It’s that time again…time to do the washing, the packing, the moving on. We’ve enjoyed our time here with the interesting furnishings and the scary stairway—which I hasten to tell you I have not fallen down! Or up! An amazing feat in itself.
Last evening, as for the two before that, there was a steady flow of traffic down George Street between the hours of 5 and 10, but amazingly, most of the traffic seemed to be these HUGE dump trucks that came barreling down the road at what must’ve been 90 mph. And there were so many of them. Ray said that either there were 5000 dump trucks going from the Isle of Whithorn (which is said like “Wit-torn”) to Wigtown or there were just two and they spent all evening going back and forth in front of our flat.
This afternoon, I went on another walking tour of Whithorn to see some of the things I didn’t know about yesterday. Using a Town Trail pamphlet, I went to No. 29 Sandale, which was once the police house and prison and the Railway Inn on St. John Street (where George St. narrows), which got its name from the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem and was a hospital operated by the order for the pilgrims visiting the shrine of St. Ninian. The former Grapes Hotel was on the corner of Castlehill and George St. and was a coaching inn. In the 1950s, this was a popular hotel that people traveled from far away to visit and have their honeymoon. The unusual triple gable can still be seen along Castlehill.
Beyond the bowling green and on the playing fields is an area shown on maps as the site of a castle. As there are no remains of a castle to be found here, this may have just marked the route to Cruggleston Castle near Garlieston. On the right along Castlehill are the school buildings. They onve housed both primary and secondary schools, but now the secondary school is 18 miles away in Newton Stewart. The Visitor’s Centre was formerly a high class delicatessen. Then we come to Kings Road, formerly known as Rotten Road but this was just a corrupted form of the French “Route du Roi”—which means Kings Road. This was the route taken by pilgrims coming from the Isle of Whithorn. Since it lies downstream of the Ket River, it was also the site of the slaughterhouse, tanneries, and the cotton mill.
The Skeog House was one of those built with money that Charles Lockhart sent back here in the late 1800s after he left for America and co-founded the Esso company. It was very pretty.
The Post Office has a pend leading to the stable block in back and it was a former hostelry. The St. Ninian, Martin, and John Roman Catholic Church that I visited yesterday has a crucifix sculpture to the rear of the church that looks down on an outside altar. At No. 100 George St., the building still shows the original 17th century low frontage and is not modernized as its neighbors. Some of the other houses show a steep pitch to the roof indicating they were once thatched.
At # 59, an upstairs bedroom in this house was a crucial location in the “Wicker Man.” Here the scene of the attempted seduction by Britt Ekland & her body double took place, though the actual scene was filmed in Newton Stewart. Several locals were extras in the film. At # 55, the Gothic windows of the shop date from the
1900s. Once an ironmongers then a butchers, it later became a Catholic Oratory. The garden to the rear of the shop was also used as a location in the Wicker Man.
Today we are washing and packing up our things a day early. As it turns out, we need to be in Edinburgh to sign the paperwork for the car rental continuation by 10 am on Saturday, so we decided to forego a day here and spend Friday night in Edinburgh. I can get my much needed haircut done and we can do the Hertz paperwork early and be on our way to Inverness must sooner than otherwise. AND we got this incredible Travelodge rate of only £15, which is less than $25, at the Edinburgh Cameron Toll hotel, so it was too good to pass up. After that, we are off to live in a tiny lodge on the estate of Brodie Castle for a week. Should be fun.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Castles, Abbeys, and Special Friends June 15, 2011
Evidently the plan today is to get some stamps in our book of Historic Scotland properties we have visited. That’s not really the plan, but at the end of the day, we will probably have 6 more stamps.
We started with Cardoness Castle, which we had visited before. Interesting story here was how the husband (de Cardoness) threatened to kill his wife if she bore him another girl—not a very nice man, to say the least. ON the 10th birth, a boy was born and the father had a party to celebrate on a frozen lake. It cracked and they all fell in and drowned except for a daughter who had stayed home with a cold and went on to marry a McCulloch and inherit the castle.
Next we drove to Kirkcudbright (pronounced “kir-coo-bree”) to see MacLellan’s Castle. This was a great example of how castle building changed in the 16th century. There was less concern for security and more for convenience and comfort. Sir Thomas MacLellan of Bombie, provost of Kirkcudbright lived here. In the back of the huge fireplace, there was a Laird’s Lug—a secret hole for him to eavesdrop on his guests in the next room. Some of the 15 spacious rooms on the upper 3 floors were never even completed and the castle was abandoned by 1700. As we entered the castle, there was a dove cooing and it sounded just like a ghost. This truly felt more like a home as it had a wide entrance staircase and many large rooms.
Dundrennan Abbey is the place where Mary Queen of Scots spent her last night on Scottish soil before heading south for hopeful safety in England. Dundrennan Abbey was founded in 1142 for Cistercian monks. There was a grave slab here of what looked like an abbot standing on top of a man. There was also a grave slab that looked like a woman. The fog moving behind the castle sideways created a very spooky atmosphere.
We drove to Orchardton Tower, which was the only circular tower house in Scotland—the rest are square. Leaving Orchardton and heading to Glenluce, we ran across two gypsy wagons on the road being pulled by horses. The were painted very prettily.
There’s nothing like spending a good deal of time straightening your hair the night before only to walk out into the Scottish fog the next morning and instantly receive a curling treatment. Well, not instantly, but it did get worse as the day went on. Only slightly wavy at Cardoness Castle, then really wavy at Dundrennan Abbey, then full blown out of control curly by the time we reached Glenluce Abbey. But I did not complain at all, especially after what the nice young man at Glenluce Abbey said to me.
We had never been to Glenluce Abbey before. Christopher, the keeper of the abbey, engaged us in conversation for a good 45 minutes before we went on our tour of the abbey. We were having a very interesting conversation about heritage and he said that he was pretty sure I must be Scottish. Well, yes, I am, I told him. Scots with a bit of Irish in there, too, he added. Yes indeed. He said he could tell from the color of my hair and eyes, complexion, and the shape of my face. It was very much like his mother’s side of the family—Scots-Irish. I was beyond thrilled. Yay! I am very proud to be a Scot and a Scott.
Glenluce Abbey was founded in 1191 and has the only almost complete and intact chapter house (early 16th c.) as they continued using this room for worship until the 1930s. There were 10 Green Men around the room and the glass windows were still intact. The remains of the cloister were very pretty. This was a Cistercian abbey, which was a very hard like for a monk. You could expect a Cistercian monk to die within 12 years of entering a monastery because of the hard work, the small portions of food to eat, and the lack of good medical care. I also saw an example of a pilgrim’s badge that one would wear to distinguish oneself from a beggar. The highlight of this visit was meeting Christopher and meeting the cows. The farmer next to the abbey has a herd of Jersey cows—rare here—and as we started to leave they HURRIED over to the stonewall to stick their heads over to be petted and say goodbye. It was so sweet. They listened to me talk to them and tell them how pretty they were. They were just the most friendly cows ever.
Oh, and Otis called me last night. Otis, my granddoggie! Evidently he was missing me and just had to place a call. : )
Pictures from top: Cardoness Castle; MacLellan Castle; Dundrennan Abbey; Gypsies; Cloister of Glenluce Abbey.
Exploring the Burgh June 14, 2011
Had plans for Ray to go hiking first thing this morning, but we had no power, so that delayed breakfast. In a magazine, I saw a whole page of pictures of nursery and grade schools that had put on their own Royal Weddings in celebration of the real one. The children dressed up as brides and grooms and attendants. Such cute little children, but in a way, a strange idea. He finally took off around 10:30 after the power was back on. I spent the morning in the Pilgrim Tearoom at the Visitors Centre and caught up on my blogging. This was a grocery shop in 1901. While blogging, I enjoyed a treacle scone and hot chocolate. Oh my, the recipe must be found as I don’t think I can do without ever having one of the treacle scones again. So moist and delicious.
The Dumfries area of Scotland was badly hit by the foot-and-mouth epidemic in 2001. Here, you are never too far away from the “farm “ aromas. But the aroma I do love is that of a peat fire. Smelled peat burning last night when we returned home from the Isle of Whithorn. I think it takes me back to some distant memory in my family line or something. It always feels homey to me.
The afternoon, I spent around the village of Whithorn, taking pictures of the interesting houses in the burgh. The first Scottish burghs were created by David I during the 12th century. Burghs were towns with special privileges like the right to fortify the town, to make laws, raise money through tolls, and hold markets and fairs. I ran across Gary up at the priory where he was watching a school group of small children about ages 7-10 doing a wonderful program about St. Ninian, all dressed up in costumes. They were adorable. The memorization skills of these children were wonderful as they gave LONG speeches on the subject and even added expression to their voices. I was impressed. I had returned to the priory to try to find the old stone wall extending to the south east of the crypt. This was the location of the original Candida Casa.
The library from 1911 is done in red brick but has some blue tiles on it that look almost like a Mackintosh design. I walked up to St. John Street—where George Street begins—and found the United Presbyterian Church from 1892 being used as a garage and fueling station. It was a feed store for a while and still has some stained glass in it. On further was the Black Hawk Hotel, once the Temperance Hotel.
The “new” Town Hall with its Gothic and cast-iron details is from 1885 and is nearby as is the location of the old Low Port and the Grapes Hotel. Back down towards the Pend was the Central Café, which was once the Brunswick Inn. Back down to the Pend and crossing to King’s Road and on to see the Old Town Hall across the street and the Roman Catholic Church and High Port. On further would have been the site of the old windmill from some time before 1750, but it went out of use in the mid-19th century and was reduced in height and converted to a house. It was finally demolished in the 1960s.
The Galloway Store is part of the Town House and is from 1814. It has the Tollbooth tower above it with shops on the ground floor, a council chamber above, and prison cells at the back. It was said not to be a very secure prison. The new Town Hall is up the street as I wrote above. The old Tolbooth from 1709 consisted of a square tower in the middle of the street, which they always kept well whitened. This was in the area I mentioned that is now parking spaces but was before the area where fairs and markets were held. At # 87 George St., an architect and archaeologist, William Galloway, lived.
I had fun shopping at the charity shop near the Catholic Church then returned home for lunch. Later in the day, I decided to take a shower in the clawfoot tub with the Eiffel-tower faucet head thingy. So I turned on the water and got the temperature adjusted just right. I picked up the “telephone” faucet and proceeded to wash my hair. All good and well. Well, not exactly for there is nowhere to hang the “telephone” so that you can use both hands to wash. So here I am tangling myself up in the cord and trying my best to manage the simple washing of my hair with one hand. Okay, that’s all right. UNTIL I get out of the tub and realize that I am standing in 2 inches of water on the tile floor! I didn’t realize that when Ray took his shower earlier, he had hung the “phone” up with the water end facing out instead of in. So all the while I was adjusting the water temp, I was actually filling the bathroom up with water. I blame him though he probably blames my general klutziness. Bath mats and many, many towels are washing and drying now. : (
I guess it’s better than two weeks ago. Let me just say—never color your hair in a shower you’ve never used before. We arrived somewhere—Wales, I think it was—and I immediately went to coloring my hair, thrifty me. I waited the 10 minutes then hopped in the shower to wash out the color only to find out that the water pressure in the hotel was virtually zero. Trickle, trickle—that’s the best it would do no matter how far I turned the knob. It took me forever to get the hair color gel out of my hair. So always know your shower before you do something crazy like color your hair.
That’s another thing about moving around—every week, everything is different. It’s better than moving every few days, but even at a week, the showers ate different, the stoves are different, the washers and dryers are different, the dishwashers (if we are lucky enough to have one). And no matter how much I have tried to simplify packing and unpacking by getting it down to one suitcase to hold the things I use all the time, I STILL can never find anything. The drawers are different every time so I’ll put things in different places out of necessity then can never find them again. It is so frustrating. It makes me wish people still traveled with those huge wardrobe trunks. The kinds that had hangers and drawers in them and you just got where you were going and could use it as a ready-made closet. Now that would be nice.
I was just reminded of how any time anyone walks under our bedroom through the Pend archway, the acoustics are such that it magnifies the sound tenfold. Two people walking underneath could be whispering yet I could probably understand every word. A lady in heels going under sounds like a horse clomping loudly. It’s kind of neat as it seems like it would sound in the old days, hearing neighbors going by and horses. One thing I could do without is the “farm” smell I mentioned before. For some reason, this afternoon it is especially strong. I wonder if the locals even notice it.
Pictures from top: View out our 17th century bedroom window looking towards the priory; nursery school & grade school wedding in honor of Royal Wedding—and one of the “bridesmaids” looks a bit put out. Did she want to be the bride?; costumed children giving excellent presentation on St. Ninian at the priory; United Presbyterian Church, now a garage.
The Burgh of Whithorn
two houses from our front window; house in Whithorn; photo showing the Galloway Store with the Tolbooth Tower and the space in the center of the street where the former tollbooth would have been and fairs and markets would have been held.
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