to the van to thaw out. Sustained and warmed we head back to Insch just as the volunteer is opening up. The museum is only open one afternoon a week so I was glad that I could arrange the itinerary to coincide. I was a bit worried that this museum might be another homage to Pictish culture, very interesting but not what I was after. We wait patiently whilst an Australian, who now lives on the English south coast, tells the complete story of his family history to the volunteer, who makes all the right noises. We have already exhausted the potential of the displays in this very small museum, which is part of the still functioning railway station. Fortunately, it is more nineteenth century than ninth century, with, understandably, a preponderance of railway history. The railway linking Inverness and Aberdeen came through Insch in 1854 and had an enormous impact on the small village. Our fellow enquirer has come by train and needs to get the 2.19pm back again. I know we are in the station but given that the next train isn’t for two hours, I would have been on the platform sooner than 2.18 and thirty seconds. Well, I would have been there from about 2.00pm just in case but I am sure there is a happy medium.

His departure gives us a chance to ask the volunteer, without holding out much hope, if she has heard of Wight’s Inn. She chats away about how old Mrs Wight came down from up country to run the pub. She is past the first flush of youth but she is implying that she remembers Mrs Wight and my Mrs Wight died in 1862 so my heart is sinking. But no, it turns out that she really is talking about my Mrs Wight. The bad news is that Wight’s Inn and the neighbouring Pauper Lodging House run by Mrs Wight’s daughter in law (also Mrs Wight of course but I am attempting not to confuse) have been demolished. Mrs Helpful Volunteer finds a picture and map of the rough location that I can copy. I say we had failed to find a gravestone yesterday and add that I wasn’t really expecting there to have been a marker. Au contraire, our kind assistant is sure there would have been one as she would have been ‘quite wealthy’. She pulls out a list of memorial inscriptions for the old kirk where we were yesterday. This has been compiled by someone we have met through the family history world, so thank you Sheila, we couldn’t have managed without you. Yes, there is Mary Wight, husband James and other members of the family on stone 193. ‘Oh’, she says ominously, ‘it is flat’. We have seen these flat stones, they are buried under an impenetrable layer of strimmed grass. We take note of the rough position and the names of those on the surrounding stones that are still standing, thank our helper and take our leave.

I apologise if something of a theme is developing here but I must again mention toilets. We use the ones in the station. I fail to find the light switch and am in total darkness. I manage to locate the toilet itself but toilet paper proved more of an initiative test. If you are ever in Insch station, on top of the cistern, though I advise trying for the light switch in preference.

After about five minutes casting our eyes round stones with all the wrong names on and on the point of giving up. I locate Mr Sharp who should be next door to the Wight family. Yes, there is a flat stone nearby but compacted grass, the product of many mowings, is stuck firmly to its surface. I wish, too late, that I had taken a ‘before’ photograph. We begin rubbing away, being careful not to obliterate the sandstone surface at the same time. Grass has grown quite a long way over the edges of the stone, covering the inscription. I decide that we need a spade to remove this. We do not have a spade, how short sighted of us. Chris has his barber surgery kit in the boot ready for a conference at the end of our trip. I suggest using one of his many knives, saws or axes to hack back the grass; he seems less keen. We imperil our finger nails by hauling at the grass roots. As for the mowing detritus, in the end we perfect a technique of rubbing the soles of our shoes over the grass, which eventually loosens and can be swept away. This works better with my trainers as Chris has smooth soled shoes on. Well, that was his theory and he was sticking to it. It is quite a large stone and I am rubbing vigorously. If you are ever tempted to try this, be warned, it involves a lot more effort than you would think. The weather has meant that today is the first day we haven’t been for a walk but I decide that stone clearing constituted sufficient exercise. Ten minutes later and the stone is as clear as it is ever going to be and I am well pleased.

We go to the former site of Wight’s Inn, very close to the leisure centre we visited yesterday. We have a much better impression of the lives of this family now. The railway predated Mary Wight junior’s move south by more than two decades and was presumably her route to the outside world. Mary Wight, her grandmother, sounds quite a character, widowed at sixty, taking over the pub and living to be over ninety. The only disappointment is that the building no longer stands. Back to the van then to write up what I have found.

It is a sunny day as we drive down the side of Loch Ness, with not a monster in sight. We pass on the opportunity to visit ‘Nessieland’ and wonder how many tourists have been fooled into thinking that they might see bears at ‘Highland Bear Lodge’. Maybe highland bears are akin to yellow tits and indeed the Loch Ness monster. We drive through pretty birch woods to Glen Affric. There are more sheep in the road; these are sitting down contentedly as if they were in a field. There are deer relaxing nearby, maybe they have evicted the sheep. We pass the Fasnabyle HEP plant, reminding us how important the energy business is to Scotland. We head back towards Inverness by a different route, with the River Glass on the right and a bluebell wood on the left to enter the Black Isle, between the Moray Forth and Cromarty Firth. This peninsula, previously named Ardmeanach, was given to Lord Darnley by Mary Queen of Scots. The views are glorious. I find this one of the most attractive parts of Scotland, yet I was expecting to prefer the west coast.

We head to Rosemarkie, which was notorious as a spot for burning witches. I seem to escape unscathed. We are now in the land of the Picts, who inhabited Rosshire until they were overrun by the Scots in the ninth century. Picts or ‘painted people’ are believed to have arrived in Scotland from northern Europe during the Bronze Age. No signs of houses remain, so it is assumed that they were wooden but hill forts survive. In 563 St Columba left Iona to begin the Christianisation of the Picts. We are able to see Pictish carved stones at the tiny Groam House Museum, most of these date from the eighth and ninth centuries. There are debates about the purpose of these large, carved stone slabs. It is thought that they are unlikely to be grave markers as they don’t record names but they may be indicative of alliances between groups. The designs include representations of animals, hunting and biblical scenes and geometric patterns. The carvings known as cross slabs depict crosses but the arms do not protrude beyond the sides of the slabs. The volume of carvings found in the immediate area lead historians to presume that there must have been a monastery here, although no remains have been found. The Museum also celebrates the work of George Bain ‘the Master of Celtic Art’.

A little way up the road is the RSPB reserve known as Fairy Glen. It isn’t the easiest to find but having located it we take a lovely stroll through the wooded reserve. There is a notable lack of birds and fairies but it is pretty boggy so any self respecting fairies are probably residing elsewhere.

Time to retrace our steps southwards down the A9 alongside the beautiful, sunny east coastline and across Black Isle, through Inverness and on to Culloden Moor. We are the second of four vans who arrive on site at the same time. It is then a race to see who can get set up first, a race that we win hands down. Today we have passed the 1000 mile mark on this trip

As we have arrived in good time, we are able to visit the site of the Battle of Culloden or Cùil Lodair this afternoon. This battle marked the end of the Jacobite cause and we have just missed the 270th anniversary on 16 April. I am please to see that signage is in Gaelic first, with English underneath. We have free entry courtesy of the reciprocal arrangement between the English and Scottish National Trusts but we need a car sticker to confirm our membership status and thus avoid having to pay for parking. We do not have a current car sticker in this car. We enquire at the pay desk and put Chris’ National Trust ‘I am a volunteer therefore very important’ card in the window instead as suggested. We later realise that this expired at the end of March and he hasn’t yet collected a replacement but it seemed to do the trick.

Typically of Scotland, this is a very high quality attraction with plenty of interactive aspects and interpretation boards. I take a look at a book describing families who were involved at Culloden but none of the names I am interested in feature. I did have some knowledge of Culloden and the Jacobites but I hadn’t really appreciated the extent to which this was part of a wider European conflict. Scots who fought for the Jacobite cause did so out of loyalty to the Stuart line but also because they wanted a return of the Episcopalian Church. We enjoy looking at the weaponry, which is similar to what we are used to in the seventeenth century. An historical interpreter is on duty to exchange ideas.

It is interesting to fully appreciate that Cumberland’s government red-coat army of 10,000 men would need 10,000lb meat and 10,000lb bread each day to sustain them. The lack of supplies for the Jacobite forces was a significant feature at Culloden, along with the boggy terrain which led to the failure of their previously successful charging technique. The battle lasted less than an hour and nearly half the 1500 Jacobite casualties fell in the few minutes of this failed charge. The government troops lost only 50 men, although some of the 250 wounded died later. The Irish and French, who were fighting for the Jacobites, shielded Bonnie Prince Charlie’s retreating army, who headed for Inverness after the battle. These Irish and French were subsequently treated as prisoners of war not rebels. The Jacobites did regroup at Ruthven and were prepared to fight on but Bonnie Prince Charlie sent orders to disperse and the cause was lost, leaving Charlie to escape ‘over the sea to Skye’ with the aid of Flora MacDonald.

We move outside for a battle field walk, complete with slightly temperamental audio guides. The sun is shining and we are in lovely surroundings but we are mindful of looming black clouds. The Jacobite casualties were buried in mass graves and in 1881 the land owner had a memorial cairn built, along with markers for each clan that participated and another marker for the fallen government troops. Wounded Jacobites were bayoneted and the high ranking officers were taken prisoner. The wounded government troops were probably cared for in farm buildings that were commandeered as a field hospital. All in all another excellent day.

There is lovely sunshine to enhance the beautiful views as we enter Inverness for a fuel and food shop stop. Being Scotland, this is soon replaced by black clouds and showers. A first at the Morrison’s garage, we are there as a drive off takes place and CCTV is being examined to track down the miscreant who has left without paying. Do people really think they are going to get away with this? We are now in Ross and Cromarty and will be on the A9 all the way north. We cross Black Isle and Cromarty Firth. The golden gorse is on fire over acres of hillside and the lemon yellow oil seed rape in full flower acts as a counterpoint. The signs of the oil industry remind us of the boost that this gave to the Scottish economy in the 1980s. As we enter Sutherland we are overtaken by a series of racing cars. As the Lotuses and Aston Martins stream past we wonder if there is a rally nearby or if this is to be part of an episode of what whatever Clarkson, May and Hammond’s new programme is called.

We turn right for the last twenty miles and the countryside is notably bleaker with deserted crofts. There are unusual walls made up of tombstone-like slabs overlapping each other. Thurso’s sign tells us that it is the birthplace of William Smith, founder of the Boys’ Brigade. I am sure he was a jolly good chap and all that but if that’s the most significant thing you can think of to say about your town then it is probably not worth saying anything.

Our site at Dunnet Bay is exposed but right by the sea and we have a pitch that has what might be classed as ‘sea glimpses’. After setting up the van we depart for John O’Groats, well you have to don’t you? It isn’t quite as commercialised as Land’s End or Gretna Green and it seemed important to visit what claims to be the most north-easterly settlement in Britain. There are some weird multi-coloured wooden buildings, which are apparently extensions to a hotel. If they were trying to look like Balamorey they’ve failed. A little like Land’s End it isn’t actually the extremity that people would have you believe. Dunnet Head is the most northerly point and we plan to visit there before we leave. We are primarily in John O’Groats to pick up our tickets for tomorrow’s trip to Orkney and to see where we need to be first thing in the morning. That accomplished, we move on to Duncansby Head. We arrive in a fierce hail storm and decide to sit it out, hoping for a gap in the precipitation so we can visit the fulmar colonies that nest on the cliffs here. Yes, Scotland’s weather does it again and within ten minutes it is dry and we decide to risk it. The ground however is anything but dry and is best described as spongy. Chris has his walking boots; mine are in the van so I paddle along in trainers as far as Duncansby Stacks.

It does start to rain a little and Chris generously allows me to wear the one plastic poncho that we have between us. We do have another one but that is keeping my walking boots company in the van. This is apparently an ‘arctic’ poncho, which means I can give up any hope of blending in to the landscape as I look like an abominable snowman. The cliffs are full of nesting seabirds, primarily fulmars. I am secretly hoping for puffins but no such luck. Today’s ornithological haul includes: fulmars, razorbills, oyster-catchers and an as yet unidentified owl – possibly an unusually coloured short-eared owl.

The sky is looking threatening again so we set off for home, or as it turns out not. One bit of bleak Scottish landscape does look very much like another. I am just thinking that the turning for Dunnet Head seems rather a long time coming, when we realise that we are bowling down the east coast and are rapidly approaching Wick. This is not quite what we had intended, we should be heading in a westerly direction towards Thurso. Not to worry, we do get to see another bit of the countryside. It is raining again by this time so we decide to leave Dunnet Head for another day.

This evening’s entertainment consists of the Manchester street games on television, which we have lacked for four days and watching our on-site neighbours attempting to erect their camper van awning.