Tag Archives: Travel

In the Steps of the Bonnie Prince

by thehistoryinterpreter

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.

356 Clan Marker Culloden Moor 22 May 2016It 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.

Orcadian Adventures

by thehistoryinterpreter

An early start and back to John O’Groats to catch the ferry for our ‘Maxi Tour’ of the Orkneys. We pass the entrance to the Castle of Mey, which, until 1996, belonged to the Queen mother. Three ewes and five lambs are running loose in the road. We do need to be in time for the ferry but we look to see if there is a handy farmhouse where we can report the escaped sheep. The only nearby buildings seem to be derelict so we have to hope the sheep will find their own way home.

We board the Pentland Venture to cross the eight miles of the Pentland Firth that separate mainland Scotland from South Ronaldsay, the most southerly Orkney Island that we will visit. We rashly decide that we are hardy enough to sit outside. I have listened to Jay Wynne who has told me it will rain, so when he is proved correct, I can wear my rain poncho, which today is a delicate shade of blue. It does turn out that I was confusing an arm hole with the gap for my head (I thought it was a bit small) but it did keep me dry and helped to keep out the piercing wind. I am a bit disappointed that there is no commentary. The vessel begins rolling interestingly and there is a penetrating smell of diesel. I begin to mentally assess if I have a suitable receptacle about my person should I be unpleasantly unwell. I don’t. Fortunately this is not required. We see gannets and guillimots before arriving at Burwick on South Ronaldsay.

We are collected by our guide, Stuart and set off on our coach for an eighty mile trip round five islands (South Ronaldsay, Burray, Glimpse Holm, Lamb Holm and Mainland). I am not disappointed about the commentary on this part of our trip. So today’s information is courtesy of Stuart, if he was stringing a line for gullible tourists then you may as well ignore what follows. Stuart tells us that a highest temperature of 12 degrees is forecast and there is a 50% chance of a hurricane. That last bit might be a joke, of which he has a repertoire. Orkney is on the same latitude (59 degrees north) as St. Petersburg and Churchill in Canada, the latter being famous for its polar bears. Today is apparently ‘quite mild’, I’m so glad he mentioned that. There is actually very little snow or frost on Orkney, with average temperatures ranging from 5 degrees in winter to 15 degrees in summer. The average sea temperature is 11 degrees. There is plenty of rain and we are experiencing some of it. There are frequent high winds, with 137 mph being the highest wind speed recorded. Day length is 21 hours in summer and 5½ hours in mid-winter and I have noticed at Dunnet Bay that it is getting light by 4am and not getting dark until 10.30pm. There are very few trees on Orkney, thanks to the twin forces of man and the weather. Primary school children are taken on trips to walk in a small copse that has been conserved, as it is such an unusual experience.

Until 1468 Orkney belonged to Norway and came under the rule of the King of Demark. When Margaret, Princess of Denmark, was to marry James III of Scotland, she was meant to have a dowry of 60,000 florins. 50,000 of these remained unpaid and the Orkneys were ‘loaned’ to Scotland as security until the remainder was handed over. Later Shetland was added to this ‘mortgage’. When the money was not forthcoming, the islands were forfeited to Scotland. Orkney is now one of Scotland’s counties. The politics here are Liberal Democrat, a legacy from the time when Liberal leader, Joe Grimond was the MP and lived on Orkney. There is only a 2% unemployment rate on Orkney. The islands boast the shortest charter flight in the world, of two minutes between two of the islands. Kirwall’s airport is classed as an international airport, as summer flights go to Bergen.

We drive alongside Scapa Flow, 120 square metres of natural harbour, which measures 65 metres at its deepest point. In the world wars it housed the entire British home fleet. During World War I, the four channels between Scapa Flow and the North Sea were blocked by sinking ‘block ships’ in the gaps, to prevent the intrusion of U-boats. These ships gradually shifted, allowing, in World War II, a U-boat to enter and sink the Royal Oak. The majority of the fleet had already left Scapa Flow, or the damage would have been much worse. Churchill ordered that more permanent barricades should be constructed and what are now known as the Churchill Barriers were constructed by Italian prisoners of war. Prisoners of war were not supposed to work on anything that would help the war effort, so these barriers were billed as causeways to help the residents. After the war, local fisherman wanted them removed as they stopped their access to the North Sea but they remained, to the detriment of the fishing industry. Signs of the old blockships are still visible. The new barricades consist of 60,000 concrete blocks resting on top of gabions. Most of the 1200 POWs who built them were former construction workers. The now redundant fishermen took up chicken farming, which worked well until 1952, when a hurricane literally blew most of the free range chickens away. Present day farming is predominantly animal husbandry, Aberdeen Angus beef cattle, there are 140,000 head of cattle on the islands, sheep and pigs. Barley is grown for animal feed and there are three grass crops a year for silage to use as winter feed. Scapa Flow is noted for being the site of the scuppering of the German fleet of 74 battleships in 1919, on the orders of the German Admiral, who did not want the interned ships to fall into the hands of the British. Most of the vessels were later re-floated and sent for scrap.

The current population of Orkney’s seventy islands, many of which are uninhabited, is 21,000. To put this into perspective, Stuart tells us that the area of Orkney, 370 square miles, is similar to that enclosed by the M25, where nine million people live. During the war approximately 60,000 servicemen descended Orkney. Not only was the home fleet in Scapa Flow but there were also army camps and four airfields. The main road was built by the Royal Engineers, replacing the former single track road. Now tourists swell the population and a new pier at Kirkwall enables 150 cruise liners a year to disgorge their passengers.

315 St Magnus Cathedral and poppies 21 May 2016Our first stop is the capital, Kirkwall. I am very excited to learn that St Magnus’ Cathedral is currently the site of the first Scottish exhibition of the ceramic poppies, that I narrowly missed at the Tower of London. The weeping wall of poppies is here to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Jutland on 31 May. Aptly, two doves have nested in the poppies. The red sandstone cathedral was founded by Rognvald, nephew of Magnus Erlendsson in 1137. Magnus, Earl of Orkney, had been killed on the orders of his cousin and fellow earl, Hakon. In 1468 James III gave the cathedral to the people of Kirkwall. Post reformation the cathedral was used for Protestant worship and can now be used by any denomination. We also see the nearby Bishop’s and Earl’s palaces.

Next, we take a swift look round the museum. A plaque tells us that the museum is housed in Tankerness House, which was the manse for the archdeacon and choirmaster of St Magnus’. After the Reformation it was acquired by Kirkwall’s first Protestant priest, Gilbert Foulzie. It was for three hundred years the town home of the Baikies of Tankerness. I make a fruitless foray to shops in search of an Orkney sew-on badge that I like to collect from places I visit. Instead, I invest in a Christmas decoration that is inscribed ‘Orkney’, as I also like to bring these back as souvenirs.

We drive across the RSPB Hobbister conservation area. About 180 species of bird can be seen on Orkney at different times of year. There are many raptors including sea eagles that have recently returned after long absence. We see curlew and eider ducks. Our second stop is a rainy Stromness, home of William Rae, who discovered the north-west passage. A group of goldwing bikes drive past and there are fishing boats to examine but there is not a great deal of potential in Stromness so we take Stuart’s advice and eat in the Ferry Inn.

328 Skara Brae 21 May 2016I have been really looking forward to visiting the Neolithic village at Skara Brae, especially after our own foray into the Neolithic era. The stone dwellings here are very different from our constructions at Old Sarum – different landscape, different building material available. The settlement is 5000 years old, older than the Pyramids, Stonehenge, the Parthenon and the Great Wall of China. It was hidden for centuries and rediscovered after a fierce storm in 1850. The life expectancy of those who lived here from c3100-2500 BC was thought to have been about 20. The trouble with this kind of trip is that three coach loads of tourists are deposited at attractions at the same time making photography difficult but we do our best. At least our party are prompt at returning to the coach at the designated time, perhaps persuaded by the rain.

As we move outside to Skara Brae there are stepping stones taking us back in time from the first man on the moon, through the Inca civilisation, to the time of the Pyramids. This is a great idea but it could do with a few more stones. Work is ongoing to try to discover more about the inhabitants of Skara Brae. It is thought that their roofs might have been made from seaweed. The stone dressers and bed boxes are fascinating. Interestingly, they couldn’t use peat as fuel as the peat here is only 3000 years old. Nearby is Skaill House, built for bishop of Orkney on top of a Pictish graveyard. We don’t have time to look at this and the rain is getting heavy so we return to the coach.

By the time we reach the Ring of Brodgar it is very wet and the impact of the concentration of tourists is at its greatest here. The ring is 104 metres in diameter and originally contained 60 stones, of which 27 remain. Like Skara Brae, it was erected about 5000 years ago. The stone for this, the third largest stone circle in Britain, came from a site nine miles away. We pass other prehistoric sites including the Ness of Brodgar, a 5300 year old burial mound and the oldest standing stones in Britain, the Standing Stones of Stenness. In the same area is Maeshowe, a large tomb of the same era, which is aligned so that the setting sun on the shortest day, illuminates the chamber.

Our final stop is at the Italian Church, constructed on Camp 60 from two plaster board lined Nissan huts by the Italian POWs. The beautiful internal decoration include tromp d’oile brickwork. Stuart tells us more of island life on our return to the ferry, through a sea ha. On Christmas Day and New Year’s Day the streets of Kirkwall become the pitch for ‘The Ba’, a massive game of football that might last up to five hours. I know this as Crampball. Orcadians, a little like the Cornish at the opposite British extremity, consider themselves to be a separate race. Don’t call an Orcadian a Scot any more than you’d call the Cornish English.

As we drive toward Burwick we are hatching plans to secure seats on the lower deck of the ferry but yet again the weather changes and the harbour is bathed in sunlight. On the strength of this we once again sit outside. The wind is biting but we persevere for the forty minute journey.

As the sun is shining and we have eaten a meal, we decide that this evening is the best time for our foray to the most northerly point of Britain, Dunnet Head. We brave the gales to take rather windswept looking photographs and then return to the van by which time it is raining again.

Ornithological and other Adventures – John O’Groats and Beyond

by thehistoryinterpreter

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.

308 Razorbill 20 May 2016Our 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.

The Internal Combustion Engine and other Mishaps – The Cairngorms

by thehistoryinterpreter

This post nearly started like one of those spam emails – we are marooned in somewhere many miles from anywhere, please send shed loads of cash. Well do feel free to send cash if you like but – everything crossed – we may not be marooned. After overnight rain, today we moved north eastwards from Killin, retracing our route from yesterday, past a mist-shrouded Loch Tay, looking beautiful in the morning sunshine. The clouds grow increasingly darker as we approach Aviemore on the A9 but we have arrived in the Cairngorms and the smell of resin from the pine forests is noticeable. Our destination is Grantown-on-Spey. This is the point at which our plans were abandoned in 2014, following the grinding almost to a halt of our car. The gory details are preserved online. This time however we reach the site without mishap. Here we do not get to choose our own pitch and are directed to ‘red1’. Red1 it seems lacks the advertised television signal and wi-fi. It isn’t that I mind being without these things (some would dispute that when they see my wi-fi withdrawal symptoms) but when you pay extra for a site because they advertise these amenities, it is a little galling. Tackling one at a time we try retuning our television, more than once, quite a lot more than once, to no avail. Our neighbour comes to help. It seems he can’t bear the thought that we might have to miss Coronation Street. He fiddles with our aerial, tries his aerial on our television, proving that it is our aerial that is at fault. To be honest we aren’t much bothered about the television and were about to head out but we wait whilst he fiddles with our aerial again and we do have television of a highly pixilated, frequently freezing sort.

Leaving the lack of internet for a while, we leap in the car for an afternoon excursion, pleased that we were allowed on site early and thus have gained an extra half an hour; although most of that has been lost with the endeavours of our helpful television not-quite-fixing neighbour. Chris turns the ignition, the car revs alarmingly and an ominous red light appears on the dashboard. What have we ever done to Grantown-on-Spey that it should be the scene of our holiday dilemmas? We set off slowly in search of a garage. At least this time we are not four islands and nearly a hundred miles from the van and we are within walking distance of a shop. The man at the garage seems bemused but says he can ‘run it through the computer’ in two hours time. We return to the van with heavy hearts. If I am going to be marooned I need internet and after a certain amount of tweaking, the site warden manages to connect me to the outside world. Two hours later Chris returns to the garage and to my surprise is back again very quickly. It is a something or other and we may need diesel cleaner but we can carry on driving. I am not sure the mechanic realises quite how far we intend to carry on driving before we reach the civilisation that is a Landrover garage but we decide not to waste the day.

By this time it is gone 3.00pm but we go back past Aviemore to Ruthven Barracks, designated as a ‘must see’ attraction. The nearby town of Kingussie is a centre for shinty, a Gaelic form of hockey. We park alongside the two other people that have read the same guidebook that I have and ascend the hill in a decidedly bracing wind to the ruined barracks. It was built on the site of a castle after the 1715 Jacobite Rebellion. In 1745, Sergeant Molloy and twelve redcoats held out against Bonnie Prince Charlie, with a force of 200, with only one casualty. They surrendered the following year when the barracks were burnt. Even allowing for the theory that people were shorter in times gone by, some of the doorways seem more suited to hobbits but I guess the floor levels have risen with accumulated mud. The barracks are quite impressive but I am not sure I would rate them quite so highly as the guidebook suggests.

286 Loch an Eilean 16 May 2016As we have come quite a distance to spend not very long looking at the barracks we decide to stop off at Loch an Eilean on the Rothiemurchus Estate on the way back. The original plan was to walk four miles or so round the loch. By this time it is not only 5.00pm but very cold and drizzling so, despite having made a financial investment for car parking, we just take a very short walk along the loch side to see the castle in the middle of loch. We try and fail to find the monument to Major General Brook Rice who drowned in the loch whilst skating. This is allegedly the number one picnic place in the UK. I debate whether this is a self-styled title. I am sure it would be very lovely if the temperature were fifteen degrees higher. Having satisfied ourselves that we have actually done something today, we head for home. The weather forecast for our booked trip on the funicular railway tomorrow is not encouraging, ah well, this is Scotland and rain it must.

And When They Are Up They Are Up (or not) – The Trossachs

by thehistoryinterpreter

Time to move on – we are mostly only spending two nights in any one place. First, to raise the caravan legs. These are ‘automatic’ and I use the word advisedly. There is no manual override. Regular readers may recall that these do not always do as they are told and this was one of those occasions. Set to rise, they lower, set to lower, three of the four rise. Not only does this make driving off impossible but it takes several minutes for each attempt. Finally we have four legs that are no longer on the ground and we begin our drive to central Scotland. Fortunately we only meet a cyclist coming the other way during the four miles of single track road out of the site, though the sat-nav is throwing a hissy fit thinking that this road is far too wide and we should be going by the alternative (narrower) route. A slight panic whilst my traveling companion wonders if he left his keys in the front door at home three days ago. Don’t bother potential burglars – he didn’t.

More spectacular scenery as we drive to Killin in the Trossachs. This is the only site on the itinerary that we have visited before. There are actually two sites in very close proximity and this time we are on the lower of the two, rather than the more wooded alternative up the road. The lower site has wifi – nuff said. Two years ago we skulked in the lower site’s car park to maintain contact with home. We park at the bottom of the site by the river. I volunteer to walk back and tell the warden where we have pitched. I trudge along the 400 yards or so to the site office. ‘Number 35’, I say – epic fail. It turns out we are actually on pitch 39 so we have to go back and admit our incompetence. Next mishap is that the cupboard door is stuck so I open the adjacent door and attempt to push out the recalcitrant neighbouring door from the inside. I attempt  this with some vigour. The door flies open. That would rate as success had my head not been rather close to the door at the time.

265 Killin 16 May 2016It is a lovely sunny day, contrary to the predictions of weather forecasters, although there is still snow on the nearby peaks. We take a walk a mile or so into Killin and follow some of the heritage trail. Here we are in what is described as ‘The Heart of Breadalbane’, or the high country of ‘Alba’, which was an ancient Scottish kingdom. Killin is a natural place for a settlement as it is at the confluence of the Dochart and the Lochay rivers. Our walk takes us as far as Dochart Falls, which are beautiful.

We follow the signs to Fingal’s Stone. I had visions of Fingal’s fingers in World’s Strongest Man, so something about three foot high was a little less than impressive. It commemorates Fionn mac Cumhaill (that’s Finn Macool to me and you) leader of the Fianna, a warrior band who roamed Scotland and Northern Ireland. Some believe this to be his burial place. He was nicknamed Fingal by eighteenth century poet James Macpherson. Nope, I’d not heard of him either, though I was aware of Finn. We see the Manse, erected by the 1st Marquis of Breadalbane, for a Free Church minister, who was one of those who rebelled and left the Church of Scotland after a row in the 1840s over how ministers should be appointed. By the time we get back up the hill to the van we are beginning to be aware that we are doing more walking than usual. Today’s great overheard comment: Scot 1: ‘How are ye?’ Scot 2: ‘Och, I’m still above the grass.’

Once back at the van my companion disappears to the shower block. I know he likes to get his money’s worth but he is an exceedingly long time. It turns out that he has been standing on one leg, with his arm in the air, trying to get a phone signal and talking politics with our neighbours.

Canoeing Dogs, Tadpoles and an Impenetrable Vortex – Derwent Water

by thehistoryinterpreter

It is a lovely day so we say good-bye to Hazel and Martin and decide to try the anti-clockwise lakeside path, up the eastern side of the lake. This is stunningly beautiful, with trees just coming into leaf and accompanying bird-song. This lake is slightly less of a tourist honey-pot than some but the peace is somewhat shattered by a canoeing party who are accompanied by a howling dog, complete with life-jacket.

257 Graylag Goose Derwent Water 15 May 2016We are out of practice with walking and have done no more than gentle strolls since our accident last year, so we are unsure how we will hold up. We decide to walk for two hours and then turn round. As two hours approach, we enquire of one of the many people heading in a clockwise direction, how far it is all the way round the lake. We are told it is eight miles. It is a little rough in places but flat so we change our plan, as it seems it would only be a little further to complete a circumnavigation and it it always preferable to have a circular route. There are plenty of wildflowers to observe and we see many tadpoles in a large puddle. None of the ramblers’ group coming in the opposite direction seem to have been observant enough to spot these, so we point them out.

We head to Keswick, which is over touristy and currently hosting a jazz festival. There is however a distinct lack of toilets, with one set closed and another being unavailable due to refurbishment. We therefore have to go in to the town and after a brief ice-cream stop, head on round the lake past Isthmus Cottage, ten minutes later the lake, which should be on our left, is confusingly on our right. We haven’t brought a map with us but I am sure there isn’t another lake immediately to the north of Derwent Water. I am correct, there isn’t and we pass Isthmus Cottage again. We  appear to be caught in an impenetrable vortex as we encounter Isthmus Cottage for the third time. At this point we seek advice and are told we need to go back to Keswick and take what sounds like a very long way round. This may be more than we are up for so we opt for hopping on the hop on hop off ferry that stops at various points round the lake. There are two of these an hour. As we reach a point about 500 yards from the jetty we see a sign saying that the next ferry is at 1.00pm. It is 12.58pm. It turns out that even after walking six miles and sporting some burgeoning blisters, I can still break into what passes for a run. The jetty nearest to the campsite is closed so we alight at High Brandlehow, after a pleasant voyage along the lake. Derwent Water is home to St Herbert’s Island, which was used as Wildcat Island in two film versions of Swallows and Amazons. We walk back along to the campsite, retracing our route from yesterday evening. We encounter the ramblers’ group again who enquire if we have walked all the way round, obviously thinking that we must have been pretty speedy. Tempting though it is to lie, we do admit to having made a boat-assisted circuit. All in all a great start to the holiday.

To the Lakes

by thehistoryinterpreter

The run up to going away, as ever, was hectic, trying to cram five weeks’ work into one. Two media events to report. Firstly, my Hangout on Air for the Society for One-Place Studies, on involving young people in historical research. As this is a worldwide society, we vary the times of these hangouts to try to oblige as many people as possible. Turns out that, at 9.30am BST, that’s not many people but others have tuned in afterwards on YouTube. Then came my second radio exposure of the season, allegedly to advertise a very small Buckland Brewer History exhibition next weekend. I am waiting to listen to the presenter, humming along to Maggie May, when I am asked (off air), ‘I don’t suppose you have ever had to wear anything unusual to work?’ Err, well yes, all the time. This was apparently the topic of the current phone-in, so my spot turned into a discussion of bum rolls, coifs and swording and spindling. I promise I did try to get back on track and talk about the history group instead but what a publicity gift!

On Friday it is off to our stop-over site at Tewkesbury, which knocks 150 miles off the following day’s journey. Either the chimes of Tewkesbury Cathedral have got quieter or we are further away, or more hard of hearing, than on previous visits, as they seem less intrusive.

DSCF2704Next day and it is off to a supermarket near us to stock up. Pizza seems like a good idea, just a shame that the one we chose was larger than the fridge. I have a way of solving that but not one that is commensurate with watching what I eat. We run the gauntlet that is the stop start, roadwork-ridden M5 and M6. Then a comfort stop at a services near Preston. There are ten long spaces especially allocated for caravans. They contain three caravans, one of which is us and seven things that are patently not, by any stretch of the imagination, caravans. It isn’t as though there aren’t very large signs explaining the situation and ample empty car spaces very close by. I am tempted to remark, ‘what a strange caravan’ in a loud voice but I just manage to restrain myself. The next caravan owner that arrives and finds nowhere to park will be serious p****d off. We know this is the frozen north and folk are hardy up here but I am not sure that, despite the sun, this is really sitting outside in tee-shirt weather however many people are braving the still chilly wind as if this is summer.

I have picked Borrowdale as our destination, partly for its more northerly location and also because it is a Lake District site that we have not visited before. We are mindful that the instructions require us to ignore our sat-nav so we do, much to its consternation. I am diligently reading out the route and the road is getting narrower and twistier by the second. The countryside is stunning but Chris is required to use all his many decades of caravan towing experience. If this is the advised route (and it is) what on earth must the other route be like? We are far from being the largest caravan on the block. How do large vans and more cautious towers manage? We obediently ‘turn right over the bridge’. Chris is apprehensive because it says there’s a six foot six width restriction and the van is seven foot six wide. I point out that it does say ‘except for access’ and we soldier on, wing mirrors and caravan sides intact. I am a little concerned because we have arranged to meet Martha’s in-laws on this site and they may well be cursing me as they negotiate every bend. Incidentally there so should be a word to describe one’s relationship to the in-laws of one’s offspring. Suggestions on a postcard please.

254 Derwent Water 14 May 2015I have to say the ‘interesting’ access was worth it. This is a truly beautiful, wooded setting, only yards from the footpath round Derwent Water. We have just got set up and the kettle on as Hazel and Martin arrive. Sadly we can’t offer them a drink as we only have two cups. We chat then head off to Mary Mount to eat – not the most inspiring name but great hunter’s chicken and stupendous views of the lake. Weirdly though, when we tried to book, we were told it was full but we could sit in the bar. In the event we sat outside but the restaurant seemed far from full. We finish the evening with a quick walk round part of the lakeside, heading in a clockwise direction.

We are back in time to see some of the annual cringeworthy, yet strangely compelling event that is the Eurovision ‘Song’ Contest. Inevitably, UK came near the bottom. The winner is Ukraine with an angst-ridden dirge. Second come Australia, I know, I know, since when was Australia in Europe? No idea, I didn’t invite them.

Chocolate Rivers and Magic Roundabouts – Day 13

by thehistoryinterpreter

Today we are due to make our return trip over Confederation Bridge. On windy days it is closed to high sided vehicles. At 12 feet (or not, see earlier posts) we are classed as high-sided. It is windy. Will we escape? It turns out yes we will, although the cross-winds added an extra dimension to the terror factor. It has been windy since we arrived but today, although still sunny, there is what we would call a howling gale. Next thing we know we will be in Kansas on top of a wicked witch. Oh no, I forgot, we don’t have visas.

We are heading west on road 15. We have opted for a slight detour via Fundy National Park, on our way to St. John’s. This is worth the effort. The Petitcodiac River is nicknamed ‘The Chocolate River’ and the red soil really does make the water look like molten chocolate. No photographic evidence I am afraid – the old ‘nowhere to stop’ syndrome striking again. We come to Alma, which has, apparently, the highest tides in the world, so another superlative ticked off. As we enter the National Park there is a booth where permits are to be purchased. It seems we do not need one of these and better still there is a car park. Chris goes to look at fishing boats and I photograph the no longer particularly chocolate river. There are also some interesting wooden lobster pots – here called traps.

068 Sundial Rockwood Park, St. John's 27 September 2015We narrowly avoid another low bridge related incident but as we enter St. John’s, the sat-nav is confused by a new road. A surreal series of left and right turns ensues and I wonder if we will ever get off this magic roundabout. Eventually we arrive at Rockwood Park site. This is part of what, in the UK, would be called a country park. Some children are rock climbing. This appears to be an organised activity and they have crampons and safety harnesses but no helmets! I know I am risk adverse but can you imagine this being allowed in England? We see our first moose, albeit a wooden one and a sundial sculpture in memory of all workers who have been mentally or physically injured whilst at work. This has been set to be accurate at noon on 28th April when these workers are especially remembered. We have allegedly been put on a ‘quiet’ pitch. This may be a relative term as there is prolonged loud hooting from what we think is a nearby train. The consolation is that I appear to be able to get internet access from the van, rather than skulking in the laundry, as is supposedly necessary. Another 250 miles to go tomorrow, back into Québec. Ideally we would like to make an early start but I am not relishing the thought of the magic roundabout in rush hour.

Things that go Bump – Trois Rivieres – Day 6

by thehistoryinterpreter

The night is windy and rainy and there are loud thumping noises as if something is trying to break in through the roof. Are these the bears of which we have been warned or just very heavy chipmunks? It turns out that this is merely innocuous and very light pine cones falling on the roof from the tree under which we are parked.

We attempt to set the Sat-nav for our destination. Hiring the sat-nav was a very wise move. Despite my using half a tree to print off Google maps before we came, without it we would still be somewhere in Toronto. I attempt to set the sat-nav for today’s destination. The sat-nav doesn’t recognise it. Aware that we are entering French speaking Canada and the destination is Trois Rivieres, I wonder if perhaps the sat-nav is not biligual. Even my limited French can cope with Trois Rivieres but the sat-nav doesn’t recognise Three Rivers either. I try several other things including Québec with no success. Surely we don’t have an Ontario only sat-nav. After much fiddling we discover that each province has to be set separately and we are off.

The disadvantage of the sat-nav is that it takes you along the direct route and we are yet to find the ‘avoid highways’ or ‘seek alternative route’ function. My lovely maps had opted for slightly less main roads but we fail to find these. This means that we spend the day on the not especially inspiring and monotonous road 417. This despite being Sunday, gets very busy as we get to Montreal. This journey is turning into the equivalent of one long high-adrenaline theme park ride. Did I say I don’t like theme parks? My stress levels are not reduced by two cars directly in front of us crashing into each other. Miraculously, despite bits flying off in all directions they career blithely onwards and Chris slows down in time, as does the vehicle behind us, so we emerge physically unscathed, if slightly un-nerved.

025 Trois Rivieres 20 September 2015We are now in to our second Canadian province – Québec. Although we pronounce it Qwebec, it seems we should be saying Keybec instead. I had expected road signs to be in both French and English, a little like Wales but no; French alone. I just about know my droit from my gauche so can cope with most of these, including the ones that tell us we are going to die if we don’t rest. That is as maybe but stopping on Canadian roads does not seem to be an option. Even the slightly less busy sections don’t have lay-bys. There is also a distinct lack of garages and shops. We do eventually find the former and refuel. We press on to Lac St-Michel Campsite, where we opt for the pitch of the receptionist’s choice. This is not the most inspiring and today’s unwelcome wildlife is a plague of flies but we are close enough to the site office to intermittently pick up the free wifi, which is normally only accessible from the public buildings, from the van. It does keep dropping out which is frustrating but its occasional presence may be the highlight of today. We wander to the bottom of the site to look at one of the three rivers (Riviere Saint-Maurice) and then call it a day. I use the sporadic internet access to try to work out how we can continue east on anything except the Trans-Canadian Highway, of which I have already had more than enough.

Beware of the Bears – Day 3

by thehistoryinterpreter

Last night we managed to stay up until 1.30 English time – goodness knows how as I can count the times I’ve been up after midnight in the last year on one thumb. We have however failed to crack the jet lag and at 4.30am Canada time I am working on the job we must not mention, trying to earn enough to buy food for the last part of our trip. I may need that sooner than I think. Whilst Best Western is superior (and cheaper) in most ways to the UK equivalents I don’t really rate their breakfast. Chris happily consumes five sausages, in his defence they were quite small. It is nominally ‘free’ however so I suppose one can’t complain. In the process of said breakfast I manage to spread plenty of Primula on my clothes – this was of course an accident. Who knew that Primula was so jolly indelible? Clothes are already an issue as, whilst we have plenty of thermals we have virtually nothing suitable for the current Toronto heat wave, now I have even less.

We have been given a number to ring at 8am, so the Campervan firm know to come and collect us. At 7.59am we are poised phone in hand (it would have been 7.30am if I’d had my way). The number we have appears to be unobtainable. Reception gives us another number which elicits the automated message ‘this office is now closed’. Amidst rising panic (you knew there would be some) and thankful for free wifi, I Google for alternative numbers – these don’t work either. Finally I get the Calgary office who give me yet another unobtainable number. At this point Canadream’s live chat comes online and I get Sarah, who I am nominating for sainthood. A proper number, a proper person on the other end and she will be with us at 11.30 – even better as we had thought we would have to wait until 1.00pm.

We arrive at the depot and meet our van – all 33 foot of it and with only 15,000km on the clock. Amongst other things the arctic settings are explained – it is now 28 degrees. I appreciate that it is likely to get colder but……. We head out of Toronto on road 400. This is really very large, very fast and very very scary and I am not even driving. After ten minutes I open my eyes but it takes best part of an hour for me to prize my finger nails out of the palms of my hands. I am feeling very guilty at putting my travelling companion through this and quite want the next 21 days to pass in a flash so we don’t have to be doing it anymore. Why didn’t we go somewhere stress free, like Scotland? Oh, I forgot, we tried that last year (see July and August 2014 of this blog for all the gory details). Said companion is however unconcerned – well, he is a little concerned about the apparent blind spots in the wing mirrors. This means I sort of have to help with the driving by checking in the right hand wing mirror for approaching traffic on our near side (I think it is our near side – can’t get used to this wrong side off the road thing – flaming Napoleon – historical reference there for some). There are reasons why I don’t drive on motorways.

Road 400 goes a very long way in a very straight northerly direction. Somewhere en route it becomes road 11 and slightly less scary and smaller. So far Canada is actually a bit like a larger version of Scotland but flatter. We need supplies. Retail outlets that we pass allow us to buy canoes, kitchens, cars or wood and to eat numerous MacDonalds but not actually to buy food. After a stop at a wayside fruiterers, that claims to also be a grocers, to acquired something we can drink, we find Walmart in Huntsville. This is our first encounter with Walmart. Not sure if Canadian Walmarts have the same reputation as the ones in the US but basically this is Asda. I am hopeful of being able to buy something cool to wear but of course this is winter and the clothing range reflects this. One thing Walmart do not do is stint on carrier bags and they pack your shopping for you. Thinking Canadians might be ultra environment conscious I had packed assorted carrier bags to use as rubbish bags, in case they weren’t given out here – that was a waste of baggage allowance then. We discover another van issue, it is very temperamental to start, so far we have managed to get it going four times – eventually – long may this continue.

012 Algonquin Trails Park 17 September 2015We turn east along road 60 and arrive at Algonquin Trails Camping Resort. This is a very pleasant forested site. Last night our friends came out to say hello at Best Western and warned us that we are in bear country here. That’s fine, I have Googled what to do when encountering a bear. This helpful and deadly earnest advice includes, ‘identify yourself by talking in a normal voice.’ Seriously? ‘Hello bear, I am Janet’? There are also supposed to be chipmunk and moose but I don’t suppose we shall see any. We really aren’t in any place long enough to see much. We take a short walk through the forest and the best we can come up with is a black rabbit.

Now for food, lighting the oven proves to be another challenge. It requires two people, a torch, the flexibity of a contortionist and brute force. We debate whether or not you can microwave pizza. The enormous microwave suggests that you can but we have no idea how long for. Once we crack lighting the oven, lacking anything suitable to cook it on, we place the pizza on a shelf. This dear readers was THE WRONG THING TO DO! Smoke, smoke alarms and strong smells of burning. What we thought was a shelf appears to have been some sort of element, an element that now has a considerable amount of pizza adhering to it. ‘Saving’ money by agreeing we would clean the van ourselves now seems like a bad idea. I can however vouch for the fact that blackened pizza is edible.