Partridge Cottage, Amisfield, Dumfries and Galloway

Aileen came and went through the night, with great stealth unless I am going deaf or sleeping the sleep of the just, either option quite on the cards. Even today, there was little evidence of storms having passed apart from a sprinkling of early autumn leaves and a few residual puddles. Needless to say, I was delighted to open the blinds to patches of blue and the absence of rain, although neither held all day.

Pessimistically and totally out of character, I had been expecting to abandon my touring schedule and research movie timetables; fortunately none of this was necessary. So we headed south with the eski packed with lunch, stopping at the Tesco Express just down the road where Chris bought the day’s newspaper and a couple of truly decadent pastries; apple turnovers filled with double quantities of whipped cream and apple cooked with equal quantities of sugar.

Today we travelled down the western side of the Nith Estuary on the A170, following the Colvend Coast, sometimes described as the “Scottish Riviera” although not by us. The countryside was lovely, and the views out to sea and to the far off wind farms in the atmospheric light quite lovely. The road took us north again to Dalbeattie on the Urr Water, then south again down the other side of that inlet, soon arriving at Dundrennan where we found Heritage Scotland’s abbey of the same name.

Although it was already 11 am, the custodian was still in the throes of opening the ticket office, however on learning we were members, waved us through after unlocking the loo for The Chauffeur whose needs were more urgent than the custodian’s to clean the facilities. 

The ruins, because that is really all there are here, are open only through the summer months, as are many such properties throughout the country. This was all the more obvious as we made our way around the neatly mown lawns, squelching across the sodden ground.

The abbey was founded in 1142 as the mother house for the local Cistercian monks and although now much reduced to only transepts and the foundations of old walls, it is apparantly evident to archeoplogists that this was a superior settlement to the others hereabout.  It was apparantly where Mary Queen of Scots spent her last hours on Scottish soil.

We looked for the medieval effigy of the tonsured abbot who was murdered and immortalised in stone with a dagger in his chest and his assassin sculptured as being trampled at his feet, however were unable to decipher any such detail from any of the sarcophagi. A rain squall came over and we high-tailed it to the car and returned to the road.

Again we looped around the southern shore of yet another peninsula, then drove north up the eastern side of yet another inlet, this the Kircudbright Bay into which the muddy tidal River Dee flows, to the town of Kirkcudbright (pronounced “kir-coo-bree”)  itself.  This proved to be one of the most charming towns we have come upon in Scotland, and we ended up spending much longer than planned, even if only delayed by the weather. Here the buildings, many Georgian villas and Victorian townhouses, are plastered and relatively recently painted in pastel shades,  as opposed to the white-wash or dull grey or monotonous red sandstone exterior of elsewhere. The town has adopted the name of “Painter’s Town”, making the most of its connections to a few of the Glasgow Boys, and I did wonder whether there was a mandatory policy to promote the town as a painter’s palate, however Chris was quick to point out that these calming shades were not those of a painter’s palate.

We called into MacLellan’s Castle, another Heritage Scotland property, and this under serious conservation, full of propping up scaffolding. The recent rain had left mud and puddles galore and Chris remarked sensibly that if the powers-that-be are serious about conserving these properties, they should put roofs on them, because water, turning to ice in the winter months, and melting in the spring, is surely one of the worst enemies apart from human vandalism, which to be honest has been rare.

MacLellan’s Castle sits right within the town, above the river and at one end of the High Street, a most convenient spot for the Provost of Kirkcudbright, Sir Thomas Mclellan of Bombie who built this 16^th century tower house; the land had been given to the MacLellans after the 1560 Protestant Reformation. The family claimed an income from customs revenue of imports and exports, including woolen cloth, hides, English Malt and coal, all passing just beyond their front door.

Robert MacLellan became Provost of Kirkcudbright in 1607 when he was only fifteen years olf, which proves nepotism was alive and well in this part of the world even then. Later in his life he was made 1^st Lord Kirkcudbright, however his good fortune was not to last; he squandered his wealth and died in debt in 1639.

In the 1700s the castle was stripped of its contents and roof and laid neglected until it was taken into State care in 1912. Today it is in such a state that one might well begrudge the entry fee, however we are always happy to make use of our membership access and avoid the agonising of whether one is being ripped off, or not.

From this very convenient location in town, we set out to explore the High Street and those immediately around, duly impressed with the extent and variety of shops and greens, again delighted with this lovely town. Rain eventually sent us scuttling back to the car, just in time for lunch before setting up the street for the second destination that had brought us to this charming town.

Broughton House, another of these smart Georgian townhouses, is the former home of one of the Glasgow Boys, Edward Hornel, who interestingly was born in Bacchus Marsh just out of Melbourne, Australia in 1864. His Scottish parents moved back to Kirkcudbright when he was just two years old, hence he spent the rest of his life apart from the five years or so studying at Edinburgh and Antwerp based here in Dumfries and Galloway. He moved into Broughton House in 1901 and here he lived with his sister, Tizzy or more formerly, Elizabeth, who kept him off the bottle and organised his models, mainly children.  Tizzy was an avid gardener and Hornel himself was passionate about all things Japanese as is reflected in much of his artistic output. He was also a fanatical collector of books, having acquired over 10,000 by the time he died. He died in 1933 and left the house and library for the benefit of the citizens, with a life tenancy of the house to Elizabeth, who died in 1950, when the Trust, which Hornel had established, took over. The National Trust for Scotland became the property’s custodians in 1997. It is a lovely house, full of Hornel’s collected treasures and artwork that was not sold before his death. The garden, even rain sodden, was equally as charming and we enjoyed our time here very much.

Before we left I copied out a quote of Hornel’s which I thought rather profound:

“The man who works because he is in the mood may expect failure. I work always. One who enthuses over his work will always find something to do. The real mood or inspiration comes oftener through work than by waiting. Everyone recognises the great importance of inspiration; but the talk of waiting for it is unfortunately too often the excuse for idleness.”

The main destination of the day, according to my original plan, had been Threave Castle, however I had not done all my homework on this. Before leaving Kirkcudbright we referred to our travel guide and read the small print. We learned that while this was indeed a Heritage Scotland property, a visit necessitated a ten minute walk from the car park to the banks of the River Dee, where one then rang a brass bell to call a ferryman to be taken across to the flat and grassy island on which the remains of the castle lie. Given the weather, we would surely get wet, even more wet than we had been on our retreat to the car before lunch. We decided to give it a miss and move to Plan B.

Threave Castle is situated on the south side of Castle Douglas, a small town rather than the castle it would suggest, and here we turned north west onto the A713 and drove up the side of Loch Ken, a narrow nine mile long lake,  an attractive sight as one follows the road up to the top end, catching sight of water craft from time to time. The countryside, like all that seen during the day, was wonderful, well farmed and most attractive. 

Near New Galloway, we turned back toward Dumfries on the A712 , detouring to top up with fuel in readiness  for our departure tomorrow. Arriving back at camp we found our fellows had all moved on and we were alone to enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon.