Silverbank Caravan Club Site, Banchory, Kincardineshire

On track with the forecast, drizzle set in for the morning and I had planned well to make this a “city” day rather than a countryside tour. We set off for Aberdeen, about eighteen miles away if you follow the regular route and further if you take the minor “short cut” route we took. We were seeking the Kingswell Park & Ride to the west of the city, and thought we were well prepared. Online I had learned that parking was free but that it was imperative to have the right change for the bus. Nowhere could I find what that fare might be, but reckoned the notices at the Park & Ride terminal would spell it out.  Well, we found the parking area, but were unable to figure out where the bus actually picked the passengers up or to find any notices or advice at all; there was no bus stop terminal at all. We drove around the block twice thinking we might have missed something, then gave up and drove into the city hoping to find directions to a car park. Indeed we did, parking at the Chapel Street multi-storey car park. Alas, it was a Pay and Display, the sort you have to make a rough guess at how long you might want to spend exploring a new tourist destination. Amazingly we did get it right today, more by chance than good management, paying £6 for up to six hours parking; there are few giveaways in Aberdeen!

It was raining quite hard as we made our way up Union Street, the main drag of the city, and there was much I missed as we headed east toward the Information Centre, my head shrouded in my rain hood. My mood was similarly shrouded and it was not until we stopped for a coffee and a bonus McMuffin for The Chauffeur, when I learned his mood was not as grumpy as mine, that the day perked up.

After visiting the Centre and now armed with a map and good advice, we headed on toward the Castlegate Square, calling into the Tollbooth Museum on the way. This had not been on my list of to-dos, but then as the day proceeded, there were items on the original list that were not open-to-view, such as the Art Gallery which we had learned about yesterday at Castle Drum. 

The Tollbooth Museum is situated on the end of the impressive structure that is the Town House, or in English, the Town Hall and Courthouse. It is housed in a narrow tower affair, accessed by a series of narrow stairways not at all suitable for the lame or obese, however there is a short film in the reception area to cater for those too disabled or unwilling to challenge their claustrophobia. The museum is all about crime and punishment in Aberdeen and is actually quite fascinating. Here we learned the stories of five past inmates of the tower, incarcerated for a great variety of reasons.

One was a Quaker who dared to promote her beliefs which were contrary to those in vogue at the time, another was a servant who dared to get pregnant (probably to her boss), another a debtor who was able to come and go during the course of his day providing he was back to be locked up for the night. He spent an amazing length of time as guest of the Provost.

But the one that really shocked me was Peter Williamson, who was kidnapped as a small boy and sold as a slave in the USA in the mid-1740s. It seemed that the roundup of children who dared to venture beyond their mother’s skirts (or those of his aunt in this instance) was a common occurrence and a rather lucrative trade. I had no idea that little white children were as vulnerable to this fate as the black people of Africa. While the rounding up was in progress, musicians were engaged to entertain the children in the barns or the Tollbooth where they were temporarily housed, which would have also served to drown the wailing for their mothers. The practice was widespread in the city and involved influential merchants and magistrates, who turned a blind eye to the trade; a bit like the clergy of more modern times.

Peter was freed on his master’s death, but later kidnapped twice more, by Native Americans and the French. He finally returned to Britain in 1756. To earn money he told his story to audiences hungry for tales of the Frontier and published a book about his ordeals, selling over 1,000 copies, making enough money to return to Aberdeen.

But once home, he was arrested for slander against the Magistrates. His books were burned at the Mercat (Market) Cross, and he was imprisoned in the Tollbooth, and then banished from Aberdeen. He later successfully sued the Magistrates involved in the kidnappings, and was awarded £400 and his banishment was lifted. He settled in Edinburgh where he opened a tavern and became a local celebrity. A happy ending after all!

We emerged from this intimate museum, having shared some of the stuffy little spaces with too many likeminded tourists, and found our way to St Andrew’s Episcopal Cathedral, a large sandstone building fitting between other grand structures, so it does not stand out particularly. Here we were warmly welcomed by the organist who spoke fondly of organs in various churches about New Zealand, many of which he had played to keep his hand in while away from home.

Here we learned an interesting story, which demonstrated another side of the effect of the political change within Britain and the United States. In 1784, after the States achieved independence, it meant that the Episcopal (or Anglican) church now fell outside the King’s authority.  Now no longer part of the diocese of London and beyond, there was need for a Bishop to oversee the churches on the eastern seaboard, but when Samuel Seabury sought the appointment and to be anointed as tradition and ceremony decreed,  no one would step up to do the business. Happily the Bishops of Aberdeen and Moray saved the day and Bishop Seabury returned to the States correctly ordained.

In the 1920s when the cathedral here in Aberdeen was desperately in need of repair and renovation, the congregation begged funds from their brethren across the Atlantic, but their timing was lousy; the Crash of 1929 put paid to that. As a consolation prize, the Americans sent florid gold ceiling bosses over to represent each state of the union and these are proudly exhibited against the white of the ceiling up one aisle. Still, I think everyone would have been happier with hard cash, and the need is even more pressing today. 

We found a bench on the spacious Castlegate Square; the rain had eased although a cold wind still blew. There were few others about to enjoy the improving weather, apart from several very noisy seagulls.

Our next destination was the Maritime Museum, a place we would have avoided had we not been encouraged by the guide at Drum Castle yesterday. Of course here one can learn all about the city’s fishing and ship building history, all of which is very important. Here too was the art works from the closed Art Gallery which could be incorporated into the current special exhibitions, but it was the extensive exhibition about the oil and gas industry, the life blood of modern Aberdeen that captured us.

Oil was discovered in the North Sea at the end of the 1960s and it was Shell who was first to move into Aberdeen, leasing space in the suburb of Torry, and supply services soon followed. By 1977 seven oil companies had supply bases in the harbour and many more had offices in the city. This was inevitable given Aberdeen’s proximity to the oil fields, twenty four hour access to new quays built by the Aberdeen Harbour Board, industrial land available, access to university standard research facilities, an airport, good road and rail links and a welcoming local government. During the intervening years, living standards for the citizens of Aberdeen have lifted substantially.

Currently there are 273 oil and gas installations in the North Sea, or which 257 are platforms, plus sixteen floating installations and there are many more mobile drilling rigs and subsea structures. 

Today we noted massive building works going on in the city giving evidence to the prosperity that has come with the extraction from the depths of the sea.  There is a whole new commercial development out near that hopeless Park & Ride, and in the middle of the city, much of the civic area is surrounded by construction barricades with the promise of very elaborate upgrades.

Today Aberdeen has a population of over 210,000 and is the third largest city in Scotland.  It is commonly known as the Granite City and the reason for this was very evident today, despite the greyness of the day, or maybe even more because of it. There are some very grand buildings in the city and as we drove in, we noticed many elegant residences, although some now offices.

Aberdeen has always been one of Scotland’s major cities and consists of two ancient burghs. Old Aberdeen, on the agenda for Monday, was a religious centre which developed around St Machar’s Cathedral from the 12^th century. In contrast, Aberdeen, sometimes called “New Aberdeen”, was a thriving trading port serving a rich hinterland which was first granted burgh status in 1136 during the reign of David I.

The city began as a small settlement clustered around a natural harbour at the mouth of the River Dee. Merchants exported hides, skins, salmon and tallow to ports in present-day Holland and Belgium. Returning ships brought back fine silks, spices, wines and precious objects made from gold, silver, enamel and glass. Its growth through the centuries has been gradual, and by 1800 it had an estimated population of 12,000. In 1891 the two Aberdeens merged, although even today it apparently has a separate identity. I look forward to discovering that for myself next week. 

One of the exhibits in the museum caught my eye, one with a New Zealand connection. The wooden sailing ship Star of Tasmania, built in Aberdeen in 1856, was wrecked off Oamaru in the South Island. Most of the crew and passengers were saved, with only four drowned. A local pilot salvaged the figurehead, then it was lost and forgotten in the intervening years. In the 1950s someone found it on a farm where it had been used to block up a hole in a hedge. It finally turned up in the United Kingdom for sale, and was purchased by the Museum in 2003, nearly 150 years after the vessel was built here.

On a lesser cheerful note, we learned that the Aberdeen shipyards made significant contributions to the war efforts, in both the First and Second World Wars. Needless to say they became a frequent air raid target, and almost two hundred people were killed during World War II, apart from those who went to war and fought beyond the city boundary.

But back to the business of North Sea oil and gas, the question rises as regards the longevity of the money tree. In the 1970s, publicity answered “at least two years”. Scientists acknowledge that the peak may well have been reached, and reported in 2012 that the oil and gas had decreased by nearly a fifth, the largest decrease since large scale extraction began. Current research suggests that there are an estimated 1.3 trillion barrels of proven oil reserve left in the world’s major fields, which at present rates of consumption will be sufficient to last forty years.  By 2040, production levels may be down to 15 million barrels per day, around 20% of what we currently consume. However with new technologies, many already in place, this prophesy may well be extended. Whatever the outcome, that should see us through.

After two hours in this very interesting museum, and taking advantage of the views over the busy port from the upper storeys of the building, we headed back up to Union Street and then up King Street to see Aberdeen’s most imposing building, the Marischal College. It is apparently the world’s second largest granite building, after Madrid’s Escorial. It is the tall steel-grey pinnacled neo-Gothic façade that is most impressive, and really all that the tourist can enjoy. We entered in through the glassed entrance, passing through to the courtyard, where water spouts play as in those wonderful play areas that small children so enjoy. Alas there was no one but us, because the buildings around the courtyard are in the most, quite empty. 

The college was founded in 1593 by the 4th Earl Marischal and coexisted as a separate Protestant university from King’s, just up the road, for over two centuries. In 1860 the two universities were amalgamated into the University of Aberdeen, and thirty three years later, the central tower was doubled in height and the profusion of spirelets added, although the final modifications were not completed until 1906.

After taking the obligatory twenty photos, we went in search of Provost Skene’s House, Aberdeen’s oldest surviving house, dating from 1545. We finally found it standing rather forlornly amidst the construction work going on in the civic centre area. Alas, seen but not seen.

By now we had shed our coats; the weather was much improved and Union Street as we made our way back was so much more attractive than it had appeared in the morning. We called into St Nicholas Kirk, two churches in one, from where the forty eight bell carillon, the largest in Britain, regularly chimes. There has been a church here since about 1150 and it was one of the largest medieval burgh kirks in Scotland. It was severely damaged during the Reformation, and divided into the West and East Church, separated by the transepts and the crossing, designed in very contrasting styles. 

The West Church reminded me of the Lutheran Church we visited in London in the process of tracking down my Bettjeman relations, as well as the hideous stall pews in the church at Whitby  which in turn reminded me of the prison chapel at Port Arthur in Tasmania. The East Church is recovering from major archaeological excavation, whereupon many bodies were dug up, some apparently 1,000 years old, but then you would expect that; for many centuries it was custom to bury the dead under church floors. 

We were greeted by a couple of severe looking women who fitted well with my idea of Presbyterian style, dressed in terribly sensible garb, their grey buns tight on their heads and smiles having to be squeezed out.  Out in the church yard, the gravestones are literally stacked one against another, the sturdy coffee table style more in common than the otherwise standing slab. With the paucity of seating space about the main street, it seems to be a popular resting spot for the weary, apart from the long dead.

From here it was not far back to the car park, and from here back onto the road home, this time returning on a minor road along the southern bank of the River Dee, avoiding the bulk of the late afternoon traffic.