admin | - Part 3

Callander and the Upbeat English

I tried to keep up my retention levels of Scottish history as we travelled between Glasgow, Stirling, Glen Coe and Callander. Vague ideas remain of burning bridges, desperate fights for freedom, bloodshed, betrayal, English oppression, vengeance, kings and queens, Edward VI who is also Edward II, and escaping princes. Please don’t ask me to explain.

Traveling north from the south of England we saw a gradual improvement in the roads. There is plenty of land on which to build and, not restricted by ancient horse and carriage tracks, the roads in Scotland are wide and safe. When we checked in to our lovely accommodation at Callander about 4pm, our hosts encouraged us to start walking straight away because the weather the next day was predicted to be very wet. We took their advice, making the most of the remaining daylight to walk past a lovely water fall. Unfortunately, the predictions about the next day were fulfilled.

We drove to Loch Carron in the hope that the rain would abate briefly when we arrived. It hadn’t but a two-hour boat cruise along the loch was about to set out and Derek spontaneously ran and bought us tickets. Expostulation was a bit late at this point, so I resigned myself.

I learnt that there seems to be no limit to the positivity of the English. At midway point, a large group of shivering geriatrics waited in the rain (in line) for the boat. They had come here as part of a one-week bus tour of Scotland, leaving sunny London the previous day. With gnarled stiff fingers, they stoically sat on the boat’s saturated hard bench seats, holding up drenched blankets to their chins. “Oh well, it’s a change of scenery,” one upbeat lady said.

A lady cheerfully squeezed in next to us, considered buying a boat photo, then decided it was too expensive. I showed her how to take photos on the phone provided by her daughter, then how to email them. I suspect it wasn’t the first time she’d been shown but she was delighted.

Decided I am never going on an organised bus tour.

Hogwarts Glasgow

We didn’t detour to movie sets this holiday, and Derek may never get over missing the Doctor Who Shop. At the very cool University of Glasgow, however, we could imagine ourselves at Hogwarts. Founded in 1451, it’s the fourth-oldest university in the English-speaking world and was the highlight of our self-guided walking tour of vibrant Glasgow. Alumni and former staff include James Watt, Lord Kelvin, Adam Smith, Ian Donald, Joseph Lister and Jocelyn Bell. The university was one of the first in Britain to provide education for students from less wealthy backgrounds, preparing the way for an educated professional middle class.

Lakes District

Walking in the Lakes District was surprisingly quiet and lonely after Northern Wales. The world heritage listed Lakes District is vast and I guess everyone spreads out. Internet access was rare, and I did a lot of pondering here, as we walked over fields and hills, past cows, sheep, and flowing streams.

My observation skills are honed on such walks. I now know at least one cow in a herd stays awake to keep watch, and some sheep have horns and look a lot like goats. I considered how I’m prone to google the questions that pop up into my head and thereby limit my wondering. Is it that although we now know more, we wonder and understand less?

Peaceful Snowdonia

We drove through the Snowdonia National Park en-route to North Wales. Incomprehensible Welsh language road signs contained English translations beneath. Sheep and goats grazed along the roadside of rolling lavender covered hills, and pines stood tall upon distant misty mountains.

North Wales, the Lakes and the Highlands are walking country – the long summer days and beauty draw a person out of winter hibernation. From our accommodation we walked in the evening by a wide, rocky stream in gentle drizzle reminiscent of Ireland.

Limited for time, we decided to take the train up Snowden, the highest peak in Britain outside the Highlands of Scotland. We booked the train trip months in advance as it books up fast. Unfortunately, our view for most of the journey was obscured by fog, thickening as we climbed the summit, our hair and clothing dripping when we alighted.

Deprived of a mountain view, walkers who had left at dawn stopped as we passed and waved. As we climbed higher the density of walkers increased to Tongariro Crossing levels (a remote yet busy walk in New Zealand). Carol, our lovely host at the bread and breakfast said it was possible to walk in mist for the whole ascent and then the skies could clear for minutes when you reached the summit, dramatically unfolding the beauty of the surrounding landscape. She had experienced this and felt it was worth the chance. The walkers at the summit when we reached it weren’t so fortunate.

Following the train trip, we walked around a lake at the base of the mountains, spectacular in the swirling mist. We saw only a tiny section of Wales and realise we could come back here for weeks.

The Bible and the Welsh language

Bishop William Morgan translated the bible into Welsh in 1588 (before the King James Bible in 1611). We visited the farm house where he was born in Tŷ Mawr Wybrnant (near Penmachno, in North Wales), now owned by the National Trust. Born to poor farmers, William was sent at a young age to be schooled with the landlord’s children and was subsequently educated for 10 years at Cambridge including Divinity, Greek and Hebrew.

In the process of translating the bible, William Morgan created the first standard version of written Welsh. Prior to this, Welsh was banned from formal use, including within the church. By the following century, literacy in Wales was at one of the highest levels in Europe, and the Welsh language was preserved, still very much in use today.

The early Methodists were usually very disadvantaged in both education and material possessions. Bibles were very difficult to afford, and schools were not established in all rural areas. Mary Jones World is near Lake Bala in Wales and commemorates the establishment of the Bible Society. I read what I thought was the biography of Mary Jones as a child and reread the book prior to our visit. Mary Jones first attended school at the age of ten and her driving motivation was to learn to read the Bible. In the year 1800, after saving for six years, Mary Jones walked 25 miles barefoot through the mountains from her home in Llanfihangel-y-Pennant, to Bala, to buy a bible from Thomas Charles. Her story was one of the driving forces behind his determination to form a society to supply bibles. I found there were differences between the accounts held in the museum and the biography. Mary Jones’ father died when she was very young and she was raised by her mother, a hard-working weaver. However, in the book her father has a prominent role. I queried this with the museum attendant who, no doubt inured to the question, responded that the bare bones of the story of Mary Jones’ walk were true, as was the response of Thomas Charles, but that the rest of the biography could well be fiction. I think it is sad when real people and their lives are misrepresented, but it is nevertheless a story of strong faith, determination and conviction.

Cotswolds Villages

Being in the Cotswolds is like being on a movie set. Stone cottages sit amongst rolling green hills, a stone’s throw from flowing streams. There’s no room for cars except on main roads and even these only have sufficient width for one car. We walked through the fields between the villages of Upper Slaughter and Lower Slaughter, so named for the old English term, ‘slough’, meaning ‘wet land’. As on many a walk in England, we had solitude, broken only by two women taking about ten working dogs for a swim in the river.

From our accommodation, we did a long circular day trek along part of the Cotswolds Way. I don’t know where else in the world it’s possible in a single walk to go through fields, forest paths, lush green woods, corn as tall as myself and roads, to pass sleepy cows, 600-year-old stone dwellings, medieval churches, a canal with moving bridges and barges, a lone fisherman standing in a stream catching trout, an old mill in the process of restoration, pick (and eat) wild blackberries growing in the bushes, and say hello to the friendly locals while stopping for refreshments at a pub mid-way.

The Cotswolds seem an old-world, eminently relaxing place to live.

Eating and Marks and Spencer

Prior to our travels, I heard horror stories of food in England, of fruit and vegies old and flavourless and it is not true! Thanks to the advice of Glynn, we use Google Maps to seek out Marks and Spencer food halls, and stock up on delicious, cost-effective pre-made meals, and fresh, high quality fruit and vegetables. I am sure these are also obtainable elsewhere, but thus far, we have not gone wrong with Marks and Spencer (famous for clothing in Australia, who knew they also specialised in food?) As much as possible we are self-catering – the AUD is down, and we thought eating out would be cheaper than it is. The restaurant prices in England are comparable to Australia (and more expensive than Ireland). Eating out each day would quickly erode our budget and kid’s inheritance. It’s more difficult when we can’t freeze our ice bricks, although the Airbnb places are usually wonderful for amazing breakfasts which set us up for the day.

Ireland was brilliant for gluten free options. Fudge and icecream are particularly fine everywhere we go and we are walking sufficiently to allow this indulgence. Perhaps I will start a cottage industry making fudge on our return…

Bath

I like the long summer days. In Bath at 8pm, the sun was shining in a blue sky with fluffy white clouds, the birds were singing, and the breeze was gentle. Walking along the cobbled streets alongside old buildings and enclosed gardens, I could easily imagine I was in the era of my favourite novelist, Jane Austen (if it weren’t for the cars).

Passing by the ancient Roman Baths, we found they would be open until 10pm. I was hesitant to pay the entrance fee (about 30 AUD) as it wasn’t covered by our English Heritage passes or National Trust passes. Thankfully, Derek said of course we had to go, and I needed no further convincing.

The Baths were discovered by archaeologists in the late 19th Century and the buildings above the site were then demolished for the excavation. Derek pointed out that Jane Austen would not have known of the Baths’ existence.

The Roman Baths were dedicated to the Roman goddess of healing, Minerva. Interestingly, before the baths were built, the waters were used by the Celtic occupants and dedicated to their own goddess of healing.

Learning about the Roman occupation at the time the baths were built greatly improved my understanding of what life must have been like in Roman occupied Palestine during the life of Jesus and the obstacles faced by the early church. There could have been little tolerance for a new religion which did not have an allegiance to the seemingly invincible Roman empire.

As the evening became balmy, the baths were lit up and the bells of medieval Bath Abbey rang. We left at 10pm after sampling the warm waters (included in the price of admission so how could I refuse?)

The following morning, we woke early for a walk along the river and visited the beautiful Bath Abbey, which dates from the 10th century and is still an active church.

Before leaving Bath, we went to the much-anticipated but sadly disappointing Jane Austen Centre. There was not much I could not have googled had I felt so inclined, and we felt it was more of an opportunity for the tour guides to dress up and play parts. I didn’t even think they were true to their selected characters. Derek and I were also given the opportunity to dress up in period costume and have photoshoots. We declined.

Avebury Standing Stones

En route to the Cotswolds we stopped to see the standing Stones at Avery. These predate Stonehenge by 1000 years, are more accessible and cover a wider area. There are no restrictions (yet) and sheep roam freely around them. Like Stonehenge, no one is too sure of their purpose.

Bodmin Moors in Cornwall’s North

We felt lazy in the Moors – the view from our remote cottage was lovely and we needed a travel break. However, we eventually managed to drag ourselves out to look at Jamaica Inn (made famous by Daphne du Morier), learn about the smuggling trade and walk the moors. The landscape is interesting, ancient and lovely. Goat and sheep roamed freely, leaving their fresh marks among the standing Stones. Three stone circles line-up perfectly amidst more recent history of disused mine shafts and the remains of a Roman road. I was fascinated with the contrast between the accessibility of this ancient site and Stonehenge, and asked Derek to take photos portraying this. Derek had reservations about taking photos of large mounds of cow dung, but I explained that without this evidence, I would have to paint a word picture, so he agreed. However, for this post I have selected a photo which more accurately portrays the standing stones and run-down mines.

Derek and I both have some ancestry in Cornwall (we managed to find the Anglican church where Derek’s great-great-great grandparents were married in Penzance) and I felt more of a connection to the land than in other parts of England. Pondering this, I think there are many possible explanations including the mundane fact of my reading novels set in Cornwall, and of course, Poldark. However, I’m open to the possibility that it’s more elemental. Do we inherit memories of places in our genes which can be triggered at certain points with the appropriate stimulus, a source of the sensation of déjà vu?