Scone Club Site, Tayside

I heard rain through the night, a pleasant sound when one is snug in bed, unless you lie awake worrying about the impact of the weather on the day ahead; I did not. Our last day touring from here at Scone was organised and not to be messed up by rain or lack of hot showers.

Scone Palace is only five minutes up the road from our camp, which is no surprise when you understand that this camp, and the race course which surrounds us, is all part of the estate of the Earl of Mansfield. We were lined up at the gate with the other cars and a coachload of Italian tourists dead on 9.30 am; the gatekeeper was tardy and we were all champing at the bit. We were the first to the ticket booth, waving our Treasure Pass and directed toward the palace.

I have already indicated that this is the hereditary home of the Stone of Destiny, so will not bore you further on this count. An Augustinian priory was well established by the time its status was raised to an Abbey in the early 1100s. The Abbey became integral in the coronation of Scottish Kings and these royal personages who swung by from time to time needed to be entertained and housed in grand style, hence it was necessary for the Abbot himself to be housed in a grand residence to host these personages, or that was the excuse for the establishment of such palaces on abbey sites.

As per elsewhere, the Reformation brought an end to this self-indulgence and the property was granted to the Earl of Gowrie. There seems to be a little uncertainty as to why or how the property then passed to Sir David Murray, whose family  have managed to retain ownership in one shape or form ever since. 

The Earls of Mansfield were created in the late 1770s when the fourth son of David Murray excelled in his role as Lord Justice of the King’s Bench, and was awarded with the title. When in Scone, he was relatively content to live in all that was left of the old abbey, the palace all that had been spared the wrath of the Reformists. But when his descendants took their turn in the early 1800s, they found it quite uninhabitable. In 1808, the original palace was basically demolished and rebuilt in Neo-Gothic style.

When in the early 1840s, Queen Victoria and her husband, who had recently become enamoured with the romantic Scottish Highlands suggested they might like to visit on their way to Balmoral, there was great excitement and massive amounts of money were spent on refurbishment and refurnishing. They stopped over for one night.

The Palace remains pretty much as it was then, although the silk wall hangings installed for Victoria are now seriously discoloured and disintegrating. The collection of fancy French furniture is showing wear and if it were mine, I would sell it off to pay for the recovering of the walls, just as I would sell off the wall cabinets full of fancy china which someone would be silly enough to pay millions for. When I expressed this practical solution to the economic needs of this Grade I property, Chris said I was a philistine; he is probably right.

The Murrays still live in the property, it is only the State Rooms that are open to the public and have been since 1966. Door takings are supplemented by weddings and conferences and other functions, and the racecourse and caravan park all pay some sort of rent for their corner of the grounds, so we were contributing in more ways than one.

Back outside, now with the rain falling, we made our way around the grounds, through the woods searching unsuccessfully for red squirrels, but delighting in the peacocks, highland cattle and the landscape generally.

We dined a la Kia before heading on to the centre of Perth before we left the area altogether. Perth, lying on the west bank of the River Tay, has a population of nearly 50,000 so is not insignificant. This market town was Scotland’s capital for many centuries, as is evidenced by its connection with matters all about Scone. Its economy in the earlier days was centred around linen and salmon, followed by glass and whisky in the 1800s. Later in that century insurance became important with General Accident’s headquarters here until mergers with other companies left the town only as a call centre.

We parked in the multi storey; these now our preference where possible because normally you can pay when you return, allowing endless time for exploration rather than being limited by any particular return time. 

The most attractive parts of the town are along the banks of the River Tay as were most of the places we wished to visit. We climbed up onto the rail and foot bridge to take some of the obligatory photos, and then made our way to the nearby Ferguson Gallery situated in the original Perth round iron water tower. Since the turn of the last century the gallery, which was the town’s Information Centre in the 1970s, has undergone huge renovation, all for the sum of £1 million; it is amazing how easily councils manage to spend public money. The Gallery was opened in 1992 and apart from the comment about waste of public monies, it makes for a wonderful exhibition space for a single artist’s work. 

Although J D Ferguson, the foremost artist of the Scottish Colourist movement, was born in Edinburgh’s Leith in 1874, he always considered himself a Perthshire lad, and increasingly cited this Highland heritage as the source of his creativity, hence it is entirely appropriate that Perth be the home of this body of work.

Many of the paintings are of his wife, dancer and artist Margaret Morris, which probably is the reason Chris suggested there was a lot of repetition in his work, or at least that shown here. He obviously loved and admired his “Meg” and I found it all very satisfying.

Next on our to-dos was St John’s Kirk, the present building only dating from the 15^th century. We were warmly welcomed here and given a self-guide laminated sheet to find our way about. We were pleased to have found a sheltered spot out of the rain and this served as well as anywhere else.

The last of the three on our list was the city’s Art Gallery and Museum housed in one of Perth’s grandest buildings. The galleries, open to free viewing, are small, and I had the impression that 99% of the collection is stored away in a dry basement, but what we were allowed to see was most pleasing. I was much more impressed with the museum here than the more modernly curated Dundee museum visited yesterday. It is true that some of the exhibits here in the Perth museum are a little faded and jaded with time, and the layout is a little dated, but it was altogether more visitor friendly. There were several families in the galleries with us and they seemed to be as enthralled as we were, even if it were with different facets of the exhibitions.

Here we were able to match the sounds of wildlife to each species and came away a little more informed for future red squirrel spotting and the like. We learned too that in the Highlands the mist causes high humidity in the air and cuts out sunlight, hence in the summer months the summits receive an average of only 2.75 hours of sunlight a day because of that mist. These same unlit summits have a yearly average of 260 gales above 80 kilometres per hour. Should we be heading their way!?

I learned too that the British record for a salmon caught by rod and line is held by Georgina Ballantine, who whilst fishing with her father in 1922 hooked a 29 kilo fish in the River Tay at Caputh. This accounts for the massive fish I saw jumping above the dam at Pitlochly three days ago.

By the time we emerged from the museum, the sun had come out; we wandered slowly along the river bank and back to the car park. We headed to Morrisons to top up with diesel and provisions, in readiness for our departure tomorrow.

Back at camp we found the hot water situation was unchanged and our neighbours with the beagles still in residence. 

Scone Club Site, Tayside

We woke to clearer skies than yesterday, and weather which remained better on the whole, or at least until we were tucked away from the elements. Today was to be all about Dundee; we rose late but were still away before 10 am, heading on a roundabout route south of the Firth of Tay, on minor white roads, hugging the shoreline as far as the roads allowed. Fields of golden crops and random castle ruins kept us from travelling too close; the slightly elevated route afforded us excellent views to the north, across to those shores travelled two days ago.

We arrived at the wee settlement of Balmerino where the ruin of an Abbey of the same name is to be found tucked up behind a hedge. The parking is poor, but enough for the few cars who might arrive at any one time; this is hardly a sought-after tourist destination. 

The Abbey was established by a band of twelve Cistercian monks arriving here on foot from Melrose in 1229. I am inclined to think these chaps might have been escapees because their successors turned into a very independent type of Cistercians; perhaps the discontent was sown by this seeding bunch? 

They supported themselves by managing the abbey’s outlying lands, growing crops and obtaining wool, and by fishing. The community owned mills, and exported grain from the harbour. 

However by the sixteenth century, these monks were keeping their own personal cash, clothes and food, and even had their own individual gardens, hardly like the subservient communal bunch at Melrose. This rebellious behaviour did not last for long because by 1559 the abbey was overthrown by protestant reformers and the community dispersed. At least they would have been better suited to survive in the real world than the lot that kept to The Rule.

Parts of the abbey still survive today because of their conversion into a private residence in about 1600, later becoming a home for James Elphinstone, 1^st Lord Balmerino. This title lasted only until 1746, when Arthur, 6^th Lord Balmerino, was executed for his part in the Jacobite uprising.

The ruins are mostly barricaded off with a very old fence structure and signage is scarce, although no more scarce than we have encountered in other ruins. We wandered about as far as the area allowed, marvelling at the ancient chestnut at the rear of the grassed area which tradition suggests was planted by Queen Ermengarde at the foundation of the abbey in 1229. However the National Trust for Scotland has taken core borings which indicate that it is a mere 400 to 435 years old. This still does not detract from the fact that this concrete filled and propped up tree is doing a whole lot better than any of us would be doing at even a quarter of that age.

From here we wound our way through a series of even smaller lanes, on which we were fortunate enough not to meet any one, let alone a large tractor, finally emerging near Wormit, the coast hugging settlement immediately opposite Dundee.

We crossed on the mile and a half long Tay Road Bridge, opened in 1966, which runs parallel with the rail bridge a little upriver. This makes for a most attractive entry to the city and we found our way to a multi-storey parking building soon after reaching terra firma. From there we walked to the first attraction for the day, the DCA or Dundee Contemporary Arts centre. This is promoted as a stunning five floor complex which houses galleries and a host of other wonders, including the usual shop and café. I had expected more for our own entertainment; a series of galleries and a variety of contemporary art works? This was not to be.

There is currently just the one exhibition showing; a collection of work by Clare Woods titled Victim of Geography, vast oil painted aluminium sheets of intense colour with abstract subject matter. The catalogue and introductory filmed interview with the artist do put some context to her as an artist although the work itself is left for the viewer to interpret, enjoy or despise at leisure.  We came, we saw, we conquered? Well not quite, but we can say we visited the DCA and now know what and where it is.

We walked up into the city centre, but still only about 11 am, the Scots, like their southern counterparts, were still abed, apart from the homeless who had already staked out their posses. St Paul’s Episcopal (Anglican) Cathedral was open to us, although parishioners were still lingering about after their weekly session. Our guide book describes the cathedral as “gaudy” and compared with the more dour or subdued Presbysterian churches we have visited since in Scotland, it may well be considered so. 

The Cathedral was designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott, he whose accomplishments fill an encyclopaedia all of their own, the foundation stone laid in 1853 and the building completed just two years later. It is in the Gothic Revival style, but nowadays tucked discretely between other large buildings and inside intimate and welcoming despite the normal ornate decoration of Anglican and Catholic places of worship. Interestingly there was yet another homeless chap squatting in the church porch, ready to be stepped over as the parishioners and well-heeled tourists exited the building. I wondered at his drug of choice that any sucker might be tempted to help fund, or am I being horribly cynical?

We lunched in the City Square, surrounded by a series of fine buildings, the Caird Hall, the Marryat Hall and the City Chambers to name just three. There are quite a few relatively new timber benches and picnic type tables scattered about for the convenience of the public, and it was one of these we sat to watch as the folk of Dundee slowly arrived to enjoy their Sunday afternoon shopping.

We had other matters in mind apart from shopping in the excellent large shopping malls close by; we headed to the McManus Art Galleries and Museum, another of George Scott’s Gothic Revival masterpieces, opened as the Albert Institute in 1867. The building has undergone change since then, and more recently, between 2005 and 2010, was closed for massive renovation. It is a lovely building, and the art galleries on the top floor were enjoyed by yours truly, especially the Victoria Gallery. The exhibits in the museum are tidy and well conserved, but the stories are lacking. Perhaps I am becoming too fussy as we visit so very many museums about the place, or perhaps I am just now all museumed out after having taken in so much history from the wonderful places we have called of late.

We learned a little about Dundee, despite my nonchalance: that the city of Dundee which covers an area of twenty six square miles, has a population of about 146,000 with a wider regional catchment of nearly 650,000 and that it is the third most populous city in Scotland. Dundee is the birthplace of the Scottish computer games industry, taking credit for Lemmings and Grand Theft Auto, that it was here that the adhesive postage stamp, radar, aspirin and the hole-in-the-wall cash dispenser were all invented, and that it is one of Scotland’s sunniest cities, regularly recording more hours of sunshine than any other. Dundee has many more claims to fame but I shall leave this to others to find out.

It had been our intention to make our way back to the car, and so we set off back down toward the Square, where we were delayed for some time. There was a wonderful group of musicians entertaining the Sunday crowd, a youth orchestra no less, casually clad in jeans, tights or kilts, and all having so much fun as they made their way through a varied repertoire. To add to the entertainment was a seriously aged tramp who had once upon a time known the joys and art of music and was now reduced to a mouth organ. He joined the performance whenever he recognised a chord and pranced about as a jester of old may have. What a treat and a bonus to our day this was!

We dragged ourselves away before they wound up their performance, but only just before the heavens opened up and poured down upon us. We came on home the twenty five or so miles without event to find the rain was yet to arrive in Scone, and when it did, it was negligible.

Scone Club Site, Tayside

Did I mention in my last posting that the camp has issues with its hot water supply? Yesterday the caretakers put hand written notes on the doors of the bathrooms, apologising for the lack thereof and that this was due to circumstances beyond their control. They hoped matters could be remedied as soon as possible, as do the campers who come here entirely for the luxury of long hot showers. I also enjoy this luxury; however can manage with a bowl of water in our own personal bathroom when circumstances limit us so. 

This morning I was returning from the facilities block and ran into one of the caretakers, who when greeted with a friendly “Good morning”, ignored me entirely. He was bearing sheets of laminated A4 sheets, which I later discovered to be in a more formalised format for the earlier good tidings; he was no doubt concerned that any jolly greeting would be seen as amusement at our cold water suffering. This afternoon on returning from our day’s touring, matters were unchanged, and tomorrow is Sunday when it is even more unlikely any technician is available to wave his magic fix-it wand. Perhaps there will be a riot, or simply a march to demand discounted tariff refunds?      

But we were ignorant of these domestic matters today as we travelled about the region, today a mix of coastal and inland roads. We set off up the minor coast roads of the Firth of Tay between Perth and Dundee, then bypassing the city of Dundee before regaining the coastal road to the north, passing through Broughty Ferry, Monifeith and Carnoustie, noting that the economic drivers in this area seemed to be mainly golf and plastic tunnel housed horticulture. This is all part of the Angus Coastline.

Finally we arrived at Arbroath, our first destination and home to the Abbey of the same name. We found a car park nearby and spent some time enjoying the wealth of history in the wonderful visitor centre and about the Heritage Scotland administered rose pink sandstone ruins.

The abbey was founded in 1178 by King William the Lion for a group of Tironensian Benedictine monks from Kelso Abbey, that visited a week or so ago down in the Borders. William’s remains are buried here at the abbey. 

It was dissolved soon after the Reformation, and the abbey effectively became a quarry, the stone filched for buildings throughout the town.

By 1773 there seemed little left but weeds and long grass amid the piles of rubble. The burgh council had tried to restrict the quarrying from 1702 onwards and applied for money from the exchequer for repairs in 1815. But it was not until the Abbey came into state care in 1924 that the ruins were properly preserved and began to be appreciated as a monument.

But there is a more important story to be learned here, one of Scotland’s national and political evolution. The Abbey is where the 1320 Declaration of Arbroath was drafted, by Abbot Bernard, who doubled as Chancellor of Scotland under King Bruce I, aka Robert the Bruce. This was a declaration of Scottish independence, in the form of a letter in Latin submitted to Pope John XXII, intended to confirm Scotland’s status as an independent sovereign state and defending Scotland’s right to use military action when unjustly attacked. The need for this was in part due to the fact that Bruce had been excommunicated, and the Pope had refused to recognise him as sovereign of the land. 

The document is held up today as being an influence on the US Declaration of Independence and has been placed on UNESCO’s Memory of the World register. Interestingly the memorable wording of the declaration mirrors similar words written by a Greek historian thousands of years ago. No doubt Abbot Bernard was a learned and well-read man, who was not above plagiarising, and why not, when the words are worthy of repeating through the ages. 

The Pope did eventually grant Robert I a favourable answer, but not until the poor man was on his death bed. Even then the wheels of bureaucracy turned slowly.

Then just last century the Abbey was again caught up in controversy. The Stone of Destiny, that seized by Edward I in 1296 from Scone, just next door to our camp ground, was stolen from Westminster Abbey. In the following April, the missing stone was found lying on the site of Arbroath Abbey’s altar. It was duly returned to London, and remained there undisturbed until 1996, when the Stone was formally returned to Edinburgh where it lies under lock and key in the Castle, on the condition it may be borrowed for future coronations.

We thought our visit most worthwhile and would recommend anyone curious about the history of the country, as we are, to pay the entry fee and spend some time absorbing the information and ambience. We were able to dispense with the entry fee, by flashing our membership cards.

From Arbroath, we headed north, across the patchwork of corn crops, some recently reaped and some ready for attention. Just before Forfar, not far south of the A90 we will take when we next move camp, we pulled into a car park at the Balgavies Loch Wildlife Reserve. After lunch we wandered part way along the lakeside path, grazing on wild raspberries and not-quite-ripe plums in an abandoned orchard, despite our full stomachs. Down by the lake edge, the geese showed signs of nervousness, pushing their young toward the water and away from the fruit thieves. 

We carried on, now heading westward, until we arrived at Glamis Castle, the second “treasure” of the three covered by the Treasure Ticket we had purchased yesterday at Blair Castle. Committed to seeing all three of these fine historic houses, it made good economic sense to do so. However if we were to stop at just the two, we would end up worse off than if we had paid separate entry fees. 

At Glamis (pronounced Glarms) we joined a large group of fellow tourists, and were guided through the lovely rooms in a more formal manner than we are used to. Afterwards we were free to find our own way around the gardens, to visit the walled and Italian gardens, the pinetum and the immediate surrounds of the impressive castle, built of the same pink sandstone as the Arbroath Abbey. Our brochure suggested we might find squirrels in the woods, but there were too many tourists for such shy creatures and we were unsuccessful in the sport of squirrel spotting.

Glamis Castle has been home to the Earls of Strathmore and Kinghorne since 1372, although the line has zigzagged through the greater family when direct blood lines have fizzled. This was the childhood home of Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the Queen Mother. As such it was a familiar holiday spot for Elizabeth II and birthplace of her sister Margaret. Like most of these long standing grand homes, it has had its fair share of disasters, including a fire when the Queen’s mother was a young woman.

We were delighted with our visit, so very glad we had come, even though we had to share the experience with so many others at the same time.

From here we drove home via Kirriemuir which was supposed to be picturesque but was not, across Strathmore, the edge of the wide valley running from northeast to southwest between the Grampian Mountains and the Sidlaws. It is this which is underlain by Old Red Sandstone, that was used in two of the structures we had visited earlier.  The land is fertile and apparently has some of Scotland’s best arable farmland. Our route was marked on the map as being scenic and so it was. 

We turned south for home at Blairgowrie, but not before we spent half an hour wandering down to the River Ericht to view the picturesque scene of the town, bridge and clear waters and take the obligatory photos.