I have to say that I’m getting quite used to this. A decent bed to sleep in, all my meals brought to me and able to comoonicate with my fanbase as normal. Regrettably, last week’s joke was too much for one of our subscribers although we made a net gain with more people joining up. Welcome aboard as we continue to moove onwards and upwards!
Over the past few weeks I’ve given you a glimpse into life on the road for a Highland coo. It’s not all hardship and sleeping on verges as during my travels I’ve popped in to see various farmers of my acquaintance hoof been kind enough to allow me the use of their barn while I’ve been in their area. I introduced you to one last week – Farmer Fyfe. What I didn’t mention was that since we’d last met he’d “gone all green” and back to nature. That’s right – his farm was now 100% organic with everything done through good old graft and sweat.
This puzzled me a bit as I recalled how proud he’d been of the old tractor he used in his fields. He spent countless hours polishing the bodywork and fine-tuning the engine. In fact a large photograph of him beaming from behind the wheel had pride of place on his mantelpiece. “Aye, Flo – I loved that tractor,” he said to me. “However, the price of fuel and the damage I was doing to Mother Earth with all these emissions made me realise that it was time to sell her. I’ve no regrets. I don’t miss the tractor and am far happier working with the old-style methods. Anyway, let me show you to your accommodation for the evening.”
On heading out to the barn we were alarmed to see it ablaze with the flames leaping some twenty feet in the air. Although we soon had the fire under control, more of a worry was the choking black smoke throughout the building. To my astonishment, Farmer Fyfe stood at the door, inhaled deeply and sucked all the smoke down into his lungs. He then blew it straight up and out harmlessly into the atmosphere! “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen in my life!” I exclaimed.
“Nowt amazing about it, Flo,” he replied. “I’m an ex-tractor fan.”
And so to this week’s clip. If you’ve been with me from the start then you’ll be aware that the name Sir Walter Scott has featured more than a few times. Call it respect from one great Scottish writer to another so where better to visit while in the vicinity than the place where the legendary author has his final resting place - Dryburgh Abbey:
Many say that Dryburgh Abbey is the most picturesque of the Border Abbeys and this Historic Scotland property is certainly the most peaceful in its secluded location to the north of the village of St Boswells. Founded around 1150, this magnificent building had the misfortune like the other great Border Abbeys to witness some of the worst acts of the Wars of Independence. Mind you, ringing the bells to celebrate an English defeat probably wasn’t the best idea with the retreating army in the vicinity. This resulted in the Abbey being burned down in 1322, a fate that would befall it a further twice. However, it wasn’t warfare but rather the Reformation that would finally put paid to the Abbey as a functional religious building.
One of the most notable features of the Abbey is the tomb of Sir Walter Scott, one of Scotland’s favourite sons, which is located in St Mary’s Aisle. Apparently the great author had identified this very spot while still young as the location where he wanted to spend eternity. Clearly a man of impeccable taste.
That talk about burial places has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “I will add a stane to his cairn.” By saying this you mean that you’ll bear testimony to someone’s admirable qualities. If you took this literally, you’d need a large quarry to add enough to a cairn for Sir Walter Scott.
When it’s your turn to feed the soil
And shuffle off your mortal coil
A better place you will not find
To leave life’s troubles far behind
No need to grieve or shed a tear
You’re in the best of company here.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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I’m still writing to you from my bed at the vet’s and have to say I’m quite enjoying my well-earned rest. Having downloaded all the tape from the camera it’s dawned on me just what a great job I’ve done this past year. There’s so much on there that I never got a chance to show you with my once-a-week feature so this is probably a good time for a spot of remooniscing.
While down in the Borders, another place I visited was Smailholm Tower. On my way there I stopped off to visit old Farmer Fyfe on whose pastures I’d done a bit of grazing in my time. He was delighted to see me and ushered me in to have tea with his wife and daughter Lisa who’d brought along her boyfriend Rick from some well-to-do suburb of Edinburgh.
Now Farmer Fyfe was one of these “a spade’s a spade” kind of guys and it wasn’t long before he was bending young Rick’s ear about his work schedule on the farm, much to his daughter’s mortification. “Aye, laddie,” he said, “first ah’m spreadin the dung on that field ower yonder, then mair dung on the field oot there. Got loads o’ dung needin’ tae gan oot.”
I could see how embarrassed his daughter was getting and overheard her whisper to her mother: “Oh mummy – dad is being so disgusting while we’re sitting here eating. Can’t you at least get him to say ‘manure’?”
“Wheesht, lassie,” came the reply. “It’s only in the last couple of weeks I’ve got him to call it ‘dung’…”
Anyway, when the conversation turned to me and my job with the website the young couple were thrilled and offered to show me the best way to Smailholm Tower as they just happened to be going along to look at the beautiful tapestries housed in there.
“Flora won’t fit in the car but haberdash along behind,” said Rick.
“Fabric,” she replied. “Weave got to leave soon as there’s some dark skies looming. Wool be there soon enough though.”
Darned if I didn’t have a stitch in my side trying to keep up with them. Knit at all comfortable. The tapestries on display were of course beautiful but I hadn’t for-cotton what I was really there for and sew to your clip for the week:
Smailholm Tower, now in the care of Historic Scotland, was constructed around the late 1400’s. Its original purpose was as a defensive structure given the large amount of cross-border skirmishes that went on around that time. Looking at its location on a rocky outcrop, it’s easy to see why this particular site was chosen. With good all-round views of the surrounding countryside, early signs of potential trouble were easily visible, allowing the occupants to take the necessary action.
Nowadays the Tower functions as a museum which displays costumes and tapestries illustrating both its own history and the works of Sir Walter Scott who was a frequent visitor here in his younger days. The Tower would in fact appear in two of his eventual works – ‘The Eve of St John’ and ‘Marmion’.
That earlier talk about tapestries has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Mair haste the waur speed, quo’ the tailor to the lang threed.” In other words, if a thing is worth doing then don’t rush it – do it properly just like the talented people who made the exhibits of Smailholm Tower.
With four big cloven hooves you’ll find
Auld Flo is not the artsy kind
Though dainty work is not for me
I’ve other talents you can see
This humble dweller in a barn
Can well and truly spin a yarn.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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Well you’ll be relieved to hear that moos of my demise was in fact greatly exaggerated. I’m writing this from my bed at the vet’s and although it’ll be a wee while before I’m back on my dainty wee tootsies again, I feel well enough to recoonnect with all my fans. A big thank you to those who sent cards and especially those who sent flowers – they were delicious.
As for the mishap, well… let’s just say that you should see the other guy. It’s not in a Highland Coo’s nature to run so when I saw this tractor approaching, the old fight or flight mechanism kicked in. It’ll be a wee while before it’s ploughing any fields again I can tell you.
One good thing to come out of all this is that HQ have finally realised my true worth to this website, having had to do the blog themselves for the past couple of weeks. They’ve learned it’s not so easy and I can only apologise for the decrease in quality from what you’ve become accustomed to. However, I’m going to have to follow their lead and show you stuff that I recorded earlier since I’m obviously not in a position to hit the road again just yet. This week I’ve got a nice wee montage from a previous trip to the Borders for you. The scary looking gentleman with the “you want some o’ this” look about him is none other than the great William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland. The stunning views are from Scott’s View, looking towards the Eildon Hills.
Now Wallace was a clever fighter who regularly made a monkey out of his foes. He’d lure them into a trap, chimp on them when they least expected it and run them through with his r-ape-ier. Although this might not be in keeping with today’s Queensberry rules, at that primate was considered acceptable. He truly was a master of gorilla warfare. (YOU try getting orang-utan in there!)
Not a lot of people know that my very own breed played a major role in the Scottish Wars of Independence during the Wallace era. We were always right there in the front line leading the charge. Our thick hides were impervious to enemy arrows and once we were committed, there was nothing we’d turn back from. These qualities when combined with the fearsome weapons at either side of our heads made the Highland Coo a formidable adversary indeed. Look up any Scottish history book and you can read all about the Cattle of Bannockburn.
And so to your clip for the week:
There’s some dispute as to whether the Eildon Hills should be referred to in the plural or the singular as many say that they are in fact a single hill with three peaks. Legend has it that this came about when the wizard Michael Scot split the volcanic rock into three parts.
A man with a similar surname – Sir Walter Scott – also has close links with this region. Unlike William Wallace, Sir Walter wielded a pen rather than a sword and wrote many immortal classics which are as fresh today as when they were first printed. Scott’s View is so named as the author never passed this landscape without stopping to enjoy the splendour of the view. In fact, when his funeral cortege was bearing him to his final resting place in nearby Dryburgh Abbey, his horses automatically stopped here, so accustomed were they to doing so during his lifetime.
That earlier talk about William Wallace has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Evil words cut mair than swords.” Wise words indeed, but I’m sure the great Wallace would’ve preferred the more traditional method regardless.
Wallace was a man so bold
And many a tale has since been told
He joined battle with a mighty roar
Dispatched invaders by the score
If with this man a fight you’d start
You’d surely have a real brave heart.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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Since you’re looking at my ugly mug again, you’ll have guessed that Flora is still feeling a wee bit under the weather. That’s a marked improvement from last week of course when she was under a tractor. Don’t worry as I can assure you that no expense is being spared here. We’ve got the best butch…er…vet that money can buy on standby should her coondition deteriorate.
I got a visit at Head Office from Farmer MacDonald this week, the very villain responsible for last week’s dastardly deed. “Accidents will happen,” I casually told him. “Don’t worry about it. There was no great harm done and I’ll soon train up a replacement. Costs next to nothing as well – they just eat grass and sleep by the roadside between assignments.”
Turns out that’s not why he came to see me. Apparently I’m liable for the damage to his tractor. I coodn’t believe it, but sure enough we were only covered to have Flora on a public road for a period of one year and of course she was trashed the day after. Naturally I seriously bawled out Debi our admin overseer. I’d warned her not to let the policy ex-byre.
At first I tried arguing my way out of it: “If you couldn’t see a sodding great coo right in front of you then maybe your eyesight’s that bad that you’re a menace behind the wheel of a vehicle.”
He countered with: “Why couldn’t the daft old bag get out the road of a huge great red thing bearing down on her at 10mph?” Hard to argue with that logic and time to concede defeat.
After some negotiations he agreed to accept half the carcass as payment given that such prime beef fetches a premium price in the marketplace should the worst happen to auld Flo. Should she pull through then I conceded that he should have the use of Flora to fertilise his fields when she’s not out working for us. I think we came out of that not too badly. My freezer’s not that big anyway.
To this week’s offering. I have to say that our coo is indeed a creature of impeccable taste. I remember sending her down to Dumfries & Galloway a few weeks back. She must’ve gone via the Borders as I found this great montage of Melrose Abbey on the tape. I’m not sure why she never told us about this. I think she wanted to bring you more “off-the-beaten-track” stuff during her wanderings. This brings back a few memories for me as I’ve visited this lovely part of Scotland a few times myself.
Melrose Abbey is a magnificent ruin under the care of Historic Scotland. Founded around 1136 by King David I, the Abbey has seen its share of history. Because of its location so near the border it was a prime target for invaders or revenge attacks by defeated armies heading back south. The Abbey was ransacked at least 4 times, the final one being in the mid 1500’s. Coupled with the Reformation, this would see the Abbey eventually left in ruins as the people of the nearby town used it as a ready source of building materials for their own homes.
Of great significance to Scots is the fact that the heart of none other than King Robert the Bruce is buried here in a leaden casket, the location being marked with a commemorative stone plaque. Visitors can learn more about this as well as viewing various other relics that have been found within the grounds in a nearby museum. If photography is your passion then you’d be hard pressed to find a location that wouldn’t yield a stunning shot as you wander round the perimeter. Of course you could also just let the peace and tranquillity from a bygone age wash over you as you leisurely explore the fascinating carvings and tombstones.
Even though they hit our coo
T’was them who were about to sue
So if our Flora fails to wake
She will be chopped up into steak
Else she’ll keep their fields manured
I wish I had the coo insured.
More next week.
Dave
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This is Dave the techie guy from The Magic of Scotland here. You were no doubt expecting to hear from our intrepid coo Flora when you accessed this page. Unfortunately I have some sad news to report as auld Flo was run over by a tractor while crossing a country lane down in East Lothian. Don’t worry though because we managed to retrieve the video camera and it appears to be in perfect working order. Could’ve been worse of course as we might’ve already spent some cash on the anniversary present she was talking about last week. Hey-ho. Or maybe that should be “hay-ho”. As for the coo – well the vet is having a look at her and we won’t know about her prospects for recoovery for a week or two.
What that means of course is I’ve got to write this blog myself which is a major pain as it’s not as if I’ve got nothing else to do. You just can’t get the staff these days though.
I’ve had a look at the previous posts and there does appear to be a formula at work here: say a bit about where you’ve been, do some corny puns, present the clip, give a wee bit of historical information, then a proverb from your gran and finish off with some appalling poetry. I’ll try and stick with this tried and tested format as best as I can, but the posts might be shorter than you’ve become used to. My gran was never one for proverbs though. She thought there was no point in trying to educate you with some clever saying when a clip roond the lug did the same job.
Anyway we’ve scanned the camera tape and found that Flora had actually visited quite a few other places during the course of her travels. Of course there’s so much to see around Scotland that she obviously couldn’t feature everything in a weekly blog. I’m not sure why she didn’t present this clip though as it features one of Scotland’s most iconic buildings – none other than Eilean Donan Castle:
Eilean Donan Castle is situated on a small island at the point where three sea lochs meet: Loch Duich, Loch Alsh and Loch Long. You will no doubt recognise this castle as hardly a Scottish picture calendar is published without featuring it. It is said to be the most photographed castle in Scotland although I’ve always felt that the one in Edinburgh would lay claim to that particular honour.
No matter what time of year you go, busloads of tourists are regularly disgorged so that shots can be taken of this beautiful landmark. Wherever you set up your camera, it’s impossible not to get a spectacular view of the castle and the wonderful scenery beyond.
The castle dates back to the mid-13th Century but has of course been subject to much mistreatment down the years, eventually being ruined in the early 1700’s. Restoration work began in 1912 and it is said that the designer saw how the castle should look during a dream. This dream took over 20 years to fulfil and the castle was finally opened to the public in 1934. Historical sketches that have been found since show that the redesigned castle is very close in appearance to the original.
Poor old Flo, a big red tractor
Came around the bend and whacked her
Will she live or will she die?
Go to that big barn in the sky?
Although this thought may not be nice
The beef should fetch a decent price.
More next week.
Dave
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Well this is indeed a momentous occasion! It’s now been a year since I started this job bringing all this amazing scenery straight to your computer screens. And what a year it’s been! Those who’ve been with me since the early days will recall how I was awarded MEGA BLOG status (Methane Emitter Grants Audience Bovine Lessons Of Genius) and also deemed an AULD BITCH (Author’s Unique Literature Deemed Best In The Coo Herd), both for being out standing in my field. HQ have promised me a special presentation next week, but really – travelling around this beautiful land with a camera is reward enough (wonder what they’ll get me?).
Now being a bit of a lazy besom and feeling entitled to take things somewhat easy given it’s my anniversary, I decided that a visit to the cliffs at St Abbs Head would be in order this week. Although it’s just a short jaunt up the coast, you’ll see from the shot that, as always, I’m not short-changing my fans. It also allowed me to visit an old farmer pal of mine who lives along the way. I spent many a happy year munching on his pastures during my formative years and in return I was a never-ending source of free fertiliser for his fields.
“Hey, Flo – do ye remember that summer when we kept finding all these bodies everywhere?” he asked. I did indeed. That was truly a puzzling time. We came across the first one rye-t in the middle of the corn field. After that, to our a-maize-ment we’d find another one every couple of days, sometimes fl-oat-ing in the horse trough. No attempt was ever made to hide them as they were all barley covered. None of us knew wheat on earth was going on. Although the police turned up and conducted a thorough investigation they drew a bran-k. The mystery was never solved and to this day the cereal killer remains at large.
After a pleasant few hours reminiscing with my old friend, we said our farewells and I made my way towards the St Abbs Head cliff tops. Now this is where you and I differ, dear reader. It’s all right for you folks that have been blessed with 5 digits on each of your feet. You can scramble up hillsides no problem, gripping the turf and rocks as you go, but what about me with my cloven hooves? It’s not so easy I can tell you. While I’m proud to be one of Scotland’s national icons, it’s times like this when I’m struggling up a hill that I feel I’d rather be more like you people. It really makes me mad. Then again I’m maybe just lack-toes intolerant.
As ever, I got there in the end. Enjoy the view:
St Abbs Head is a famous landmark on the Berwickshire coast. It is volcanic in origin and is now a National Nature Reserve, being home to thousands of nesting seabirds during the summer months. Spectacular cliff top views of the rugged coastline can be enjoyed here. You can’t help but marvel at the relentless thundering of the sea against the rocks, something that’s gone on for countless centuries before we were here and will continue indefinitely long after we’ve passed on.
Perched on the edge of a nearby craggy outcrop is St Abbs village which developed around the fishing industry. The actual name comes from a 7th century Northumbrian princess called Aebbe who founded a nunnery here after being shipwrecked and later became a Saint. Nowadays, there is still plenty of fishing to be enjoyed either by boat or from one of the numerous rocks and another attraction that has become increasingly popular is scuba diving in the crystal-clear waters. Many yachts also visit this area which has become a bit of a seafarer’s paradise. Of course if you just want to relax and enjoy the stunning seascapes then you can do that too.
All that talk about the sea has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Time and tide for nae man bide.” This means that you shouldn’t worry about things you can’t change. We’re here but for a short spell in the grand scheme of things so best enjoy what you can while you can. St Abbs Head would be a good place to start.
On St Abbs Head there’s quite a view
But I’ve got some good advice for you
Be wary when up on this cliff top
Looking down there’s quite a big drop
Take great care else you may stumble
It’s not a place to take a tumble.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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Well I decided to continue on down the East Lothian coast this week as there’s so much more to experience down here. First I arrived in the town of Dunbar. Many of you won’t know that this name originates from the time when there was a healthy Highland coo population in the area and that the town was originally called Dung-barn, for obvious reasons. Now if the folk back then had the foresight to keep their coos they could’ve had a timeless supply of free green energy. Do you know just how much methane your average Highland coo is capable of emitting? You probably don’t want to either. To cut a long story short they built a nuclear power station here instead.
I’m digressing though. Who did I meet in the town but an Australian tourist who happened to be going to my very destination of Coldingham Bay. He just didn’t know it yet. He was sitting on a bench drinking a can of coca koala. “G’day coober,” he hailed me in that antipodean twang, “know anywhere I can try out this new surfboard I got for me wife?”
“Got it for your wife?” I said. “Sounds like a fair trade. Of course I know the very place. Auntie Flo is always willing to help. Just ask and Sheila blige. By the way that’s a nasty Bruce you’ve got on your forehead.”
“Yeah,” he answered, “I was going down under that bridge when I cracked me head.”
“What didgeridoo that for?” I asked. “Let’s go walkabout. If we go down this road and dingo down that one, we’ll be there soon enough. We’ll need to bush on though.”
“Dinkum gonna throw up,” he replied.
He was a most agreeable travelling companion and, although I couldn’t give him Bondi Beach with all its attractions, he was surprised to find somewhere in Scotland where he could indulge in one of his homeland’s national pastimes. His eyes fairly lit up as he seen the breakers rolling in and it wasn’t long before he was atop his board having the time of his life. “Hey, Flo,” he shouted. “Ain’t any crocs in here are there?”
“No, of course not!” I reassured him. How could there be when the sharks eat them all?
Having said goodbye to my new friend it was down to the serious business of getting a few shots for my ever-expanding fan club. I don’t know about Coldingham but it certainly looks Coldinthatwater:
Coldingham Bay is an inlet in the North Sea which has been popular with visitors since way back in the early 1900’s when the first beach huts were erected. There are now more than 50 of them at the north end of the beach. Visitors are attracted here all year round and the area is extremely popular with surfers - not something you’d readily imagine for a North Sea bay.
There are other attractions too of course. The surrounding shoreline and tide pools host a wide variety of marine life for the explorer while the Berwickshire Coastal Path, a 24km route, stretches round the bay and provides walking opportunities with easy access to more of the outstanding natural beauty of the coastline.
All that talk about waves has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Jouk, and let the jaw gang by.” This means that you should stoop and let the rush of water pass over your head. In other words, while you can bend to adverse circumstances, you don’t have to let them break you. Just let them wash over and the effect will go away soon enough. Sounds perfect for when you’re out surfing.
It’s strange to think while in Scotland
You can surf then laze on golden sand
Why travel many miles away
When all you need is in this bay?
About this place you’re bound to rave
When on the crest of a Coldingham wave.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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Well it turns out that I got out of Fife, and St Andrews in particular, just in time as apparently there’s some wee golf tournament called The Open currently going on there. What this meant for me was that the roads were quiet as I made my way along the East Lothian coast since everyone else was heading in the other direction. You have to understand that folk on this side of the Forth are just as crazy about golf as the Fifers. Baffling I know and a waste of good pasture. However, each to their own. Anyway, it suited me just fine as there’s nothing worse than a huge line of cars honking away at you as you amble along. Some folk have no manners.
My destination this week was the coastal town of North Berwick. It’s easy enough to find – you keep the Firth of Forth on your left and just plod along. There’s plenty of good grazing on the way too if you get a bit peckish. The reason I wanted to come here was to continue on with last week’s Robert Louis Stevenson theme. Regular readers will know that I featured in my clip the very hotel where the great man conceived his novel Kidnapped, an inspiring tale of a young goat taking 40 winks, and he drew further inspiration for his classic Treasure Island while spending many happy childhood holidays here in this town. The shape of nearby Fidra Island is said to be the basis for the Treasure Island map and much of the novel Catriona is actually based in this area.
Of course I doubt if the young Master Stevenson spent his formative years just thinking about what books he could write in later life. Not when there were all these golden, unspoiled beaches to run across and build sandcastles on and foaming surf to splash about in.
“Are ye comin’ doon the beach, Bob?”
“Naw – think ah’ll jist stay hame an’ write an adventure tale wi’ lots o’ characters an’ action an’ containin’ an undercurrent o’ ethical ambiguity. Saw one o’ yer legs aff and ah’ll write ye in.”
“Okay…”
Here’s a wee montage I took from various vantage points. It’s doubtless as lovely now as it was back then:
The seaside town of North Berwick in East Lothian first became popular as a holiday destination back in the 1800’s. This has continued on to this day with modern holiday makers keen to breathe the healthy sea air, play the challenging golf courses, walk the spectacular coastal paths, explore the historic ruins and picnic on the beautiful sands.
One of the main attractions for visitors is the Scottish Seabird Centre where you can learn more about the seething colonies that live on the nearby Bass Rock and Fidra Island. The former is home to one of the largest gannet populations in the world as well as numerous other species, all of whom compete for fish in the teeming waters of the Forth below. You can view what’s going on through strategically-placed webcams, but if getting up close and personal is your thing, numerous boat trips venture out into the waters, allowing plenty of photographic opportunities as well as the chance to watch these birds’ fascinating behaviour at first hand.
All that talk about seabirds has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Fleyin’ a bird is no’ the way to grip it.” This means that constant criticising and chastisement of those you’re responsible for will do more harm than good. Of course when you look at the scary beaks on the seabirds of North Berwick, I doubt if anything would frighten (fley) them. You’d be mad to try and grip them too…
A jewel upon the Lothian coast
This bonnie town has much to boast
The seas may crash, the winds may roar
It stands defiant on the shore
If you decide to venture there
You can go where seagulls dare.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
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Well I finally left the Kingdom of Fife this week, but I’ll be sure to return soon enough for more footage for my adoring followers. There’s just so much more to see in that lovely county.
My new destination was the charming wee town of South Queensferry. Now although I’ve got one of these fancy kyephone thingies that allow me to plot my routes out, I thought I’d best call up HQ for some advice on how to get across the big river that separates Fife from the Lothians. Never swim when you can walk is my motto. I heard that there’s a good choice of crossings too. Folk were talking about the fourth one so either it or one of the other three would do.
“Just tak the road bridge, Flo,” said Dave our ever-helpful techie guy, “but mak sure ye phone the polis first as they need to escort wide loads across.” I swear that one day…
Anyway, refusing to rise to his bait, I made my way into the town and decided that I’d shoot a wee montage of the road and rail bridges plus the famous Hawes Inn that gazes out onto them. Many folk are unaware that none other than Robert Louis Stevenson stayed here back in the 1880’s where he came up with the idea for his novel Kidnapped. The hero of the book also stays here in one particular chapter, meaning that the great author must have been well pleased with the care and attention he received on his visit. Of course nowadays the Inn is more renowned for hosting regular card games within its lounge. Participants have since become known as the Forth Road Bridge Club.
Speaking of the road bridge, major repairs are currently ongoing to the suspension cables and a replacement bridge has already been planned because of the volume of traffic since its opening in 1964. However, in contrast, the rail bridge is still going strong since trains began crossing in 1890. It appears that they just don’t make ‘em like they used to. I remember being taught when I got my edmoocation that the rail bridge is some 30 times as strong as it needs to be and that you could drive a single decker bus down the steel supports. We were never taught why you’d want to though or how you’d manage to reverse back out.
Here’s the clip I took of these engineering marvels:
Long before the bridges were even a sketch on a draughtsman’s drawing pad there was a crossing at this part of the Forth. This was founded back in the 11th Century and its primary function was to ferry pilgrims across to Dunfermline Abbey and St Andrews. The towns of North and South Queensferry sprang up as a result of this ferry service. These early pioneers would doubtless be amazed if they could see the landscape now.
The Forth Road Bridge contains a pedestrian walkway on either side, both of which give spectacular views along the river. They’re not for the faint-hearted though and any vertigo sufferers would be advised to stay well clear. As well as being amazing feats of planning and construction, the Forth Road and Rail Bridges are very scenic and lend themselves well to those interested in painting and photography. Many locations along both the north and south banks give spectacular views of either or both structures. Of course painting has played a major role in the history of the Rail Bridge, it being said that once the maintenance crew had finished applying a coat of paint at one end, they immediately had to start again at the other. Is this true? Well you could always visit the Forth Bridges Visitor Centre Trust and find out.
That talk about painting has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Poets and painters are aye poor.” This means that choosing a more esoteric profession might not necessarily bring great material riches, but will instead have its own rewards. Mind you, there’s not many folk who can say they have a job for life like the Bridge painters.
The paint needs constant tending
The task is never-ending
And think about your Auntie Flo
As all around this land I go
My job will last forever too
For that I am one grateful coo.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
P.S. If you click on the SHARE link below you can do all sorts of wonderful bookmarking type stuff with this blog. You can Digg it. You can even fork it, rake it or hoe it if you want - whatever takes your fancy.
Still in Fife this week and I thought it’d be interesting to visit one of the fishing villages of the East Neuk. We’re a bit spoilt for choice as far as such places go but I eventually settled for Pittenweem because of its fascinating history.
“Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’?
They’re bonnie fish and halesome farin’;
Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’,
New drawn frae the Forth?”
So sang the fishwives in the olden days while the Firth of Forth still teemed with the “silver darlins”. Although the main herring shoals have long gone, Pittenweem remains a working harbour and I reached its normally bustling fish market by early morning. A wee bit too early in fact as there wasn’t a sole there. I’ve always been prawn to arriving early and hake being late.
The town is famous for more than just fishing of course. It still contains the ruins of an ancient Priory which was relocated from the nearby Isle of May as it was vulnerable to attack by pirates. (Hmmm… Priory, fish market… no, even I wouldn’t do a monkfish gag.) These pirates would often make their way ashore and, after drinking at a few of the town’s hostelries, they’d visit the local tattoo parlour where, amongst the normal body-painting services, they could also have their ears pierced. The owner of the shop used to charge them around a buccaneer for this.
As time passed and mankind became more civilised, the descendants of the pirates turned their hands to smuggling, using the nearby St Fillan’s cave to store their contraband. A tunnel also runs from the cave to the Priory, making a perfect hiding place for the smugglers. One time a group of them were secretly filmed going about their business over the course of a few nights by the authorities. When they were eventually arrested by the police they at first denied all charges. However, they quickly confessed once they were shown the pirate video. The cave where all this illegal activity took place is in fact responsible for the town’s name, Pittenweem literally meaning “the place of the cave”.
I couldn’t get any footage of pirates or smugglers for you so had to settle for this shot of a boat on its way from the harbour out into the Firth of Forth:
Pittenweem has numerous attractions for the visitor. As well as the history of the town, many coastal walks can be enjoyed and even an outdoor swimming pool for those feeling brave enough. For the more adventurous, regular boat trips go out to the Isle of May for bird-watching. The whole area is of course a photographer’s paradise with a view to interest just about everyone.
The town contains a high proportion of professional artists and for two weeks every August, an Arts Festival is hosted here, showcasing the works of over 100 artists, a great many of them being those from the local area. As the town itself is actually quite small, the art is displayed wherever possible, using residents’ garages and gardens for the purpose. Many residents even allow their homes to be used to exhibit pictures and other items.
All that earlier talk about fish has reminded me of a saying my auld gran used to use: “Fresh fish and poor friends soon grow ill-faur’d.” This means that you should be careful not to overstay your welcome, although there’s not much danger of that in this friendly wee town. The pirates they can do without though.
Before you get into your boat
And if you want to stay afloat
To this warning, best pay heed
Or fall foul of a ghastly deed
Stay close to shore, don’t sail too far
There’s pirates lurking, yes there arrrr.
More moosings next week.
No bull.
P.S. If you click on the SHARE link below you can do all sorts of wonderful bookmarking type stuff with this blog. You can Digg it. You can even fork it, rake it or hoe it if you want - whatever takes your fancy.
