Scotland (places)

Scottish Islands trip abandoned…we need to go back!

Posted on by Platypus Man

The plan was simple – take a leisurely drive up to the west coast of Scotland, catch the ferry and then spend some quality time on the islands of Islay and Jura. We’d never visited either before, but they promised so much – beautiful scenery, bewitching wildlife, numerous whisky distilleries and, above all, a bit of peace and tranquillity, away from the hurly burly of our daily existence. Only it didn’t quite work out that way…

Red deer stag at Inverlussa, Jura – Such a handsome chap!

The drive north was uneventful, but things began to go wrong as soon as we arrived on Islay, the southernmost island of the Inner Hebrides. We had rented a cottage, and it didn’t live up to expectations. I’ll not bother you with the details, just believe me when I say we were not at all happy.

Kilchoman church, Islay – in the middle of nowhere!

But things were about to get a whole lot worse. After less than 48 hours on Islay a medical issue forced us to seek urgent advice. Our cottage was in a very remote location; there were no neighbours we could turn to for support, and we ended up speaking by phone to a doctor in Inverness, around 200 miles (320km) away. He diagnosed the problem, and referred us to the local hospital where we could pick up some medication. Up until this point I’d absolutely no idea there was a hospital on the tiny island of Islay!

Tarbert Bay, Jura

We set off after midnight, struggling to find our way in pitch darkness along roads that could have been in contention for the national “pothole of the year” award if such a thing existed. Eventually we found the hospital and picked up the medication.

The Paps of Jura

Fortunately the medication soon started to do its job. We took things fairly easy for the next couple of days while recovery was underway, and even managed a day trip to the nearby island of Jura. Islay and Jura were beginning to live up to their reputations, despite our discomfort.

Isla is famous for its distilleries that produce peaty, single-malt whisky. This is the Ardbeg Distillery

And then, just as we were picking up the pace again, we got a phone call. A family emergency had arisen, and we were needed back home as soon as possible. Frantic phone calls followed as we sought to cancel the other accommodation we had lined up for later in our trip, and to rearrange our ferry booking in order to get us back to the Scottish mainland as soon as possible. Luckily, everyone we spoke with was sympathetic and helpful. Although we needed to rise from our beds at 4.45am we did get safely back home to Derbyshire the next day, after around 17 hours travelling. What a nightmare!

Highland Cow at Sanaigmore Bay, Islay

Needless to say, in many ways it’s a holiday we’d rather forget. But having said that, both Islay and Jura appeared to have a lot to offer. They seemed like “our sort of place”, and in other circumstances our memories would doubtless be overwhelmingly positive. So we have tentatively agreed that we need to go back and to make some new memories, and thereby delete from our minds the nightmare that was Islay and Jura in 2025. Not this year, but probably before too much longer. Watch this space!

Wordless Wednesday: Paddington

Posted on by Platypus Man

Wordless Wednesday is a simple blog post featuring a photo. It seeks to convey a message or tell a story, but speaks for itself without using words. Mrs P took this photo of a Paddington Bear tucking into a marmalade sandwich at John O’Groats (in the far north of Scotland) earlier this year.

Older that the Pyramids

Posted on by Platypus Man

I guess that, to the uninitiated, Skara Brae looks to be nothing special, little more than a few stone walls and apparently random piles of rock partially buried in tussock-topped coastal sand dunes. Boring, I hear you mutter. But what if I told you that these are the preserved remains of a stone age village that is older than the Egyptian pyramids, a place that has been described as one of the most important prehistoric sites in Europe? There’s much more to Skara Brae than first meets the eye.

The Orkney Isles, lying off the windswept northern tip of mainland Scotland, are crammed full of important archaeological remains, of which Skara Brae is the most significant. The village is around 5,200 years old, and is therefore from a period classified as the Neolithic or new stone age. It is believed to have once been home for up to 100 people.

The site comprises a grouping of ten structures, including eight “phase 2” stone houses partially sunk into the ground. Their roofs have mostly disappeared over time, allowing the modern visitor to look down from the surrounding banks and see clearly the internal arrangement of the dwellings.

The houses were connected by covered passageways which allowed villagers to move easily between them, while still being sheltered from the worst of Orkney’s weather. This arrangement hints at the challenging existence of Skara Brae’s inhabitants, who scratched a living through a combination of fishing, gathering shellfish and wild plants, cultivating a few crops and raising livestock.

What makes Skara Brae particularly remarkable is its state of preservation. The site was buried under sand for thousands of years, and was only rediscovered in 1850 after a violent storm helped strip that sand away. This revealed the 8 domestic dwellings, each house comprising a single room about 40 square metres in area. In addition the houses each boasted several pieces of stone furniture, including an eye-catching “dresser” – which was perhaps used to display highly valued possessions – two box beds and a central hearth.

Archaeological excavations have also revealed a range of artefacts and adornments scattered throughout the village, including tools, pottery, jewellery, and carved stone objects. There were even some gaming dice, which must have helped keep the villagers occupied at times when the foul Orkney weather prevented activities that were more productive.

Skara Brae was abandoned around 2,500 years ago. The reason is unclear; possibly a single, violent sandstorm made it uninhabitable, or perhaps it was as a result of a more gradual process of migration to another location that offered the prospect of an easier life. We’ll never know for sure, but what the villagers left behind gives modern day visitors like me and Mrs P a tantalising glimpse of day-to-day life in Orkney several thousand years ago, a life that was totally different but no less remarkable than that of Tutankhamun, Cleopatra and their Egyptian pals

Roads less travelled – the Western Isles of Scotland

Posted on by Platypus Man

The Western Isles of Scotland are home to many more sheep than people, and are therefore officially my kind of place. We were last there 30 years ago and a return visit was long overdue, so earlier this year we booked tickets for the ferry, packed plenty of warm, water-proof clothing and set off on our travels. The islands themselves didn’t disappoint, though sadly the weather did.

No people. Several sheep. My kind of place!

Also known as the Outer Hebrides, the Western Isles lie at the extreme North-West edge of Scotland. By British standards they are very remote. Head due west from one of the beautiful beaches and your next landfall will somewhere on the northern tip of Labrador, Canada.

The inset map shows the Western Isles in red, off the north-west coast of mainland Scotland. Map credit: ” By Contains Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright and database right, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link “

The string of islands that together make up the Western Isles stretches for over 100 miles (160 km). They are connected to one another by a series of causeways and ferries which allow tourists like Mrs P and I to island-hop along their entire length, passing scenic sea lochs, dramatic cliffs, rugged hills, sandy beaches, moody moorland and gloopy peat bogs on the way.

Water, water everywhere. You’re never far from the sea in the Western Isles.

You’re never far from the sea on the Western Isles. For tourists the sea’s scenic value is enormous; for many islanders its fish and shellfish have long been an important source of sustenance and income. And when the fishing boats are too old and broken to be safely used, they are left to slowly decay on the shoreline where they give endless pleasure to Mrs P and her fellow photographers.

The fishing industry has left its mark on the Western Isles, much to the delight of photographers.

The islands echo to the sound of bird calls, while gangs of red deer patrol the hills and clusters of seals chill out on the shoreline. We were thrilled to catch a glimpse of a White-tailed Sea Eagle, although it refused to pose for a photo. So too did the Short-Eared Owls, which hunted audaciously along the roadside in broad daylight. Other birds were more accommodating, including a handsome Red-throated Diver. But perhaps the most memorable wildlife experience of our trip was to be able to stand at the kitchen window in our holiday cottage and watch Red Deer in the garden, grazing on shrubs and grasses.

For us, wildlife is one of big attractions of the Western Isles. Here we see Red Deer, a Buzzard, Whooper Swans and a Red-throated Diver.

Glimpses of the islands’ rich history are everywhere. The Western Isles were first settled by humans as the climate slowly warmed up after the last Ice Age, around 8,500 BCE. Some 5,000 years ago their descendants erected one of the most extraordinary prehistoric structures in Britain. Calanais (Calanish) is a cross-shaped setting of standing stones, the tallest of which is 16 feet (4.8m) tall. It was an important place for ritual activity for at least 2,000 years, and is believed to have been a rudimentary astronomical observatory.

At over 5,000 years old the Calanais (Calanish) standing stones predate the famous prehistoric monument at Stonehenge in the south of England.

Another picturesque feature of the Western Isles is the scattering of traditionally designed domestic buildings. Thick stone walls and tiny windows are a reminder of the inhospitable climate that local people have had to contend with over the centuries, while the thatched roofs conjure up (somewhat misplaced!) romantic notions of a cosy lost world.

On the Western Isles, some traditional domestic buildings have been restored, conjuring up romantic notions of a lost world.

With a resident population of just 22,000, peace and tranquillity are never far away on the Western Isles: these are indeed roads less travelled. It’s a truly magical place in which to escape the stresses and strains of 21st century urban life, even if the weather is sometimes a bit challenging!

An airport like no other – when the tide’s in, planes can’t land

Posted on by Platypus Man

For most travellers, the airport’s just a staging post on the way to their holiday destination. However, in the Western Isles of Scotland, Barra airport is a destination in its own right, thanks to its unique runways. Barra is believed to be the only airport in the world where scheduled flights land and take-off from a tidal beach, and every day spectators gather to watch the drama unfold.

Landing at Barra Airport. The tide had recently gone out and there was still plenty of standing water on the “runway”.

Barra is a small island at the southern tip of the Western Isles, which are also known as the Outer Hebrides. The resident population is only slightly above 1,000, but numbers are boosted during the summer by visitors hoping to experience the island’s famed beauty and tranquillity. Most tourists arrive by boat, but a few opt for the alternative, a plane that lands at low tide on the beach at Tràigh Mhòr (which appropriately, when translated from Scottish Gaelic, means “Big Beach”).

This is the airport. Honest!
Spectators are warned to be sensible.

The first plane to land on Tràigh Mhòr touched down in 1933. At the time the search was on for places where an air ambulance service might be able to land when there was a local medical emergency. Barra postmaster John MacPherson suggested that the compact sand of the beach, popular then and now with cockle pickers, might also be suitable for aircraft.

On 14 June, 1933, Captain Jimmy Orrell tried it out, and confirmed that the beach would indeed pass muster as a landing strip, albeit only when the tide was out!

Coming in to land. On the left, spot the control tower and, a little further to the right, the arrivals/departures lounge!

Three years after Captain Orrell’s touch down, the Air Ministry officially licensed the site as an airport. The first scheduled flight landed on the beach on 7 August, 1936.

And today, 88 years later, they still do. Although Barra has no fewer than three “runways”, laid out in a triangular configuration to enable services to operate regardless of wind direction, the airport is, of course, a small scale operation.

Touch down! Note the windsock visible of the far left of this shot.

Unsurprisingly, there are no international flights. Indeed, the only scheduled route is between Barra and Glasgow, and passenger numbers are tiny: just 13,102 people passed through in 2022. Scheduled flights are confined to daylight hours, but in an emergency situation the airport can operate at night. When landing in the dark, pilots safely find their way with the help of vehicle headlights and reflective strips laid on the beach.

When Mrs P and I first visited the Western Isles 30 years ago, Barra’s quirky little airport was one of the must-see destinations of our trip. And so it was again this year. The word “unique” is overused and misused (you should hear Mrs P rant about that whenever she hears someone on television getting it wrong!), but in this case it is entirely appropriate.

There’s nothing quite like Barra airport, anywhere in the world. I was born and grew up in West London, within a couple of miles of Heathrow, one of the world’s busiest airports, but believe me when I say that the tiny, incongruous airport on the beach at Barra is infinitely more interesting.

Grumpiness personified? Or merely deep in thought?

Posted on by Platypus Man

Nearly 200 years ago a remarkable discovery was made on the beach at Uig in the Western Isles of Scotland; a hoard of 93 medieval artefacts that are today popularly known as the Lewis Chessmen. The hoard comprised 78 chess pieces, probably from five sets, 14 “tablemen” (pieces for backgammon or similar games) and one belt buckle.

Close-up of the queen. Grumpiness personified, or merely deep in thought?

The gaming pieces are carved from walrus and sperm whale ivory, and are just 60mm to 100mm (2.5 to 4 inches) tall. They were probably made in Trondheim (Norway) at some point in the 12th or 13th centuries, and their presence at Uig beach reflects the close relationship that existed between northern Scotland and Norway at the time.

Full view of the queen. She is around 100mm (4 inches) tall.

Mrs P and I were delighted to catch up with a few pieces from the hoard at the Lews Castle museum during our recent visit to the Western Isles (aka the Outer Hebrides). Controversially, most of the hoard is displayed 670 miles (1,080km) away at the British Museum in London, while a further 12 pieces are held at the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh. Just 6 chessmen can be seen at Lews Castle in Stornoway – the biggest town in the Western Isles – where they are now on permanent loan.

The king.
The bishop.

My favourite of all the Lewis Chessmen, is, in fact, no man at all. The expression on the queen’s face is priceless. To me it’s clear she’s irritated, cross and annoyed with someone or something. Grumpiness personified, in fact.

The rook (or warder).
The knight.

But some scholars disagree. In their view she’s not grumpy at all, merely deep in thought, as might reasonably be expected during a game of chess. They’re entitled to their expert opinions, obviously, but I reckon they’ve got it wrong. I’ve seen that expression countless times on Mrs P’s face when I’ve displeased her. I know grumpiness when I see it, and that’s it!

Clockwise from top left. Bishop (rear view); Queen (rear view); King (rear view); Knight (head-on view); Rook (warder); Pawn

Although the pawn is relatively plain, and is possibly intended to represent a boundary marker, all of the figurative pieces are full of character. And they all look quite miserable. Again, scholars take the view that the sculptor did not intend to suggest any emotion, but rather to portray seriousness and determination. Personally I prefer to think that they’re fed up because they’ve run out of beer.

As well as viewing a few of the original chessmen in the Lews Museum, visitors can also see modern sculptures inspired by them in various parts of the islands. This towering wooden version of one of the kings was particularly impressive. Without doubt, seeing some of the original Lewis Chessmen, as well as modern artworks they have inspired, was one of the highlights of our tour of the Western Isles.

A taste of Scotland by the sea – St Monans

Posted on by Platypus Man

We’ll soon be heading north to Scotland on our annual pilgrimage. The Scottish landscape and natural scenery are fabulous, but some of the little fishing villages are quaintly picturesque too. To me, born in London and resident for nearly 50 years in landlocked Derbyshire, the seaside seems like another world, so it’s always a treat whenever we go there.

The picturesque harbour at St Monans

One of the fishing villages that caught our eye during our last trip to Scotland was St Monans in the county of Fife. The village is named for the eponymous 6th century saint who came from Ireland to Scotland to spread the teachings of Christianity.  At its heart is the harbour, overlooked by traditional fishermen’s cottages, some with white walls, others colourfully painted. They date predominantly from the 18th and 19th centuries, and although most have since been significantly altered, their origins are clear if you know how to read the signs.

More harbour views…seems like another world born in London and resident for nearly 50 years in landlocked Derbyshire!

Many of the cottages are roofed with distinctive red pantiles. This style, which is found widely in villages on the east coast of Scotland, originated across the North Sea in the Low Countries (the Netherlands and Belgium). The pantiles were used as ballast on trading ships returning from mainland Europe, and were then adopted as roofing materials when the ships were unloaded at St Monans.

Pantiles can be seen on several of these cottages. Note also, on some of the roofs, the “crow-stepped” gables that are believed to have been developed to break up the airflow and protect the tiles from being blown off in a gale.

To my eyes, the most striking feature of some of these cottages is the forestairs, an outdoor staircase leading to a door on the first floor. Fewer than ten examples survive today, but in the past they would have been much more common. They hark back to the heydays of the fishing industry, when living accommodation would often have been on the first floor, above a boat store, workshop and sail store on the ground floor.

The outdoor staircases (forestairs) leading to doors on the first floor are an echo of the time when the residents of these cottages were fishermen.

Although it is the historic residential buildings that give St Monans its character, the church is also worthy of comment. It dates from 1369, and was originally founded by King David II of Scotland in gratitude for his having survived a shipwreck on the coast nearby. Originally built as a small house of Dominican friars, it was restored in the early 19th century and now serves as the local parish church. When viewed from most angles the church has the sea as its background. It is widely claimed to be the nearest to the sea of any church in Scotland.

Photo credit: By Jim Bain, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9222537

A little further outside St Monans is the last remaining windmill in Fife, a relic of the salt industry. Large scale salt production began here in the late 18th century, and the windmill was used to pump seawater into the saltpans where it would be evaporated to reveal the finished product. The industry lasted only a few decades before closing down in 1825. The remains of the saltpans are unimpressive, little more than a few grassy mounds and depressions close to the shoreline. The windmill, however, has been restored and acts as a reminder of an industry that is unknown to most people today.

The (reconstructed) windmill, and the (barely visible) humps and bumps in the grass between it and the sea, are all that remains of a salt production industry that closed down 200 years ago.

By no stretch of the imagination could St Monans be described as spectacular. But there’s lots to admire there, including glimpses of a world and a lifestyle that is a total mystery to those of us who live our lives a very long way from the sea. Definitely worth a visit, if you’re ever in that part of Scotland.