Strathclyde Country Park Caravan Club Site, Bothwell, Glasgow

I sometimes lose track of the fact we are travelling as part of our life, rather than living our life as part of our travel; yesterday brought this to my attention again. I would have had us out ticking off one of those destinations on the two pages of “places to see”, but my ever practical husband considered our day spent otherwise. It is just as well one of us has their feet firmly on the ground!

The Chauffeur had been mumbling about the vehicle’s suspension for some weeks now, but he is more of a glass-half-empty than I, so I let it all pass over my head. I should have known better because we have experienced this particular kind of problem before, the first time with the Mitsubishi Canter motorhome we owned until three years ago, and more latterly, with our “work” vehicle, our antiquated Isuzu Bighorn. In both cases we had the suspension dealt to and the difference was noticeable, let alone making matters more roadworthy. Thus we spent four hours through the middle of the day chasing diagnosis and quotes for the repair, if required, and also to consider an annual service.

Other mumblings and frustrations within our domesticity have related to the non-functioning of the television remote, an essential tool when travelling even more than when one is settled in one place. The touring television requires frequent retuning and this is done with remote in hand because operating the manual controls on modern televisions is almost a total no-go. 

With full internet reception, I was able to provide contact details for all consultations, and so armed with this, we zigzagged about the southern suburbs of Glasgow, visiting this business then another, through Hamilton, Blantyre, Motherwell and Coatbridge, none of these easy on the eye, and even then, we were left to finish the task this morning.

Soon after 2 pm yesterday I managed to rescue the day by suggesting we find our way to Bothwell Castle, a Heritage Scotland property, to provide some relief from the tedium of technology and financial considerations. Even this turned into a gruelling exercise, because we were caught in a traffic snarl up before we reached the more attractive little suburb of Bothwell.

Bothwell does have charm, and is currently celebrating the build up to the annual Scarecrow Festival, with rather ghastly stuffed effigies in various costume and disguise placed along the High Street. The mere fact I have remarked on this suggests the exercise is successful, although it did not encourage us to park up and add to the economy. Hopefully there were others who did otherwise.

Bothwell Castle was the star of the day, only because it contrasted with the practical aspects of the rest. All historical ruins and remains are interesting but this should not be on the tourist’s must-see. It is more the place you take the grandkids or your dog for distraction; there is room to run about, away from urban surrounds.

The Castle is promoted as one of Scotland’s most dramatic citadels, as well as the most magnificent ruin in Scotland, its great red sandstone bulk looming above the River Clyde, however that is not the aspect the visitor sees on arrival. The painting shown on one of the interpretative panels, one I have seen elsewhere, perhaps hanging in a gallery, supports this publicity. These days it is very much a ruin although one can climb up through some of the keep’s remains.

The castle was built by Walter of Moray, son-in-law of Walter Olifard who was created Lord of Bothwell by King Malcolm in the late 1100s. This Walter Murray wanted a grand residence to befit the family’s high social status, however his plans were never finished, probably interrupted by Edward I’s English invasion in 1296. In fact the castle was torn apart by the Wars of Independence, surviving siege after siege. In about 1362 Joanna Moray, a descendant and heiress of Bothwell, married Archibald Douglas, who set about rebuilding it to become an imposing noble stronghold.

Then in 1455 James II overthrew the Douglas owners and Bothwell became a royal castle, hence its enhanced historical status.

However by the 1700s, Bothwell castle was ruined. Its owner Archibald Douglas, 1^st Earl of Forfar, began work on Bothwell House, to the east of the castle, using stone from the castle to create a fashionable Palladian style mansion. This was eventually demolished in 1926 due to mining subsidence.

All the above suggests I did not enjoy our visit; I did especially appreciate the wonderful large blocks of red sandstone and the castellated tower, but it will not feature on my list of favourite castles, or even those in Scotland.

But actually the highlights of yesterday were contact with family, the first with our daughter and her family, and the second with Chris’s brother to discuss yet another practical requirement, the storage of our caravan for the next year.

This morning dawned cold and clear, a perfect spring day, so appropriate on the first official day of autumn (I say this as I consider that 1 September is the first official day of Spring DownUnder, so surely the reverse is true here?)

We headed away half an hour early for our 9 am appointment, a garage just eleven minutes away, but the morning rush hour prolonged the journey to fit perfectly with our allowed time. The rather rough looking mechanic soon had our Sorrento up on the hoist, then down again, and declared he saw nothing wrong with the vehicle or more particularly, the suspension. So we were left with the fact that he was either an ignoramous, or the garage yesterday had been playing on our concerns. I suggested that the best solution for the immediate future was to do nothing, sleep on it and /or seek a further opinion down in our “home” county. Chris has remained silent on the issue and I have yet to learn his decision, but will respect it whatever it should be. After all, what would I know!? But we did agree that it was foolish to spend money unnecessarily.

The rest of the day was in the Tour Leader’s hands, so we headed for New Lanark south via the Clyde Valley, passing through several little settlements, most host to garden centres. We arrived in the car park at our destination minutes before the opening time of 10 am.

New Lanark, less than five miles short of Lanark, is a purpose built 18^th century factory village on the edge of the River Clyde, immediately below Dundaff Linn, one of the four waterfalls that together are the Clyde Falls. The curved walls of the warehouses and tenements, built in the Palladian style are stunning, even without the fascinating social and economic history that surrounds the place. Since 2001 this has had World Heritage Status, awarded for both the natural beauty of the setting and its history. 

The community was initially founded by David Dale and Richard Arkwright in 1785 to harness the power of the Clyde Falls in their cotton spinning industry, but it was Dale’s son-in-law, Robert Owen, whose legacy is most celebrated here. 

Ten years after David Dale’s builders began work, there were four six storey mills and housing for about 1,500 people, including nearly four hundred pauper orphans sourced from the city. By 1818, the population of New Lanark had reached 2,500, of whom almost 1,500 were employed in the mills. By the year 1901, the population had dropped to 795, due to the efficiency of more modern machinery , and by the time the mills closed in 1968, less than three hundred people were living in the village. 

Back in 1963 the New Lanark Association was formed and registered as a Housing Association, a non-profit making organisation dedicated to restoring the historic buildings, and providing comfortable modern homes to keep the village as a living community. The Gourock Ropework Company, which now owned the mills and village, transferred ownership of the housing to the Association.

Today the enterprise survives as a tourist and event destination, a hotel, a landlord to forty five domestic tenancies and several more commercial ventures including a chartered accountancy practice in the old machinery works, and by on-selling its surplus hydro-generated electricity to the national grid.

While there is much about the history of the mills operations including resurrected spinning and spooling of wool, as opposed to the cotton in years gone by, the focus is mainly on the man who changed the face of what so easily could have become yet another industrial revolution stink-hole. 

Robert Owen spent twenty five years here moulding New Lanark into his own brand of Utopia, building an Institute and school to provide community facilities for recreation and education, along with instigating a set of nineteen rules for cleanliness and hygiene. After selling the mill and embarking upon a rather dubious attempt to set up a similar Utopian settlement in the United States of America, he returned to Britain somewhat poorer, to spend the next forty years or so making his mark on British social history.

Despite his failure in the States, his efforts there can be credited with many firsts in American society:

• ·         The first kindergarten and infant school
• ·         The first trade school
• ·         The first free public school system
• ·         The first free library
• ·         The first civic dramatic club
• ·         One of the first organised women’s clubs, the Minerva Society

In 1844, a group of Lancashire workers, inspired by Robert Owen’s example, set up a small store in Toad Lane, Rochdale. Like him, they wanted to make sure ordinary people got good value for money, a share in the profits, and the opportunity for education. They came to be known as the Rochdale Pioneers and the Co-operative Movement grew out of these trading experiments. Soon co-operative societies were springing up all over the country. With the formation of the International Co-operative Alliance in 1895, the movement became worldwide. A century later, there are co-operatives in eighty countries with over seven hundred million members; all thanks to Robert Owen.

It was also his idealism that inspired the founding of dozens of communities in Europe and the New World, and while many of these were short lived, there were other developments like the model village of Port Sunlight south of Liverpool that we visited last year that can be attributed to Robert Owen.

Apart from the inspiration and wonders of New Lanark, the Clyde Falls are all easily accessed from here. We walked upriver to the lovely Corra Linn, at an impressive eighty four feet, the highest and most famous of the four waterfalls. The pathway along the river is managed by the Scottish Wildlife Trust who has a small exhibition within the mill complex. Here great attention is given to the badgers, peregrene falcons and bats who live hereabouts. I was very concerned to learn that about 10,000 badgers are illegally killed in sporting dog fights just for fun, with another 50,000 killed on the road. I had heard the term “badger baiting” before but never given it much thought; I am appalled that this goes on.

Upriver we passed the workings of a small hydro-electric station, and learned that this and another nearby had been built in 1925, but more surprisingly we learned that only 13% of Scotland’s electricity is generated from renewable sources. We had thought that with all the hydro stations we had encountered over the past few weeks and the hundreds and hundreds of wind turbines all about, Scotland would have been generating well over 50% renewable energy.

Chris was less than impressed with New Lanark, and I had to agree that the ticket price was a little on the greedy side. The interactive experience on offer, a ski-lift like contraption which moves through a tunnel of films and holograms, where you learn about life in early 19^th century New Lanark through the eyes of a twelve year old, could have been done better, and although the other exhibits were interesting, they lacked the modern professionalism of say, the Glenfinnan Visitor Centre visited a couple of days ago. The saving grace of the whole experience was the excellent hour and a quarter tour we took with Paige, hearing all about the operation, history and good works of Robert Owen.  

After leaving New Lanark, we drove into Lanark itself and walked up and down the High Street, finding it to be one of the more attractive townships, although there seem to be few Scottish townships that are a patch on their English cousins.

Back home, the sun was still shining so I celebrated by hanging a load of laundry outdoors on my little rotary line, and had the joy of catching up with yet another of our chldren on Skype, this time with my older son.