We’ve just returned from a few days in Shrewsbury. We were staying on a very posh-for-us caravan site because the same complex also had ‘barns’ where caravan-less members of the family could stay. I was a fail at this kind of location from the start. We checked in and were given a card to access the site barrier, no problem, we were used to these. I was also given two ribbon like bracelets to indicate that we were paid up residents. For safe-keeping, I hurriedly put both on my wrist, one for me and one for the fisherman of my acquaintance. Caravan pitched I attempted to pass his to him. Ah. This was the problem. I had tightened the bracelets to ensure I didn’t lose them by sliding a plastic ring up each ribbon. It turned out that these were one way fastenings, a little like cable ties – hindsight and all that. I managed to wriggle my way out of one bracelet but the other was firmly affixed. Not wanting a bracelet on day and night for four days, I had to return to reception and ask to be cut out and have a new one, which I made sure was looser.
The barn, for younger members of the family, came with a firepit and hot tub, both of which had to be fully explored.
The weather was kinder to us than the forecast promised and we explored the delights of Blists Hill Victorian Village. Obtaining advance passes online was an intellectual challenge in itself but we managed it. The Ironbridge complex is due to be taken over by the National Trust, which caused a hiatus in the booking system at precisely the wrong time. It was interesting to chat to the various shopkeepers and tradespeople ad to spend the ‘old’ money that we had exchanged in the bank. Mind you, the existence of a bank seems to be something that is now consigned to history. The traditional fish and chips, fried using beef lard were probably not the best thing for our arteries but were delicious.
The next day was a Shrewsbury Trail, or at least part of it before it got too much for some of our party. The first challenge here was ensuring that both cars were parked in the same place (they weren’t) and then finding our way out of the shopping centre adjacent to the carpark we ended up in. We did manage a quick game of rockets and meteors (like snakes and ladders) in the shopping centre first.
Then a visit to see the Ironbridge in glorious autumn sunshine; the first iron bridge to be constructed in the world, in 1779. This is now a world heritage site. We moved on to Enginuity Science Museum, where we virtually made pig iron, moved locomotives using levers, solved (or didn’t) puzzles and other excitements. There were plenty of other museums in the Ironbridge family for those with more stamina but we decided to quit while we were ahead,
Now we are back home for what might laughingly be called a rest.
A few days in Peterborough allowed me to meet up with some of my descendants and see some local sites. First, a trip to Kirby Hall that nearly didn’t happen. As we neared the Hall there was a road closed sign. We followed the, very long, diversion to the other end of the closed road only to find …… a road closed sign; there was no indication that there were exceptions for access. This time there was a man sat in a works van and on enquiring he moved a few cones and we were told we could drive through to the Hall. Wondering if we might actually be able to get out again, we proceeded with our visit. The Hall were going to be in for a quiet day.
Kirby Hall is a ruin that was one of the first buildings to be acquired by the state for preservation, under the auspices of what is now known as English Heritage. It was built for Sir Humphrey Stafford in 1570; the architect was John Thorne. Five years later, Stafford was dead and four generations of Christopher Hattons went on to own the house. The first Christopher Hatton was a great favourite of Elizabeth I, allegedly first coming to her attention because of his dancing prowess. Yet, although he became her Chancellor, she never visited the Hall. What Hatton lost in prestige over this he probably made up for in the money that he saved by not having to host the Queen. James I, on the other hand, visited more than once. Christopher Hatton mark 3 was a great antiquarian and had the Hall remodelled, including the addition of a library. Inigo Jones provided plans and the appropriately named royal stonemason Nicholas Stone, was hired.
Ardently Royalist, Hatton fled to France during the Civil War and spend years trying to rebuild the family fortunes after the Restoration. His grandfather had been given land in London by Elizabeth I, which CH3 developed into Hatton Garden. Like his father, Christopher Hatton 4 was the governor of Guernsey and his wife and mother were killed when the gunpowder store at Castle Cornet blew up. Hatton himself was saved by a black servant, John Chappell, who was left a pension of £20 a year in Hatton’s will. Between 1772 and 1831, most of the contents were sold, the owners ceased using the Hall and it was given over to estate workers. It gradually fell into disrepair.
Notable features were the bay windows and the gardens, which are believed to have been designed by George London, who name was familiar from my seventeenth century gardens talks. There were also the most enormous pears and apples I’ve ever seen in the garden, both the size of your average grapefruit.
I can report that we escaped via the ‘closed’ road and that zero work appeared to be happening, or to have happened. Disclaimer – I take no responsibility if I have confused the various Christopher Hattons.
The next day and it was a National Trust destination this time, in the shape of Lyveden Lodge. In Elizabethan times, the manor here was owned by Thomas Tresham. He was orphaned at a very young age and was brought up by and married into the Throckmorton family. Tresham was knighted by Elizabeth I but by 1580 had converted to Catholicism; thus just six years after his knighthood, Trensham was in prison for his beliefs. Trensham had his staff begin to build an impressive lodge for his guests, with plans to surround it with gardens and vistas; directing some of the proceedings from prison. The garden is held out to be one of England’s oldest garden landscapes. The lodge, manor and garden were full of Catholic symbols. Recusancy fines, a lavish lifestyle and having to provide dowries for six daughters meant that, when Trensham died in 1605, he owed the equivalent of a million pounds in today’s money. Realising that they wouldn’t be paid, the workers downed tools and the lodge was never finished. His son rebuilt the manor but abandoned the lodge. It was Thomas’ son, Francis Trensham, who became embroiled in the gunpowder plot. It is likely that it was Francis’ letter, warning his brother-in-law Mounteagle to stay away from Parliament, that led to the plot’s downfall. We planned to go to a garden after leaving Lyveden but it wasn’t open, so back to the van it was.
With a nod to my experimental archaeology course and our neolithic house-building experiences, our final visit was to Flag Fen. This is the site of a bronze age causeway, one kilometre in length, constructed when water levels were higher. The causeway was built from oaks, alder and ash, felled between 1280-920 BC. The uprights and platform required two million timbers. The causeway was in use for 1300 years and is thought to have had a religious significance as many objects found nearby appear to be offerings. There are also some prehistoric logboats being preserved on site. The staff were very informative and there were plenty of volunteers and conservationists on site. They have just been taking core samples and we were able to see wood that has been submerged since the bronze age. Having survived for thousands of years, the causeway is reaching the point where it is almost beyond further preservation due to changing conditions.
The Malvern trip continued with Gloucester Family History Society’s open day at the Heritage Hub. It was lovely to be able to see people in real life and chat about family history. I listened to Simon from WeAre.xyz, talking about his software (quick resolution to do more with my site), then gave my A to Z talk. After that, it was out for a meal and a catch up with family history friends. This is the first of four in person family history weekends in four different counties this month. A bit like buses, you wait for ever, then they all come at once,
Sunday was rainy. I mean seriously rainy, so rather than head off early, as we prefer to do, we sat it out, while I looked at the Withenbury family goodies I’d found at the Worcestershire archives. Note, I did not look back at earlier notes, a big mistake. The rain cleared up eventually, giving us just time to visit Hanbury Hall, a nearish by National Trust property and former home of the Vernon family. The most outstanding features are the wall and ceiling paintings by James Thornhill, which, unusually, were painted on dry, not wet, plaster. There are also traditional, knot-garden style gardens, with plenty of topiary, which I photographed for use in my seventeenth century gardens talk. I was also quite taken with a 1715 election ‘poster’, when Thomas Vernon was standing for the Whig cause. This, I thought was about all Hanbury Hall had to offer, how wrong I was.
We returned home. This involved me driving through storm and tempest, with torrential rain meaning that I could barely see the road. Fortunately that was just the last couple of miles, as I am chauffeured most of the way. I then continued to look at the Withenburys. Something I had noted before, when I was trying to prove that they are actually my ancestors, rather than probably my ancestors, was that a James Withenbury was an architect and sculptor. This chap is likely to be my 6x great grandfather’s brother, or maybe a half-brother. ‘That close’, I hear you cry. He is at least on the family tree of the ‘almost my ancestors’. He also, said my notes, which I was viewing from 150 miles away from Hanbury Hall, designed the frontage of the hall in 1718. It is likely that I walked past his architectural sketch while we were at the Hall! Another trip is on the cards.
Posting these accounts from the comfort of home always makes holidays seem like such a brief interlude but I didn’t want you to think that I was still stuck in the midst of Cornwall.
Day 7 Round and About
Initially, we thought we’d go to Marazion Nature Reserve but on the way, remembered that this was somewhere we’d been before, so we had a change of plan and headed to Trengwainton, which turned out to be closed. Never fear, we thought, we’d go on to Carn Euny Iron Age Village, open at all times. We followed the signs, we drove for a mile up a single track no through road. We were in the right place but the car park was full. Annoyingly, inconsiderate parking, meant that fewer cars could park than the space warranted. It looked like most of those parked were locals rather than visitors. It also made it extremely difficult to turn round but after a several point turn we escaped. At this point, we decided that we would chalk the day up as ‘a nice ride round the far south west’ and we headed back to the site.
So we weren’t sat down all day, we went for a walk from the site. Still mapless, we had to be careful not to get lost. We followed what was signposted as a footpath. I don’t think anyone had walked part of this for some considerable time as it involved battling through stinging nettles. Bit of a shame I’d decided to put shorts on. We passed a lavender farm and went downhill until the path turned into a steam. A series of well-spread-out stepping stones reached into the distance. We watched a man and two teenaged boys leap agilely from stone to stone. We asked where the path led to. It seemed nowhere much, at least not for a couple of miles. We decided our leaping days were over and retraced our steps.
Day 8 Windmill Farm Nature Reserve
The nature reserve of choice was one nearby at Windmill Farm. It turns out that it was nearer by than the sat-nav would have us believe and we had to give up and use Google maps instead. We headed off across a field of cows, having carefully read the instructions to chat to said cows so they knew we were on our way. The trouble with cow fields that are usually muddy but have been baked dry for a fortnight, is that they are full of potential ankle twisting ruts.
In theory, there was a way-marked route but we somehow missed this and ended up in a field of fennel. Retracing our steps across the cow field we reconnected with the white painted posts that marked our way. Inevitably, there wasn’t much fauna but a variety of flora was a little more in evidence, including heath spotted orchids. We finally came across a couple of drying out ponds, one at least of which looked newly dug. There were dragonflies but little else.
Next, the windmill from which the reserve takes its name. Originally called Lizard Windmill, it is referred to in a document of 1695, although has probably been rebuilt since then. It no longer has sails and ceased working in the 1840s. In the nineteenth century, the notorious Windmill Gang of footpads and sheep rustlers were active in the area. Two members were drowned when trying to escape pursuit.
It is possible to climb to the top of the windmill. My height-hating brain surveyed the see-through metal spiral steps with caution. There might be a good view from the top, thinks I, having read that the windmill was used as vantage point by Home Guard in the Second World War and became part of the RAF base at neighbouring Predannack Airfield. I began to climb. This, dear reader, was a mistake and previous experience with similar scenarios should have been enough to warn me that I would find this terrifying. Locals believe that the windmill is haunted. I often sense when this is the case but in summary, my opinion was – scary staircase yes, haunted no.
Day 9 Monday Minack Theatre
This was the day when we were booked to see Seth Lakeman at the Minack Theatre. I’ll be honest, this was a second best when we failed to get Fisherman’s Friends tickets for the first time in several years. As the campsite is thirty miles from the Minack, I was a little disconcerted when my travelling companion’s remark as we went to leave was, ‘where did I put the car keys?’. Keys located and we were on our way. We were slightly early, what’s new, for the stated ‘car park opens’ time but being a matinee, were let in. We sat in the sun eating ice cream and were within the first fifty or so (of five hundred) in the queue. This is the point at which I panic. Normally, I would have back-up printed tickets but by the time they were emailed, we were in a field miles from any printer. Will my fully charged phone somehow fail to display said tickets when required? Will the back-up fully charged battery pack similarly suddenly be empty? Will I not be able to get a phone signal? None of these unlikely eventualities occurred, although the staff’s scanning machines were being temperamental. We, along with most, people had zone A tickets. As we got to the front of the queue, I was asked to make a snap decision. Did we want to sit on the stone tiered seating, or on a chair directly in front of the stage? Errr, no brainer. Weirdly, some people were opting for stone seats.
The concert was excellent with some virtuoso musicianship from Seth and the other two-thirds of his trio, who had sixteen different instruments between them. There was even a guest appearance from Seth’s father, Geoff, showing just how to play the spoons. All in all we were well pleased with our ‘second best’ choice.
Access to the Minack is ‘interesting’. You don’t want to be trying to head towards the theatre as a show has just ended. Unfortunately, as we and many others wended our way down the single track road both a coach and a tractor were rashly attempting to make their way up the hill. Couple this with a high percentage of drivers who are used to motorway driving, rather than west-country roads and there was somewhat of an impasse for quite a while.
Day 10 A Day of Two Gardens
As it was only half a mile away, we decided we should visit Bonython Gardens. We often stick to places we can get in ‘free’ with my array of life memberships (National Trust, English Heritage, RSPB and RHS) but this was billed as ‘a great garden of Cornwall’, so it seemed like a good investment. This proved to be the case. With the help of two gardeners, the owners have crafted a beautiful landscape, including a walled garden, lakes and a fascinating yew chapel. There was a laid-back refreshment system, where you helped yourself and put the money in an honesty box. The orange cake and fruit cake both got a mark of approval. On the subject of honesty, I also purchased some honesty plants, which have been on my wanted list for a while.
The afternoon was reserved for meeting up with friends of long-standing and we had a lovely wander through the National Trust gardens at Trelissick, reminiscing and catching-up on the last twenty years or so of our lives. As my age advances, far too rapidly, I am on a mission to see in person, as many friends as I can, particularly those who I’ve exchanged Christmas cards with for the last fifty years but rarely see, so I am looking forward to more reunions such as this.
Another day and yet another short drive, this time to Helford, as we remembered that as being an attractive section of the coastal footpath. After a bit of a diversion down to the river ferry terminal we headed round to the tiny St. Francis’ Chapel, where St. F’s main animal of choice seems to be a German Shepherd. Then on along the path towards Frenchman’s Creek of Du Maurier fame. We got to the point where we were overlooking the creek and decided that it was quite a long way down, which would, of course, mean quite a long way back up, so we turned round and retraced our steps.
Day 5
The short walk of choice today was round Goonhilly Nature Reserve. We have come to learn what to expect from nature reserves and Goonhilly lived up to expectations – an almost total absence of wildlife. We did hear a cuckoo but not a great deal else. Here we were close to the tracking station, which sits incongruously against the Cornish landscape and occasional menhir. We may also have deviated from the waymarked route a tad. This involved climbing over gates, which fortunately held our weight and did not mean we ended up in a field with a bull. We also had a choice between being up to our ankles in water, or up to our ankles in mud. This despite it being the driest spring on record. We opted for mud. The advantage of this walk was that it was relatively flat and underlined the fact that it is hills that I have issues with, rather than walking itself. Still, we think ourselves lucky that we can walk as much as we can, as we approach our eighth and nineth decades.
We went on to Cadgwith so that the fisherman of my acquaintance could get a fishing boat fix. This also involved passing some free-range geese and observing two delivery lorries trying to escape and turn on the extremely narrow road, which, in addition, was partly blocked by a scaffolders’ lorry. We didn’t stay to see the resolution of this. From the look of the way things were going, despite some seriously skilled reversing up very narrow alleys, they may still be there.
We were visited by the site’s friendly collie, who came into the van calling for Chris. Balls were thrown and the neighbouring horses chatted to.
Day 6 Penrose and Poldu Cove
We drove to Penrose, a National Trust estate that we hadn’t visited before. This was a pleasant walk that took us to where we could overlook Loe Lake, the largest freshwater lake in the county. There was a very acceptable café where we availed ourselves of ice cream. The walled garden, designed by John Rogers when he inherited Penrose in 1772, is being restored by volunteers. We then decided to drive down to Mullion; another day another cove. We stopped off at Poldhu, a cove we remembered from our walking round the coastal footpath days. Mullion, despite the sat-nav, proved elusive, so we decided to leave that for another time.
As usual, you are not getting these reports in real time but I’ll catch up eventually.
Day 1
Having spent the past days soaking my garden plants with water and moving most of what turned out to be nearly fifty plant pots to the shady part of the garden, I felt relatively ready to go away. Turns out there were to be a few hitches. I arrived at Chris’ to be told that he was waiting for roadside recovery as the caravan-towing car wouldn’t start. Fortunately, this was speedily resolved. By this time, I was starting to remember the things that I had forgotten. The list included a belt and the trousers I was wearing were the sort that descend, taking one’s knickers with them. I was able to borrow a belt from the fisherman of my acquaintance. Even better, it looked like I’d borrowed it before, as it had had a me sized hole added to it.
My travelling companion had to stand in for a holidaying churchwarden but I decided to forsake the church with the second most uncomfortable pews in the world and walk down Clovelly High Street instead. I was hoping to get some photos suitable for advertising next year’s Devon Family History Society conference but scaffolding and a dull day put paid to that. I am sure the street is steeper than it used to be; despite not going right down to the harbour, the slog back to the top was a bit of an effort.
We were finally on our way just after midday. I then realised that I hadn’t brought the maps with me. These weren’t needed for finding our way (or so I thought – see below) but I do like to follow along on a map. We arrived at our site not far from Helston, Cornwall. We were the only van on site, with rabbits for company and horses from the neighbouring field and the farm’s resident dog coming to say hello. This was meant to be a restful holiday, so we did just that.
Day 2 Kynance Cove
After a short drive, we availed ourselves of the free members’ parking at the National Trust car park and prepared for a short walk along part of the south-west coastal footpath near Kynance Cove. We have previously walked the whole of the Cornish section of this long-distance path but it was soon obvious that we are not as young or fit as we were. If this section of the path isn’t described in the book, which I have also forgotten, as strenuous, then it should be. We scrambled down the cliff side, wandered across the sand at Kynance Cove then struggled back up the other side. One excitement was not only hearing but seeing a cuckoo; I’ve never seen one before. Sadly, I wasn’t swift enough with the camera.
We went a little further on then, being well aware that every step further on also meant an additional step to retrace, we turned round. We treated ourselves to a drink at the café on the way back and I felt that it would be rude to refuse the carrot cake.
Back in the car, we took a short journey to Landewednack to look at the new Lifeboat Station which seems to have some kind of life down to the shore and then for good measure, the old Lifeboat Station at Church Cove. This involved parking under a very noisy rookery and hoping that the car wouldn’t need too much of a clean afterwards. That being enough exercise for one day, we went back to the caravan, where we lazed the rest of the day away.
Day 3 Godolphin
Another short drive, this time to visit the National Trust property, Godolphin. We knew the house itself wouldn’t be open but planned to explore the estate. I cleverly, or so I thought, photographed the map of the various coloured footpaths before we started. I did this on my camera; fail. I should, of course, have photographed it on my phone so that it could be enlarged. We completed most of the not terribly inspiring yellow route through fields and woods, alongside the River Hayle. The plan was to transfer to a short part of the pink route to the house, garden and café. Somehow we ended up on the purple route. Nonetheless, I was pretty sure which way we needed to go. It turned out that I was right. Unfortunately, I decided I should check the map. Finding a landmark on the opposite side of the road to the one I expected, we turned round and walked and walked some more. If only we had a proper map. Never fear we had phones with apps including Google maps and what the family call the spooky stalking app. What we didn’t have was anything resembling a phone signal. We approached a small settlement that boasted a post office, hurrah someone we could ask for directions. Said post office was only open one day a week, inevitably not the day we were there. Finally a passer-by. Better still, one who used to work for the National Trust. She set us on our way, retracing many steps. This also involved scaling walls using a strange for of style, some of which had ‘steps’ that were a very long way apart. She did also admit that the map left much to be desired and it appears that the key landmark was indicated on the wrong side of the road.
We finally approached the house/café/toilets (in reverse order of importance). We felt that we had earned our orange cake and lemon meringue donut. We looked at the C17th exterior of the house, which apparently has a colonnade that is unique in the country. The house and estate were developed by the prestigious Godolgun (later Godolphin) family, who acquired it in the C12th. They made their fortune from mining copper and tin. The mining landscape in the area is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The farm buildings are particularly superior and were built with stone from a former house. There was an interesting film show about dairying in the dairy.
We looked round the grounds and spotted what looked like a water trough. It had inexplicable notches of different depths, set at irregular intervals round the edge. We speculated what it might be used for. Enter stage left my former colleagues on the experimental archaeology course. Something very similar on the continent is described as a Roman olive mill. Another suggestion is that it was used by a blacksmith and cooling irons could be rested in the notches. The jury is still out; further suggestions welcome – answers on a postcard.
You will be relieved to hear that this is the end of the Scottish jaunt. It seems like a lifetime ago! Firstly our trip to Mull.
We are pretty keen on islands and this trip will tick two more off the list. The first concern of the day is, will we find anywhere to park, ideally somewhere free. We had identified a possibility yesterday and do manage to locate a spot a shortish walk from the ferry terminal. The next stress inducing issue is that we have had our coach tickets for some time and I have printed these out at home but the ferry tickets, which I need to produce on four occasions, have only just arrived by email so rely on me having a workable phone. Too late, I realise that I could have forwarded this to my companion, so that we had access in two places. It isn’t even just an email, you have to open the email and then download something. This I can accomplish but my phone has days when it decides that the battery life is about five minutes. I spot a USB charging point in the terminal but for some reason this doesn’t work.
First ferry boarded and on the most beautiful, sunny, calm day we sit outside on the ferry to Craignure on Mull. The crew wear hard hats but none of these are fastened, surely that renders them next to useless? One of the deck hands serenades us with Mull of Kintyre. He really should stick to the day job.
We board a double decker bus, securing upstairs seat and with Andrew as our driver, set off for a thirty seven mile drive along a single track road to Fionnphort. It is an enjoyable drive with plenty of information supplied by Andrew, as well as comments on the inadequacy of the driving of other road users. This is the new road, built between the 1960s and the 1980s and halved the previous journey time. There is plenty of reversing and pulling in to passing places. Some of the other drivers appear to be in vehicles that don’t have reverse gears.
Mull’s population is about 3,000, with 200 on Iona. We spot one of the 8,000 deer on the island; there are also fallow deer. We see evidence of the mussel fishery, a seaweed farm and a forestry industry. Travelling in the coach proves hazardous and I manage to bang my head three times and whack my upper arm into the half raised arm rest.
We leave the bus to take the ferry to Iona. A notice tells us to turn our phones off. a) Why? And b) How is that going to work when our tickets are on our phones then? I have tried charging my phone on the bus, that charging point didn’t seem to work either. So far I am two ferries down with more than half my battery left.
After a short trip we alight on Iona and the first stop is the nunnery, founded in 1200. There is allegedly a carving of a naked women over the window of the refectory that was intended as protection from evil but we don’t spot it. Next, St Ronan’s Chapel, which was built about 1200, although there is evidence of an earlier chapel, dating from c.700. Interestingly, all the skeletons that have been found in this area are female.
Unfortunately, the heritage centre is not open but we probably wouldn’t have had time to explore it. We are still able to find out about the island’s history as a centre of religion. Columba, accompanied by twelve monks, arrived on Iona in 563 and founded the monastery, which would have been a timber construction. An account of Columba’s life, written by Adomnan, Iona’s abbot in the 690s, provides details of the early years of the monastery. It became a Benedictine foundation in 1200, which survived until the Reformation. What we see today is a reconstruction of the abbey as it would have been under the Benedictines. This was accomplished by the Iona Cathedral Trust in the early twentieth century and funded by the Duke and Duchess of Argyll.
Iona was famous for its scriptorium, where monks produced beautifully illustrated religious manuscripts, including the Book of Kells, created about 800, which we saw in Ireland last year. Remnants of a path, dating from 700, survive. This ‘street of the dead’ was used as a processional route, passing the monastery’s holy places and leading to the shrine of St Columba. Crosses were erected on the route to mark places for contemplation. Viking raiders plundered the abbey from 795. In 806, sixty eight monks were killed. This led Abbot Cellach to take the monastery’s treasures and most of the monks to Kells in Ireland. Some monks remained on Iona. There were strong sea links between Iona and other religious houses in Scotland and Ireland. Viking raids continued for two centuries. In 825, Abbot Blathmac was killed when he refused to give raiders the jewelled casket containing St Columba’s bones. The abbot and fifteen monks were killed on the beach on 25 December 986.
The museum on site of the abbey contains many ancient carvings dating from the early 600s onwards, including huge crosses and tomb tops. In Medieval times many of those from high society were brought here for burial. The twelfth century St Oran’s Chapel is the burial places of The MacDonalds. The site is home to St John’s Cross, thought to be the first Celtic Cross of its type.
We partake of lunch at the St. Columba Hotel, a little upmarket for us. We decide that we should have something regional, so Cullen skink for my companion and haggis, goat’s cheese and onion marmalade quiche for me. I wouldn’t normally eat haggis but the other options didn’t appeal. We sat outside and observed a cucumber eating dog on the next table. The owner had ordered a whole cucumber that he cut up and gave to the dog as treats.
The return journey passes without incident and we opt to stay inside on the ferry to Oban as the temperature had dropped. We exited the ferry terminal in a different place, leaving us with a route march back to the car. It has been a lovely, if long day and we couldn’t have hoped for better weather.
The next day, the weather had turned grey but an improvement on what those further down south were experiencing, where there are severe floods. We picked a Scottish National Trust property that isn’t too far away and go to Arduaine Gardens. The coastal garden was created by James Arthur and Ethyl Campbell, who purchased the land in 1897. The garden suffered severe storm damage a couple of years ago, with many trees being blown down, so there is much restoration underway. There are some lovely views of the coast, although the visibility isn’t great. We don’t fancy the cake on offer in the neighbouring hotel, so it is back to the van via Lidl’s, who sadly, don’t have any tiramasu muffins this time. The afternoon is spent enjoying the sea views from the van and tomorrow we begin to wend our way home.
This was a day when it was ten degrees cooler than the previous day, much more in line with expected temperatures and we headed north to Banff, on the Moray Firth in search of fishing boats for my travelling companion. The harbour took 150 years to build. It was started in 1625 but it was not until engineer John Smeaton was appointed that it was completed in 1775. The harbour’s difficulties with silting were first recorded in 1608 and continue today. The outer north pier, built in 1818, was designed by Thomas Telford. In Medieval times, Banff was a centre for coastal trade, exporting salmon, wool and fleeces and importing timber, coal and salt. It was also a notorious area for smuggling.
A few miles up the coast is Portsoy, much more of a traditional fishing harbour compared to Banff, where many of the vessels were pleasure yachts. The original harbour was built in 1693. Some of the warehouses along the quay date from a similar time. A ‘new’ harbour was built in the 1820s to accommodate the then flourishing herring fleet. It was damaged in 1839 and eventually refurbished in the 1880s. There is a ‘Salmon Bothy’ and museum but they were not open, so we were unable to investigate further.
Four ancestral churches remained on the list. We located the first, failed to find two and abandoned the last. Our search did take us along more routes that no self-respecting tourist usually touches. I don’t have maps for this part of the journey, so we were relying on the satnav. When church hunting, I usually ask for the ‘city centre’, which is often laughable in itself, as some settlements are definitely of the blink and you’ll miss it variety. This tactic does however, usually take you fairly near the historic church, at least it works in England; Scotland not so much. For some reason this doesn’t work at all when I put in Aberlour, no ‘city centre’ option. I’m not daft , I look through the streets for something like ‘Church Street’, nope. What I should have done is gone for High Street. Did I take this sensible option? I did not, I merely punched in any old road. I use the word ‘road’ advisedly. We found ourselves up a very long winding track in the forest above Aberlour before I realised that this really wasn’t going to work. We did manage to find the town but not the church.
The following day, setting off in mist, we reversed the route we travelled home on on the previous day, driving alongside the River Spey. Here we have the archetypal Scottish scenery, pine forests, lochs and mountains with rowan trees sporting their bright berries, suggesting that we may be in for a hard winter. There was a bit of a hold up in Fort William due to the volume of traffic but the mist had lifted, leaving just a haze, meaning we could actually see the top of Ben Nevis, something that had been hidden on previous visits.
The satnav let us down at the end of the journey, meaning we had to ‘turn around where possible’, which ended up being turning around where it wasn’t actually possible with a caravan on the back. This was the second time we’d been to this site and for the second time we were given a premium pitch, with uninterrupted sea views, at least as long as we looked to the right. The only downside was the lack of onsite wifi.
The sun was now glorious and we sat outside for lunch, enjoying the view. We had an early start the next day and unusually on this holiday, had to be at a certain place at a certain time, so we drove into Oban to recee the ferry terminal and parking opportunities ready for the morrow. We watched the beautiful sunset from the van, although it wasn’t a patch on sunsets at home.
On a glorious sunny September day, with temperatures in the twenties, we set off for Leith Hall in nearby Kennethmont. One of the pleasures of visiting Scotland is that most of your journeys from a to b are through beautiful scenery and are as much part of the experience as the destinations. Here though the landscape is not stereotypically ‘Scottish’. Gone is the dramatic, stark scenery of further south. Instead, we have more benign vast vistas of rolling fields that are currently being harvested.
I like to take notes when I am going round places, or I forget everything that I have been told. I managed to find a writing implement in the bottom of the bag but struggled to find anything to write on. Finally, I unearthed a tiny scrap of paper, which I decided would have to do, Leith Hall has a history dating back to 1650, when James Leith had it built. It has a chateau-like appearance and inside there’s an arts and crafts movement influence. We arrived just as a guided tour was beginning. Unlike English National Trust properties, where it is usual to have a guide who specialises in each room, here we have one guide who knows everything. There is a complicated family tree of previous owners and I am not sure I always quite grasped who was who. One was fanatical about recycling and the hall ceiling is panelled using pew backs from a church.
There is an elegant Georgian extension, by Alexander Leith, where Chippendale, Hepplewhite and Sheraton are all on display. When the money began to run short the estate was put up for sale, in the 1780s, by Alexander ‘Sandy’ Leith but it was his saved by his great uncle, Andrew Hay, who purchased it and gifted it back to the family. In return, the family hyphenated the name to Leith-Hay. Although they had been Jacobite sympathisers, the family had not been active in the uprisings, so kept their estates after Culloden. In stark contrast, the saviour of the estate, Andrew Hay, was an active supporter of the Jacobite cause. He fought at Prestonpans and Culloden, fleeing to the continent. After eleven years, he returned to Scotland and was pardoned in 1780. Allegedly, he was seven foot two tall, not ideal for a Jacobite trying to be inconspicuous.
There was an interesting photo of the tenants in 1902, including a few women. The estate extended to include the neighbouring village of Insch, which has ancestral connections, so I searched the list for familiar names, even though they’d left the area by 1902 but no luck. Charles and Henrietta Leith-Hay ran the Hall as a hospital in the First World War. Charles and his only son both died in 1939 and Henrietta gifted the hall to The Scottish National Trust.
We looked round the pleasant gardens. There was a sign urging us to close the gate behind us to keep the ’bunnies’ out but there was no gate on the hinges!
The tea room staff seemed a little distrait but the cake came in a variety of unusual flavours; my companion had plum and ginger and mine had an unpronounceable name but was possibly cherry based. Paying was an ‘interesting’ experience as we’d been presented with no bill but were trusted to return to the admission desk and recite what we had had. Surely this is a system open to abuse.
We visited Insch, a parish where my children and one of my sons in law both have ancestry, I have yet to find a mutual ancestor for my daughter and her husband but I will keep trying. A couple of the churches I was interested in are now private dwellings and one alludeed us completely.
We managed to fit in a visit to Fyvie Castle. Having already made the mistake once today, I compounded the difficulty of taking notes by arriving at the ticket desk without anything to write on or with. It was quite a long way back to the car to find the necessary equipment. I was willing to buy a pencil in the gift shop but they came without points, so that idea failed. I decided to blag something of the chap in reception instead. Here, Bob was our knowledgeable tour guide and we were the only people on the last tour of the day. Having worked at a tourist attraction, we strongly suspect that Bob was hoping we just wanted a cursory look, so that he could head off home early but we disabused him of that idea and assured him we’d like the whole tour. Sorry Bob.
Parts of the stone building were already in existence when Sir Henry Preston captured Ralph de Percy in 1390 at the Battle of Otterburn. Percy was a wanted man and the English Crown rewarded Preston by giving him Fyvie Castle. Allegedly, the castle was already cursed. Tammas the Rhymer and been asked to entertain the inhabitants but perceiving some slight when the door was blown shut in his face, he decreed that the eldest son would never inherit, which proved to be the case. Three specific stones have to be thrown from the castle to lift the curse. One of the stones is inaccessible but another is on display and is said to ‘weep’ filling the basin it is lying on with water. In addition, there is a sealed chamber that has not been accessed since the seventeenth century. Breaking the seal is thought to bring about the laird’s death and make his wife blind. Another gruesome tale is that of Lilias Drummond, who failed to give her husband, Alexander Seton, the required son. Wishing to marry his wife’s niece but being a fervent Catholic, so divorce not being an option, in 1601, Alexander locked Lilias in what is now known as ‘The Murder Room’ and starved her to death. Lilias’s name can be seen carved on an outside window ledge, which supposedly appeared after her death. Her ghost, as ‘the green lady’ is said to haunt the castle.
In 1596, Alexander Seton bought Fyvie from the Meldrum family. Several carved finials adorn the roof. Some of these date from the sixteenth century and six are thought to have been added by Alexander; one strongly resembles a flowerpot man but is allegedly a ceremonial trumpeter. Later owners continued the tradition of adding finials
The future Charles I was brought up at Fyvie, being too sickly to move south with his father James VI when he ascended to the English throne in 1603. The present king celebrated his 60th birthday here.
The towers are named after three of the owning families, Meldrum, Seton and Preston. Steel bands (not the musical kind) have been fitted to the Seton tower to monitor movement and parts of the building are in need of conservation. In the 1890s, Lord Leith installed similar bands, fashioned from railway sleepers. Continued remodelling rendered the foundations insubstantial for the weight of the extended Seton and Meldrum towers. Cracking can be seen and is being carefully monitored.
In 1889, Alexander Leith purchased Fyvie for £175,000, which included the 10,000 acre estate. Born in Scotland, Alexander, along with his wife’s family, had made a fortune in the American steel industry. He added to the collection of armaments, portraits and tapestries at Fyvie. Other symbols of affluence and status include a 1120 piece Waterford chandelier and a large collection of portraits by Raeburn. One portrait bizarrely has a right foot that is always pointing towards you, no matter where you stand in the room. I have no idea how this illusion is achieved. There is a ‘great wheel’ staircase, basically an extra wide spiral staircase. Allegedly, General William Gordon raced horses up and down it.
Having been to the crannogless crannog centre it was time for the ospreyless Osprey Haven. This was not a surprise, as it is late in the year for osprey and there have been no young at the nest at Loch of the Lowes this year, following the death of the male in the spring. The regular female does seem to have formed a new bond and they have been protecting the nest so there is hope for next year.
This is not the sort of reserve where you go for a walk. There are two hides and there’s also a large window where you can watch a wide variety of small birds at the feeders. There are beaver at work on the loch but you only get to see them first thing in the morning and in the evening. There was no sign of the resident red squirrels either. Despite this, it was good to visit and the journey itself was scenic.
Next, we went in to Aberfeldy for a drink and some cake. The local cinema allows non-customers to use their toilets, which then has the desired effect, as we stayed to use their café. We also managed to stock up on food at the local Co-op. We were a little concerned about our booking at the next caravan site as we hadn’t received an acknowledgement or reminder. We telephoned to check, thinking that if something was awry it was easier to search for an alternative using a laptop and the, albeit very weak, site wifi than it would be on a phone when we got there. It turns out that they had no record of our booking but there was space so we booked by phone.
By this point we had been away for a while. Time for the feat of contortion that is changing a duvet cover in a caravan. You’ve probably tried this in a house but accomplishing the task in a 7 foot by 14 foot caravan takes it to a whole new level. Then there is the ‘getting the fitted sheet on the mattress when you can only reach one of the four sides’ challenge to add to the fun.
On a beautiful autumn morning, with sunshine, heavy dew and fog on the Tay, we took the high road (well the A827 followed by the A9 and A95) north. The first twenty-five miles or so of our journey was on a road full of twists and turns, with no duelling (as in road lanes, not the waving pistols or swords about sort). We were towing a caravan. We were not swift. This kind of journey is also known as how many drivers can you **** off in a very short space of time? Not many as it turns out. The road was quite quiet and we pull over to let speedier stuff pass whenever we can, despite very few acknowledging us. As we got to the A9 and A95 we were in whisky distilling country. There was a ‘whisky trail’ indicated on the road signs, illustrated by a symbol that looks a bit like a witch’s hat. I can’t work out what it is meant to represent that has any connection with whisky.
We arrived at Huntly Castle Caravan Site, not without issues as the satnav insists it is where it isn’t, down a dead end with little caravan turning potential. Fortunately, just in the nick of time, I recalled our being led astray in this fashion on our previous visit and we were able to avoid a repeat of the million point turn that following the satnav necessitates. Strangely it turns out, on arrival, we still didn’t have a booking, despite yesterday’s telephone conversation but that was soon remedied.
We have setting up the caravan off to a fine art, so were soon ready to explore the castle from which the site takes its name. Should we partake of refreshments before heading off to the castle? We decided to treat ourselves at the castle refreshment rooms when we get there. Mistake. The castle has no refreshment rooms; rookie error. Here we benefited from the reciprocal arrangement that Historic Environment Scotland has with English Heritage, so entrance was free. There has been a castle on the site since the 12th century. The earth motte is all that remains as evidence of the original timber castle, which belonged to Duncan Earl of Fife. In 1307, Robert the Bruce came to recuperate in the castle. By the 14th century the Gordon family were in residence and remained so until the 1640s. The palatial stone castle was begun in the mid-fifteenth century and then later remodelled with a nod to the influences of France.
Mary of Guise, widow of James V and mother of Mary Queen of Scots, was entertained at Huntly by Gordon, in 1556. She was treated so lavishly that she felt that he was becoming too powerful. Mary Queen of Scots later defeated the Earl in battle and confiscated goods for the crown. The fifth earl collapsed during a game of football and died in 1576. This would presumably have been the more aggressive form of football, known as campball, with an infinite number of players and goalposts that might be at opposite ends of the village.
For some reason, James VI had the castle blown up in 1594 but it is unclear how much damage this caused. In 1599, George Gordon became a marquis. In order to advertise his new elevated status, he commissioned an elaborate carving to be added to the front of the palace. Carved symbols advertised their Catholicism; these were defaced when Presbyterian Covenanters occupied the Castle in the 1640s. Seventeenth century tenants’ rents in kind provided the household with foodstuff including 167 cattle, 700 chickens, 40 barrels of salmon and 5284 eggs each year. As ardent Catholics, they suffered during the English Civil War, with George, the second Marquis, being executed in 1650 for his support of Charles I.
An inventory of 1648 gives an impression of how luxurious the furnishings were at the end of the Gordon’s ownership. Tapestries, paintings and a map of the world could be found and there was also an organ. The castle also houses the oldest wooden toilet seat in the country. The castle came into the care of the state in 1923.
The History Interpreter - Janet Few 