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.

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Posted by Anne on February 14, 2010 | Permalink | Comments (0)

Over the years Coventry has had a bit of a hard time. Bombed heavily during World War II, the Modernist post-war reconstruction which was groundbreaking in its day has few fans left. However, in Broadgate - the dead centre (as it were), a building with a facade that only its mother could love has a special treat for keen-eyed visitors.

Above the Lady Godiva News kiosk (oh yes) there are two doorways with black eagles on them, signifying Coventry rising from the ashes, and a triangular window above. On the hour, Coventry's most famous heroine Lady Godiva comes rolling out of one door on her horse, buck naked of course with only long hair to cover her modesty. As soon as she appears, famous voyeur Peeping Tom pops out of the window above to get a good eyeful. She rides from one doorway to the next as bells alert goggle-eyed onlookers. In a flash it’s all over.

Both Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom are local heroes. Lady Godiva has another statue in the centre of Broadgate and she looms large in Coventry’s history. Another Peeping Tom statue watches the shoppers in Cathedral Lane shopping centre and the bizarrely-titled Peeping Tom News, a sibling of Lady Godiva News, lurks round the back of the clock.

The legend goes that Lady Godiva, an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman who was the wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, threatened to ride naked in protest at her husband’s decision to raise taxes. He ordered the populace not to look and everyone obeyed apart from local tailor Peeping Tom, who was cheeky enough to catch a quick eyeful. He paid a high price for his moment of pleasure and was blinded.

It’s not entirely clear why this hasn’t become one of Britain’s top tourist attractions. After all it is free and contains nudity. Mechanical clocks were at one time an essential feature of any self-respecting shopping centre. If you can’t manage a peep at Coventry’s, Masquerade author Kit Williams designed ones in Cheltenham, Telford and Milton Keynes or you could catch the magnificent Roland Emett’s The Aqua Horological Tintinnabulator in the Victoria Centre, Nottingham.

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Posted by Anne on January 23, 2010 | Permalink | Comments (1)

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.

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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.

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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.

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Posted by Anne on September 19, 2009 | Permalink

Newcastle’s Grainger Market is almost 175 years old, but it’s the very model of a modern retail centre. These days, shopping centres are huge shiny things where you need GPS to get around but Grainger Market is just the right size and still has everything you need. That great shopping anthem, the ‘Are You Being Served?’ theme tune could have been specially written for it - perfumery, stationery and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food, going up!

Arranged neatly in a grid, a series of numbered ‘alleys’ contain spruce shopfronts and orderly displays. The pyramids of fruit and veg are shiny and fresh, and I saw a butcher’s stall so beautiful that it would make a vegetarian weep. Everything is refreshingly straightforward. The name says it all – The Shaver Centre, Bags of Bags and The Wig Shop need no explanation. Jewel Box has gifts for all occasions, Simply Men sells ‘everything for the modern man’ provided he likes walking sticks and driving gloves and Petticoat Lane sells underwear and smalls that are actually quite large. However the Plain English award goes to The Cheap Tab Shop, dispensing cigarettes at competitive prices, and doing a roaring trade if the queue was anything to go by.

Amongst the remarkably unremarkable stalls, the last remaining Marks and Spencer’s Penny Bazaar comes as a bit of a surprise. Michael Marks opened the first of these in Leeds in 1834 and their success turned M&S into a household name. This year as M&S celebrates 125 years in the business, the stall in Grainger Market is as modest as it has always been. Officially the world's smallest branch of Marks and Spencer, its original signage dating from 1895 is considerably more beautiful than its high street compadres.

The Weigh House is another gem. For 20p you can step on a pair of huge scales and have an attendant discretely write your weight down on a little ticket. As there’s a constant queue there’s a sense of camaraderie that you don’t get at weight watchers. There are screams of joy from some ladies when they see they’ve lost a pound or two (insert “ah-weigh the lads” joke here).

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Posted by Anne on September 05, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (5)

The Musgrave Collection in Eastbourne is a true one-off, just like its owner, 94 year old George Musgrave. Who is this man and why does he have his own museum, you say? Well, it’s a long story.

To start at the very beginning, the first exhibit is dedicated to The Dad I Never Knew – George’s father who died in WWI when George was only two years old. Next, fast forward to the 1950s with display cases full of plastic moulds, scenery and miniscule model figures that George designed for commercial toy manufacturers in the 50s and 60s. The “Swoppets” that he designed for Herald Miniatures are fabulous things – tiny cowboys and Indians run amok along the shelves, so animated in appearance that I bet they come alive at night and continue their battles. The original models, painstakingly created from wire and Plasticine show that this is a man with a creative mind, a steady hand and an eye for detail.

After this, in a bit of a curatorial non-sequitur, are miscellaneous paintings of people, animals and Patcham Windmill near Brighton where George lived and exhibited until it was subject to a compulsory purchase order. Next, stretching right to the back of the gallery are forty paintings of St Paul - a personal project that took up decades of his life and many research trips to the Middle East and beyond.

I wasn’t even halfway round at this point but already had the measure of the Musgrave Collection - expect the unexpected. Round the next corner there it was - some portraits of famous figures like Michael Grade and Roy Castle and an amazingly detailed, very clever diorama illustrating the four seasons, beside some display cases showing the history of communication and an impressive collection of Roman coins. As a final piece de resistance, his “Speck of Dust” painting, completed at the age of 91 shows the whole history of his colourful life in one go. Even here there are more surprises like his invention of the single yellow line, Olympic swim training and teaching in Africa. It’s a life that has spanned genres, continents and centuries. Blimey.

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Posted by Anne on August 23, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

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.

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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.

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Posted by Anne on July 13, 2009 | Permalink

Piers are remarkable things. Remnants of a former era when British seaside resorts were thriving places, they stick their necks out against the tide in more ways than one. And they are all remarkable in different ways. It’s not the longest, shortest or oldest, but Boscombe Pier, near Bournemouth in Dorset has come to be known as Britain’s coolest.

In contrast to the delicate wrought-iron and ornate detail of Britain’s Victorian piers, Boscombe Pier is a modern streamlined affair. It has an audacious, almost Googie-style entrance with a geometric cantilevered roof, for all intents and purposes like the wings of a jet. The message is clear – Boscombe Pier has landed.

Like many of its peers (sorry) Boscombe Pier has not had its troubles to seek. Originally built in 1888, it had no head until 1926. It was partly demolished for security reasons during the Second World War and lay in a sorry state until the 1950s. Opinion was divided on what to do next. A war of words broke out in the Beaches and Pavilion Committee with one councillor proclaiming “Piers are really redundant” and another that “A seaside without a pier is like a pig without ears”.

The consensus was that Boscombe needed a lift and the pier was rebuilt. The borough architect, John Burton, designed the terribly modish entrance building in line with the Modernist style of the late-1950s. The pier neck was rebuilt in reinforced and pre-stressed concrete (so this one shouldn’t burn down) and The Mermaid Theatre at the head was opened in 1962 with the ultimate in modern entertainment – a roller rink.

Over time its popularity faded and The Mermaid Theatre closed in 1989. It was later demolished, and as the entrance building was also closed for health and safety reasons the future of the pier looked bleak once again. A council survey in 2003 showed overwhelming support for the pier’s regeneration, and Grade II listing ensured that its character was kept intact. Plans were drawn up for some big names to put Boscombe back on the map.

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Posted by Anne on June 28, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The crypt of St Leonard’s Church in Hythe contains one of only two ossuaries in the UK (the other is in Rothwell, Northants). It holds over 2,000 skulls arranged neatly along the walls and 8,000 bones in a huge pile stacked almost to the ceiling - like a macabre game of Jenga. When death is such a taboo these days it’s a shock to see so much of it staring you in the face.

Seeing so many skulls in one go makes them less of a sinister object and more of an anthropological souvenir. They come in all shapes and sizes, some with axe wounds and congenital deformities – a sign of the times. One even shows a trepanning wound, where a hole was drilled in the skull and miraculously, the patient survived. A table of jawbones shows rows of teeth in surprisingly good shape. In those days refined sugar wasn’t part of the diet and the greatest dental hazard was tough bread.

This collection is gold dust for those want to know more about the health and genetic make-up of our predecessors. The numbers stamped on to each skull are signs of a study that took place in the 1930s. When I visited, a forensic anthropology student from Bournemouth University was working away with a craniometer, measuring the skulls one by one. The owners hope that new technology will reveal more about the lives of the people who came to rest here.

There have been many theories about how such a large collection got here – as the result of a Saxon battle or a wave of the Black Death. The mostly likely explanation is less dramatic, simply that an existing burial ground was disturbed during the building of the new church in the 13th Century.

At that time ossuaries were relatively commonplace. Bodies were only buried for a short while before being dug up again. The skulls and femurs (thigh bones) were kept as they were the two strongest bones and it was thought that their preservation was enough to guarantee passage into the afterlife. This might seem horribly disrespectful by today’s standards but it was a sign that the physical body wasn’t important. The soul had already ascended to heaven and so the body returned to dust.

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Posted by Anne on June 21, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

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.

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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'.

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Posted by Anne on May 17, 2009 | Permalink

Marine Court, a hulking Art Deco apartment block, dominates the seafront at St Leonards-on-Sea in East Sussex. When it opened in 1937 it was the tallest block of flats in the UK. The strange thing is its sheer bulk makes the wonder of its design easy to miss. From St Leonards it is a shabby block of flats, but look at it along the coast from Eastbourne or Hastings and it becomes clear that this architectural behemoth is a graceful ocean liner ready to set sail.

Once you know this it's impossible to see it any other way. Marine Court was modelled on the Queen Mary, Cunard's famous liner which first sailed in 1934. To describe it takes a mixture of architectural and nautical terms. At the eastern end, the curved lower floors protrude like a ship’s bow and the floors above recede like the stacked decks of a liner. At the west end the balconies end in a graceful curl, leaving a gap at the stern. The architects, Kenneth Dalgleish and Roger K Pullen, stopped short of adding portholes but it’s a simple but effective set of visual clues. On a sunny day, residents could feel like they were enjoying a luxury cruise from the comfort of their own flat.

However, not everyone could see the bright side. A competition to name the building had suggestions like ‘Monstrosity Mansions’ and ‘Have No Care House’. When it opened it contained 153 flats and 3 restaurants. In the 1960s it was home to The Cobweb, also known as the Witch Doctor - a nightclub that saw Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie and other luminaries play. Today, it's much quieter and the "comfort superstore" that occupies the ground floor is more suited to its current, mostly elderly inhabitants.

Grade II listed in 1999, it is starting to show its age. The exterior is a bit tatty, and the original details have been compromised by double glazing and rogue DIY. But it could have been a lot worse. It's still standing and it’s lived in. It looks like it has a few stories to tell.

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Posted by Anne on May 07, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

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

Tyneham in Dorset is a curious thing - a ghost village. Being ghostly, it’s not the easiest thing to find. We couldn’t see it on any road signs, but the boards saying "Village: Open" were a dead giveaway. So we followed these until some roofless cottages and an ornate white phonebox appeared - a rare K1 no less, designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1921. Ironically, it’s the one of the few things in Tyneham left intact.

Until 1943 this was a bustling community of 200, with its own post office, church, school and rectory. When the War Office (now the Ministry of Defence) needed some land for firing practice, the residents were asked to leave. On the door of St Mary's Church a poignant note remains:

'Please treat the church and houses with care; we have given up our homes where many of us lived for generations to help win the war to keep men free. We shall return one day and thank you for treating the village kindly.'

But they never did return. In 1948 the War Office took out a compulsory purchase order and the land was commandeered for military use. Information boards in the empty houses tell the story of the village and the campaign to get Tyneham back. Photos show residents as youngsters in the village, and as pensioners camping at the gates with placards saying "Get our village back".

In the end, the campaign to get the village back lasted longer than the war. It took over 30 years for access to the village to be restored and even then, it's only for a few days every year (officially 137). In whatever state it continues to delight and intrigue. Patrick Wright who wrote a book about it calls it "the symbol of a vanished England".

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Posted by Anne on April 08, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (3)

The tourist board would have you believe that King’s Lynn is famous for its historical buildings and nautical history, but when we visited there was only one thing that stood out - the Campbell’s Soup Factory on Hardwick Road.

Sitting on the outskirts of town, the tower sporting the famous Campbell's logo stands proud against the flat Fens of the Norfolk countryside. Campbell's is a familiar brand, well-known in most kitchens. Andy Warhol's famous reworking of its soup cans in the 1960s makes it even more iconic. So, seeing something this size, in such isolation is more like a piece of art than industry. If this was America, some flashing neon and a giant slurping spoon would complete the picture.

The first cans rolled off the production line here in 1959, in the first major Campbell's factory outside America. Within 20 years the factory employed more than 500 staff, making more than 60 varieties of soup. As if one culinary legend wasn't enough, Fray Bentos pies moved here in the early 90s, but sadly even this couldn't guarantee the factory's future. Premier Foods bought the company for £460 million in 1996 and in January 2007 it announced that it would be closing the site with the loss of 245 jobs.

Now Campbell's soup has disappeared both from King's Lynn and the supermarket shelves – it has been rebranded as Bachelor's condensed soup. Thankfully the tower has held onto its livery, albeit for a short while. Tesco, who owns the site, announced last week that the tower will be demolished to make way for a larger supermarket. Its demise will bring much needed jobs to the area but there’s still a note of sadness as a famous brand and an industrial icon disappears from King's Lynn skyline. Catch it while you can (pun intended).

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Posted by Anne on March 28, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Weston-super-Mare is blessed with two special transport museums. The nippy Lambretta Museum is in town while on the outskirts, The Helicopter Museum houses a more substantial type of vehicle.

Now the world’s largest dedicated helicopter museum, it has been growing steadily since 1958, when the founder Elfan ap Rees, an aviation writer and historian started to collect rotorcraft. Now here's where the vocabulary gets interesting - rotorcraft is a complex famlly of vehicles including helicopters, autogyros (same as gyroplanes), gyrodynes and tiltrotors. It became the British Rotorcraft Museum in 1978 but that wasn’t so catchy. Whatever it’s called, every variation is here, from bizarre early prototypes to hulking military beasts. There’s even a Gyro-Boat. Either way, it's a wonder any of them got off the ground. It just doesn't seem natural.

The early days of flight are marked by the Cierva Memorial Building, named after Don Juan de la Cierva, the designer and founder of the practical autogyro (as opposed to the impractical autogyro, of which there were many). The collection contains many rare and delicate vintage craft with great names like the Thruxton Gadfly and the Campbell Cougar as well as the modern superstars of the helicopter world - the fearsome Russian Army Mil Mi-24, the G-LYNX world record speed holder and royal helicopter The Queen's Flight. And it’s not just helicopters - Helix, the only teddy bear to have completed a round the world helicopter flight is here too.

Beside the shop and cafe there's an excellent display of models (some pretty substantial) and toy helicopters including Budgie, created by Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York who trained as a pilot in the Navy. He's all but forgotten in most households, but is fondly remembered here. Kids can take a ride in a miniature Budgie, or play around in the cockpit of a proper helicopter firmly rooted to the ground outside. The museum runs a number of special "Helidays" throughout the year where vistors can enjoy helicopter rides from the beach, as well as Open Cockpit Days where grown-ups can pretend to fly too.

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Posted by Anne on March 08, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The Old Pier Book Shop on Morecambe's Marine Road (the main drag) makes Glasgow’s Voltaire and Rousseau look positively organised. After browsing through the boxes and shelves outside I was tempted in, a little daunted by the amount of books inside. Open the door and the smell hits you, that unmistakable booky odour. Alan Bennett was blaring out on the radio, which couldn't have been more appropriate.

Inside, it is huge in a Tardis-like fashion. A series of doorways (all framed by books, even along the top) lead into each other, creating a strange Hall of Mirrors effect. Because there were so many books on show I had pretty much convinced myself that the book about motorway services stations that I'd been looking for would be there somewhere. So I looked for the travel section but nothing seemed to be in any particular order. There are some shelves that might possibly be a war section, and some vaguely historical titles but in the main, any subject arrangement appears coincidental, at best.

There are no signs or labels either, which in a bookshop this size seems foolhardy if not downright wilful. No matter though, because the owner, Tony Vettesse claims he knows where everything is. His parents ran the premises as a cafe called The Ramblers for years. When they retired Tony decided to give the second-hand books that he'd been slipping into the cafe their own space. 60,000 titles later and here we are.

Burrowing into the interior, I quickly lost my travelling companion along with all sense of time and space. The volume of books and the labyrinthine layout of the shelves make it disorientating very quickly. It was a relief to reach the sci-fi section at the back and be able to ignore a few bays. Randomly, over by what I believe may be windows is a stuffed goose.

It was one of the few shops in Morecambe open after 5 on a Saturday and I wondered if we'd be locked in. The proprietor was so hemmed in by stock that I'm not even sure he noticed us arriving. It's quite possible that down the back there's a little Japanese soldier still fighting the war. I did wonder if they ever close, as the range of stock outside looks like it would be a bit tricky to secure. I'd just stay open I think. Books make great pillows.

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Posted by Anne on March 01, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (4)

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.

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

Personally, I will not rest until every model village in Britain is catalogued on Nothing To See Here. So here's another: Corfe Castle Model Village on the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset. The remarkable thing about this is that it's a faithful recreation of the real village of Corfe Castle. So as you walk down the miniature main street it's fun to figure out where you are, in the real world, as it were. The best bit is that one of the miniature houses has a model of the model village in its model back garden. For a moment I thought I would look into the model model village and see a tiny version of myself looking at an even smaller model and so on, into infinity but that’s a bit much to ask. The miniature village itself is quite an achievement without playing with space and time.

Opened in 1966 and built to 1/20 scale, the model village shows how the rather imposing Corfe Castle would have looked like in 1646, before it was destroyed by Cromwell's armies. The model castle, built on a manmade mound, contrasts nicely with the actual size one, which sits on a hill nearby. Both are very imposing and dominate the landscape around them. The detail, as with all model villages, is staggering. It must have seemed like a great idea, but taking two whole years to build, it’s amazing the novelty didn’t wear off before it was finished. Most people don’t have the patience to finish a model aeroplane, never mind build something of this scale.

The village was the brainchild of Eddie Holland, a local businessman. Many of the houses were built by Jack Phillips, a local builder who made genuine Purbeck stone roofs with teeny tiny tiles. As well as the village, there is a larger scale "village punishment area for scoundrels" with stocks and pillories (I didn't know the difference before I visited - there you go, it's educational). And to confuse matters even further there are some outsize games - a giant chess set and some huge Connect 4.

If you want to bide a wee, there's a cafe with a nice terrace outside. We were so enthused that we walked up to the real castle. Visiting the model acts as a nice introduction. I felt more connected to it as a historical artefact, with a better mental picture of how it would have been in its heyday. The strange thing is that once you get up that enormous hill, the real village looks just like a model. Deja vu or what?

Continue reading "Corfe Castle Model Village, Isle of Purbeck" »

Posted by Anne on January 31, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (1)

The South Bank Lion stands proudly at the south-west corner of Westminster Bridge. Created in 1837 by W. F. Woodington, he's been about a bit, starting off as one of a pair on the Red Lion Brewery. When this was demolished in 1949 to make way for the Royal Festival Hall, King George VI took a shine to him and he was moved to Waterloo Station. But he wasn't there for long either. It was extended in 1966 and he ended up in his final resting place on Westminster Bridge near County Hall.

He also had a bit of a facelift on the way. When they were guardians of the Red Lion Brewery, both lions were red. The other one, which ended up on the Rowland Hill Memorial Gate at Twickenham Stadium, is now painted gold but the South Bank lion has been restored to show us what he's made of - Coade Stone.

Coade stone is a rather peculiar thing, not being a stone at all. Instead it’s a durable ceramic material which is resistant to the elements, explaining why our friend looks so sprightly today. Created by Eleanor Coade and first sold in 1769, it was easily produced in moulds, widely used, and hugely successful. Mrs Coade's Artificial Stone Company on Westminster Bridge Road catered for the high end of society, with its wares ending up in all kinds of high falutin' places, even Buckingham Palace.

However, Coade Stone's star waned as quickly as it appeared and in 1833 the company was declared bankrupt. Portland cement became a cheaper, more viable alternative and Coade stone was rarely used after 1840. According to records there are around 650 examples left, all over the world, with the South Bank Lion one of the finest. So for those of you crossing Westminster Bridge, this is no ordinary statue, this is one very special lion.

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Posted by Anne on December 20, 2008 | Permalink

Fitzpatrick's Temperance Bar in Rawtenstall, Lancashire is the oldest original temperance bar in Britain. When it opened in 1890, temperance bars were ten a penny. There was no tax on alcohol, so every hour was happy hour. Alcoholism was rife, and in 1832, Joseph Livesey, a cheese-maker from Preston decided to take matters into his own hands - the Temperance Movement was born. Initially, steering clear of spirits was enough to get you membership but after a while "taking the pledge" came to mean no alcohol whatsoever. In fact, the word teetotal is said to come from one member, who spoke with a stammer and said that nothing would do except "tee-tee-total abstinence".

In the early twentieth century, temperance bars became the focal point of many communities with locals gathering for a quick sarsparilla as the Band of Hope children sang uplifting songs. The Fitzpatrick family were renowned herbalists and ran a chain of temperance bars throughout Lancashire. Malachi Fitzpatrick, the last in the family line ran the Rawtenstall bar for over fifty years and lived until he was ninety, putting his long and healthy life down to the tonic and potions he brewed in the shop.

Fitzpatrick's now has new owners, who have given the place a sympathetic refit. Visitors can continue to enjoy their award-winning home made cordials like sarsaparilla, blood tonic (a lot nicer than it sounds) and dandelion and burdock. The original bar is a tremendous looking thing, almost organ-like with mysterious stops for Cream Soda and “Wino” among others. The shelves are full of jars with strange sounding ingredients like comfrey and borage, and for the less adventurous there are traditional sweets (lot of Uncle Joe's Mint Balls) and remedies.

The place is littered with vintage bits and pieces like Reckitts Crown Blue soap and Asepso antiseptic soap. Some familiar brands like Vimto (invented in Manchester as Vim Tonic) and Eno's had their roots in these sort of places. In the supermarket they have a job competing against new, shiny competitors but here they're in a fusty, yet very pleasant world of their own. Herbalists have had to weather the storm of fashion over the years, shunned as the domain of cranks, so it's heartwarming to find Fitzpatrick’s in such rude health.

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Posted by Anne on December 06, 2008 | Permalink

Poundbury, Prince Charles’ most famous attempt at town planning sits quietly at one end of Dorchester. So quietly in fact, that we arrived there completely by accident. It isn’t signposted and doesn’t appear on any of the maps we were carrying, in an "if you have to ask you can’t afford it" kind of way.

It’s a "pioneering example of urban development" built on the pillars of ‘A Vision of Britain’, the Prince of Wales' infamous intervention into architecture. Designed by the European architect Leon Krier, planning started in the 1980s, building in 1993. Phases one and two have been completed and work will continue until 2025 when Poundbury will have space for 5,000 people.

What sets Poundbury apart is that it’s a new town built in an old way. The architecture is designed in a traditional Dorset style and built with local materials. In the centre, Pummery Square is dominated by the traditionally-styled Brownsword Hall (above). Across the street is Poundbury Village Stores, or Budgens to you and I but they’re not allowed to say that on the sign in case it ruins the effect. All aspects of town planning are tightly controlled, with any alterations needing approval from the Duchy of Cornwall. This extends right down to signage which has good intentions, but the lack of visual clutter is really weird. It's all a bit too tidy.

In a strange way, these attempts to ensure that the "character" of Poundbury remains intact ensure that it has none whatsoever. It's astonishingly bland, spectacularly banal. There's an amazing lack of patina - the sort of scuffing or wear and tear that makes a place look lived in. In fact, that’s probably against the rules. You get the feeling if anything did become worn a little man would scurry out to touch it up again. As a result it doesn’t seem real, more like a model village than an actual one.

Instead, the “character” is planned in, and sticks out like a sore thumb. Period elements like bricked up windows (a feature of old English houses during the era of the Window Tax) look really hokey. In Dinham Walk there’s a decorative fountain that wouldn’t look out of place in Portmeirion. Prince Charles was greatly inspired by Clough Williams-Ellis’ fantastic Welsh village and it really shows. The difference is that Portmeirion pulls it off. It has tremendous warmth and a gorgeous higgledy-piddledyness but here it’s po-faced and embarrassing. It’s difficult to work out why one works and the other doesn’t - maybe because Portmeirion doesn’t discriminate where it borrows from and was allowed to grow over time. Here it’s all a bit too exclusive and forced. Trying to keep the modern world at bay isn’t sustainable. An architectural flourish on a double garage just doesn’t seem right.

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Posted by Anne on November 09, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Only the truly hard-hearted can clap eyes on a bubble car without breaking into a smile. These days it's rare enough to see one never mind 70 in a row. So the fact that the National Bubble Car Museum exists at all is cause for celebration. Here it is in Byard's Leap in deepest darkest Lincolnshire, second only to the Bruce Weiner Microcar Museum in Dubble Bubble Acres, Madison, GA.

Inside a huge barn there are bubble cars or to use the more accurate term "microcars" everywhere. Their cheery countenances give the impression that they might get up to mischief once the visitors have left for the day. They're safely behind ropes lest they break free and run amok, parping out the Benny Hill theme on their horns. A colourful symbol of the freedom and optimism of the post-war era, they're just made for jolly jaunts with a wicker picnic set and tartan travelling rug, provided there's only two of you and you're not over 5'6".

The Register of Unusual Microcars (yes, there really is one) defines microcars as "economy vehicles with either three or four wheels, powered by petrol engines of no more than 700cc or battery electric propulsion, and manufactured since 1945". So within the world of microcars there are bubble cars - the ones that look particularly bubbly, either in shape or personality. The most iconic are here alright. The Messerschmitt, with its strange hammer-headed bonnet and tall bubble canopy has the air of a distinguished gentleman. It looks like it should be wearing a monocle. The cheeky Isetta, the bubbliest of them all has an unusual front-opening or "suicide" door. Funny how that didn’t catch on. They might look frivolous but they come from a prestigious background. Isettas were manufactured by BMW and Messerschmitts were made by, er, Messerschmitt famous for their WWII bombers. The bubble canopy wouldn’t look out of place on a fighter plane.

Continue reading "The Bubble Car Museum, Byard's Leap" »

Posted by Anne on September 27, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

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.

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

A quiet space in the City of London is remarkable, but Postman’s Park is unique. Round the corner from St Paul's Cathedral where the streets are full of city gents bursting with self-importance, it contains the Watts Memorial where people who were ordinary, yet extraordinary are remembered in a very beautiful way.

In one corner of the park, easily overlooked under a canopy, there are over 50 plaques, with beautiful lettering hand-painted onto Royal Doulton tiles. Each one details the untimely end of a heroic soul who died trying to save another life. Except they put it much more poetically than that. Although they're short, they're beautifully written with flashes of detail that paint vivid pictures of these tragic gothic scenes. Take David Selves, aged 12 of Woolwich who "supported his drowning playfellow and sank with him clasped in his arms", or William Donald of Bayswater who "drowned in the Lea trying to save a lad from a dangerous entanglement of weed". Fans of Edward Gorey or Lemony Snicket get yourself down here.

At first they seem funny - a bit over the top. But by the end of the first panel I was hooked. What next? What fresh disaster? After 30 or so plaques it's almost heartbreaking. Every tile has something, a name or a place or a word that places it firmly in the past. There are occupations that don't exist anymore and situations no one would ever find themselves in, peopled by a cast of Fredericks, Herberts and Alices. Even the causes of death are wonderfully archaic - descending a high-tension chamber, trampled by a runaway horse; or spectacularly bizarre like Sarah Smith, pantomime artiste who "died of terrible injuries received when attempting in her inflammable dress to extinguish the flames which had enveloped her companion".

Continue reading "Postman's Park, London" »

Posted by Anne on August 28, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (6)

Architecture is a serious business. There are swathes of books about great buildings, famous architects, architectural movements and the like. But how many of these great buildings are fun? Well, Bangkok’s Robot Building is.

Strangely enough, the Lonely Planet guide to Thailand fails to mention it so when I saw a pair of eyes peering out across the smoggy Bangkok skyline I thought it was an optical illusion. As the Skytrain snakes around Sathorn, Bangkok’s financial district, it becomes clear that actually the building is a robot. It has eyes and ears (well, antennae), a body and legs. In a sprawling city that has some of the ugliest architecture ever, laid out in a way that suggests someone put lots of buildings in a bag, shook them hard and tipped them out it’s a bolt from the blue, if you'll pardon the pun.

This fantastic building was designed in 1985 by Sumet Jumsai, one of Thailand’s best-loved architects, also famous for the Bangkok's Elephant Building (which looks like an elephant). A contemporary of Buckminster Fuller he took inspiration from his son’s toy robot and let it loose on a design for the Bank of Asia (now United Overseas Bank) headquarters. A sign of the times, this cheery robot signifies the friendly face of technology.

For all that it looks like an elaborate joke, every robotic aspect is well-planned and well-used. His eyes are the dining and meeting rooms of the executive suites, his eyelids are sunshades, his antennae are lightning rods. His nuts were the biggest in the world at time of development. Planning regulations give him his stepped-back sides and the blue curtain walls representing the colour of the Bank of Thailand provide much-needed shade. If that wasn't enough, the robot's eyes were designed to wink at night along to music called "The Robot Symphony" by Jacques Bekaert, a Bangkok composer. I didn't see it at night so amn't sure if that actually happens. Let's hope so.

Continue reading "The Robot Building, Bangkok" »

Posted by Anne on August 02, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

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

The Bakelite Museum in Williton, Somerset is a museum of few words. At the entrance, a small sign introduces Bakelite "The material of a thousand uses". Invented by Dr Leo Baekeland in 1907 Bakelite was the world’s first, and most successful synthetic plastic, in continuous production ever since. If you think it's confined to old brown radios, think again. The museum, set over two floors in a 17th Century watermill is jam packed with Bakelite products of all shapes, sizes and colours.

Stepping in the door is like walking into a 1950s home. There are cookers, toasters, washing machines, and irons interspersed with smaller items like banks, clocks and egg cups. It is bright and resilient, in the spirit of the times. If the museum had ended here I would have gone home happy, but there's more. Next, a room of televisions, gramophones, radios and telephones is like a mini Design Museum. Plus a colourful display of elegant bowls and vases made from Bandalasta (also known as LingaLonga), a coloured, marbled variation of Bakelite which first saw light in 1925.

Up the steep stairs and into a little side room where I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. This is the colourful world of Bakelite egg cups, napkin rings and salt and pepper shakers, all perfectly lined up on curvaceous shelves. I shudder to think what the dusting overhead is like, but it looks wonderful.

From there you go onto hairdryers, electric heaters, hoovers and the last room with a full set of Bakelite teeth, picnic sets and the piece de resistance, a Bakelite coffin. As it was famous for its heat-resistant properties this didn't go too well at cremations and the product never took off. It is one of the many highly collectible items on show.

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Posted by Anne on April 27, 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.

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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.

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

“It’s bigger than you think” proclaims the sign as you enter the Air Defence Radar Museum at RAF Neatishead in Norfolk. And indeed it is. We stopped by for a quick visit and came out two hours later. It turns out there's a lot to know about radar, and the museum staff (ex-RAF to a man) are only too glad to help you learn.

The museum traces the history of radar from early experiments like the sound mirrors still standing on the Kent coast, through Chain Home (the ring of coastal radar stations built by the British before and during World War II) to today's more sophisticated systems. RAF Neatishead is significant for radar enthusiasts (of which there are many) because it was home to the first secret defence system, built in 1941. It continued as a Sector Operations centre until 1993, protecting Britain through the nuclear threat of the Cold War.

The equipment used during World War II seems amazingly primitive. The Plotting Room (the room where they push things around with those big rake-type things) is staffed by dummy WAAFs (Women's Auxiliary Air Force). One thing the museum makes clear is women’s contribution to this end of the war effort. While the men were out fighting the women did their bit managing the information coming in over radar – plane positions, weather conditions. They counted them all out and counted fewer back. The museum shows complicated systems of charts, boards and obscure terminology. It must have been a demanding, relentless line of work.

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Posted by Anne on January 06, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

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.

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

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.

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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.

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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.

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Posted by Anne on August 05, 2007 | Permalink

Of all the seaside towns in all the world, the biggest rock shop has to be in one of them, and it’s Great Yarmouth. It’s only fitting that a resort so unashamed of its dedication to traditional leisure and pleasure throws healthy eating to the wind and gets down to the serious business of getting rock right.

It’s not completely clear what kind of competition Docwras Rock Factory has for the “Biggest rock shop” title, although a couple of other establishments in Regent Road look like they’re thinking of having a go. Although the shopfront is relatively modest they’re not exactly hiding their light under a bushel with the enormous neon sign saying “The World’s Largest Rock Shop” running right down one side of the interior.

And indeed, it’s big. One side is taken up with lots and lots of rock. All shapes. All sizes. All flavours. There’s everything – banana, raspberry, coffee, strawberries and cream, aniseed, different types of mint, and they come with almost anything stamped through the middle. Towards the back, beside the novelty shapes like baby’s dummies and fried breakfasts made of rock there’s even a “naughty section” with some genuinely eye watering things to put in your mouth.

Docwras is a family run business that has been making rock and other sweets for over 100 years. They’re quite happy to share the expertise of their “rock and rollers”. At the other side of the shop, beside a huge pipe painted rock pink another huge sign says “See Yarmouth Rock Made Here” with a sign showing the time of the next demo. Sadly, I missed it. Seeing as they make 80,000 sticks of rock every week it shouldn’t be long before another one comes along.

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Posted by Anne on July 16, 2007 | Permalink

Ulverston is a lovely example of how the Lake District used to be. Compared to the bright lights of Kendal and Keswick it has twice the charm and half the tourists. When we arrived at 10am it was still stirring awake and didn't seem to make it far beyond dozing for the rest of the day. Traditional shops jostle with one or two designer boutiques and fancy delis but apart from Greggs and Boots it is relatively chain-store free, and thankfully there isn’t a cut price fleece in sight.

The town is full of unexpected fragments of a more genteel time. The Glaxo Social Club proclaims to be "Licensed in pursuance of act of parliament for public dancing, singing, music and other public entertainments of the like kind".
At the top of the high street there's an ancient chemist and opposite the Oxfam shop street spreads over 3 floors with the non-fiction laid out in Dewey Decimal order. Amazingly, the charity shops here still have something you might want to buy.

Round the corner just off King Street there's a museum devoted to Stan Laurel, Ulverston’s most famous son who was born here in 1890. It's a gloriously ramshackle affair. Not so much a museum as a collection of anything Laurel (or Hardy) related crammed into two rooms. In a third, complete with old red velvet cinema seats, you can watch Laurel & Hardy films in period style. When we arrive the proprietor, himself a bit of a character, is just nipping out for fish and chips so he leaves us to look around the place. Even the souvenirs are fantastically old school – thimbles, mugs in two different sizes and stylish leather bookmarks.

Continue reading "Ulverston, Cumbria" »

Posted by Anne on June 10, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

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.

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

Childhood doesn’t belong in a museum - it’s noisy and fun, not quiet and organised. When you walk into the barn-like space that is Childhood Memories Toy Museum the overall effect is of a chaotic bedroom that’s had a last minute tidy up for visitors. The name really fits, as soon as you come in the door it’s like being a kid again, looking at a whole heap of exciting things and wondering what to play with first.

There’s obviously been an attempt to organise the huge number of toys on show. There are neat displays showing an impressive array of toy guns, robots, doll’s house furniture, Sooty & Sweep, ventriloquist’s dummies, Sindy dolls, Mr (and Mrs) Potato Heads, it goes on and on. But outside these collections toys spill everywhere. Bizarre board games such as On The Buses and I only arsked: The Bernard Breslaw Game balance on the display cases, and anything that can hang dangles from the ceiling.

In the middle of the floor large dolls and cuddly toys of all ages are corralled inside miniature vehicles. Some of the old ones would give you nightmares, their glass eyes staring at you in the dark. A teddy sits in a Sinclair C5, not actually a toy car even though it looks like one. And everything is equal here. Although many of the exhibits are highly collectable there’s no indication that that makes them more important. Classic toys are on show alongside tiny disposable things and famous names jostle with others that have been long forgotten. That makes sense – kids don’t discriminate either.

Continue reading "Childhood Memories Toy Museum, Tynemouth" »

Posted by Anne on April 15, 2007 | Permalink

Inside the Queen’s Museum of Art in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, New York City spreads out as far as the eye can see. NYC full size is dazzling enough, so who’d have thought a smaller version could be even more remarkable. Words become redundant here – it is massive but also miniscule. The panorama covers 9,335 square metres but to fit the whole New York area in the buildings, all 895,000 of them, are tiny. The Empire State Building is only 15 inches high but that’s not to do it down. The detail is mind-boggling. Every building, park and road is here with New York’s iconic landmarks and bridges perfectly modelled. In the distance there are bridges and gasometers, and even a little tiny plane taking off from La Guardia airport.

As if that wasn’t wonderful enough, when the panorama opened in 1964 for the World’s Fair in what was then the New York Pavilion, 1400 visitors a day were flown over the city in a little car which simulated a helicopter's eye view. These days viewing is from a walkway round the edge but it’s tempting to jump the rail and walk round it like a colossus, peering into windows and frightening the tiny inhabitants.

Conceived by Robert Moses, President of the World’s Fair Corporation, it took a team of 100 people from Raymond Lester & Associates 3 years to build. At the time of its creation it was the world’s largest scale model. The original contract called for less than one percent margin of error. Regular maintenance kept the panorama up to date until 1970 then there was a lull until 60,000 buildings were updated in 1992. Today it is still kept up to date, more or less. The twin towers of the World Trade Center are still standing here with a commemorative plaque nearby.

Continue reading "The Panorama of the City of New York, NYC" »

Posted by Anne on March 19, 2007 | Permalink

There's nothing unusual about finding a shrine in Bangkok, apart from this one. Instead of the usual Buddhist gods and spirits the Tuptim Shrine (also known as the Lingam Shrine) revolves around something that some might consider quite unholy. Tucked away at the back of the Nai Lert Park Hotel, ignominiously hiding under some trees by the tradesmens' entrance the brightly coloured scarves and offerings beckon you in. In the middle there is a traditional Thai spirit house festooned with gifts and garlands. Nothing unusual there. But on closer inspection the large black pillar beside the spirit house reveals a familiar but unusual shape - a giant penis. And indeed, all around the things that look like little sticks of wood and statues are all the same - loads and loads of penises; all shapes and sizes - fat ones, thin ones, tall ones, small ones, some that even have legs and a tail.

A sign explains:

The origins of Chao Mae Tuptim are obscure. It can only be recalled that a spirit house was built by Nai Lert for the spirit who was believed to reside in the large Sai (Ficus) tree.

The basic offerings are fragrant wreaths of snow-white jasmine flowers, incense sticks, pink and white lotus buds. Chao Mae Tuptim has received yet another, rather unconventional kind of gift, phallic in shape, both small and large, stylised and highly realistic. Over the years they have been brought by the thousands and today fill the area around the shrine. Confronted by the extraordinary display the shrine has automatically been concluded to be decidated to fertility.

The sheer numbers and variety are dazzling. Even the fence around the shrine is made out of little penises all standing to attention. Although the comedy value is high for some, the variety of gifts and offerings show that it's serious to those who come to pray for a family. Bangkok has a reputation for its sexual exploits but this is a peaceful antidote to some of the more in-your-face spectacles on offer in the city.

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Posted by Anne on February 25, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

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.

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

It goes against the crowd to stand still in New York's Grand Central Station but if you stop for a minute in the right spot you might find a little bit of magic. Underneath the main concourse, on the way to the historic Oyster Bar, there’s a special place known as The Whispering Gallery where the faintest murmur can be heard 40 feet away across the busy passageway.

There are no signs to the Whispering Gallery but look for a place where two walkways intersect, and a vaulted roof forms a shallow dome. Look up and admire the herringbone terra cotta tiles - designed by Rafael Guastavino and Son and found in some of New York's finest buildings. Take a friend or sweetheart and pick diagonal corners. Then turn your faces to the wall and start talking. It feels a little odd at first, but even though you’re a long way away you should hear every word.

The phenomenon is fairly common, usually found beneath domes or ellipsoid surfaces. Sound "telegraphs" along the line of the curve to reach the other side. Other famous examples are found in St Paul's Catherdal in London and St Peter's Basilica in Rome. I've tried things like this before and stood talking to myself like an idiot, but this one definitely works. It's a popular spot for marriage proposals - word has it jazz legend Charles Mingus proposed here. It can get busy so pick your moment carefully to avoid embarrasment. If he/she says yes, head straight to the Oyster Bar and celebrate in style. It also has Guastavino ceilings so be careful where you whisper your sweet nothings if you don't want the whole place to hear.

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Posted by Anne on December 06, 2006 | Permalink

Seeing the Apollo Pavilion today, it’s hard to imagine how it ever seemed like a good idea. Designed by artist Victor Pasmore and built between 1963 and 1970 in Peterlee, a new town in County Durham, it’s an abstract concrete er, thing - half architecture, half sculpture. At eighty-two feet wide, it's a hulking great brute, spectacularly out-of-scale to everything around it. It’s not so much ugly as inappropriate. Loathed by many, but loved by a dedicated few, it is at once a symbol of the idealism of modernism and the new town movement, and the epitome of where it went horribly wrong.

When Peterlee was founded in 1948, Modernist hero Berthold Lubetkin was brought in as master planner but when his proposals for high-rise living proved unsuitable for mining terrain he left, disillusioned, and become a farmer. Abstract artist Victor Pasmore who was then Master of Painting at Kings College in Newcastle-upon-Tyne stepped into the breach. He designed “The Pivvy” as it's known locally as a bridge and focal point in a problematic area of the Sunny Blunts housing estate where a lake divides the housing estate and the road. Aspirations were high, and it was named The Apollo Pavilion after the moon mission which was reaching for the stars around the same time

Pasmore described it as 'an architecture and sculpture of purely abstract form through which to walk, in which to linger and on which to play, a free and anonymous monument which, because of its independence, can lift the activity and psychology of an urban housing community on to a universal plane.’ Well, he was half-right. People lingered and played alright, but not in a good way. Almost immediately it became a haven for vandals and teeny-tipplers. To add insult to injury, a local government spat ensued when the Peterlee Development Corporation that commissioned the £33,000 work was wound up and the Easington District Council which inherited it refused to touch it with a bargepole, or more usefully a paintbrush.

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Posted by Anne on November 08, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Opened in 1951, the Tyne Cycle & Pedestrian Tunnels join the communities of Howdon and Jarrow on the north and south banks of the river Tyne. At their peak 20,000 people travelled 900 ft (274 m) through them each day to get to work in the nearby shipyards. While pedestrian river tunnels are nothing new this was the first with a purpose-built cycle tunnel - still in regular use today as it forms part of the C2C cycle route running from coast to coast across the north of England.

Above ground at each end there is a dinky red-brick rotunda, quiet apart from the faint whirr and clank of machinery. Going in is like entering a station, but with no ticket office or trains. It's a slightly mysterious affair, just two escalators marked Up and Down that descend, seemingly, into the bowels of the earth. The directions need to be marked because they aren't moving. As you approach, a speed ray regulator powers the one you need into life. Legend has it the more people on them the faster they go although as it was quiet for our visit we didn’t get a chance to test this.

When they were built, they were the longest single-rise escalators in the world at 60m (approx 200 feet). Today they are still the longest wooden ones in the world, and a rarity now that wooden escalators such as those in the London Underground have been phased out. Built by Waygood-Otis, they have a solid charm, each of the 306 steps numbered and stamped, and they make a fantastic noise - a sort of gentle clank. The journey up or down feels like travelling in style.

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Posted by Anne on October 22, 2006 | Permalink

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.

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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.

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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)

If you ask directions to Manchester Metropolitan University's Hollings Campus you might get some blank looks, but if you ask for the Toast Rack everyone will know what you mean. Once you catch sight of it there’s no need to explain its nickname – it's a huge tapering building with parabolic concrete arches on top that give it the look of a great big toastrack. There is a legend that in the 1970s students made a giant slice of polystyrene toast and stuck it on the roof for rag week. And if that wasn't enough, to augment the big breakfast theme there is an adjoining building which being small and round is known as The Fried Egg.

The culinary moniker fits well as the building, described by renowned architectural historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner as "a perfect piece of pop architecture" began life as a classroom block for Manchester’s Domestic and Trades College which had been teaching cookery and domestic science in various incarnations since 1901. It is now home to MMU's Faculty of Food, Clothing and Hospitality Management. With over 2,000 students it is the largest concentration of domestic science students in the UK - and yes, they do sandwich courses.

The buildings were designed in 1958 by City Architect L. C. (Leonard) Howitt who was also responsible for re-modelling the interior of Manchester Free Trade Hall after the original was destroyed in WWII, and designing the Crown Courts in Crown Square. Although it looks playful, there was a practical intent. The tapering shape provides different sized teaching spaces for small or large classes (although the varying room sizes reportedly caused heating problems until the building was refurbished in the 1990s). Beside the main building there are tailoring workshops which were kept separate to minimise noise from the sewing machines, and “The Fried Egg” - a low round building with a circular hall intended for catwalk shows which houses the library and two refectories.

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Posted by Anne on August 08, 2006 | Permalink

As you travel along the A66 on the edge of Darlington you'll see a train on one side of the road. Nothing unusual there except that this one isn't going anywhere. Designed by leading contemporary artist and sculptor David Mach, Train is made from 185,000 local "Accrington Nori" bricks and commemorates Darlington's illustrious heritage as "home of the railways". (The Stockton-Darlington Railway which opened in 1825 was Britain's first permanent steam locomotive railway). Mach describes his train as "as much a piece of architecture as a sculpture". 60 metres long and 6 metres high, it is a perfect rendering of the 1938 classic locomotive "Mallard", complete with plume of billowing smoke.

Creating a large scale, life-like whole out of thousands of commonplace objects is Mach's trademark. Apart from Train he has made a number of artworks worldwide such as The Temple at Tyre out of car tyres and his Big Heids beside the M8 near Glasgow out of steel piping. He puts his interest in mass-production down to a job in a bottling plant he had as a young man back home in Fife. But even though the constituent parts may be common, the end result is far from throwaway and his work is usually thoughtfully designed and painstakingly constructed with sensitivity to the local area and its long-term future.

To create the train a 5 metre long maquette was built - "a substantial piece of sculpture in itself" according to Mach. This was then scanned and produced in drawing form, then redrawn on computer. The construction was "a painful, boring process" involving a team of architects, engineers, bricklayers, quantity surveyors, mortar experts and the artist himself, there to make sure that each brick was in exactly the right place. The team of 34 took 21 weeks to build it and thoughtfully included 20 special "bat" bricks to encourage our nocturnal friends to nest there.

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Posted by Anne on August 06, 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Posted by Anne on July 09, 2006 | Permalink

Blackpool is usually associated with gaudy delights such as the Pleasure Beach and Golden Mile, but away from the coast on the edge of Stanley Park lives a quieter attraction – Blackpool Model Village & Gardens. It’s hard to explain the joy that comes from seeing real things on a smaller scale, but if that’s your bag, head down here quickly. Established in the late 1960s or early 1970s (the owner was a little hazy about actual dates) by a local landscape gardener, the village is set in two and a half acres of park and is unique because of the beautiful (real size) flowers and shrubs that surround the more miniature exhibits.

And it’s all here – the village church with a wedding party outside, the local tea room, a caravan park, a fun fair and cricket match on the village green as well as plenty of things that let’s face it, few villages have – a huge prison, an airstrip and an enormous Scottish castle complete with Scots guards and piped bagpipe music.

As you enter the village you are given an instruction sheet that directs you along the labyrinthine paths with I-Spy style questions to keep the younger members of the party paying attention to detail. And the more you pay attention the more you get as there are little jokes throughout. Eagle-eyed visitors may spot that the proprietors of the garage are Messrs Hugh Crashum and W.E. Mendum. And although it’s a model village it’s not all perfect with an escapee making his way out of the prison, and oh no! a punch-up at the local caff.

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Posted by Anne on June 28, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (6)

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)

Crosby beach has some strange visitors - 100 figures by Angel of the North creator Antony Gormley. Based on a cast of the artist's body, the sculptures are made out of cast iron and stand staring at the horizon. On a busy beach at first they are hard to spot, arranged over 3 kilometres of shore, stretching almost 1 km out to sea. We could only see 10 or 15 at the most and only 3 were fully visible from head to toe. The rest were partially submerged with some only head and shoulders above the water, not waving but drowning.

Up close the figures have been worn by the elements, giving them a wonderful texture. Each one has a tag on its wrist with a number. Despite the fact that each figure is 650 kilos of high-grade British art they seem pretty approachable and local residents have obviously adopted them as their own. The one that we could get to most easily was surrounded by children and as photos from the Another Place Flickr pool show they are sometimes adorned with sunhats, motorbike helmets and even a Santa outfit. They're also a handy place to leave your flip-flops if you're heading in for a paddle (but please, no swimming on this beach - it's too dangerous).

We saw it on a beautiful sunny late afternoon but I can imagine that other viewings will offer up different things depending on the weather and the tide. The figures looked beautiful against a blue sky but they look like they would rise to the challenge of a cold, rainy winter's day. It’s a truly beautiful, unique spectacle, in harmony with its surroundings - simple and elegant. And you can take from it as much or as little as you want. Amid the bustle of the beach, the solidity and stolidity of these figures gave me an enormous sense of peace.

Continue reading "Antony Gormley's Another Place, Crosby" »

Posted by Anne on June 18, 2006 | Permalink

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.

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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)

This is Saltburn or Saltburn-by-the-Sea to give it its full title - a lovely old Victorian seaside resort on the North Yorkshire coast a bit north of Scarborough. I saw it in a TV play years ago and vowed to visit one day. It looked so great with its cliff lift (they don't call it a funicular), pier and huge sandy beach. It has a real Alan Bennett feel to it, homely but windswept. When we got there we'd just missed The Royal doing some filming and Heartbeat are never out of there as it passes for the 1960s without any fuss. No wonder as it's so unspoilt.

The cliff lift is the oldest remaining waterbalance lift in Britain, working its way up and down the 120ft cliff since 1884. There's something satisfyingly low-tech about all the swishing and clanking that goes on. For 60p you get to travel in the intimate little cars (maximum 15 passengers and that must be a tight squeeze) with their lovely stained glass windows. There were two old men in ours who asked wryly if we were having a good time. They seemed suprised when we said we were. With surroundings as nice as this it's easy to get by without "attractions".

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Posted by Anne on May 08, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (10)

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.

Continue reading "Glenklin Sculpture Park, Dumfries & Galloway" »

Posted by Anne on May 02, 2006 | Permalink