Category Archives: Travels in Scotland

Football, cricket, bowling

Posted on September 13, 2017 | 1 comment

My first full day in Forres, at the house where I’m staying, the electrician was drilling a hole through a thick block of sandstone to install a new wall socket in the foyer. To escape the incessant whining sound, and to walk her dog, my host and I went on a walk through a forested park near town and then to a pub for lunch. Fine with me. Afterward, we strolled through another park with stunning, expansive lawns. (They revere their lawns in Scotland in a way I’m only just beginning to grasp.)

We’d just passed a school letting out, and I seen a few young kids in soccer outfits (excuse me, football outfits), so I asked if that was a football field.

“Cricket,” my host said. She gestured to the field to our right, the field before us, and the field to our left, designating: “Football. Cricket. Bowling.”

“Bowling? Outside?!”

She stared at me, appalled. “You mean, you don’t bowl in America?”

“Sure we do, only we do it inside. With lanes and pins. I never heard of outdoor bowling.”

“Oh, well, you’re not missing much. Bowling is all about the grass. It has to be just perfect, as smooth as a billiard table, and it’s always played by stout old people all dressed in white from head to foot. Everything in white. And they take it so seriously.”

“How’s it played? Is it something like bocce ball?”

“I have no idea, it’s way too boring, I’ve never watched them actually play a game to find out.”

We went over to peek at the field; I was disappointed a game wasn’t on just then. Hence, all I have to offer is a picture of what looks to me like a perfect bowling green.

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Willy-nilly to Wally Monnie and beyond

Posted on September 12, 2017 | 2 comments

Since Moniack Mhor, I’ve been traveling willy-nilly from Inverness to Stirling to Glasgow to Forres. One reason being, I have a Spirit of Scotland Travelpass, which means I can take the train anywhere I want for 8 days out of the next 15. So, why not?

First, I hied it down to Stirling to see friends, who introduced me to all kinds of Scottish treats, including the Wallace Monument (Wally Monnie) and duck pie.

The top of Abbey Craig, where the Wallace Monument stands, offers a terrific view of the Ochil Hills and Ben Lomond.

Plus, my host Ken took me down a “secret path” to a dizzying cliff where he used to rock-climb, that is until someone pulled loose rocks that fell on passing cars on the road down below, which put an end to that climbing wall.

Next I zoomed south to Glasgow for a quick stop-in at University of Glasgow and the Hunterian galleries. A feature at The Hunterian was this Harry Potter-style chair called The Blackstone, an ornately carved wooden chair with a stone inlaid in the seat. The placard explains: “From the foundation of the University of Glasgow in 1451 until the middle of the 19th century all students were examined orally, seated on the Black Stone. This slab of dolerite is now embedded in an oak chair made in 1775-6. At the top is a time-glass surrounded by bay leaves. As the examination began, the Bedellus bearing the mace set the time-glass and after about 20 minutes, when all the sand had flowed through, grounded the mace with the word Fluxit (“it has flowed through”). He then turned to the senior examiner with the words “Ad alium, Domine (“On to the next one, Sir”).

After a mere couple of hours in Glasgow, Scotrail whisked me back north to Forres, the former seat of MacBeth.

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“A shieling on the braes”

Posted on September 11, 2017 | Leave a comment

Last Thursday afternoon at Moniack, a group of us signed up for a hike. I expected the trek to be stepping out the front door — there were plenty of scenic hillsides near Moniack Mhor all around. Instead, though, we divided up and hopped into cars to get to the Abriachan Forest Paths, about ten minutes away.

“We have a choice of where to go,” the guide said. “To a forest of tall old trees, or up a bit to see a shieling.”

“Oh, a shieling!” I put in before anyone else had a chance. “I’d love to see one.”

No one objected, although I had a hunch most had never heard of shielings. I knew about them because of a description in Alistair Moffatt’s “Highland Clans.”

In springtime clansmen undertook the ancient journey of transhumance, driving their black cattle and sheep up the hill trails to the high pastures and the shielings. These were temporary huts and in the light northern nights they were where herdsmen (often women and children) summered out with their animals in the mountains. In Gaelic the shielings were known as summertowns and the clachans as wintertowns. Around the cooking fires in the high pasture tales were told, songs sung and away from the older people, understandings exchanged.

I had pictured a shieling as a wooden lean-to structure. No doubt the style of them varies from region to region. This shieling had a turf roof, so it blended well into the heather.

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Posted in 18th century history, Travels in Scotland

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Haggis and a wee dram

Posted on September 9, 2017 | Leave a comment

The culmination of the fiction retreat at Moniack occurred with a dinner of haggis and clapshot, a menu designed, I was informed by the Scotsman next to me, to line the stomach for an evening of whisky drinking.

The haggis was served with “Burns Supper”  ceremony — the “piping in of guests” by Hamish, and the “Address to a Haggis.” Thanks to Harpal for providing this photo.

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Boggy brogues

Posted on September 7, 2017 | Leave a comment

Research in books is all well and good, but I find conversations especially rich. Asking weird questions at improbable moments elicits some of the most intriguing ahas! Today, I was talking to this Irish guy about history, and Scottish history, and Ohio history. We were ranging over a wide variety of topics when I thought of an account I’d just been reading about an immigrant Scot in the mid-1700s taken captive by a Native Americans. I told him how I’d been especially impressed by the report of how the Native Americans had traveled great distances with their captive to avoid the British troops, running over 30 miles a day.

“So I’ve been wondering about that. How do you think the Highlanders traveled? I mean, other than by boat, do you think they ran? Before roads and carriages and such? They didn’t ride horseback, did they?”

“No, I don’t think by horseback,” the Irish guy said. “Actually, I doubt they ran. I think it’s more likely they trudged. It has to have been more like trudging, doesn’t it? The land here is so boggy.”

“Right, I’ve just discovered that, trying to walk in the woods out here,” I said. I had an inkling now of what he meant by boggy, having veered off into a forest near Moniack the other day for a quarter mile or so. I couldn’t believe what difficult going it was, the cushiony-deep, mossy ground. It was the oddest sensation, like walking across couches.

An example of boggy ground, the pillows of mosses and heather to the side of this spring

“Sure,” he went on. ” It’s like that in Ireland, too. You can see it in the brogues we wear. The bogs make for slow going, and they’re so wet. These holes in brogues originally had a purpose. The Irish designed them that way because the land was so boggy, when their feet got wet, all they had to do was lift up their shoes in such a way as to let the water run out of the toe holes. It’s one of the Irish contributions to the world, really.”

I gaped at him in disbelief, but tonight, a quick internet search proved him right. My Grandpa Lindsey, and my Grandpa Patterson, Scots-Irish and Scottish, always wore brogues. Hmm.

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A peek outside and in

Posted on September 6, 2017 | Leave a comment

 

This morning I woke to a rainbow pillar, stunning, and it turned out, a warning that gray clouds heavy with rain were headed our way. No matter, after a couple of hours at the desk trying to unscramble copious notes and plotlines, I managed to get outside and stretch my legs and take these photos, especially so I could give you a better idea of the Moniack Mhor Centre.

The inside is pleasant as well — a large farm-style kitchen, everything labeled and organized (I cooked with my team the first night, so am off the hook for the rest of the week).

Breakfast is on your own, lunch prepared, and dinner is a shared affair. I’ve been getting in walks, as well as writing. These flowers I found in an obliging field.

 

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Scotland tales

Posted on September 5, 2017 | 5 comments

As far back as I can remember, when growing up in a small mid-century home on the Southeast side of Cleveland, Ohio, there was this map at the end of our bedroom hallway.

It was actually pretty huge, about 2-1/2 feet wide by 3 feet tall, taking up most of the end of a hall lined with doors leading into the family bedrooms. So I saw it often, every single day of my formative years. I tell you what, without a clue what it was, that image captured my imagination. Does it, or does it not, resemble a witch with her skirts swirling around her?

When I grew older, my father impressed on me that it was there because it held family significance, it being the clan map of Scotland. “We’re Mackintoshes,” he used to say. “Touch not the cat bot a glove.” Apparently, Dad was quoting the motto on the Mackintosh crest, but again, for my young American English brain, life was full of mysteries. (It means, before you pick up a wild or feral cat, be sure to protect yourself with safety gloves.) The war cry of the clan was “Loch Moigh,” referring to their homeland in the Inverness region.

Today, after not a little effort and many hours of travel, I find myself ensconced very nearby Loch Moigh, just north of Loch Ness (Loch means Lake) at Moniack Mhor Writing Centre. While I’m feeling a bit jet-lagged, I’m oh so excited to have returned. As in, returned to Inverness-shire since a short visit here with Dave in 2015, and as in, returned to Inverness-Shire after my ancestors left this homeland for good circa 1803.

On the map, the Mackintosh clan laid claim to the upper shoulders of the witch, just beneath her head. Where all the muscular tension resides, come to think of it. The territory of the former site of the fateful 1746 Battle of Culloden.

I’m close, but I’ve actually missed the mark slightly. Judging by my rough calculation on the map above, Moniack Mhor is located in Fraser clan territory. Oh aye, now I’ve put my foot in it. But from what I understand, by the late 18th century, the clans weren’t warring so much with each other as they were struggling to survive under the “galling yoke” of England.

Or so first person accounts say, of those who emigrated in a last-ditch effort to escape the “galling yoke.” I’m looking forward to finding what I can about the Daniel Mackintoshes (McIntoshes) before they emigrated. They didn’t depart alone. Their exodus included the Roses, the McBains, the MacGillvrays, and others. A whole fistful of disaffected Highland Presbyterian Gaels, right at the scruff of things, it would appear.

So, after five days at this Tutored Fiction Retreat with Paul Murray, Amanda Smyth, and Jane Harris, my aim is to dig deeper and find out more.

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Posted in 18th century history, Cleveland and Ohio history, Scottish immigration, Travels in Scotland

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Scottish cookery

Posted on December 5, 2015 | Leave a comment

scottish cookeryLucky me, at the Friends of the Library book sale, I found Claire Macdonald’s Scottish Cookery. It’s a small booklet of 30 pages, with gorgeous photos of Scottish standards, including “Cullen Skink” (Finnan haddock soup), “Clootie Dumpling” (fruit pudding steamed in cloth), and Herrings in Oatmeal, “one of the most traditional meals in Scotland.”

Here’s a recipe in Scottish Cookery for dressing up turnips and potatoes.

Clapshot

Serves 4
1 lb floury potatoes, peeled and diced
1 lb yellow turnip, peeled and cut up
5 Tbsp single cream or 5 Tbsp butter
2 Tbsp snipped chives
salt and black pepper
freshly grated nutmeg

Boil the potato and turnip in separate pans for 20 minutes, until tender. Drain them, return them to the pan, and shake them over the heat to dry. Mash thoroughly until smooth. Mix in cream or butter, and chives, and season to taste with salt, pepper, and a grating of nutmeg. Continue to mash over the heat. Serve immediately. Apparently, south of the boarder Clapshot is called “swede.”

skirlie

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Abroad and at home

Posted on July 10, 2015 | Leave a comment

This May, I had the privilege of visiting the Archives Research Centre in Inverness, where I took a peak at Croy Parish Church registers. The Kirk, as it was known in those days. Unlike modern church sessions (at least, those of the mainline denominations with which I’m familiar), these Kirk sessions included provincial trials of misdeeds such as fist-fighting on the Sabbath.

Here’s an excerpt from one such record:

Croy July 13 1740 James Mitter Gardiner in [Cabrach] & Margaret Gordon in Mitten Delated for undecent correspondence are appointed to be cited to our next meeting of the Elders appointed to enquire into the grounds of such report. …
Croy July 20th 1740 Compeard James Mitter & Margaret Gordon & refusing their keeping any undecent correspondence the Elders were enquired if they searched into the grounds of such report & answered that they found there was such a flagrant story passing at that part of the Parish but that after diligent search they could find no ground for it. Closed with prayer.

Can you imagine such a meeting of sessions at a mainline church today? People might actually turn out for the show. Strange words appear in the text: Delated. Compeard. Then again, it’s fortunate I didn’t have to decipher them from Gaelic.

“Delate” does appear in the Merriam-Webster, an archaic word that means to denounce or accuse. Not so the word “compeard.” Perhaps it is dialect? I don’t believe it is a misreading of the handwriting–here’s a sample of transcribed text of another such record I found in Google books:
book scots regional dialect

Back home, I found another tidbit of Scots 18th century history in the oddest place — the Genealogical Abstracts from Newspapers of the German Reformed Church 1830-1839, collected by Barbara Manning.
book genealogical abstracts
In an abstract from the Weekly Messenger of the German Reformed Church dated Aug. 9, 1837, is the following:

//LONGEVITY. RICHARD TAYLOR, the oldest pensioner in Chelsea Hospital England, died on the 10th of June, aged 104. He was a drummer boy at the battle of Culloden in 1745; his last action was that of Alexandria in Egypt where SIR RALPH ABERCROMBIE fell. //

Other than the fact that the Battle of Culloden occurred in 1746, let’s give this the benefit of the doubt and assume the rest is correct. The announcement tells me several things. First, that Richard Taylor was most likely a drummer boy for the British side of that engagement. Second, that if Taylor did live 104 years, he was a drummer boy in the King’s service at the young age of 13 years. Third, back in the day the Battle of Culloden was so well known that the editors of  this small German denominational newspaper in the U.S. felt this news from England worthy of note. Yet today, many people I talk with have never heard of Culloden.

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Food and drink adventures

Posted on June 4, 2015 | Leave a comment

It wouldn’t be a travel blog without a post about food and drink. On Dave and my recent tour through Scotland, the Netherlands, and Germany, we’ve tasted such a delicious variety. The most unusual dish I had in Scotland: wood pigeon with black pudding, served on what appeared to me to be a (carefully scrubbed) slate roof tile.
Wood pigeon with black puddingI ordered it at a restaurant in Inverness called the Mustard Seed. The wood pigeon is the largest bird of the dove family, also known in England as the Culver.

The previous day, I had asked a waiter about Scottish black pudding, and he’d paused.

“When I describe it, you’ll think it’s gross,” he said.

“Try me.”

“Well, you take the insides of an animal, the stomach I think, they clean it and fill it with blood and–”

“Okay, stop. You’re right, I don’t want that,” I’d said.

But a day later, by the time we were dining at the Mustard Seed, I’d seen black pudding on enough restaurant menus I thought–oh, what the hell. The waiter assured me I would not get a large quantity, just a few small slices served with the wood pigeon on arugula. The taste reminded me of blood sausage (which it basically is). Rich, but very good. A similar concoction is added to Scottish haggis, which makes some turn up their noses to that breakfast selection.

Anyhow, back in Edinburgh, at a bar/restaurant called Whiski on High Street (really), I tried a whisky “flight,” a scotch whisky sampling adventure that didn’t require as much courage as the black pudding, but perhaps more fortitude. The waiter served me four bar staff favorites: Balblair 2003, Dalmore 15 Year Old, Jura Prophecy, and Ardbeg 10 Year Old, to be sampled in that order. I find I’m a fan of the less smoky, first two scotches. Just sayin’.

whiskey flight at Whiski in Edinburgh
Skipping ahead to Freinsheim, it’s time to enjoy kuchen–a traditional Palatinate dessert. At Tante Inge’s yesterday, Dave and I enjoyed slices of this delicious Apfelkuchen (Apple Kuchen).
Tante Inge's Apfelkuchen

In the evening, at an outdoor barbecue (the weather has been so warm and pleasant in the Palatinate) our hosts served up white asparagus, with hollandaise and cheese sauces.
imageNaturally, the dish was devoured.image

The meal concluded with a digestif — Pear Schnaps, a German form of fruit-based alcohol also called Obstler. This schnaps is not to be confused with the candy-cane tasting Peppermint Schnapps liqueur. Two different drinks entirely. Distilled just a few doors down from our courtyard barbecue on Wallstrasse, the Pear Schnaps was a satisfying finish. And we slept well, too.
German Schnaps

 

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Posted in General, Travels in Germany, Travels in Scotland