Strathclyde Country Park Caravan Club Site, Bothwell, Glasgow

Today was meant to be the best of the week, or at least that is what the weather girl on the tele told us, so was an obvious choice for a tour of the area beyond the city, hence we set off under cloudy skies and a few little streaks of blue, south toward Ayr, confident that we were to see a section of Ayshire without rain, mist and murk. How naive were we!

Our route took us south west across pleasant rural country to match many regions of New Zealand’s North Island, lush with feed although Chris did suggest this might be watercress rather than wholesome grass, this based on our own experiences of picking our way across waterlogged Scottish countryside. We passed through the attractive rural township of Strathhaven, this named for its situation in the valley (strath) of Avon Water, the “e” being interchangeable with the “o”.

We passed the small settlement of Darvel, birthplace of Alexander Fleming, the scientist who fell upon the existence of penicillin, yet another monument to William Wallace, not nearly as grand as that at Stirling, and on to Alloway, birthplace of Scotland’s great poet Robert Burns. A visit to this part of the country without paying homage to the baird would be remiss indeed, even if one is embarrassingly ignorant about his life and output. His reputation is so big, it is easy to put him in the same mental basket of haggis, tartan and bag pipes, and leave him there.

The cottage where Robert Burns was born and spent the first seven or so years of his life was built by his father a couple of years before his birth in 1759 and is still standing in relatively good order, no doubt thanks to the efforts of the National Trust of Scotland who oversee the poet’s legacy. Entry to this is covered by the entry fee to the Museum back up the road, all of which was covered by our membership. 

The museum opened in 2010 after a two year delay and apparently some controversy, however those involved in the establishment of this excellent exhibition can be very proud of it. Later we were gobsmacked to learn that it cost £21 million to build, funded largely by the Scottish government and the Heritage Lottery fund, and could well understand the upset it created. It will take an awful lot of visitors, scones, cups of tea and souvenir sales to recoup the cost.

However sometimes it pays not to know too much, the mystery should remain and here I have spoiled that for more than myself.

We spent more than an hour exploring this wonderful little museum, an array of memorabilia, letters and original manuscripts, audio poetry and songs and stories and facts of his short thirty seven year life, including his rather privileged privately tutored education despite such humble beginnings, his lusty wanderings and fecund lovers, his ever suffering wife and his profuse output of letters, poems and songs. He left thirteen children, nine to his wife, the rest to various love interests.

Needless to say we were delighted to have visited the museum, a bonus to our original plan which had been a drive-only day. We found our way to the beach and parked up to eat our lunch, not willing to venture out beyond fetching the eski from the rear of the vehicle.

Continuing on in a northerly direction through the pleasant residential streets of Ayr, we pulled into the middle of the town centre for a quick wander about. Another blustery shower came over, making our progress up the tired and shabby High Street less pleasant. We were looking for the Auld Kirk, the church built in 1655 on the site of what was a Franciscan or Greyfriars Monastry until the Reformation. There is a welcoming message board but the doors were all locked tight, probably to keep the many shady looking homeless people out; good Christian behaviour. 

Actually we had a bit of trouble finding the kirk tucked away between the High Street and the river, and it was the security man picking up rubbish in the fine new shopping centre at the top of the town who directed us there. And en route we found the Auld Brig, one of the oldest stone bridges in Scotland, a crooked four arched structure built during the reign of James IV (1488 – 1513), this now accessed between rather insalubrious blocks of flats.

Alas our visit to Ayr town centre was not memorable and not helped by the rain, however we can report that the parking meters are fairer than most.

On north we drove, intending to keep to the coastline but not with great success. The roads are set back from the sea for most of the way, until reaching Ardrossan where the ferries for the offshore islands sail. From here, even through the rain mist, we could see the isles of Arran, Little and Great Cumbrae, and as we drove a little further, Hunterston Nuclear Power Station and the massive coal loading structure for the Hunterston Port. The more attractive sight of hundreds of masts at the Fairlie Quay Marina did not distract The Chauffeur’s attention from our itinerary, but we did pull into a picnic area on the Fairlie waterfront, where we enjoyed the sight of the multi-coloured seaside houses. Soon we reached Largs where we turned inland and headed home, reaching the motorway before the worst of the afternoon traffic build up.