Gruinard Island looks peaceful enough today but in 1942 it was a different story. The small island sits quietly in Gruinard Bay halfway between Gairloch and Ullapool without causing much of a fuss, but when top MoD boffins from the Porton Down military research laboratory in Wiltshire wanted a quiet spot to test their new weapons it suddenly became hot property.

As the Second World War escalated, there was a worry that the Germans would attack Britain with germ warfare. Gruinard Island was deemed far enough away from anywhere important to be used as a testing ground for the anthrax bacterium. It is fatal in 95% of cases when ingested - not something to be messed with. So this innocent piece of land became Scotland’s top secret ‘Anthrax Island’.

As part of the experiment, 60 sheep were penned up and exposed to anthrax-infected bombs. Within three days they were dropping like flies and the scientists had the proof they needed. The plan was for anthrax to play a part in Operation Vegetarian - a deadly programme designed to cause maximum damage. Linseed cakes contaminated with anthrax would be air dropped over Germany. The cattle would ingest the spores and contaminate the meat supply, killing swathes of German citizens in the process.

Thankfully that particular scenario didn’t come to pass. The linseed cakes were incinerated at the end of the war, but it was too late for the Gruinard locals. The island was abandoned and covered in ‘Keep out’ signs. Everyone did until 1986 when an English company was brought in to decontaminate the land. It took 280 tonnes of formaldehyde to do the trick. The topsoil was removed in sealed containers and a test flock of sheep was sent over to graze on the island once again. When there were no ill effects the island was declared open again.

Today, there are no outward signs that anything happened. It’s a particularly scenic and sleepy part of the country. Round the coast, there are more visible wartime relics with the concrete gun emplacements and memorial at Aultbea. Gruinard’s only recent claim to fame has been Private Eye’s suggestion that Guardian typesetters, famous for their misprints, should retire here.

Continue reading "Gruinard Island, Inner Hebrides" »

Posted by Anne on August 25, 2010 | Permalink | Comments (2)

There aren’t many rules at Nothing To See Here, but here’s one – if you’re ever near a camera obscura go and see it. Scotland is blessed with three, in Dumfries, Edinburgh and Kirriemuir. Edinburgh’s has the best views, Kirriemuir’s has a literary connection (gifted to the town by Peter Pan author J.M. Barrie) but Dumfries’s is the oldest of the three and in fact, the oldest working instrument of its type in the world.

Plans for the camera obscura started in 1834 when local businessman Robert Thomson heard that the old windmill at the top of Corbelly Hill was going to be demolished. With local support he purchased the building for £350 to create the Dumfries and Maxwellton Astronomical Society. The tower was converted into an observatory and the camera obscura was brought all the way from Kilmarnock on a horse and cart.

Initially, the tower was only open to members and selected ones at that. The writer Thomas Carlyle was one of the first to arrive. It was 1849 before members of the working class were allowed in and even then it was only on Saturdays. As donations from patrons grew, the adjoining museum began to grow as the observatory went slowly out of fashion. It stopped operating as an observatory in 1870s.

Providing the weather is amenable, its operation is fairly simple. An angled mirror on a long pole poking up at the top of the tower (like a periscope) projects images of the outside world onto large flat table below. That may not sound very exciting considering that you could look out of the window and see more or less the same thing but it feels magical, like floating invisibly around the world with an all-seeing eye. It’s fun to play God, picking up passing cars with a piece of paper or making an invisible bump in the road for buses to shuffle over.

With technological advancements, camera obscuras have no practical purpose, but that doesn’t diminish their appeal. It’s a chance to catch a little glimpse of the present through the eyes of the past. Dumfries is lucky to have this illuminating little gem.

Continue reading "Dumfries Camera Obscura, Dumfries" »

Posted by Anne on June 06, 2010 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Quiet spaces near Edinburgh’s Royal Mile are few and far between, but if you look hard enough they are there. On the Canongate, just passed the Kirk, the entrance to Dunbar’s Close looks like any other Edinburgh wynd. Its well-kept secret is a beautiful 17th century secret garden. Walking through its gates is like stepping into another world from the hustle and bustle of the Royal Mile.

Neatly laid out like a traditional Burghal garden over three quarters of an acre, it packs a lot into a small space. Trees and manicured bushes create a shady area at the entrance, opening out into a suntrap full of lovely flowers and unusual plants. Two small squares with classical stone benches provide quiet places to sit beside a shady wall that could fool you into thinking it was in Tuscany. It’s worth stopping a while to enjoy the wonderful symmetry of the design and the spectacular views of Calton Hill beyond.

The garden was created by Sir Patrick Geddes (1854-1932) who lived on the Royal Mile at the time. He was an eminent Scots biologist who stressed the connection between health and the environment. Geddes had the vision for a network of gardens around the city of which Dunbar’s Close is one. By the 1970s the garden had fallen into disrepair. It was saved by a bequest from The Mushroom Trust which gifted the land to the City of Edinburgh Parks Department. In 1978 it was rebuilt by landscape architect Seamus Filor and has remained a delightful public space ever since.

Few places in Edinburgh are really secret, and even this quiet spot fills up at regular intervals with small groups of people on walking tours. However, the groups leave as quickly as they arrive, and after that peace reigns again. It’s fun to watch the tourists mingle with Auld Reekie aficionados who obviously know that this is the place to go for a quiet moment.

Continue reading "Dunbar's Close, Edinburgh" »

Posted by Anne on February 14, 2010 | Permalink

Pennan, on the Moray coast of north-east Scotland is a tiny village with a big reputation. It is hard to reach, down a steep, narrow, serpentine road, but many visitors make the effort. There’s one reason why – they all love Local Hero. In Bill Forsyth’s 1983 film, Pennan has a starring role as Ferness, which will become an oil refinery if some American businessmen (led by Burt Lancaster) have anything to do with it. Like Forsyth’s earlier masterpiece Gregory’s Girl, the film has a great cast and an understated sense of wonder that people fall in love with.

When you arrive it’s easy to see why Pennan was chosen. There is only one street which runs along the shore, lined by clothes poles, lobster baskets and the odd hammock. The houses turn their gables against the sea to shelter from the harsh north wind. The harbour is small and functional and the cliff that towers above the houses threatens to engulf the village every few years. There is no shop (unlike Ferness) and the Pennan Inn has been closed for some time, only recently reopening. It’s not exactly bustling. In fact, it is the opposite of the skyscrapers and long-distance speakerphone conversations of the Texan oil industry.

There is no shortage of little villages with picturesque harbours round these parts, but here the all important troika of harbour, phone box and inn (essential to the plot) are within spitting distance of each other. The famous red phone box, from which Peter Riegert phones home to report on the 'acquisition of Scotland' was added as a prop. When it was removed after filming there was an outcry so it was replaced in a slightly different location where it still stands today. Even the perfect driftwood on the beach has a cinematic quality although the beach scenes were shot on the sands at Morar on the west coast.

Its appeal has endured over the years and in 2005 Pennan topped a poll for the best film location in Britain. A plaque on the Pennan Inn opposite the famous phone box commemorates its fame. In 2008 The Culture Show brought Bill Forsyth back to the village to celebrate Local Hero’s 25th anniversary with a showing in the tiny community hall. The film and the village are so inextricably linked that you can almost hear Mark Knopfler’s famous theme ‘Going Home’ as you approach. As the film suggests, it's difficult to leave without taking a piece of it away with you.

Continue reading "Pennan, Aberdeenshire" »

Posted by Anne on December 20, 2009 | Permalink

The gentlemen’s toilets in Rothesay are a veritable palace of public convenience. Described by Lucinda Lambton, architectural historian and well known cludgie connoisseur as “jewels in the sanitarian’s crown”, they are one of the finest examples of late Victorian lavatories left in the UK.

In 1899 when the toilets were built, Rothesay on the Isle of Bute was a bustling seaside resort. Hordes of visitors would come “doon the watter” (the water being the Firth of Clyde) from Glasgow. The pier, now dominated by CalMac ferries, was jammed with paddle steamers and holidaymakers eager to spend a penny. So it was only fitting that Rothesay’s WCs should welcome them in style.

Situated close to the ferry terminal, the toilet building is fairly anonymous. The tile-clad exterior is nothing to write home about, but inside it’s a different story. There’s an explosion of colour and decoration, and the fittings – oh my! No wonder Lucinda Lambton called them “the most beautiful in the world”.

Fourteen fantastic porcelain urinals stand erect along one wall, with another six in a circular centrepiece. Made from white Fireclay pottery and topped with imitation green St Anne’s marble, ‘THE “ADAMANT”’ is stamped onto each along with the Twyford’s crest. Although the Victorians were rather prim, there’s nothing discreet about them. They are out and proud.

All in all, they are an architectural triumph. The original glass-sided cisterns feed the water supply through shiny copper pipes, providing a gentle soundtrack while you tinkle. The glass roof lets in lots of natural light, making a pee a pleasure. For those wishing to bide a wee there are cubicles where the lavvy pans, as they are known in these parts, have commodious wooden seats. The bowl is marked “THE DELUGE”, which inspires great confidence in its abilities.

Continue reading "Victorian Toilets, Rothesay" »

Posted by Anne on October 16, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Blink and you’d miss Ebenezer Place in Wick, but that’s the point – it’s the world’s shortest street. This is a closely fought title and at 2.06 metres (6 ft 9 inches in old money) it has done well to knock Elgin Street in Lancashire, a comparative boulevard at 5.2 metres, off its perch.

To be fair, there is some debate about whether or not you could call it a street. Ebenezer Place sits at the front of a triangular block (imagine a short, squat, Caithness version of New York’s Flatiron Building) and the straight area constituting the 'street' is only wide enough for a narrow doorway and two brass plaques on either side. The plaques say 'No.1', which is the address (kind of redundant when there’s only room for one doorway) and the name of the occupant – the No.1 Bistro, part of MacKay’s Hotel.

It’s only when you see the building from a distance that the words 'Ebenezer Place' are visible, etched into the top of the building. When it was constructed by Alexander Sinclair in 1883 the Council told the owner to paint a name on the building. It was officially declared a street in 1887.

This went largely unnoticed until Murray Lamont, manager of MacKay’s Hotel, did some research and began a long process of getting it accredited by the Guinness Book of Records. In 2006 Craig Glenday, the editor in chief battled all the way to the far north of Scotland, through wind and rain to see it for himself, and declared it a bona fide record breaker.

To find it, look right at the sharp bend on the road leading into Wick, just before Pulteney Bridge. If you can't make it this far north check out The Wedge in Millport (on the island of Great Cumbrae off the west coast of Scotland), reputed to be Britain’s narrowest house, or The Smallest House in Britain in the Welsh town of Conwy.

Continue reading "Ebenezer Place, Wick" »

Posted by Anne on September 19, 2009 | Permalink

The very mention of a giant museum can cause confusion. Ironically, the Giant Angus MacAskill Museum in Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye is very small, but its contents are huge. Set in a restored Highland croft, the museum shows off the greatness of Angus MacAskill, who was born in 1825 and grew to a mighty 7’9” tall. In 1981 he was recorded in the Guinness Book of Records as the tallest “true giant” – one without underlying medical conditions or notable deformities – who ever lived.

A life-size statue of him greets visitors as they enter, towering in the corner beside his tiny companion, Tom Thumb. At this point, all sense of proportion goes out of the window. Everything in here is huge – a giant chair, an enormous jumper, socks the size of fisherman’s waders and a replica of the giant coffin that they carried him off in. It’s only when you place something actual size near the exhibits that you get a sense of how gigantic he actually was.

Born in Berneray in the Western Isles in 1825 Angus MacAskill was a small baby. At the time doctors didn’t think he would survive. But oh boy, he proved them wrong with no real indication of why he became so large. The only clue to his mighty size was a daily dish of crowdie (oatmeal and cream) after his meal. Even regular nips of whisky and a toke on his pipe didn’t stunt his growth.

Angus’s stay in Scotland was short-lived due to the Highland Clearances, and his family emigrated to Nova Scotia when he was 6 years old. They settled in Cape Breton and he worked the land in the small farming community of St Ann’s where he became known as Gille More (or ‘Big Boy’).

Tall stories of his strength and kindness have been passed down from generation to generation and were collected in the book The Cape Breton Giant by Peter Gillis. True to form he was a gentle giant, helping those who needed it and refusing frequent offers of a fight from those too foolhardy to think about what they were getting into. The story goes that when one man wouldn’t take no for an answer Angus suggested they shake on it. One handshake from MacAskill drew blood from the man’s fingers and he quickly got the message.

Continue reading "The Giant Angus MacAskill Museum, Dunvegan" »

Posted by Anne on August 02, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

At Clootie Well on the Black Isle in north-east Scotland, mere pennies won’t get your wishes granted. Here, the currency is a ‘cloot’ or cloth. According to ancient tradition, visitors came here with an offering to heal the sick. They brought a ‘cloot’ from the invalid, in the belief that leaving it at the well would also leave the illness behind.

Today, there are cloots of many colours here – you can see them tied to the trees from quite a way away as they spill down the hill onto the roadside. Some visitors have done it old-style and brought a scrap of clothing or a rag. Those who are more modern, or caught on the hop, have left J-cloths, socks, dresses, t-shirts and even pants. If you don’t have a cloth on you, or value your undergarments, you can make a wish by walking three times sunwise round the well, sprinkling some of the water and leaving a natural offering. Just make sure that it’s something that will biodegrade.

At one time magical wells were common, and they can still be found in areas with Celtic connections. The Irish have ’raggedy bushes’ and the Cornish ’cloughtie wells’. After the Celts, Christians adopted the tradition and the wells became associated with particular saints and festivals. Clootie Well is linked to Saint Boniface or Curitan, a Pict who worked as a missionary in the north-east of Scotland around 620 AD and is most popular around the time of Beltane in early May when visits to holy wells are traditional.

At one point in 1581, during the Protestant Reformation, the practice of visiting wells and other holy places was banned, but that doesn’t seem to have stopped anyone. The trees around the well are dripping with offerings. While there’s brightness and jollity to them – some people have even put up bunting – it’s also sad to see the supplications (I believe that’s the technical term for wishes) for the sick of all ages.

When we visited it was quiet and very atmospheric with the socks rippling in the breeze and the sunlight filtering in through the branches. I could readily believe that wishes come true here and couldn’t resist a quiet moment of contemplation before heading back out to the real world again.

Continue reading "Clootie Well, Munlochy" »

Posted by Anne on July 13, 2009 | Permalink

Scotland is famous for many things – tartan, whisky and beautiful scenery to name a few, but a modern invention has brought it fame and shame in equal measure. News reports on Scotland’s abysmal health record are almost always sprinkled with references to that culinary legend, the deep-fried Mars Bar.

So what is it about deep-fried food that makes it so special, so delicious? In Scotland every town has its chippy, serving fish, sausages and even haggis as ‘singles’ or ‘suppers’ (that means served with chips). For decades, the deep-fried pizza has been a permanent fixture – delighting Scots and horrifying more health conscious onlookers. So wrong, and yet so right.

Rewind to 1995 when the deep-fried Mars Bar was first spotted in the Haven Fish Bar in Stonehaven on Scotland’s north-east coast. Now called The Carron, it has been serving them ever since, and the huge ‘Home of the deep fried Mars bar’ banner outside suggests that they are not embarrassed by the ignominy it has brought the nation as a whole.

In truth, despite their worldwide fame, they are not actually that common (and Scots don’t live off them). They can be easily found in tourist traps like Edinburgh’s Royal Mile but in 2004, The Lancet (yes, The Lancet) surveyed the availability of said treats and only found them in 22% of chip shops. I’m not sure what that proves. In other areas, inventive souls riffed on the idea, most famously The Reiver Fish Bar in Duns which has diversified into deep-fried Cadbury’s Creme Eggs. Oy.

So, the million dollar question - what does a deep-fried Mars Bar taste like? I chose a ‘single’ - you can order it with chips, but that’s just wrong - and it was freshly made to order. It looks more or less as you’d expect, like a Mars bar in batter - not particularly pleasing to the eye. However, the batter is crispy and light, encasing the sweet hot goo inside which runs out on first bite. It’s sweet and savoury, crispy and gooey – in short, a taste sensation.

Continue reading "The Carron Fish Bar, Stonehaven" »

Posted by Anne on June 07, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Keir Mill, near Thornhill in Dumfries and Galloway is a fairly unremarkable wee place. Describing it as a hamlet is overegging things slightly. But great oaks from little acorns grow, or in this case, great inventions as Keir Mill is the birthplace of Kirkpatrick Macmillan, who gave the world the pedal-driven bicycle.

Born here in 1812, he was the local blacksmith. When he saw someone clamber past on a ‘hobby horse’ (a bike without pedals) he thought there must be a better means of self-propulsion and began to experiment. He came up with the ‘Kirkpatrick’ rear wheel pedal-driven bicycle which had wooden wheels, iron tyres and a weight of 57lb. There is a replica nearby in Drumlanrig Cycle Museum. It’s hard to imagine it going anywhere, but in 1842, he took it 68 miles over bumpy roads to visit his brothers in Glasgow.

Legend has it that the locals heard tell of a ‘Devil on Wheels’ and thronged to meet him. No one had ever seen such a thing, and in the ensuing stramash Macmillan knocked down a young onlooker, and was called to the Gorbals Public Bar to pay a fine of 5 Scots shillings. The magistrate was so impressed that he let him off, provided he did a turn on his bicycle in the courtyard.

The Dumfries Courier reported the incident, saying, “This invention will not supersede the railway.” How little they knew. Instead it was as exciting as the jet pack. However, with that sort of reception, Macmillan’s bicycle did not become popular and he didn’t take it any further. Others had similar ideas and in Paris in 1861, Michaux’s boneshaker, with cranks and a front-wheel pedal became popular. This paved the way for the Penny Farthing in the 1870s and the rear wheel driven “safety” bicycle of the 1880s.

Kirkpatrick Macmillan died on 26 January 1878 aged 65 and is buried in the village churchyard. While he’s not exactly a household name, cyclists come from all over the world to pay homage. On a crowded family gravestone, his name is at the bottom, almost like an afterthought. His relatives all died early, many as children. Kirkpatrick was lucky to lead a long and productive life. As the National Committee on Cycling plaque on his smithy home reads 'He builded better than he knew'.

Continue reading "Keir Mill, Dumfries & Galloway" »

Posted by Anne on May 17, 2009 | Permalink

In a small Victorian arcade, bits and pieces of Biggar's bygone businesses have been carefully collected to create Gladstone Court Museum. Like a Lanarkshire equivalent of Eastbourne's Museum of Shops, the museum shows street life as it used to be. The effect is familar and strange at the same time.

There's one of everything useful - a bank, a photographer's studio, a printer's workshop, a cobblers and bootmakers, a school room, a chemists, a grocers, a drapers, a library and a telephone exchange. It’s amazing how many of these establishments you either don’t get at all these days, or find rarely. The ones that remain have changed beyond recognition so it’s great to go and have a rummage.

The shops are all open so you can have a fossick through trays of letters in the printers, goggle at the peculiar concoctions in the chemists - like liniments and concentrated flesh food, and sit at a really uncomfortable desk in the school room. The old grocer's shop, straight out of Open All Hours is fascinating. It's stacked to the rafters with beautiful brands, now long gone. It's not a big place but we spent quite a while there, explaining to the kids that this was how things used to be, even though it was before our time as well.

For a small town, Biggar is well-served by museums. Gladstone Court is one of 6 locally, and was opened in 1968 by the poet Hugh MacDiarmid who lived in the town. Some of his books are on show in the little library above the telephone exchange. Like many of Biggar's museums, the 21st century has passed it by. Quite fitting, really. There are no animatronic shopkeepers or interactive exhibits. But that’s fine. There’s lots of old stuff, it’s well laid out and you can play with it all to your heart's content.

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Posted by Anne on April 26, 2009 | Permalink

For many people the 'Saint' has dropped off the front of Valentine's Day, but St Valentine is never forgotten in the church of Blessed St John Duns Scotus in Glasgow's Gorbals. If you go there to worship you'll see a gold casket marked "Corpus Valentini Martyris" - the body of St Valentine, Martyr. So what on earth is it doing here?

A helpful leaflet written by the Franciscan Friars who run the church explains it all. In the 19th century, the relics "with all the requisite authentications" were in the possession of a wealthy French Catholic family. As the family started to die out, one member was thoughtful enough to find a home for their unusual heirloom and contacted Fr Stephen Potron, Commissary of the Holy Land in France. At the time, Fr Potron had heard talk on the Franciscan jungle drums of a fine new Friary being built in Glasgow and persuaded Fr Victorin Cartuyvels who was Provincial Minister of the Friars Minor in Belgium to give the casket a permanent home there. In 1868 the relics were sent to the church of St Francis in Cumberland Street, their resting place, until they moved round the corner to their current home in 1999.

The relics are permanently on display in the entrance to the church and as February 14 approaches the Friars decorate the area around the casket with flowers and a statue of St Valentine. On St Valentine's Day special prayers are said for those in love and out of it - those "experiencing difficulties through separation or breakdown are also remembered".

The leaflet also explains that there is really very little connection between St Valentine and the hearts-and-flowers-athon that is the modern Valentine's Day. Geoffrey Chaucer's Parliament of Foules (Parliament of Birds) is the first recorded link between 14 February and romance when it says 'For this was Seyny (St) Valentine's Day when every foul (fowl) cometh there to choose his mate'. It was also traditional for the gentry to swap love notes around this time of year, when everything was stirring. The tradition now associated with St Valentine may even have pre-dated him.

Continue reading "Blessed St John Duns Scotus, Glasgow" »

Posted by Anne on February 11, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Just off the A198 east of North Berwick, Seacliff is a little hidden gem. On the north side of the beach is a sheltered spot containing Seacliff Harbour, said to be the smallest in the UK. It's only 12 metres at its widest point, and 2 metres across at the entrance. The lobster pots around the entrance show that it's still working away, used by one local crab fisherman as there's only room for one boat.

The harbour was created in 1890 by the Laird Andrew Laidley, who blasted it out of the red sandstone, known locally as The Gegan, using steam engine and compressed air. Being small has its advantages. The harbour’s secret location away from the shoreline means that it never dries out. On the downside, the Secret Garden, the boat that calls it home is moored on a system of pulleys and weights to make sure it doesn’t bang off the sides.

Round and about there are more sights to see. The beach, popular with walkers and picnickers, has near perfect sandcastle building sand. Out to sea, a stone marker marks a crop of rocks known as St Baldred’s Boat. I have no idea what this is all about, only that is it named after the evangelist and hermit St Baldred who was sent by St Mungo to spread Christianity to the Lothians. You will also get some good views of Bass Rock, the world’s largest rock gannet colony, and Tantallon Castle from here, so it's a good place to come if you want to see the castle but save yourself the entrance fee!

Continue reading "Seacliff Beach and Harbour, East Lothian" »

Posted by Emma on January 20, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Not so much a case of there being nothing to see here, as there being (almost) no way of getting here. Vallay House lies abandoned on a tiny island off an island off the far northwest of Scotland, only accessible by land at particular times when the tide recedes. It is a rather eerie experience stepping out across somewhere that the sea has just momentarily revealed, knowing that it’ll eventually come back.

This wasn’t helped by a local telling me the ominous sounding tale of a woman who was making her away across the sands to Vallay Island one day when the mists descended. She apparently wandered round and round in circles, unable to make her way back to the shore, getting more and more lost until the tides crept back and she was drowned.

Vallay House was the creation of Erskine Beveridge, the head of a successful linen company based in the town of Dunfermline in Fife in the nineteenth century. Beveridge was known as not only an industrialist but an antiquarian with a passion for photography. Armed with his tripod and weighty box camera, he wandered Scotland recording the country’s landscapes and buildings, documenting its vanishing edges.

Beveridge was particularly enamoured with North Uist and visited here on holiday many times. Then around 1901-02, he commissioned the building of Vallay House to provide a more permanent base for his trips to the edge of the world. After Beveridge’s death in 1920, his son George inherited the house. Living alone here obviously got to George, as he turned to the drink, selling off the family silver in order to fund his habit. Tragedy struck in 1944 when George, undoubtedly after a few too many bevvies, drowned whilst attempting to cross one of the island’s causeways.

Continue reading "Vallay House, North Uist" »

Posted by Rosalyn on November 16, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Where once thousands of football fans cheered on their team, silent trees now crowd together on the terraces in an eerie relic of a city's sporting past.

The weeds and moss are creeping over the concrete steps and terraces, the wind and rain have stripped the paint from the barriers and silver birch trees have invaded intersections of the old stands.

Cathkin Park, in Glasgow, was once the home of Third Lanark, a founder member of the Scottish Football Association (1873). Established just one year earlier as the Third Lanark Rifle Volunteers, an sporting off-shoot of a regiment of the 'territorial army' of the day, they went on to also help found the Scottish League in 1890, becoming First Division Champions in 1904 and Second Division winners in 1935.

Nicknamed the Warriors, the Redcoats, the Hi-Hi and the Thirds, they played in scarlet in their southside home for almost 100 years.

In 1923 the team toured Argentina, a curious echo of the later adventure of former player Ally MacLeod, manager of Scotland in the 1978 World Cup. He was a schoolboy signing for Third Lanark, playing with them for nine years. Other names of note were two goalkeepers – Lisbon Lion Ronnie Simpson and, further back in time, Scotland goalie Jimmy Brownlie, who became manager of Dundee United after the First World War.

The club's history included a late flowering; they made it to the 1960 Scottish League Cup Final and finished third in the First Division in 1961, scoring 100 goals in 34 matches.

Continue reading "Cathkin Park, Glasgow" »

Posted by Lucy on October 16, 2008 | Permalink

The place marked "Rumbling Bridge" on my map intrigued me for so long that eventually I had to take a look. Not particularly convenient for anywhere else in deepest Perthshire, it's a bit of an adventure. Often these places can be a bit of a let down, I was fully prepared for somewhere that didn't have a bridge, nevermind a rumbling one, but there it is - true to its name.

Rumbling Bridge is unusual in two ways - firstly there are two bridges. The original was built in 1713 by William Gray, a local stonemason. Another was added over the top in 1816, to make a picturesque double bridge. The second remarkable thing is the noise. At first I couldn't hear anything different, but then I realised that my ears couldn’t be hearing heavy traffic or a passing jet after all. Instead, this is the famous rumble.

Looking down 120ft from the viewing platform it's pretty clear where the noise comes from. There's a huge drop into a narrow gorge where the River Devon comes thundering down at great speed from the Cauldron Falls. It's pretty dramatic.

Continue reading "Rumbling Bridge, Perthshire" »

Posted by Anne on September 09, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Officially, the Leadhills & Wanlockhead Railway is Britain’s highest narrow gauge adhesion railway reaching almost 1500 feet above sea level. It runs from Leadhills to Glengonnar near Wanlockhead which is Scotland's highest village. Unofficially, it's an incredibly dinky big little railway whose charm lies in the incongruity of a brightly painted Trumpton-esque train chugging its way through a particularly bleak part of Scotland. That and the delightfully slow pointlessness of the journey.

At Leadhills there’s a lovely little station covered in signs reclaimed from defunct railways. Inside the shop there are things to delight serious trainspotters and for the amateurs, Thomas the Tank Engine toys and Ivor the Engine fudge. There are only two stops on the line (two ends, basically) and the journey from Leadhills to Glengonnar takes roughly 10 minutes, running every 40 minutes or so. It’s not far and you could probably walk it quicker but that’s not the point. Travelling at such a leisurely pace is so relaxing, and there's plenty of time to enjoy the (lack of) scenery. It’s beautiful in a strange, rugged way. Due to the altitude and exposure nothing really grows apart from heather and gorse and there's nothing else here apart from fragments of the old lead mines that gave the railway its original raison d'etre.

For the journey itself pick one of the carriages that has closed windows and doors. It can get bracing up here, even in summer. We visited in July and bravely travelled in an open carriage, with our jackets on and hoods up. At the end of the line the track stops abruptly in what appears to be the middle of nowhere. Actually it's the invisible line between South Lanarkshire and Dumfries and Galloway. A modern border dispute characteristic of the Wild West is stopping its extension all the way into Wanlockhead. Instead you need to “detrain” and walk along the track bed past sheep droppings and rabbit carcasses. Once there you can refuel in Scotland’s highest pub, The Wanlockhead Inn, or try gold panning at the Lead Mining Museum which also has a decent cafe.

Continue reading "The Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway, Leadhills" »

Posted by Anne on July 18, 2008 | Permalink

Voltaire & Rousseau is everything that a great second-hand bookshop should be. Silent, dishevelled and rammed to the rafters with great books. It has been quietly sitting in Otago Lane for over 30 years, becoming a mecca for Glasgow's students and intellectuals. It's not a big place but every inch is chock full of something. What I love most about it is that there's no real sense of hierarchy. It gives the impression that no book is too unfashionable, too old or too shabby. New books mingle with old. Hardbacks and paperbacks come together, pamphlets are fair game. If the spine is broken or the dust jacket's ripped that's fine, no one stands on ceremony here. It feels like more a tribute to the printed word than a business.

As you enter there's an ante-room filled with the discards of serious book sorting efforts. You can often hit paydirt here. Wonderful vintage books that even charity shops won't touch, Penguin paperbacks, Faber plays, Haynes car manuals, 1970s textbooks, and spectacular children's books from the 1950s are piled high, sprinkled with general odds and ends like pamphlets, maps and even a pile of disembodied dust jackets.

Inside, the shop is a delicious muddle of books. Shelves line the walls and run in a spine up the middle. They tidied up once, for an appearance in Channel 4 comedy The Book Group but usually the books spill off the shelves in all directions. Browsing is encouraged by the sheer logistics of getting anywhere. To move at all it is necessary to shuffle along the tight alley of visible carpet. At the back on a hairpin bend, the way is obstructed by some cat food and a cat bowl. The cats are as much a part of the shop as the books and can often be seen sleeping in drawers or other cosy places.

Round the corner, a ladder has sat still for too long and had some books shoved on it, blocking the way. Progress down this aisle is particularly tricky as what's on the shelves is obscured by the waist high pile of overspill. Occasionally the silence is disturbed by the gentle plomph of a book-related landslip. Like a game of Jenga, pick up the wrong one and the whole thing collapses. This only adds to the wonderful experience; the sense that there's something amazing but out of reach beneath the surface.

Continue reading "Voltaire & Rousseau, Glasgow" »

Posted by Anne on July 05, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (5)

I got a tip-off about this place (thanks Joe). Descriptions of a cafe lost in time off the M74 near the Scottish-English border. No name, no clear directions, just a cafe in Gretna that was like walking into someone's front room. Surprisingly we found it. As you enter Gretna the town (distinct from its famous neighbour, the wedding mecca of Gretna Green) there is a small building with "CAFE" painted on the gable end. There was a sign outside saying it was open, despite all appearances to the contrary. We walked into an empty room, as described, more front room than cafe. Starbucks it ain't. From the back shop a lady shuffled out. I was going to say an old lady but she wasn't that old. But middle aged would be flattering. Anyway, a lady of a certain age shuffled out, looking a bit stern. I asked if the cafe was open and she barked "Just and no more" explaining that she was "painting out the back". There was no invitation to sit but we did anyway, as I had gone slightly giddy with the strangeness of it all.

The decor, if that's the word, was "granny chic". There were odd assortments of nick-nacks for sale behind our heads, a random portrait of Edward VII and strangest of all a huge photo of a young boy hanging above the fireplace. Judging by the colours and hairstyle in the photo it must have been taken at least 30 years ago. Its size and prominence and the fact that there was a smaller version on the other side of the room led me to think that this poor boy who must have been close to the owner's heart met a terrible end. There was a whiff of tragedy about the whole scene.

The piece de resistance for this whole strange affair was Rupert the parrot, who patrolled his cage in the centre of the cafe with a confidence that suggested he was the guvnor. My son headed straight over to say hello and of course Rupert went straight for his fingers. Terrified, he ran away to eat his cake while the owner gave us his life story. He can talk but doesn't like to do it in public (yeah right). He only ever likes one person in a couple, either the man or the woman. "It can drive a wedge between you". And of course with health and safety he shouldn't be there at all. In high season he's out the back where he belongs.

Continue reading "Cafe, Gretna" »

Posted by Anne on June 13, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (4)

Cellardyke in the East Neuk of Fife is not notable for many things. Home to influential musicians, the Fence Collective and Britain's first case of bird flu it's an otherwise unremarkable place, almost imperceptible from Anstruther, its bigger brasher neighbour. But somehow we end up there a lot, overlooking an old bathing pool staring out to sea.

The pool was once known as The Cardinal's Steps after Cardinal Beaton of St Andrews who had a seaside residence here in the 16th century. It was developed into a formal bathing pool in the 1930s by local volunteers. A postcard in St Andrews University archive shows it in its full glory with a tall diving platform and rows of bathing huts filling the space now occupied by a caravan site. What's more, there were people in it, which is something you don't see today.

Tidal bathing pools used to be common up and down the coast. Hardy souls thought nothing of taking a plunge in the North Sea. Although a few remain in use, like the famous "Trinkie" in Wick, they only tend to survive in the south of England where the weather is more forgiving. Today the pool lies broken at the bottom, crumbling at the sides and slippery round the edges. Despite a few forays round the outside to peer into the depths the pool's latest visitors - four 19th century cannons are invisible to the naked eye. These have been deposited here by St Andrew's University School of Chemistry to experiment on corrosion rates. According to their website the fact that the Cellardyke pool is intact and relatively sheltered makes it a perfect laboratory.

This puts paid to any idea of salvaging it as a swimming pool. I have seen kids in there, but wouldn't fancy sending my own in. There probably isn't much call really, now that Cellardyke is no longer the holiday destination it once was. Instead when we come we don't swim, we play in the park beside it where the swings have a lovely sea view. Failing that, we just sit and look out to sea.

Continue reading "Cellardyke Bathing Pool, Fife" »

Posted by Anne on May 25, 2008 | Permalink

Lying amidst piles of rubble and high metal fencing in the Fountainbridge area of Edinburgh stands the former Fountain Brewery. A site of pilgrimage surely for all lovers of cheap lager.

The brewery was once part of the McEwan drinking empire, founded by William McEwan (1827-1913) in 1856 with money borrowed from his family. Fountainbridge was a prime location with its excellent transport links provided by the railway and Union Canal (which still runs alongside the site and provides a nice urban amble). McEwan soon established a presence in the Scottish market, before setting his sights on colonial trade. By the turn of the 20th century, a gentleman could enjoy a pint of McEwans as far and wide as Australia, South Africa or India.

The company merged with William Younger & Co Ltd to form Scottish Brewers Ltd in 1931, before that company merged with Newcastle Breweries Ltd in 1960 to form Scottish & Newcastle Breweries Ltd. This led to a thorough updating of the plant and S&N opened a new Fountain Brewery at Fountainbridge on a 22 acre site beside the Union Canal in 1973, much of which forms the remaining site today.

At its peak, the brewery produced about two million barrels per year of well-known brands such as McEwans Export, Tartan Special, Kestrel Lager, Gillespies Stout and Youngers. Quality brands. But despite the always willing domestic market for such produce, the Fountain Brewery was closed by S&N at the end of 2004 due to the fierce competition of the beer market. About 170 workers lost their jobs.

Despite this, the future of the site looks set to flourish. The Fountain North development plan has been dreamed up to remake the area into offices, housing, retail outlets and a new public park. It aims to become Edinburgh's largest regeneration site, incorporating all sorts of contemporary environmental concerns such as tree-lined boulevards, green space, pedestrian and cycle routes, family housing and underground car parking.

Continue reading "The Fountain Brewery, Edinburgh" »

Posted by Rosalyn on May 11, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Pity the poor Kincardine Bridge. Long since overshadowed by the more famous Forth Road and Rail Bridges, a fourth Forth crossing is about to cock its snook once and for all. For those who cross it regularly it’s not a happy place, full of traffic snarl-ups, but on a clearer day it’s a majestic part of the Scottish road network.

When it was built in 1936 it was the world's longest single span bridge as well as the first road bridge across the Firth of Forth. Built by renowned engineering firm Sir Alexander Gibb and Partners and manufactured by the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Co., it’s a solid piece of work. Unlike its grander neighbours you don't see it from miles away, but the closer you get the better it looks. It comes into its own as soon as you start to cross. The silver art deco-style lampposts have a real elegance and shine like beacons on a sunny day. Before you know it you’re passing through the central concrete arch where the mottoes of the neighbouring counties of Clackmannan, Stirling and Fife are carved in Portland Stone. It's all rather grand.

Until 1988 a huge portcullis operated inside this gate so that the bridge could be closed to traffic. When it closed the motto of Clackmannan, "Look aboot ye" was spelt out. Good advice for anyone waiting there as the view either way along the river is rather nice. Once the barrier was in place the centre span was able to swing round to let shipping pass. Along with the nearby Silver Link Roadhouse (now a bathroom showroom) it’s a relic of a more stately era of road transportation - the motoring boom of the 1930s. Constant traffic has taken its toll so when the new crossing opens, the bridge, given Category A-listed status by Historic Scotland will be closed for 18 months for a well-deserved upgrade. Enjoy it while you can.

Continue reading "The Kincardine Bridge, Kincardine" »

Posted by Anne on April 06, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Footdee (pronounced "Fittie") is a small fishing village near Aberdeen harbour. From the beach it’s easy to miss but turn a corner and you're in a delightful square full of dinky little houses gathered round a communal green. Round the outside of the square the buildings are regular - neat rows of granite cottages and townhouses but round the inside they're anything but with shacks, sheds and outhouses jumbled with washing lines, plants, flowers and even a church.

The wonderful thing about Footdee is the randomness of these buildings. They're pretty puzzling. It's hard to tell if they're outhouses, or holiday homes or perhaps mansions for a race of tiny seafaring people. No two are the same and the styles range from miniatures houses with well-kept gardens to ramshackle structures made of found materials that look like only luck is holding them up. The only place I've seen anything similar is at Dungeness. In the details there are lots of seafaring accoutrements - model boats, ships-in-bottles and glass fishing weights. Hanging on one shack, a lifebelt from the Thermopylae, the world’s fastest sailing boat built in 1868 by the Aberdeen White Star Line, is a nod to local nautical heritage.

There are three squares altogether. North and South Squares were designed in the early 19th century by Aberdeen City architect John Smith who also designed Balmoral Castle. Pilot Square, built to a better standard for pilots of the harbour boats was added later. Looking closely, there are some clever design features - the houses are low and face inward to shelter from the sea, the pitched roofs keep the rain off and even the chimney pots are specially designed to keep seagulls away. As the cottages were so small, they were sold with space for an outhouse opposite, which explains the more idiosyncratic architectural elements. For fisherfolk this would be somewhere to keep your nets and other necessary equipment.

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Posted by Anne on February 23, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Tunnock’s dominate the town of Uddingston, 7 miles south-east of Glasgow. For over 100 years the family firm has been pumping out their trademark Tea Cakes, Caramel Wafers and other delights for the pleasure of Scotland’s rotten-toothed populace. Tunnock’s products are such a part of Scottish heritage that they’ve followed ex-patriots round the world, winning them the sort of global following that most brands would kill for.

Established in 1890 by Thomas Tunnock, their products haven't changed much over the years, with their distinctive sunburst packaging and slightly wonky lettering. In a world that's constantly changing, there's something very reassuring about that. Traditionally, they’re a bit of an old-person’s snack, but that association with a trip to your granny's means that from an early age each bite of Tunnock’s is imbued with more than just sugary satisfaction. Thanks to this they have a loyal, almost cult following.

In Uddingston, their “Daylight” bakeries loom large on one side of the main street, while the Tunnock’s Tea Rooms nestle among a row of shops on the other. The Tea Rooms are a delight for any Tunnock’s lover, or indeed anyone with a sweet tooth. As well as a range of rare Tunnock’s biscuits (Wafer Crème, Coconut Meringue, Florida Wafer – all delicious) there are spectacular cakes, pies and loaves. At the back there is a café, not the most attractive of places, but still a cheap and cheerful place to refuel.

While you eat/shop, there are constant reminders of the glory of Tunnock’s. The staff have a caramel wafer shaped patch sewn onto their aprons, the counter is covered in miniature Tunnock’s vans, the walls lined with old adverts and then there are the window displays – oh boy, the window displays. Inhabiting the windows is a family of anthropomorphic creatures with bodies made from Caramel Logs, Tea Cakes and other Tunnock's paraphernalia. They are fantastically bizarre - a sign of genius, or madness. It's hard to tell which.

Continue reading "The Tunnock's Factory, Uddingston" »

Posted by Anne on January 22, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

From the outside, this doesn't look like a place of worship. The small, corrugated iron hut is pretty anonymous but the crucifix on the door marks it as special. Inside the drab exterior there is an ornate world of wonder. Simple wooden pews face a beautifully decorated altar. There are religious statues on both sides and numerous brightly-coloured ornaments. If you look closely you can see that they’re hand-made, the best example being the Blue Peter-style chandelier made from tinsel and coathangers, still going strong after 60 years service.

This chapel was built by Ukrainian prisoners of war who were sent here in 1947. Between 420 and 450 men were imprisoned in Rimini and sent to Scotland instead of being sent home where they would have been tried as traitors and faced almost certain death. They arrived in Glasgow wearing German uniforms, and came to Happendon Lodge near Motherwell, then Carstairs before landing up in the camp at Hallmuir, 3 miles outside Lockerbie in the Scottish Borders.

90% of the men were farmers so the Ministry of Agriculture gave them jobs on the local land. One man, Mr Fallat, bought some fruit seeds from Italy and planted an orchard that still stands to this day. Inside the church they were just as creative. The landowner, Sir John Buchanan Jardine gave them this small hut and after humble beginnings they began to decorate it as a home from home. On the high altar is a model of their local Ukranian cathedral, carved with a pen knife. It was made from memory as the Russians destroyed the real one. The candlesticks beside it are made from shell casings and the standards surrounding the arch from a tent brought over from Rimini. For a place decorated in a time of austerity it's wonderfully cheerful.

Continue reading "Ukrainian POW Chapel, Hallmuir" »

Posted by Anne on November 21, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Less a tourist attraction than a remnant of faded industrial glory, Crofthead Mill once housed an important cotton-spinning factory. Located on the banks of the River Levern in East Renfrewshire, the mill is the remaining legacy of the textile industry that used to dominate the area.

The current building rose in the early 1880s from the ashes of a disastrous fire which burned down the original mill erected by Stewart, Orr & Co in 1792. Not all of the mill’s structures have survived to the present day though - the five-storey edifice of the spool-turning department was demolished in 1968.

Crofthead was once the biggest producer of spun cotton in the county and its ownership passed through a series of successful companies. Thread from here was traded across the world. One of the more bizarre claims to fame of their products is that thread from Crofthead held together the boots of those on the British Everest Expedition in 1975…clearly it was tough stuff.

The mill attracted thousands of workers to Neilston in the 1900s, with many travelling to find work here after the closure of mills in Glasgow, as well as journeying from northern England, Ireland or the Highlands. Living and working conditions were considered good at Crofthead, and the Mill’s management even built around 400 homes for their workers. If you take a gander around the nearby town (only a short walk away, albeit up the rather steep Holehouse Brae), you can see these dinky millhouses dotted around Neilston, still providing cosy dwellings for the locals.

Continue reading "Crofthead Mill, Neilston" »

Posted by Rosalyn on November 07, 2007 | Permalink

Storybook Glen is a fairytale paradise situated 6 miles west of Aberdeen. Started in the 1980s after the owner saw something similar in Canada it's a childhood time capsule. The concept is pretty simple - it's a park full of statues of storybook characters. They run the gamut from classic to modern - from Wee Willie Winkie to Tinky Winky. Over 28 acres there are more than 100 characters scattered randomly throughout the park in a way that turns an amble into a journey of adventure. Some of the statues are in plain view, others are hidden along secret pathways so you never know who is going to loom at you out of a bush.

Some of the characters are instantly recognisable. Miss Muffet who was sitting on her tuffet eating her curds and whey is a no brainer. Others take a bit more thought - the lady lurking in the undergrowth brandishing a cleaver turns out to be the story of Three Blind Mice. A select few I'd never heard of at all, like Handy Pandy, the jack-a-dandy who loves plum cake and sugar candy. Luckily many of the tales are signposted and there's a map for the rest.

At a quick glance two themes emerge: violence and pies, or both in the tableau that is Who Killed Cock Robin. Unaccompanied children get themselves into all kinds of scrapes - Hansel and Gretel forced out by their wicked stepmother are almost eaten alive; Little Tommy Tucker is forced to sing for his supper; Jack Be Nimble burns himself jumping over the candlestick. And those are the lucky ones - The Old Woman Who Lives in a Shoe is there giving some poor child a sound beating. In contrast, the modern day figures stand out by their blandness - Wallace and Gromit are Fireman Sam are so bloody helpful by comparison.

Many of the exhibits are pretty shonky, giving them comedy value. Thomas the Tank Engine appears to be wearing make-up (I always had my suspicions), Snoopy is completely unrecognisable. The trolls in Trollworld seem like an avuncular lot while the Pixies in Pixie Land look like they could do you some serious harm. Others have an otherworldly beauty like Mary, Mary Quite Contrary or Little Red Riding Hood, while the rest are plain surreal like the giant chicks hatching from giant egg cups on the way to the large and impressive fairytale castle.

Continue reading "Storybook Glen, Maryculter" »

Posted by Anne on October 29, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (6)

Who'd have thought Europe's oldest living thing is biding its time in a Perthshire churchyard? Driving along a back road in the middle of nowhere the brown (i.e. tourist) signs to Fortingall Yew were so intriguing I had to have a look. They direct you towards a church and as you enter the gates of the churchyard words are written out on the path. "Up ahead stands Fortingall's oldest resident, a 5000 year old yew tree", "Imagine those who have passed this way before". The path takes you alongside a fence and inside the fence is the Fortingall Yew, estimated to be between 2000 and 5000 years old.

The trunk is substantial enough but pegs on the ground mark the size the yew would have been if it hadn't been chipped away over the years. Measured at 16 metres, or 52 feet in girth in 1769, chunks of the original were removed as souvenirs until an arch was formed which funeral processions passed through. Ironically the yew's repuation at the "tree of eternity" hastened its downfall until a fence was put in place to protect what was left. As a precautionary measure some branches were recently removed by the Forestry Commission to be cloned in the same lab as Doly the Sheep. They will then be planted in woods around the country.

Marketed as "Big Tree Country", Perthshire also boasts the world's largest hedge and widest conifer in Britain, plus the Dunkeld Larch (250 years old, but one of the first of its type planted in Scotland) and the Shakesperean Birnam Oak (the last remaining tree in the wood made famous by Macbeth). A plaque notes that the tree was designated as one of Britain's 50 Greatest Trees in 2002.

Beside the tree, Fortingall itself is an interesting little place. Its other claim to fame is as the home of Pontius Pilate, although the evidence for that is a bit scant. If you visit the yew, the adjoining church is quite pretty, and the neighbouring Fortingall Hotel provides parking and refreshments.

Continue reading "The Fortingall Yew, Fortingall" »

Posted by Anne on October 10, 2007 | Permalink

Millport is the only town on the island of Great Cumbrae, which sits one and a half miles off the coast of north Ayrshire. Alongside other towns like its island neighbour Rothesay it used to be a popular destination for holidaymakers coming "doon the watter" on paddle steamers from Glasgow. Today, its popularity has waned but its charm has not and it's still a great place for a day out. At first glance there isn't a lot to do but on closer inspection there are lots of things to make a visit memorable. One of the advantages of its location means there's been less pressure to change. What's there may be old-fashioned but it's the sort of holiday fun that has worked for generations.

To get there, take the ferry from Largs. The crossing only takes 10 minutes. Once you arrive, the traditional way to see Millport is by bike. It's only 11 miles round and the road is flat so it's a great place to cycle. The road from the slip to the harbour passes two of Millport's famous novelty rocks. The first, Lion Rock really does look like a crouching lion so it's pretty easy to spot. The Millport website explains:

Houllan Keipel Dyke or lion rock as it is now known was supposedly made by the bad elves. According to a traditional rhyme the good elves were making a bridge to the mainland at Deil’s dyke and so the bad elves decided to copy them. When they eventually realised that they couldn’t manage, in frustration they kicked the holes now seen in the bottom of the rock making the shape we now know as lion rock. The shape of the lion is apparently frightening to elves and this is why to this day you never see elves on the East of the island, only on the Fintry bay side.

Queen Victoria Rock further along on the same side is harder to spot the first time but once you catch it from the right angle you can't miss her.

With that excitement over it's time for some refreshment and the best place to go is The Ritz Cafe - a 1960s dayglo formica heaven, run by the Giorgetti family since 1908. Here you can enjoy toasties, burgers and hot peas with a Knickerbocker Glory chaser. The ice cream is home made and the specials come topped with a little Italian flag. At time of writing, it's for sale so who knows what's in store. Hopefully some new owners who will appreciate this little gem.

Continue reading "Millport, Isle of Cumbrae" »

Posted by Anne on September 09, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (8)

Established in 1879, Kirkcudbright’s Stewartry Museum is full of local things for local people. In contrast to many Victorian museums this isn’t the collection of Lord So-and-So who travelled the globe plundering other cultures, it’s a charming collection of things found in and around the Stewartry, which is Kirkcudbright and the surrounding local area. Ironically, as these days other cultures are often better known than our own it ends up feeling fantastically exotic.

On the ground floor, tidily corralled into glass cases, there are various local history exhibits. They range from the organised to the fairly random in a way that makes browsing a pleasantly serendipitous experience. There are axe-heads, butter churns, fob watches and curiously an old packet of Wills’ woodbines “found in 1974 under the floorboards of a shop in St Cuthbert St”. At some points it’s less like a museum, more like the shop out of Bagpuss.

Its killer exhibit is the “Siller Gun" a shooting trophy presented to the town by James VI (later James 1st of England) in 1587 - the year before the Spanish Armada. It is still used today as the prize in shooting competitions organised by the Incorporated Trades of Kirkcudbright. Alongside, there is a more modern range of trophies, for cheese-making no less. The world needs prize-winning cheese, after all.

Upstairs on the balcony there is a natural history collection that must have kept the local taxidermists busy for years. There are birds (and birds’ eggs), animals, butterflies, insects and fish. There's something so peaceful and reassuring about stuffed things in glass cases and here they are beautifully arranged and labelled. The copperplate handwriting is an exhibit in itself and the names read like poetry - Linnet, Tree pipit, Nightjar, Stone chat.

Continue reading "The Stewartry Museum, Kirkcudbright" »

Posted by Anne on August 05, 2007 | Permalink

The B7076/B7078 is literally the road less travelled. Starting at Gretna near the Scottish-English border, the B7076 runs north before the B7078 takes over, carrying on to Lesmahagow 23 miles south of Glasgow. Or the other way round if you're heading south. We often take this route from Glasgow down to Dumfries & Galloway. There are definitely more scenic roads in the UK, but this is my favourite.

There's something about it that doesn't quite add up. It's very spacious for a B-road, with dual carriageway in parts and generous verges. Traffic thunders up and down the M74 which runs alongside, but this is usually empty. It feels like discovering a secret passageway in the British highway system. It has the feel of another country like America or Australia - somewhere that has great open roads but hardly any traffic.

Like Miss Haversham, it has an air of faded grandeur. This is what happens when roads themselves get overtaken. Until the 1990s this was the A74 which was the main route between Scotland and England. Thousands of vehicles thundered up and down this every day until it all got too much and the 6-lane behemoth, the M74 was built. I thought road classification had something to do with size as B-roads are usually little things, but in this case it just means no one cares anymore. It had been superceded and is now demoted, put down a peg or two thanks to its shiny new neighbour.

Continue reading "The B7076 and B7078, Scotland" »

Posted by Anne on May 27, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (1)

If you ever find yourself starting casting aspersions on the youth of today take a trip to Tam Shepherd's Trick Shop in Glasgow's Queen Street. You'll find that the youth of today are doing what they've always done - stocking up on whoopee cushions and itching powder.

Trading from the same city centre premises for over 100 years the shop is small but tightly packed with goodies. Tricks and novelties are crammed into the glass-topped counters, partially obscured by saucer-eyed children and excited adults. Wigs, masks and a selection of celebrity rubber faces are behind you. It’s not often you see Mick Jagger, Tony Blair and Maggie Thatcher all rubbing shoulders. At the far end frivolity gives over to serious magic with a range of books and videos to suit the Sunday party-piece and the dedicated pro.

Tam Shepherd’s has been entertaining kids, big and small, since the late 1800’s making it one of the oldest joke shops in the country, second only to Davenports in London. When Tam Shepherd (he really did exist) died, Lewis Davenport, who was a magician appearing at the Glasgow Empire, bought the shop from Tam's widow. The business is now owned by his grand-daughter Jean, who runs the shop with her husband Roy Walton, a world famous card magician, and their daughters.

The family run the place with a deadpan laissez-faire attitude. Requests for rubber biscuits and fake dog turds are actioned discretely. Advice on the best moustache for a comedy Frenchman is expertly dispensed. Occasionally exciting trinkets are unearthed from mysterious boxes under the counter. They have the air of people who have seen it all – no request too strange.

Continue reading "Tam Shepherd's Trick Shop, Glasgow" »

Posted by Anne on February 02, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

For some buses are an unnecessary evil – late, overcrowded and filthy, but for others they’re a way of life. The bus enthusiasts of Glasgow have taken over the former Bridgeton Bus Garage and turned it into the Glasgow Vintage Vehicle Trust. Make your way inside the huge doors to find a shed full of beautiful old buses – all shapes and sizes, and an overflow area out the back for vintage fire engines, more buses and a rather bizarre home-made Glasgow rickshaw consisting of a sofa with two bikes stuck to the front.

Taking a look round it’s almost impossible not to be transported back to your youth, wherever and whenever that was. Although the Routemaster has become the megastar of the bygone bus world it’s the green and orange Glasgow Corporation double deckers that take me back. The length and breadth of Britain is represented with buses from Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Blackpool, London and further afield. If you’re lucky you might get a chance to get on board and sit in the driver’s seat. Who can resist a shot at the big wheel?

For visitors who are pretty vintage themselves the buses of their youth might be some of the beautifully restored old coaches – wonderful colours, beautiful logos and the odd crank handle on the front. For all the buses that have been brought back to life there are plenty that have seen better days, waiting for a little TLC.

Continue reading "Glasgow Vintage Vehicle Trust, Glasgow" »

Posted by Anne on October 14, 2006 | Permalink

A visit to the Galloway Hydros Visitor Centre is a joy in 3 parts. Firstly, the beautiful art deco power station is a wonder to behold, all creamy and geometric against the Galloway countryside. Inside the displays are simple but effective. One room is full of papers, plans and photos showing the early days of the power plant – its construction in the 1930s is as remarkable at the fact that it's still going today, pretty much unchanged. There is an instructive video, not all that interesting to be honest, and for the younger members of any party who may not find hydro-electricity all that enthralling there is a room with safety-based computer games and Lego.

Hang around for the tour which takes you behind the locked doors of the control room and the turbine hall. The control room is full of huge machines that look like they might be props from some 1950s sci-fi movie. You know the type – lots of dials and switches and lights blinking on and off. One dial is labelled “Slow/Fast” which doesn’t seem very scientific. Still, it's unfair to poke fun at these wonderful contraptions. When this was set up it was years ahead of its time – the first power station to be operated by remote control through a telephonic system. Next stop the turbine hall – a beautiful high-windowed room with three large turbines in a fetching shade of industrial green. Only one was whirring away when we were there but it was still deafening.

With you on your journey is an informative guide (a lovely old man in our case) who explains how hydro-electric power works, and how the Galloway Hydros (6 in all) came together. In the 1920s the network was the ambitious brainchild of two local chaps, Major Wellwood Maxwell and Captain Scott Elliot. It took the advent of the National Grid in 1926 to make the project (involving sophisticated civil engineering and a good deal of mess) economically viable. It's certainly impressive, and well-considered - the same water passes through all 5 power stations, coming out as clean as when it went in, and a bonus of hydro-electricity is that it's easy to start and stop making it useful for sudden surges in demand. Electricity generated here often contributes to the nation's post-Corrie cuppa.

Continue reading "Galloway Hydros Visitor Centre, Galloway" »

Posted by Anne on October 04, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

A dingy campsite in a forlorn corner of south-west Scotland isn't the sort of place you'd expect to find immortalised in film, but then, The Wicker Man is no ordinary movie. The bizarre tale of pagan rites in a backward Scottish island hit the screens in 1973 and was promptly forgotten, but now its sinister bent, great cast and a groovy soundtrack put it right up there as one of the great cult movies. So much so that it has spawned a Hollywood remake, although the less said about that the better.

The original is set in Summerisle, a fictional island in the north of Scotland, but a tight shooting schedule meant the weather up north would have been too severe in October. Dumfries and Galloway had to make do. Not that it was exactly warm - the cast had to suck ice cubes to stop their breath showing in the supposed "summer" scenes. It's certainly not the place to be wandering around in your nightshirt, even beside a roaring fire.

Past the caravans of Burrowhead Holiday Village near Isle of Whithorn on the edge of the Irish Sea, the Wicker Man took shape. At the time, the Galloway Gazette reported that its construction was shrouded in secrecy lest “provoked by crowds of sightseers, the monster might break free of the scaffolding which imprisons him, devastating the surrounding countryside and terrifying the locals”¹. Two men were built - a larger one for the main shots, and a smaller one 500 yards away for the close-ups of Howie (Edward Woodward) and the final dramatic shot of the head tumbling into the sunset. [I'm not going into any more detail here in case you haven't seen the film]. The remains of the main man, as it were, have been destroyed by over-zealous visitors over the years but the stumps of the smaller one remain cemented into the cliff-top with the initials “WM” and the date 1972 carved into the base.

Continue reading "The Wicker Man's Legs, Burrowhead" »

Posted by Anne on August 27, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Many follies are hard to describe and lose their impact over time, but The Pineapple in Dunmore (½ mile (1 km) northwest of Airth in Stirlingshire) needs no introduction. On top of a classical Palladian pavilion, housing a small octagonal room, there is a 45 feet tall stone pineapple. When it was completed in 1761 pineapples had only been grown in Scotland for 30 years and were so exotic few people would have seen one, let alone tasted one, but even today, accustomed as we have become to the fruit it is a joy to see.

Commissioned by John Murray, the 4th Earl of Dunmore, the precise reason for its creation has been lost with time. Many sources suggest that the pineapple was then a symbol of wealth, and follies were certainly in fashion. Pineapples were grown at Dunmore in the Earl's heated greenhouses, and the windows looks out onto a fruit orchard which still survives today. If you're going to design a building in the shape of a fruit and really want to show off, the spikiness and symmetry of a pineapple make it a good choice. Whoever the architect was, he did a sterling job - the detail is breathtaking and it has been designed with care. Each leaf is constructed with its own drainage system in order to avoid frost damage.

Its solid construction probably helped to save it from an ignominious end. By 1970 it was still in good shape while the surrounding buildings were falling into disrepair. The Countess of Perth gifted them to the National Trust for Scotland and with the help of The Landmark Trust they were restored. The gardens are open to the public and the building itself can be rented out as an unusual holiday destination.

If you're planning a visit, the gardens are a nice spot for a picnic and there are some woodland walks but be aware that there are no amenities on site - come prepared. From the car park outside the gates, there is a short walk through the beautifully maintained gardens until a gap in the fruit trees frames The Pineapple to best effect. If you walk towards the building there is an information board with some facts and figures on the building and its history. But most of it is just an architectural wonder which won't fail to bring a smile and a sense of wonder to any visit.

Continue reading "The Pineapple, Dunmore" »

Posted by Anne on July 30, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

When you hear the words “World’s biggest” there is always a frisson of excitement, but the world’s biggest hedge may not be one of the world's great crowdpullers. That shouldn’t take away anything from its leafy greatness though - it sure is big, standing 120 feet tall at its highest point. Just think of the stepladder you’d need to keep that in trim.

It runs along 580 feet of the A93 Perth to Blairgowrie road - on the left if you’re going north; right if southbound. It is believed to have been planted in the autumn of 1745 by Jean Mercer of Meikleour and her husband Robert Murray Nairne (who was later killed at the Battle of Culloden). The Meikleour Beech Hedge has carried the “World’s Biggest” crown since 1966. As with any world record it’s a serious business and the hedge is cut and remeasured every ten years. It is looked after by the Meikleour Trust and maintenance takes 4 men approximately 6 weeks.

If you are seeking it out you could be forgiven for missing it, as to the untrained eye it looks like a tall, well-kept row of trees. I confess to being totally underwhelmed by this as a child, but when I took the time to walk along beside it to get some pictures it is actually quite impressive. The pavement underneath is narrow so from the bottom you can’t quite see the top, like a proper skyscraper. And being beech, it goes a lovely colour in the autumn. Scotland isn’t renowned for its big things, so maybe we should appreciate what we've got, even if it is only a hedge.

Continue reading "Meikleour Beech Hedge, Perthshire" »

Posted by Anne on July 24, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Even if you don't normally get excited at the thought of big sheds full of trains the Scottish Railway Exhibition in Bo'ness (near Falkirk in Scotland's Central Belt) is worth a visit. Enter through an old station covered in vintage ads, walk along the platform, cross the footbridge and pass through a sort of railway graveyard, full of old engines and rusting piles of train innards. Before you even enter the exhibition this sets the scene with the real atmosphere of the railways - not some cleaned-up, age-of-the-train marketing ideal but the raw power behind it all.

At the door to the museum the sign says that admission is £1 but if you don't have a pound they'll work something out. It's that kind of place. Inside, it is staffed by charming railway enthusiasts who are in a permanent state of excitement being kept in a giant shed full of trains. They do a very good job of selling the attractions - lots of trains that you can climb on, displays of railway ephemera and for the hardcore, a signal box to play with and something about valves that I'm afraid passed me by.

Over two giant rooms and 850 feet of display tracks, the trains come in all shapes and sizes. There are goods wagons, Army vehicles, brake vans, passenger coaches through the ages and a real example of travelling in style - Scotland's only Royal Saloon which is pretty plush. There are wagons dating from 1862 to 1963 - 101 years of innovation "from solid wooden buffers to self contained hydraulics, from no brake to air brake, from grease axleboxes to roller bearings".

They've made a real effort to create a proper train-y atmosphere with old suitcases piled onto luggage trolleys, rusting station signs and piped in "chuff-chuff woo-woo" noises. You can get onto quite a few of the trains so wee boys (and big ones) can pretend to be the driver. If you're not much of a trainspotter, the old photographs of travellers and stations are really fascinating. The whole place is nicely low-key and thoughtfully put together with expert knowledge and a great deal of enthusiasm. It's hands-on without being all modern and "interactive". Altogether it's well-rounded, getting everything that's great about rail travel, not just the nuts and bolts.

Continue reading "Scottish Railway Exhibition, Bo'ness" »

Posted by Anne on July 18, 2006 | Permalink

You could say that Lower Largo is famous for one thing, but famous is hardly the word. However if you do take that turn-off on the A915 Kirkcaldy-St Andrews road and land up there it will soon be obvious what it is. Because Lower Largo was the birthplace of Alexander Selkirk, immortalised as Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. He was born here in 1676 and ran away to sea less than 20 years later to work as a buccaneer. On one voyage in the South Pacific he grew concerned about the state of his ship (good call; it later sank) so stayed ashore on the Juan Fernandez Islands, little knowing there would be four years of solitude before he was rescued.

It's a story that captures everyone's imagination, but considering the romance and drama of Selkirk's life, his legacy in Lower Largo is pretty low key. The first sight to hit you is the Crusoe Hotel, which has an enviable spot beside the harbour. There's no mistaking that it's that Crusoe with a sign made out of driftwood and a signpost saying "Juan Fernandez Island 7500 miles". Round the corner at 101 Main Street there is an Alexander Selkirk statue, on the house that now stands on the site of his birthplace. No doubt if he had been born anywhere else there would be Robinson Crusoe-themed boat trips that take you out to a rock and leave you there for the day, but here it's refreshing to find such a simple tribute to a remarkable man.

This fits in with Lower Largo as a whole - despite its hugely picturesque setting it's a sleepy wee place. Traditional Fife fisherman's houses sit higgledy-piggledy under a viaduct which was built in the 1800s to carry the railway line through. The trains have long gone thanks to Dr Beeching, and the harbour which used to hold 36 herring boats is almost empty but the place hasn't lost any of its character. Like many of the villages in the East Neuk of Fife it is a conservation area, and great care has been taken to keep it just the way it is.

Continue reading "Lower Largo, Fife" »

Posted by Anne on July 09, 2006 | Permalink

The beautiful beach at Achmelvich on the Assynt peninsula of North West Scotland is worth a visit for the unspoilt scenery alone. However, many visitors to this corner of paradise probably leave without knowing that they were a short walk from what must be one of Scotland's most unusual castles. To reach the Hermit’s Castle, cross the campsite and go through the small gate on to An Fharaid Bheag. Head due west for about a quarter of a mile and you will see the castle nestled perched over a small inlet.

The Hermit’s Castle was built around 1950 out of concrete and was reputedly built by an artist from the south of England to use as a retreat. From the outside, the castle looks a bit like the concrete pillboxes that you see dotted around the coastlines of Britain. It seems to grow out of the surrounding rock and could easily be overlooked if not for the distinctive windows and chimney stack.

Inside, the castle has only one very small room which has a single concrete bed and a small fireplace. The small windows let in some light but it still looks like a very damp and gloomy place to stay! Nonetheless, the castle is often used as a bothy by walkers in the area and the views from outside the castle are beautiful, particularly at sunset.

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Posted by Gavin on July 01, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

This is just about as far north as you can go in Scotland. You have already travelled on a 15 hour ferry to Lerwick in the Shetland Islands. Then taken a ferry from what is called ‘Mainland Shetland’ to the island of Yell. Crossing this you then take another ferry from Gutcher Pier to the Wick of Belmont on Unst – this is the most northerly inhabited island in the Shetlands (and therefore in the whole of the UK). Travel up the road to Haroldswick (the most northerly village in the most northerly island in the Shetlands) and there over looking the Bay of Haroldswick is just about the most luxurious bus shelter ever. There was nobody around when we happened upon this spot – and certainly not a bus in sight. The bus stop fully furnished, stands regally alone by the road; the computer is perhaps not the most modern but the television seems ready to be switched on and the arm chair very comfortable; recently fresh flowers have been arranged in a vase. There is an all round panoramic view, including Muckle Hoeg with its chambered cairn, White Haggle to the north and behind to the east - Haroldswick Bay.

A visit to the Unst Bus Shelter website (address below) reveals that this is the domain of local schoolboy Bobby Maculay who started to make the place a little more like home after a particularly long wait for a bus. Now the island's most popular tourist attraction, It has been featured in Bella Magazine, The Daily Mail, BBC Radio Scotland, The Press And Journal and the Shetland Times five times, as well being voted the best bus shelter in Britain by Buses Magazine (and they would know). What better place to wait for that bus which never seems to arrive and may never come.

Continue reading "Haroldswick Bus Shelter, Unst" »

Posted by Rob on June 26, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

For years Rothesay was a prime holiday destination for hordes of Glaswegians who would take a trip "doon the watter" for some sea air. Thanks to its beautiful setting on the Isle of Bute, and well-preserved Victorian seaside architecture it is still popular (but not as much as it should be), and is easy to reach by public transport making it an ideal place if you suddenly decide you want to get away from it all.

The pleasure starts as soon as you get on the ferry at Wemyss (pronounced "Weems") Bay (or before if you've got the train into its glorious Victorian station). The sailing only take 35 minutes and it's a beautiful trip across the Firth of Clyde. You might associate Scottish island life with crofts and sleepy villages but even from the boat Rothesay's solid Victorian villas and sandstone tenements give a hint of its bustling past.

When you get off the ferry take a right and the Grade 'A' listed Winter Gardens, now the Isle of Bute Discovery Centre will help you find your bearings. The gardens outside are beautifully kept - immaculately clipped and colourful. You can have a game of putting or make a wish in the Wishing Fountain, gifted to the town in 1961. And if you walk along the prom you can enjoy the view over to the Cowal Peninsula. One thing that's so special about Rothesay, and indeed the whole of Bute, is that here a sea view doesn't mean just sea, it means layers and layers of hills and mountains from neighbouring islands and mainland. I'm not always sure what I'm looking at but I know I like it.

Continue past the Winter Gardens to Rothesay Pavilion, one of the finest examples of Art Deco architecture in Scotland described at the time of its opening as 'uncompromisingly Moderne and stylish, [it] captures something of the boldness of Mendlesohn and Chermayeff’s only just completed Bexhill Pavilion’. Now used for concerts and discos the Pavilion also has a cafe which is open during the summer.

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Posted by Anne on June 23, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Scotland’s Secret Bunker is near St. Andrews, Fife and it’s exactly the place to visit if Scotland’s weather turns momentarily inclement. You laugh at the irony of all the large signs pointing at Scotland’s Secret Bunker, you park at an unprepossessing farmhouse, near a slightly miscellaneous collection of military vehicles, you pay your fee, pass the barrier and a long, sloping tunnel leads you down into the cheap, paranoid world of the 70s.

Built in the 1950s as a safe place for government bigwigs from Edinburgh to hold Cold War pow-wows, the bunker is 40m underground. The air is purified to weed out radioactivity, gas and biological warfare and can be refrigerated/heated, ozonated/deozonated, humidified and de-humidified - whatever that means. There are so called "hot beds" in the 6 dormitories, more luxurious accomodation for the ministers, an RAF control room, and the piece-de-resistance, a telephone switchboard with 2,800 outside lines enclosed in a "Faraday cage" which is built to withstand an atomic blast. And if the red telephone should ring, there's a BBC Sound Studio for broadcasting the news of a nuclear strike to lesser-protected mortals in the outside world.

All in all, it’s an intriguing place which you expect to feel like a museum but which actually brings out a few thoughts and fears you might not have wanted to have on holiday. The slight half-heartedness of the dressed-up dummies manning the consoles and computers seems to suit the collection of shabby technology which must, once, have been state of the art, and which we presumably relied on. Part of you can’t imagine the idea that a bureaucracy would hide down here while the rest of us fried, but the bureaucracy itself seems oddly quaint; the Minister of State has generously appointed quarters, the scientific advisors have white coats and pipes, the typing’s all done by female secretaries, the café has nice checked tablecloths. One tends to think of nuclear war has something big, dramatic and American, either Dr Strangelove or some sc-fi fantasy; but this place evokes the apocalypse as administered by Reggie Perrin.

Continue reading "Scotland's Secret Bunker, Fife" »

Posted by Russell on June 16, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The Dumfries & Galloway town of Moffat is a really sweet wee place, in more ways than one. There's enough there for a day trip but it's also compact enough for a satisfying pit stop if you're travelling up the M74 only a couple of miles away - it's much better than the services. The main street has a real bustle about it and this is one high street that hasn't been homogenised with lots of thriving local businesses. My favourite by a long way is the famous Moffat Toffee Shop, a huge sweet shop which has been trading since the late 1800s. You can choose from 200 jars of mixed boilings or try some of the famous Moffat Toffee. They also do a nice line in old fashoned sweets like Uncle Joe's Mint Balls, Edinburgh Rock or Highland Toffee. With handmade chocolate and a selection of whiskies up the back there's something for everyone.

On a sunny day Station Park is well worth a visit. Situated by the old railway line it's a tidy Victorian affair with lots of colourful flower beds which helped Moffat to win the "Britain in Bloom" title in 1996. There's a lovely pond where you can have a go on a swan boat, as well as pitch and putt, table tennis and "Moffatasia"(!) a water feature for kids that's fun to splash around in.

In the middle of the main street the statue of the Moffat Ram pays tribute to Moffat's history as a cattle and sheep droving centre. There is an urban legend that the sculptor who created the Ram committed suicide after he realised it had been made with horns but no ears. Can't say I noticed though. The abundance of hotels hints at its popularity as Scotland's first spa town. The last spa hotel, The Hydropathic burnt down in 1921 and Dr Beeching put paid to its railway station in 1954 but Moffat is still very much alive.

Continue reading "Moffat, Dumfries & Galloway" »

Posted by Anne on May 17, 2006 | Permalink

There is, literally, nothing to see at Electric Brae (known locally as Croy Brae). Unsuspecting travellers following the A719 coastal road near Dunure in Ayrshire will see the sign: "Electric Brae: Slow vehicles ahead". Mysteriously there is nothing until you get round the bend and a queue of stationary cars sits in the middle of the road. If it's anything like it used to be when I went there as a kid the cars will be full of beaming children slackjawed with wonderment for Electric Brae is a magical place, a "gravity" or "magnetic hill" where the laws of physics seemingly don't apply and cars roll upwards.

There are similar sites around the world with equally grandiose names - Magnetic Hill in New Brunswick, The Mystery Spot in Santa Cruz, Confusion Hill in Pennsylvania. I wonder if they all have a special place in their nation's hearts in the same way that Electric Brae does. Going here on the way home from the seaside used to be a childhood bank holiday treat. The normal rules of the road go out of the window as on this small stretch of road dawdling is permitted, if not downright encouraged. Indeed at one point Ayrshire Council were getting so many enquiries about the place (probably from Arthur C. Clarke fans) that they produced a leaflet about it. It also proved popular with the Yanks who were stationed at Prestwick during the war, particularly one General Dwight D. Eisenhower who used to bring visitors here when he stayed nearby at Culzean Castle.

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Posted by Anne on May 15, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (5)

If you can't decide whether to go for a walk or visit an art gallery you could always do both and visit Glenkiln Sculpture Park near Dumfries. It was established in 1951 by Sir William Keswick who owned the land and wanted to exhibit sculpture in a natural setting. He was a friend of Henry Moore's so there are four sculptures by him plus one each by Jacob Epstein and Auguste Rodin.

There are no signs to or in the park (someone suggested this is because the statues had been vandalised in the past) so finding all the sculptures becomes a bit of a treasure hunt. 4 you can see from the road - Henry Moore's King and Queen, a Moore cross, Rodin's John the Baptist beside a small car park, then Moore's Standing Figure. The other two - Epstein's The Visitation and Moore's Two Piece Reclining Figure are further off the beaten track up a hill beside the reservoir. The setting is perfect as the sculptures look solid and rugged enough to withstand a gale, and the green of the tarnished bronze stands out against the hills. Anytime I've been it's been virtually deserted which is just as well as the road is single track with few passing places. It's a lovely place for quiet contemplation and would be ideal for a good walk or a cycle. Just make sure you take a picnic.

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Posted by Anne on May 02, 2006 | Permalink