6 February Edinburgh – The Museum of Scotland

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie MC, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Peter, Rex & Robert

We went to Edinburgh today. No, we didn’t do our usual climb of Arthur’s Seat for this was to be cultural visit. Instead, when we gathered at St Margaret’s Loch car park, we turned immediately for the Royal Mile. (It should be noted here that while most of us gathered at St. Margaret’s Loch, the Irvine contingent in their wisdom decided to take the bus and so arrived in the city at St Andrews Square.)

The polis on duty at the parliament building looked absolutely funert (frozen for the non-Scots) standing there for, although the sun shone brightly from a near cloudless sky, a chill breeze blew off the Forth and kept the temperature down. But we kept up a good pace to ward off the chill. Up the Royal Mile we went, up the Canongate, up the High Street to the South Bridge. When we turned the corner on to the bridge the change in temperature was dramatic; no longer were we in the shade and the breeze, we were now in the sun and sheltered from the northerly. It was really quite mild. But we didn’t have time to appreciate the warmth – well, warm for Edinburgh in February – for Rex led us on at a fair old pace.

It was on the corner of the bridge that Robert and Peter decided that they would go in search of the Irvine lot so left us and made their way further up the mile. We continued to Chambers Street and the Scottish National Museum and The Museum of Scotland. We found the Irvine lot where we half expected to find them – in the tearoom having coffee. But where were Robert and Peter? Aren’t mobile phones wonderful things? Within minutes of our call, the missing pair joined us for coffee.

An arrangement was made that we should meet again at a specified time which has escaped the scribe at the moment and at the Chambers Street entrance. Then we went our separate ways to explore the museums.

At the specified place, the specified time arrived and so did all of us! Then we made our way by George 1V Bridge to Victoria Street for Rex and Ian knew the perfect eatery. The Bow Bar may well get plaudits in the press for its ales but there is a distinct lack of food there. The only thing on offer was pies and they didn’t have enough for eleven of us. So much for the great eatery promised by our, now cringing, twosome. One pint of ale and we were off in search of food. This was found in Biddy Mulligan’s in the Grassmarket. Not exactly haute cuisine but it was sufficient to stave off hunger for a while.

Suitably nourished, it was decided that this would be the time to leave the city before the rush hour started. Some hope. By the time we had made our way back along the Cowgate to Holyrood Park it was closing on four o’clock and the rush hour had already started on the west side of the city. And of course that’s the way we Ayrshire men had to go. Still, despite the traffic we all made it safely back home to God’s county resolved to do something similar in the future.

2 March

For a change this year the weather over the last few days has been reasonably settled, cold frosty nights giving way to bright sunny days. And the sun at this time of year is beginning to get some warmth to it, a warmth that is stirring the spring flowers into growth. Wednesday morning kept to the pattern though there was a haze to the air, a haze that would last all day restricting the views to a few miles, but at least it was dry and sunny and we could relish the spring-like morning. In the fire-warmth of The Anchorage last week it was decided that, no matter what the weather did, this outing would go ahead as planned. That’s why three cars containing eleven Ooters drew to a halt in the car park by St. Margaret’s Loch in Holyrood Park, Edinburgh.
St Margaret’s Loch car park is a convenient jumping off point for any of our visits to the capital for our usual first port of call is the summit of Arthur’s Seat. Today was no exception and, after the weak-bladdered had visited the shrubbery, we set off round the loch to find our usual path. (Who says we are creatures of habit?) The last time we were here (3/02/2010) the loch was all but frozen over and the birds had only a narrow channel of open water on which to feed. Today, despite the overnight frost, no ice lay on the water and the birds – mute swan, tufted duck, mallard, greylag geese and coot – were scattered over its surface. The birders made a note to have a more careful look on the way back for now we were for the summit.
The path, broad and well-graded, lifted us quickly above the rooftops of the city. We were soon up into a wee glen flanked on either side by stands of whin just showing the first of its bright yellow flowers. From here in last year’s clear air, we could look northward over the city, over Easter Road Stadium to the Firth of Forth and the Kingdom of Fife. Today we could look over Easter Road to the Forth but Fife hid itself in the haze. This was to be the pattern for the day.
We walked on in an irregular ‘crocodile’, Rex and Davie setting the pace at the front and Allan and Malcolm bringing up the rear some distance behind. Eventually we left the wee glen and came out onto a sort of plateau on the lion’s shoulder. Now we could look east though the low haze restricted the viewing to the distance of Musselburgh. Below us, Duddingston was bathed in hazy March sunshine. For a few minutes we took in what view we had then, with breath recovered, we pushed on for the summit.
Evidence of path repair and new construction lay around us. Bags of red whin grit lay to the side and new boulder steps had been constructed waiting for the whin. And the newly repaired path took us up the grassy slope to the rocky summit of the ‘lion’s head’, the peak of Arthur’s Seat. The grass gave way some twenty metres from the top and we completed the climb on the bald, black basalt rock, rock that had been smoothed and polished by many, many generations of tramping feet. A little over forty minutes from leaving St Margaret’s Loch car park, we joined the present generation on the summit.
And on the top were many generations of the ‘present generation’, ranging from us auld f-f-fellows to the very young. It was Robert who supported the wee lassie on top of the trig point while daddy took the record photo. And, while we sat for coffee, Allan was busy taking our record shots across the city and Jimmy was photographing a big black bird (Nah, unfortunately no’ Naomi Campbell) posing on a rock. Each to his own thing, eh!
A cool westerly breeze stirred at this height. Despite the winter-warmer from Johnny’s hip flask, this breeze began to chill and we set off down the hill again. We didn’t take our usual route off the hill – how adventurous are we? – but set a southerly course for what Paul called ‘the main path up from the university’. The plastic warning tape stretched across it should have told us that this path was shut, but being as we are aged, half blind and couldn’t care less, we ignored the tape and dropped down with the path to be met by some severe stares from the workers who were repairing the path using the enormous boulders scattered round the slope. While we thought we were perfectly pleasant to them, their replies were somewhat less than friendly – must be an east coast thing. But we ignored them and walked on. The path steepened and dropped us quickly under the crag of the lion’s head to the flat of Hunter's Bog, between it and the Salisbury Crags. And, near the flat we met a group of young folks, foreigners by the sound of it, who had ignored the tape at the bottom of the path and were making their way up toward the workers. We kept an ear open for the explosion of unfriendly language from the path builders.

We have never, as a group, been on the top of Salisbury Crags. Now was our opperchancity. We left the broad constructed path that crossed Hunter's Bog and headed towards St Margaret’s Loch, and took to the well-trodden pad that rose to the crest of the crags. Some took the pad that slanted up the slope behind the cliffs while others took one that rose directly to the edge of the precipice. But no matter which pad was taken, we all came together on the highest point of the Crags. The view of the city, particularly the old city, from this point was superb despite the haze, and cameras were in use again. That’s when Jimmy’s batteries ran out; well, not exactly Jimmy’s batteries, his camera batteries. Again! It seems that whenever Jimmy wants another prize-winning picture, his camera runs out of battery. After having Rex edge his way to the top of the crag in order to get a picture of Hollyrood Palace, his batteries ran out. Decency forbids the scribbler to repeat Jimmy’s words; suffice to say that he wasn’t at all happy with his technology.
And with Jimmy still cursing technology, we left the Salisbury Crags and dropped down the grassy slope to Queens Drive and back to St. Margaret’s Loch car park and the cars.

Lunch time but where to dine? We had promised ourselves a pub lunch but where? Ian had read in The Telegraph of a place on the West Bow. Jimmy fancied a visit to The Grassmarket. The rest didn’t care so long as they were fed. So it seems it was The Grassmarket area for us now. On to the Royal Mile then, past the White Horse Close with its connection with Ballochmyle, up past where Robert Fergusson strides out of Canongate Church, up past John Knox House and up to the South Bridge. Then for reasons known only to Jimmy, Paul and Rex, we turned off the Royal Mile and came down Blackfriars Street to the Cowgate..
What a depressing back street this is; windowless grey concrete buildings – nightclubs and the like – and multi-storey cark parks. The only bright point among the grey was the back end of a cow disappearing into the wall of one of these clubs and the front end appearing from another wall. It caused us some amusement anyway. But Cowgate took us on a direct line to The Grassmarket. Here we sought a place to eat.
The Grassmarket was once a place for down-and-outs and ne’er-do-wells, society’s dregs, but now it is yuppiefied and touristy. Pubs and eating places abound. So which one for us? Menus were examined and prices compared. After the third or fourth pub with the same menu and similar prices, we opted for the first, Biddy Mulligan’s for we could be sure of Guinness there. So we turned quickly and came back to Biddy’s. We were seated and preparing to eat when Allan’s phone rang. It was Ian. He had been slightly separated from the rest of us when the quick decision was made. When we walked back, he had been left behind and didn’t know where we went. We knew that the company was quieter but couldn’t quite figure out why until Allan’s phone rang. Ian was back with us before the food order was placed.

Jimmy fancied a visit to Greyfriars after lunch. The quickest way would be by Candlemaker Row but we turned up the West Bow. We went in search of Ian’s pub. It was found easily enough and much to our disappointment, the food seemed to be cheaper than in Biddy’s. But, shouldering this disappointment, we strolled on up the West Bow to George IV Bridge. Here we turned right, came past the National Library to the top of Candlemaker Row and the statue of Greyfriars Bobby. The entrance to Greyfriars Churchyard was ten metres further on.
Greyfriars is the final resting place of many of Scotland’s famous deid. Among the graves we found were those of Greyfriars Bobby, Alan Ramsey, John Adam and Galloway’s most famous son, Alexander Murray. We visited the Covenanter’s Prison and noted that there were also white slaves in the Caribbean. But looking at all these graves was depressing for some and we were, too soon for others, ready for the off again.
At Robert’s suggestion, we crossed the road and came into The Museum of Scotland. Forty minutes wasn’t nearly long enough to do this museum justice but forty minutes was all we had. Perhaps next time we visit the capital, this should be or second port of call and we could have a longer visit for this is a place that has something for everybody. Perhaps.
The walk back to the cars from the Museum of Scotland was brisk, the drivers being aware of the approach of the rush hour. We didn’t quite make it and got caught up in the start of it. It took an hour and a bit to clear the city.
However, this was another great visit to Edinburgh. We must do this more often.

3 February Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh

A different sort of outing was planned for today. We would drive east for an adventure in the capital. There was a little consternation in the ranks when we heard that there was to be more snow in the east but fears were soon allayed and we set off on the long drive to Edinburgh, all eleven of us today.
Most of us parked in the car park at St. Margaret’s Loch as had been arranged before we left Killie. Why the others chose to wait for us at Duddingston Loch is beyond the understanding of the scribe, but they did while we waited for them at St Margaret’s. Mobile phones are wonderful devices and the lost souls were soon re-united with the pack. Slightly later than expected we took the path for Arthur’s Seat.
On the way into the city we could see the snow on Arthur’s Seat and now we encountered it, new and soft and powdery, and almost five centimetres deep. But the powdery nature provided excellent grip and it was no hindrance to our upward progress. That didn’t stop a ‘view stop’ being called. The view, for all that we could see of it for we were down in a bit of a gully, extended northward over the city to Fife. ‘They’re burning Fife’, said Jimmy pointing to two plumes of grey reek rising into the sky. It had to be pointed out to him that this was the petrochemical cracking plant at Mossmorran near Cowdenbeath. ‘They bring the liquid gas from the North Sea and crack it into ethylene, the basic building block of the petrochemical industry’, said the knowledgeable one. We knew there was a reason we bring Alan.
The soft snow continued to provide good footing up the lion’s shoulder. But climbing the last few feet onto its head was a different story. Ice, probably left from the big freeze, lay under the new-fall and proved tricky, especially with Vibram soles. Feet had to be placed carefully to avoid a nasty backwards tumble. But we all made it to the trig point without too much difficulty.
The view from Arthur’s seat is remarkable. From a height of 250.5m (814ft) the compass must reach some fifty miles. Across the snowy rooftops of the city the landscape gleamed under an overcast sky. Immediately south, the Pentlands look grand, rising to fill the skyline; to the east Berwick Law and the Bass showed though a haar hung over the sea; across the Forth, the Lomond Hills rose above Fife and beyond the white foothills of the highlands, the Braes O’ Angus gleamed white in sunshine; to the west, Ben Lomond appeared in a distant haze.
Some time was spent on the top picking out the distant features as pointed to by the viewfinder and trying to identify the landmarks of the city. There was the castle and Calton Hill – easy. There was Easter Road, home of Hibernian FC – also easy. There was Murrayfield - slightly more difficult - and the dark smudge to its left was Tynecastle, home of the other half of the Edinburgh ‘Auld Firm’, Heart of Midlothian FC - really difficult.
As we stood, we were joined by more and more people out to enjoy the day in the snow. When the time came for us to leave Rex was for down the south side of the slope carefully picking his way with hands and feed along the ice. Jimmy wasn’t very sure of this route and was for the north side. A young couple standing close by told us that the easiest way was down the north path. Rex retreated and joined the rest on the easier path. Easier, it may have been but it was still coated in slippery ice. We came down to the shoulder every man for himself. Some picked their way carefully on the icy path, some strode out confidently but whichever method was chosen, we all arrived on the shoulder without breaking bones though Rex sat unexpectedly in the snow a couple of times.
On a broad top to our right, above Salisbury Crags, a pair of young ladies cavorted in the snow, turning cartwheels and doing handstands. When we joined them, they enthusiastically showed us the photos they had taken of each other; two young ladies delighting in their youth in the wintery conditions. Ah nostalgia! Whether they cavorted further we don’t know for we left them there and took the downward slope towards Duddingston Loch.
The snow was deeper on the grassy slope and it was a treat to walk downward through it. Robert and Jimmy led the way down to the road above the loch. A lot has been reported in these pages about old bladders so it was a great relief to some to reach the road and find convenient shrubbery. Away from prying eyes there was a great streaming of relief.
We kept to the road above Duddingston Loch and came to the bottom of the Salisbury Crags. The blether was good and the pace easy, yet the group split in two. The first group approached the end of the Radical Road and, much to the concern of the others, Jimmy immediately turned up it. ‘Where are you going?’ asked they. ‘This is the quickest way’, replied he. They remained unconvinced until the second group arrived and turned up beside Jimmy. We all came back by the Radical Road.
At the high point of the road we stopped for a view of the city. The castle looked splendid from this angle. Then Davie pointed out that it was nearly one o’clock and the gun would soon be fired from the ramparts. Jimmy drew our attention to the Nelson Monument of Calton Hill and to the ball at the top of the post. ‘When the gun fires, the ball drops to let ships on the Forth know what time to set their chronometers’, said another knowledgeable one .(That’s the beauty of this group. There’s always somebody who knows something about something that others don’t.) A certain amount of disbelief was expressed but the speaker held to his guns. The gun fired and the ball dropped. Most of us saw the ball drop but Bob was so intent in trying to spot where the smoke from the gun was that he missed the ball fall. Still, there’s more chance of him seeing this in the future than there is of him spotting a kingfisher.
With a slightly disappointed Robert in tow, we made the descent of the Radical Road. Perhaps the choice of this way back was a mistake after all. Ice covered the road, wet ice and slippery. Extreme care was taken by all but we managed and came down to the level in one piece.
On the level we met the young couple who had directed us from the top. She stopped, beaming. ‘Just after you left the top’, said she,’ he asked me to marry him’. The news was greeted by clapping and hearty congratulations until the cynic asked ‘And did you accept?’ The answer was affirmative, but the cynic doesn’t expect an invitation to the wedding.
A quick five minutes saw us back at the cars.

However that wasn’t the day finished. We wandered up Canongate in search of a place to lunch. As we passed Canongate Churchyard, somebody mentioned Adam Smith so we had to go in search of the great man’s grave. This was found easily enough, to the left of the church, and suitable homage was paid to ‘The Father of Modern Economics’.
Not to be outdone by the economists, the Burnsians took us to see that grave of Robert Fergusson, above which Burns had a monument erected. The monument was repaired later at the expense of RL Stevenson but Burns words remain:-
‘This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way
To pour her sorrows o’er her poet’s dust’

Then it was over to the other side of the churchyard for the grave of Agnes M’Lehose, Burns ‘Clarinda’.
‘Fare-thee-weel thou first and fairest,
Fare-thee-weel thou best and dearest’

Alas we had to bid a farewell to the cemetery for hunger definitely called now. Lunch was taken in the Old Tollbooth Inn, overlooking the ornate grave monument of Adam Smith.

After lunch we came back down the Canongate to the parliament. Despite Davie’s opinion of the building, we had to visit it. We went in to the debating chamber to see how the great and the good govern this little country of ours. Each of us has his own viewpoint but the consensus on this question was ‘Not very well’. If they would just leave it to us in the pub, what vast improvements we could make.

Yes, this was a different sort of outing but one which was thoroughly enjoyed by all, especially by those seeing things for the first time. We will need to do something similar in the future.