Partridge Cottage, Amisfield, Dumfries and Galloway

Yesterday morning was spent “at home” sheltering from the inclement weather and checking on the progress of the far worse weather passing across the north east Carribean, which served to put  my own whinging about the Scottish weather in context.

After lunch we ventured out to Blantyre where we spent a couple of hours exploring the excellent David Livingstone Centre, which is housed in what we had thought to be the old mill. It is in fact Shuttle Row, the block of dwellings which housed David, his parents, grandparents and siblings in a room no bigger than our kitchen back in New Zealand. The rooms throughout much of the Row have all been opened up by interconnecting doors and passages; this rabbit warren of information is enough to keep the visitor busy for half an afternoon at least, especially if they are accosted by the very passionate volunteer guides; passionate about the history of David Livingstone, that is.

We had incorrectly understood this to be under the umbrella of the National Trust of Scotland, as it was at some stage, but it now simply muddles along financed by the entry fees; we as OAPs paid £3.50 each. There is nothing flash about the interior of the building, but the exhibits have been curated well. Alas the museum is due to close within the month for major renovations to the tune of £3.5 million provided by the Heritage Lottery. Both Chris and I were amazed that renovations could cost that much; no doubt the engineers and architects will pocket the greater part and the local tradesmen who actually do the work, will get the scraps.

It was interesting to learn that the Blantyre cotton mill that once covered a great area here beside the Clyde was similar to New Lanark, and had in fact been established by the same David Dale in the 1780s. This partly explains how David Livingstone was able to rise above his beginnings, because basic education was provided to all those working and living at the mills.

Apart from a desire to read more about David Livingstone, a natural sponge who was able to soak up so much learning and knowledge in his life, erroneously considering himself a missionary rather than the genius explorer, philanthropist and doctor he was, I left with two other curious pieces of knowledge only marginally connected to Livingstone’s own story. (Incidentally it should be noted that Livingstone only ever converted one person to Christianity, Chief Sechele of the Bakwena tribe, who did go on to convince thousands of his fellow Africans to adopt the faith.)

Fact One: Liberia, in West Africa, was founded and established as a colony for former African American slaves and the free black descendants. 

Fact Two: Scottish folk, such as those who worked in the cotton mills, used to pour the left over breakfast porridge into a drawer, and when cold, cut it into slices for later snacking or meals. When I was told this by the guide, I remembered reluctantly sitting over my own porridge as a child, the cereal now cold and solidifying, floating on a pool of melted sugar. I could well see that it might have been recycled as school lunch, saving on the making of marmite or jam sandwiches.

I had planned our visit to the Centre as a small distraction to an otherwise quiet day, but it turned out to be quite a highlight. I would recommend any visitor in the area to take the time to call in, although they will now have to wait until it reopens, and based on the time it takes to refurbish other museums and galleries, this may only be good advice for the next generation.

Today dawned fine, and the forecasted showers did not arrive where we were. The distance from the Strathclyde Country Park to our camp here near Amisfield was only just over sixty miles, or at least that is what it should have been if we hadn’t missed the turning. All I shall say on that is that I was glad we had eaten most of our lunch when we stopped for our morning coffee, or tempers may have been more to the fore. Neither of us were really to blame, perhaps only our Tomtom for being inadaquate; the directions were via “unnamed” and unnumbered roads, and our navigational device has no facility for inputting postcodes as I believe some other brands do.

But the drive down had been pleasant, apart from the gusts of wind. We travelled through high country, the hills rounded and bare but for heather and the occasional flock of sheep. Great wind turbines stood above us like cheering crowds of spectators and the three lane motorway, the M74 that became the A74(M) snaked through the hills, busy with traffic both north and south. Road signs warned that “Lifting litter risks workers lives” and that some roads had a “Risk of Icing”, making me think of cakes. Turning off onto the A701, we were more sheltered as we passed along this tree lined route, the quality of the road surface immediately deteriorating to Scottish sub-standards.

Our host was still in having lunch when we arrived, and did not return to his ride-on mower until later. He and his wife built their lovely “cottage” back in 2011, just yesterday by British standards, inspired by “Grand Designs Australia” which explained the very un-Scottish nature of the construction. But then I have noticed many homes about Scotland that would fit well in either Australia or New Zealand, something you don’t find down in England.

Our camp is up a narrow lane, which has been busy with a large tractor ferrying trailer loads of livestock since we settled in, fortunately not as we arrived. Jackdaws are noisy in the trees, the honeysuckle is in full flower and it is altogether a delightful spot, with splendid views toward Dumfriess which we will visit tomorrow.