Home Town
24 September 1989
Yours Truly under Mrs Pringle's apple tree, at Achnahully, Arisaig, Scotland, 2 September 1974.
My only plans for today were to do touristy things: sightseeing and souvenir shopping in Mallaig, then going walkabout in my adopted home town in Scotland: Arisaig.
I wasn't in any hurry to get to Mallaig, so I decided to take the old road along the coast; the same one we drove when Mother and I were here 15 years previously. Once again, I was amazed by how familiar the scenery was to me; almost like this really was my home town, and I'd driven this road all my life.
At Mallaig, I wanted to take the car ferry over to Armadale, as I intended when I first got here on the 19th. This time, though, I just wanted take a boat ride across the sound and back. Unfortunately, once again, I was thwarted. The ferry was not running today, either. Just my luck.
I had consolation, though. In Mallaig town, I acquired a treasure: this otter-headed cane, hewn out of hazelwood. It was fairly expensive - £18.80 - but I couldn't have found a finer or more appropriate souvenir of my otter-themed time here.
Then it was back to Arisaig, again via the old route of the A830 (B8008). Passed this sign along the way. :3
At lunch at the Arisaig Hotel, I showed everyone there the photos we'd taken around the village in 1974. People were thrilled to see them, especially this one of the hotel, itself. It had hardly changed a bit, and I see on Google Maps that it still looks much the same as this now.
After lunch, it was time to go to Mrs Pringle's B&B, but I decided to go on foot, again re-enacting the walk that Mother, Florence and I had taken back in '74. Passing by the post office, I was surprised to hear someone actually call out my name.
"Mr Shannon? Mr Shannon! Hello!"
I turned and saw a young lady waving at me.
"It's Catherine MacIntyre, Mr Shannon, from the shop in Mallaig the other day. Have your been enjoying your visit? Have you seen your otters yet?"
Oh my goodness, of course, Cathy! And wow, she actually recognized me! Out of all the tourists she'd doubtless interacted with over the past week, she remembered me, and that I was here about otters. I was happy to be able to tell her that, yes, I had seen one otter at Kylerhea!
There's that home town feeling again. It's really like I did belong there.
My walk through the village was a little bittersweet. All the older buildings were still standing, which was nice to see, but there were quite a few newer structures along the waterfront that looked distinctly out of place. It seemed to me that Arisaig had "gone upscale." To my thinking, the place had lost a measure of its quaint Highland charm. This impression probably explains why I took no photos of Arisaig proper during this trip. I wanted to remember it the way it still appeared in my mind's eye.
The "new" A830 at the east end of town was the most jarring sight. What used to be a narrow country lane was now a wide gash cut through the low hill above the main village. Cars zoomed by at almost motorway speed, and the quiet stillness of the place I'd found so remarkable back in 1974 was completely gone.
But when I walked up the driveway to the Pringle's house, I was once again in a familiar place and time. My spirits were buoyed to see the house virtually unchanged, and the same traditional haystacks in the lower field. I knew at once that the Pringles must still live there!
It's so remarkable to me how you can meet someone just once, and only interact with them briefly, yet they make such an impression that you never forget them for the rest of your life. That was certainly the case with Mrs Pringle and her husband. It had been our first-ever stay in a bed-and-breakfast in Scotland, and it was a delightful and truly memorable experience.
However, today when I knocked on the door of Achnahully, no one answered. So I went to the B&B next door and tried there. Someone was home! I introduced myself to the lady and told her I'd come to call on the Pringles. She stepped outside and we began a long chat.
Mrs Henderson told me regretfully that Mrs Pringle had passed away some 3 years ago. I was very sorry to hear that. I had so looked forward to seeing her again. Since I couldn't show Mrs Pringle my old photos, I showed them to Mrs Henderson, and she was delighted! Very touched that I would remember my visit so long ago with such fondness, and go to the trouble of bringing the pictures back all this way to share with Mrs Pringle again.
I was told that Mr Pringle still lived in the house, though, and Mrs Henderson was fairly certain he was home. After we finished talking, I went back to knock on the door again, but still there was no answer. I figured either Mr Pringle was napping, or he simply didn't wish to have any visitors. Before I left, though, I took a photo of the familiar front pasture from as near the spot of the earlier picture as I could manage.
I don't know why I didn't take a photo of the front of the house, too. In any case, this is what the Pringles' property looks like in the present day. You can barely see the old house from the road now, and the neighborhood is even more built-up and gentrified.
On the way back to my car, I snapped this picture of the boats moored in the little roadstead offshore. Even that's quite different now.
Arisaig Harbour, 24 September 1989. Photo by J Scott Shannon. The view today.
Seeing all this change, I don't think I'd want to visit 21st century Arisaig. I'd rather live with my fond memories of the quaint and quiet place I once knew and loved so well.
Yours Truly under Mrs Pringle's apple tree, at Achnahully, Arisaig, Scotland, 2 September 1974.
My only plans for today were to do touristy things: sightseeing and souvenir shopping in Mallaig, then going walkabout in my adopted home town in Scotland: Arisaig.
I wasn't in any hurry to get to Mallaig, so I decided to take the old road along the coast; the same one we drove when Mother and I were here 15 years previously. Once again, I was amazed by how familiar the scenery was to me; almost like this really was my home town, and I'd driven this road all my life.
At Mallaig, I wanted to take the car ferry over to Armadale, as I intended when I first got here on the 19th. This time, though, I just wanted take a boat ride across the sound and back. Unfortunately, once again, I was thwarted. The ferry was not running today, either. Just my luck.
I had consolation, though. In Mallaig town, I acquired a treasure: this otter-headed cane, hewn out of hazelwood. It was fairly expensive - £18.80 - but I couldn't have found a finer or more appropriate souvenir of my otter-themed time here.
Then it was back to Arisaig, again via the old route of the A830 (B8008). Passed this sign along the way. :3
At lunch at the Arisaig Hotel, I showed everyone there the photos we'd taken around the village in 1974. People were thrilled to see them, especially this one of the hotel, itself. It had hardly changed a bit, and I see on Google Maps that it still looks much the same as this now.
After lunch, it was time to go to Mrs Pringle's B&B, but I decided to go on foot, again re-enacting the walk that Mother, Florence and I had taken back in '74. Passing by the post office, I was surprised to hear someone actually call out my name.
"Mr Shannon? Mr Shannon! Hello!"
I turned and saw a young lady waving at me.
"It's Catherine MacIntyre, Mr Shannon, from the shop in Mallaig the other day. Have your been enjoying your visit? Have you seen your otters yet?"
Oh my goodness, of course, Cathy! And wow, she actually recognized me! Out of all the tourists she'd doubtless interacted with over the past week, she remembered me, and that I was here about otters. I was happy to be able to tell her that, yes, I had seen one otter at Kylerhea!
There's that home town feeling again. It's really like I did belong there.
My walk through the village was a little bittersweet. All the older buildings were still standing, which was nice to see, but there were quite a few newer structures along the waterfront that looked distinctly out of place. It seemed to me that Arisaig had "gone upscale." To my thinking, the place had lost a measure of its quaint Highland charm. This impression probably explains why I took no photos of Arisaig proper during this trip. I wanted to remember it the way it still appeared in my mind's eye.
The "new" A830 at the east end of town was the most jarring sight. What used to be a narrow country lane was now a wide gash cut through the low hill above the main village. Cars zoomed by at almost motorway speed, and the quiet stillness of the place I'd found so remarkable back in 1974 was completely gone.
But when I walked up the driveway to the Pringle's house, I was once again in a familiar place and time. My spirits were buoyed to see the house virtually unchanged, and the same traditional haystacks in the lower field. I knew at once that the Pringles must still live there!
It's so remarkable to me how you can meet someone just once, and only interact with them briefly, yet they make such an impression that you never forget them for the rest of your life. That was certainly the case with Mrs Pringle and her husband. It had been our first-ever stay in a bed-and-breakfast in Scotland, and it was a delightful and truly memorable experience.
However, today when I knocked on the door of Achnahully, no one answered. So I went to the B&B next door and tried there. Someone was home! I introduced myself to the lady and told her I'd come to call on the Pringles. She stepped outside and we began a long chat.
Mrs Henderson told me regretfully that Mrs Pringle had passed away some 3 years ago. I was very sorry to hear that. I had so looked forward to seeing her again. Since I couldn't show Mrs Pringle my old photos, I showed them to Mrs Henderson, and she was delighted! Very touched that I would remember my visit so long ago with such fondness, and go to the trouble of bringing the pictures back all this way to share with Mrs Pringle again.
I was told that Mr Pringle still lived in the house, though, and Mrs Henderson was fairly certain he was home. After we finished talking, I went back to knock on the door again, but still there was no answer. I figured either Mr Pringle was napping, or he simply didn't wish to have any visitors. Before I left, though, I took a photo of the familiar front pasture from as near the spot of the earlier picture as I could manage.
I don't know why I didn't take a photo of the front of the house, too. In any case, this is what the Pringles' property looks like in the present day. You can barely see the old house from the road now, and the neighborhood is even more built-up and gentrified.
On the way back to my car, I snapped this picture of the boats moored in the little roadstead offshore. Even that's quite different now.
Arisaig Harbour, 24 September 1989. Photo by J Scott Shannon. The view today.
Seeing all this change, I don't think I'd want to visit 21st century Arisaig. I'd rather live with my fond memories of the quaint and quiet place I once knew and loved so well.