‘If
it’s no up, it’ll no go in the hole’. We were sitting in the pub enjoying our
after-walk pint when Robert, in all innocence, made the statement that caused
us all to catch our breath. We are all of a certain age now and though such
things are not quite behind us, we felt it inappropriate to discuss them in the
present company. But more of this later.
If
last Wednesday provided us with a gloriously sunny, summer day, today reverted
to type for this summer. It was dull and dreich, the incessant rain coming
through the night and persisting into the morning. We gathered at the
Millennium Brig at Doonfoot questioning the wisdom of walking to Dunure in such
soggy conditions so, when Davie arrived and told us that high tide would be
around eleven, the time when we expected to be rounding the cliffs of the heads
of Ayr, a quick revision of plan was called for. After a sort of route was sort
of agreed, we set off along the shore road towards Greenan castle.
Barely
had we started walking when the rain ceased. No, the sun didn’t come out but
the rain went off. But this was no occasion to take off waterproofs for the sky
hung ominously heavy and the rain threatened to come again at any time. Still,
we enjoyed the dry spell while it lasted and took to the sand towards the
castle, Jimmy and Johnny setting the pace.
Much
to Peter’s surprise, the leading pair didn’t leave the shore at Greenan Castle
but kept to the sand. For a dreadful minute we thought that they were going to
attempt to get round the Heads of Ayr but, no, they stopped at Craig Tara
Caravan Park which, according to the one who knows these things, there is a
right of way through at the far end of the caravans. This is the way we went,
climbing up the tarmac towards the Dunure road. And the rain still held off.
We
turned left at the road, heading back for Ayr. Then we left the road and took
to the walkway cum cycle path along the old Turnberry railway. Back gardens of
the houses of Longhill Avenue were admired when glimpses of these could be seen
through the shrubbery, cheery greetings were exchanged with a couple of ladies
with dogs, the Doon was crossed and Mungo’s Well, ‘Whare Mungo’s mither hang’d
hersel’, was pointed out as we walked the length of the cycle path to the Burns
Museum at Alloway. And still the rain held off.
Coffee
was called at the Burns Museum and seats were found in the garden there. Flask
coffee wasn’t good enough for some who preferred that made by the museum cafe
and went in search of this. They returned with coffee and cake (No names will
be given for this trespass but it was the same two who found the cake shop in
Maybole last week, plus the Irvine man.) There was an art exhibition in the
gallery here and the appreciators of this kind of stuff went for a look. Their
comments were mixed when they returned so the rest of us gave it a miss. Anyway, by
the time they returned, it was time for us to make tracks again. And yet the
rain held off.
That
we were in the heart of Ayrshire’s Burns country was evident from the
buildings, artefacts, and even names around here. We had already passed Mungo’s
Well. Over the road from the museum stands ‘Alloway’s auld haunted kirk’ where
Burns’s father is interred, the cottage in which the bard was born is half a
mile up the road and the auld brig o’ Doon is two hundred metres to the south.
It was to the auld brig that we turned our footsteps. On our way there, though,
we came though the memorial gardens with the Burns Monument standing high above
the Doon. It came as no surprise to the Burnsians that some of our group hadn’t
been in the monument, some who had lived all their lives in Ayrshire and had
travelled in foreign lands had never been to Burns’s monument in Alloway. Now
was their opportunity to see it; not that there is much to see in the monument itself but
it does give good views out over the gardens and the river. We climbed the
stairs to the balcony to look out over the flowerbeds to the auld brig. What
looked like a family group were climbing up the steep arch to the keystane o’ the
brig.
We
caught up with the family on top of the arch. They were a young family
originally from darkest Lanarkshire but now living in Troon and a couple of our
own age from Perth; Perth, Western Australia. The Aussies were on a holiday of a
lifetime. They had come over to play some golf – ‘Are there any good golf
courses in Ayrshire’ asked he with a twinkle in his eye, eliciting a response
from our golfer who recommended Ballochmyle. Then they would leave from Troon to attend The
Open at Lytham and go from there to London for the Olympics. How we envied
them. Still, we could always watch on the tele. We spent a few minutes talking
to the couple and their Aussie friends but that time came again when we had to
move off. And still the rain held off.
We came off the
brig along a squelchy path that took us on to the Culroy road. Then we turned
right and left on to Longhill Avenue. It should be said that at no time were we
more than a mile and a half from the cars today and the walk down Longhill
Avenue was less than a mile. So, when we arrived on the Dunure Road, it was
decided to extend the walk slightly. We came along to the Doon Bridge, crossed
it and took the walkway down the true right side of the river to the Millennium
Brig. As we crossed this brig towards the cars, we felt the first spots of rain.
We had been lucky enough to have had the only dry couple of hours in the day.
The
day was yet young when we arrived at the Millenium Brig, lunch time really, so
we sat on a wall by the brig in the light rain and had lunch.
The
Abbotsford on Racecourse Road provided the venue for FRT today. That’s where
Robert made his ‘If it’s no’ up, it’ll no’ go in the hole’ statement. In order to explain our shock it should
be said now that Davie MC was carless today, relying on his good lady, Kay, to
drive him. While Kay didn’t accompany us on the walk – this would have
contravened a basic principle of the Ooters – she was accorded the privilege of
joining us for FRT. When Robert made his statement, we were shocked that
anybody could be discussing any golf let alone the final putt on the final hole
of the Scottish Open at Castle Stuart in the presence of a lady. Well what
else did you think he was talking about?
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