I’ve sure missed ewe...
But, now, I’m baa-a-ak! The Cliar Cu Buidhe Known World Tour A.S. XLII was a wonderful whirlwind of household activity throughout England, Scotland, Ireland, Denmark, Sweden and Newark, N.J. (??!)...You’ll have to read about that destination in someone else’s lj.
Domhnall and I limited our leg of the trip to Northern England and Scotland. It was fantastic! We made our way from North Yorkshire to Inverness in the Scottish Highlands. We wound our way on narrow roads along Loch Lomond and Loch Ness to Loch Linnhe, and followed the Hogwarts Express from the Fort William Depot to Glen Finnan, where we were able to view it crossing the viaduct (as in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, without the flying car). Domhnall chased Highland cattle all the way to Inverness and back, and six of us chased Frederic’s hat back to Harrogate. I followed sheep throughout England and Scotland, finally catching up to them in Wentworth, South Yorkshire, where I parted with £80 for sheep tops. We followed the Whiskey Trail south to Edinburgh, walked the Royal Mile and traveled the coastal route, along the North Sea, home.
We ate eggs, tomatoes and beans for breakfast, as well as scones with clotted cream, crumpets, English bacon, banana pots and egg toast with fruit pudding. We enjoyed haggis and Scotch eggs and mushrooms on toast, as well as bangers & mash and steak and ale pie. We twice enjoyed tea & sandwiches at the Warehouse in Ripon, once at the Shambles Tea Room in York, and a most splendid afternoon tea, also twice, at Bettys Tea Room in Harrogate. We loved the Cullen Skink, bread with Stilton Bleu and apple chutney, the pork pies and Yorkshire Rarebit made with Boddington’s Ale and served with tomato chutney, and the sticky toffee pudding with custard. We also ate pork sausage, pork & leek sausage, beef & marmalade sausage, all accompanied by potatoes, of course. Fortunately, there was an endless supply of cider and ale to be had in an endless chain of pubs and taverns to quench our thirst and warm our bones on these mostly damp and chilly (cold!) summer days and nights.
We visited Ripon Cathedral, Rosslyn Chapel in Roslin, Scotland, St. Mary’s Cathedral, the Scottish Episcopal Church and St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh, the Priory Church of the Holy Trinity, Micklegate, and the York Minster. We explored Richmond Castle on the River Swale, Eilean Donan Castle, located where Loch Long, Loch Duich, and Loch Alsh meet, and Urquhart Castle on Loch Ness. We discovered Bamburgh Castle and Dunstanburgh Castle in Northumbria, and had a great time exploring Warkworth Castle on the River Coquet in North Umberland. We made a few interesting discoveries in the West Highland Museum in Fort William, the Museum of Edinburgh, and the Clan Donnachaidh Museum in Perthshire, walked on the wall in York, rode a double-decker bus to Harrogate, re-opened the flood-damaged Water Rat in Ripon, and bought the shirt off the bartender’s back in the Turks Head.
I will put a few stories and random discoveries and observations behind cuts, in case anyone is interested in reading more. I am sorting through the 950 photos we took and deleting as many as I can before sharing them with anyone. “That’s good,” said my daughter, Emily. “When you took this trip two years ago, you had hundreds of photos of nothing but castles and sheep!” Oops! Maybe I should just tell her about my trip.
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If you happen upon a pub, go inside...
Tradition may be the heartbeat of the UK, but the pubs and taverns are the reflections of its soul. Everything about them is fascinating, starting with their names... Dog & Duck, George & Dragon, Turks Head, Water Rat, Lamb & Flag.... They are beautifully tucked into old buildings, and welcoming to locals and tired travelers alike with the rich patinas of warm woods and well polished brass. Customers happily stand for long periods at the bar, as there is no seating offered there, and diners sit shoulder to shoulder at tiny tables, the well-aged wood protected by picturesque placemats, enjoying hot bites, always with knife and fork. Pints of ale and cider are served, full to the rim, to an endless chorus of “Cheers”.
We stopped into the Cruachan Hotel on Loch Linnhe for a pint, curious about a sign in front that advertised Free Tonight: Live Scottish Folk Music. It was a sizeable room, but it was nearly full; we managed to find a few seats near the door, as the singer had already begun his set. There were people of all ages inside, of course, but I was struck by the fact that the majority was well beyond my years! Many were there from a tour bus, certainly, but others entered the bar even as the hour grew later. My California peers go to bed way too early (as did those on this trip with us)! Everyone in the bar was singing along to all the songs, and we were able to join in on quite a few we knew, as well. During some of the banter between songs, we were introduced to “Old Mac Donald” (who had to be well into his eighties), there, in the audience, who joined in the banter when reference was made to his Clan in one of the songs. It was so comfortable and so familiar being there with so many that shared a common ancestry, and I couldn’t help but wish that I would never forget that moment and all the friendly faces and camaraderie I found there.
During a scheduled break in the set, I went in search of the Ladies toilet. There was a queue, as always, inside, and I found myself having to back up against the sinks to allow coming and going from the stalls in the small area. Turning my face to the first stall, I nearly choked with laughter... there, door wide open, was Old Mac Donald, bonnie spar in hand, relieving himself of his last two pints! I quickly looked up and down the line, to see if there were any other similar reactions from the other ladies, but encountered only a tsk! or two, and a few nods of disgust. The old carl looked up as he turned, attended to his trousers and, apparent by his sheepish grin, finally noticed he had entered the wrong room! “Ach," he exclaimed, in his thick Scottish brogue, “you won’t be tellin’ her now, that I’ve entered the Ladies’? It’s the first mistake I’ve made all day!”
I don’t think I will ever forget the Cruachan Hotel on Loch Linnhe.
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The Happy Cows live in Scotland...
We admit to having a fascination with Highland cows. Domhnall takes pride in his Clan Macfarlane’s claim to fame as proficient cattle rustlers. They boasted such skill at lifting their neighbors’ cows under the night sky that the full moon is, by many, referred to as Macfarlane’s Lantern, and Domhnall sports the charge proudly on his arms. We first saw Highland cows two years ago, in Masham, and had the opportunity to feed and pet them! We fell in love! It was then, on our previous trip, and now, on this most recent trip, a favorite game to spot and photograph every herd we happened upon.
Was it my imagination, or did they seem equally as happy to see us?
We toured the Ben Nevis Distillery, where there is a small herd of cattle in residence, and it all became clear. The cows are fed some of the distillery byproducts! These cows are happy! California cows are merely glad.
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Ice cream doesn't melt in the rain...
It rains a lot in England. I think it pretty much rained every day that we were there, in Scotland, too, save one or two days. I noticed, the last time we were there, that life goes on as normal, rain or not, in the UK. Not like here in California, where children have to be picked up from school if there is the slightest drizzle and we are inundated with Storm Watch 2007 in a constant stream from the television news. I thought it would be nice if we didn’t care so much for the weather, if we just could go on with our day, and put our brellies up or down, as needed.
We went exploring at Richmond Castle in North Yorkshire, along the River Swale, in the rain, and then on to the Foss, where the Swale plunges from one of the horizontal limestone slabs that makes up the riverbed to another, in a waterfall. We took some pictures, and then bought some vanilla sugar cones to eat. It was raining, but I didn’t notice the rain! I had finally acclimated, and felt perfectly comfortable enjoying my ice cream in the rain, brellie up or down, it made no difference to me!
And then I realized I was standing under a tree.
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How's this for documentation?!
Rosslyn Chapel, built in Scotland in 1446, has truly some of the most amazing stone carvings in the world. In the Lady Chapel, at the top of three pillars separating it from the Choir, are angels singing and playing instruments, including the bagpipes, in celebration. Bagpipes in Scotland?! Not during our period, we’ve been told. Ha! Does the expression, “carved in stone”, mean anything?
On another note, there is a window arch with carvings of Indian corn, or maize (a plant believed to be unknown in Britain at the time the Chapel was built), in the South Aisle. Hmm...
In the West Highland Museum, in Fort William, are the small pipes believed to have been played at Bannockburn in 1314! Believed to be one of the oldest sets of pipes in existence, the chanter, blow-pipe and the top half of the drone are original; the bag and bag sockets are modern replacements. Cool, nonetheless, and again, bagpipes in Scotland! In our period! If it’s good enough for a museum, it’s good enough for me.
In the Clan Donnachaidh Museum in Perthshire, I read a claim that the Clan Donnachaidh was one of the first clans to appear in history. Upon our return to Ripon, I happened to read an account (published in Scotland Magazine) of the Highland charge at the battle at Glasclune in 1390. The Athollmen were described by the authorities as the “Clan Donachie”, the first time the word ‘clan’ was officially used to describe a group of Highlanders. The government issued an Act of Forfeiture in 1392, naming the Clan Donnachaidh, and the chief was deprived of his lands in north Rannoch. Ha! Clans in Scotland! During our period! And my clan, at that!
I stood in the Donnachaidh Museum and looked into a case that contained the Clach na Bratach, the rock crystal unearthed by the clan chief, en route to Bannockburn, and carried into every battle since. I don’t need or want documentation on this one. I felt a connection with the past when I saw it, and it moved me. That’s enough.
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Random thoughts and observations...
I’m beginning to speak the language. We were standing (in the rain, under our brellies) in the center of town, listening to the Ripon Hornblower tell his tale. The horn is sounded every night, at 9:00 p.m., from the four corners of the Market Square in the center of town, to inform the townspeople that all is safe. The horn has sounded every night since (roughly) 865 A.D. I was fascinated, for sure, that anything could occur every day for nearly 1200 years. And then, I realized that the Hornblower was rather quite easily understood as he spoke, and I was no longer straining to understand his foreign pronunciations and expressions.
Then he mentioned that he was from Kentucky.
Harry Potter is more British in England. I'm a huge Harry Potter fan and have read the books and seen the movies many times. We watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire at home in Ripon and it was more English, somehow. I felt I was listening with an accent, all tucked inside the cozy room in this typical English house on Harrogate Road, quite similar to Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry's dark cupboard under the stairs is actually a powder room in this house, but you certainly get a feel for how tiny Harry's bedroom would have been!
Even the birds have accents. The first several mornings, we awoke at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. We were adjusting to the time difference, and Ripon, sharing latitude with Anchorage, Alaska, had sunrise at this time, and sunset at around 10:30 p.m. But, Domhnall and I both woke early each morning, intent on the birds... they were singing a proper British song! Bloody hell.
American Indians look ridiculously out of place in the UK. While doing some shopping in Harrogate, we came across an American Indian street show. They were all decked out in their native costume, but their music was quite New Age, and their dance routines resembled a type of Hollywood break dancing. Ack. I must pluck this memory from my mind's eye, or I will surely die.
Pork pies deserve some serious attention. That's all I'm saying.
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Happy Birthday, Cliar Cu Buidhe!
We get together every year, with our household, for a special Birthday Party. It is usually held at our home, and extends for a weekend. We have a special Members’ brunch and sleepover, and we have a huge barbecue and swimming party for our friends, with lots of music and a fun party theme. This year, we took the party on the road.
Nine of us made the trip, but too many were unable to go and were left behind. I missed them very much, and felt rather guilty for having so much fun without them. I felt guilty because, for them, there would be no party this year.
For a few, this would have been their first birthday party. I’m sorry that I missed that with them. I know it means much more to me than it does to them, but I feel guilty just the same. I made a surprise tea for the troupe members that missed the trip, complete with sandwiches and fancy cakes and tea that I paid $21 to ship from Bettys Tea Room in Harrogate, and passed out birthday presents at our rehearsal the other night. I hope they enjoyed it.
I would not have missed this trip, though, for anything. I will truly never forget the experiences I have had and all the beauty that is to be found in those regions of the UK that I have visited this trip (and last). I have made wonderful memories and I have learned and seen so much to help ground my SCA persona in the Highlands of Scotland. I have sung Loch Lomond on the shores of Loch Lomond, and seen the Highland mist on Ben Nevis. I have seen the beauty of the heather and the moss covered glens. And I have walked among my people, the children of Duncan, and I have loved them.