Tourism | Now I'm 64

Marwick Head – Orkney’s seabird city

Posted on July 12, 2023 by Platypus Man

Two of the features that have drawn us back to the Orkney islands again and again are the picturesque coastal scenery, and the magnificent birdlife. Marwick Head Nature Reserve, which comprises rugged sea cliffs 87m (285 ft) high, ticks both these boxes. And there is no better time to visit them than in spring, when the seabirds are nesting on the cliffs and the narrow fringe of coastal grassland is ablaze with flowers.

***Marwick Head, with carpets of sea thrift in the foreground and the Kitchener Memorial to the rear***

We returned to Marwick Head a few weeks ago, full of trepidation. Last year avian flu wreaked havoc on bird populations across the country, and we were anxious that its impact would still be apparent. As it happens, the number of birds on the cliffs remains high, although the seabird city was perhaps not quite as spectacular as we remember it. Avian flu could be responsible for the change, but perhaps climate change is also an issue?

One of the most common breeding birds at Marwick Head is the guillemot. They’re also known as murres in North America because of the murmuring sounds they make when nesting together.

Guillemots (aka murres in North America)

Guillemots belong to the auk family, and lay their eggs on bare rock ledges. Millennia of evolution has rendered these eggs pear-shaped to minimise the likelihood of them rolling off into the sea! Both male and female birds take turns incubating the eggs, and about three weeks after hatching, the chick takes the plunge into the sea. It won’t return to dry land until it’s ready to raise its own chick.

Another common bird at Marwick Head during the breeding season is the fulmar. It was not always so. Just 250 years ago this species was absent from the whole of the UK, but since then its distribution has expanded enormously. Once the season is over, however, fulmars make their way out to sea and will not return until the following spring. This is common amongst seabirds, which is why we prefer to visit Orkney some time between early May and late June.

Fulmar, also sometimes know (for obvious reasons) as the tubenose

The name “fulmar” comes from two Old Norse words – fúll meaning “foul” and már which means “gull.” This refers to a kind of stinking stomach oil, a defensive weapon that fulmars spit out to gum up the wings of predatory birds, causing them to plunge to their deaths. Perhaps it is for this reason that wild fulmars have an average life expectancy of at least 40 years. The lesson is clear: never, ever annoy a fulmar!

Razorbills are superficially similar in appearance to guillemots and breed alongside them, but – at Marwick Head, anyway – in much smaller numbers. They can be distinguished from guillemots by the thick black beak with a white stripe, which contrasts clearly with the thinner bill of the guillemot.

Razorbill, like the guillemot a member of the auk family

It was no great surprise to see a few razorbills at Marwick Head, but the close view of some gannets gliding past the headland was unexpected. Although gannets are not uncommon around Orkney we normally only spot them with binoculars, patrolling far out to sea.

The Northern Gannet may soon be breeding at Marwick Head?

This time we were treated to much better views, and one of the birds appeared to be carrying nesting material in its bill. Maybe a new breeding colony is establishing itself on Marwick Head? We’ll have to check it out when we return, as we surely will, in a couple of years time.

Man and moustache – Kitchener’s iconic recruitment poster *

If watching birds is your thing, Marwick Head is a fabulous place to visit. For students of 20th century British history it has an additional significance, as the location of the Kitchener Memorial. Field Marshall Lord Kitchener was once a national hero in England (but hated by many in Ireland, Sudan and South Africa), boasting a military career that extended far beyond his image in an iconic WW1 recruiting poster. In 1916 Kitchener – then a minister of war – was a passenger on the HMS Hampshire when she sank in mysterious circumstances off Marwick Head.

The tower visible in the central and right-hand images is the Kitchener Memorial

The Kitchener Memorial, an unremarkable stone tower on the clifftop at Marwick Head, was erected in 1926. It commemorates those who died after the Hampshire sank, including Kitchener himself. The Memorial is without doubt the most recognisable single feature on Marwick Head, but for me it is the wonderful seabirds that make this a must-visit destination whenever we are in Orkney.

* Lord Kitchener image credit: Alfred Leete, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Inspirational and serenely beautiful – Orkney’s Italian Chapel

Posted on June 28, 2023 by Platypus Man

Returning to the Orkney islands after a gap of seven years there were many places I was anxious to revisit. Right at the top of my list was the Italian Chapel, an unlikely outpost of the Roman Catholic Church located on a remote, windswept Scottish island. It is serenely beautiful, and the story of its creation is truly inspirational.

Scapa Flow, a body of water sheltered between several of Orkney’s islands, is one of the world’s great natural harbours. As such it was the UK’s foremost naval base during the First and Second World Wars.

To give added protection to naval vessels anchored there it was agreed late in 1939 that barriers should be constructed to block off the four eastern entrances to it, while simultaneously linking up several islands with a causeway. The man who made that decision was Winston Churchill, at the time the First Sea Lord and later the UK’s victorious wartime Prime Minister. The barriers now bear his name.

From a military perspective it was a thoroughly sensible decision, given that German submarines had proved themselves adept at sneaking into Scapa Flow and attacking British warships. However, constructing the barriers was more problematic, not least because of a shortage of local manpower to do the heavy lifting.

The solution, it became apparent, was to send in some Italians. The Italian army had been having a difficult time in North Africa. Many thousands of its troops had been captured, so sending a few hundred of these wretched captives to Orkney to help with the construction of the Churchill Barriers must have seemed like an opportunity too good to miss.

And so it was that around 500 Italians found themselves in Camp 60 on the tiny (40ha / 98 acres), uninhabited Orkney island of Lambholm. It was not a pleasant experience, and not just because – as prisoners of war – the men were expected to put in long days of hard physical labour with no prospect of a decent meal, a glass of wine or female company at the end of it:

“The little island could hardly have appeared more desolate: bare, foggy, exposed to the wind and heavy rain. The camp consisted of thirteen dark, empty huts, and mud.”
Domenico Chiocchetti, quoted in The Italian Chapel: Orkney’s Sanctuary of Peace

From the end of September 1943, the prisoners’ spiritual needs were overseen by a camp priest, Padre Gioachino Giacobazzi. It was he who suggested that their welfare might be better served if their British guards enabled the provision of a chapel. To their credit the British agreed to this, allowing the prisoners to take over – and bolt together – two Nissen huts for this purpose.

Wikipedia tells us that a Nissen hut “is a prefabricated steel structure originally for military use, especially as barracks, made from a half-cylindrical skin of corrugated iron”. This doesn’t sound like a promising starting point for the creation of a place of worship, but what the Italian prisoners achieved with their huts was extraordinary.

Having bolted together the two huts end-to-end, the first task was to ensure they could withstand Orkney’s challenging weather. This was achieved by applying wire ‘bolster’ nets and copious quantities of concrete along the whole length of the structure. Once they were sure the exterior of the huts was weathertight, the prisoners could move on to line the interior of the corrugated walls with plasterboard. This created a smooth surface capable of being transformed into something resembling a “normal” chapel.

***The Madonna of the Olives. “Mother of Peace Pray for Us”***

Fortunately for the success of the project, one of the prisoners was a talented artist with relevant training and experience. Domenico Chiocchetti was born in May 1910, the youngest of 12 children. Coming from a poor family he had no opportunity to attend art college, but instead managed to get an apprenticeship to train as a church painter. The skills he developed at this time were invaluable on Orkney, where he came up with the design of the chapel and its artwork, and supervised its internal decoration..

Chiocchetti was personally responsible for painting the exquisite sanctuary end of the chapel, including the altarpiece which he based on Nicolo Barabino’s Madonna of the Olives. When he went off to war Chiocchetti’s mother gave him a prayer card bearing a copy of Barabino’s work, and it was this image that he used as his inspiration for the painting. The Madonna is pictured holding the Christ Child, who has an olive branch in His hand. Appropriately, given the circumstances in which Chiocchetti created this piece, the Latin phrase that surrounds them reads ‘Regina Pacis Ora Pro Nobis’ – ‘Mother of Peace Pray For Us’.

Other tradesmen also played an important part in the creation of the chapel, including Giuseppe Palumbi, a blacksmith, and Domenico Buttapasta, a cement worker. The prisoners used whatever materials were to hand to further the project: the altar and altar rail, for example, were made out of concrete left over from work on the barriers, lamp holders were made out of corned beef tins and the font was fashioned from the inside of a car exhaust covered in a layer of concrete!

Chiocchetti was conscious that the ugly appearance of the exterior of the Nissen hut detracted from his creative endeavours, and gave no clue to the beauty that lay inside. Once again, concrete provided the answer, with the prisoners using it to fashion a beautiful façade, complete with bell-tower. Today, without knowledge of the chapel’s history, it would be all but impossible to guess at its humble military origins.

***Internal view of the entrance end of the chapel.***

Upon its completion, the chapel undoubtedly enhanced the spiritual lives of the prisoners incarcerated at Camp 60. But just as important, perhaps, its creation gave the men who built it and worshipped within it a sense of purpose and renewed hope. At what must have been the bleakest time in their young lives, the chapel offered them some reassurance that there is more to life than warfare, and that with hard work and a positive outlook nothing is impossible. Here is how one of the prisoners put it:

Nights were our worst enemy. Long nights when thoughts went back home to those we loved…Only thinking of something more nobler, more elevated, could we find inner peace and hope. So the tiny chapel came gradually into existence.”
Bruno Volpi, a POW at Camp 60, quoted in The Italian Chapel: Orkney’s Sanctuary of Peace

Orkney’s Italian Chapel is a remarkable building, all the more so for being tucked away on a remote, tiny Scottish island where, at first glance, it simply does not belong. Its serene, uncomplicated beauty and the story of how it came to be should give us all cause for hope.

Orkney – It’s good to be back

Posted on June 14, 2023 by Platypus Man

At last, after a gap of six years, we’re on our way back to Orkney for our 11th visit over a period of around 30 years. We were due to come here in 2020 but the pandemic got in the way, so it’s a relief finally to be back on the ferry for the 90 minutes long crossing from Scrabster on the Scottish mainland to the Orcadian port of Stromness. As the ferry passes the iconic Old Man of Hoy, we know we’re nearly there. It’s good to be back!

***The Old Man of Hoy, a 137m (449ft) high sea stack, formed from Old Red Sandstone.***

For the uninitiated, Orkney is an archipelago around 16km (10 miles) off the north east tip of mainland Scotland. There are around 70 islands, of which some 20 are inhabited. Orkney’s total population is around 22,000, meaning there are more sheep than people, and many more birds than sheep – both signs of the perfect place to spend time, in my view!

Orkney’s attractions include some magical coastal scenery and a wealth of wildlife, particularly seabirds. It also boasts numerous important archaeological sites, including stone circles, standing stones and Skara Brae, the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.

More recently, beginning in the late 8th century, the islands were invaded and colonised by Norse raiders. For several centuries they were ruled by Denmark and Norway, and did not come under Scottish control until 1472. The Norsemen thus left an indelible mark on Orkney, and today’s Orcadians remain intensely proud of their Viking heritage.

***The Ring of Brodgar is a prehistoric stone circle dating back to the 3rd century BC.***

Unsurprisingly tourism plays a big part in the local economy, alongside the more traditional pursuits of agriculture and fishing. A growing number of cruise ships visit during the season, something that is regarded as a mixed blessing by locals and “regular” tourists alike. But it’s easy to see why they come: Orkney simply has so much to offer.

For many years Mrs P and I harboured a secret dream of relocating to Orkney and building a new life here in this wonderful sea of tranquillity, which is light years away from the stresses and strains of our 21st century suburban lives. Sadly this was not to be, due to our family responsibilities back home. So, for as long as we are able (and always assuming the world is not struck by another pandemic!) we will continue to visit this great place regularly.

Meanwhile, over the next few months, I will publish several more posts about Orkney, sharing some of its many highlights and demonstrating why this is, without doubt, our favourite place in the whole world.

The Invergordon murals

Posted on June 7, 2023 by Platypus Man

It’s around 11am and we’re wandering the streets of Invergordon, a small town in the Scottish Highlands, in search of its famous murals. The place is dead: all the shops appear to be closed, there’s no traffic and no pedestrians either. We’ve not logged onto the Internet this morning, so maybe civilisation ended overnight and we’ve missed out on the news?

***“Fire, Fire” by Anna Stirling, depicting a fire at the Royal Hotel in 1973.***

We continue to explore the main street, our eyes scanning random walls for murals, cameras at the ready. After about a quarter of an hour we encounter a dishevelled, middle-aged guy slumped on a bench seat. He eyes us suspiciously.

“We’re here for the murals,” I say brightly by way of explanation.

“Oh, them!” he grumbles, “they’re rubbish. I can do better with a can of spray paint, even when I’m drunk!”

We must be looking doubtful, so Wasted Tam – as I like to think of him – adds, with more than a hint of bitterness, “I live around here and I’m telling you, they’re rubbish. You should go to Inverness, or…anywhere but here. This place is rubbish.”

***“A Century of Sport” by Alan Potter. Interesting that one of the sports depicted is cricket, as this is a game not usually associated with the Scottish Highlands.***

Although it’s not yet lunch time, a miasma of alcohol fumes hovers above Tam’s head, and I calculate that if I strike a match right now we’ll all go up in flames. We resolve to treat his assessment of Invergordon and its murals with a degree of caution. But we also note that this place is not without problems!

Invergordon is a small port town on the Cromarty Firth in north-east Scotland, infamous as the spot where – in 1931 – the UK’s entire Atlantic Fleet went on strike when the government tried to cut ratings’ pay. The Invergordon Mutiny, as it became known, ended peacefully and the town slipped back into well-deserved obscurity for 70 years, until local resident Marion Rhind proposed an idea to brighten up her neighbourhood and attract visitors by scattering some murals about the place.

***“Gather Round” by Alan Potter, depicting the Invergordon Highland Gathering, which was an important annual event for the local community and visitors for over 100 years***

Marion was inspired to come up with her cunning plan by her parents, who told her about a little Tasmanian town called Sheffield, where gable ends have been brightly painted to depict local characters and stories. Coincidentally, Mrs P and I have also visited Sheffield and liked the place. I wrote about it on my blog of our 2016 trip to Tasmania, but never knew it had prompted a similar initiative in Scotland.

**“Pipes and Drams” by Anna Starling, a tribute to the famous Invergordon Distillery Pipe Band. In the background is the former Invergordon Castle.**

Following Marion’s lightbulb moment, a working group was formed in January 2002 to help turn theory into practice. The Invergordon Off the Wall group came up with the following aims for its project: to…

revive the community spirit of Invergordon, by giving the community a common aim
enhance civic pride
celebrate the history of Invergordon
halt economic decline by re-branding the town as a destination for tourism
create a cultural focus for the town through a special outdoor art gallery
promote an ongoing interest in our own history

Lofty aims indeed, and although there are perhaps not as many murals as we anticipated they are fascinating and well executed. One shows the range of sports that are, or have been, played by local people, while another offers insights into the Invergordon Highland Gathering. A third celebrates the local lifeboat and its volunteer crew, and another reflects nostalgically on “The Way We Were.”

“The Way We Were” by Steve Des Landes depicts the Royal Marine Band marching down Invergordon High Street, as they did in the past when the Royal Navy fleet were regular visitors to Invergordon’s deep water anchorage.

One of the most striking murals depicts a fire that engulfed Invergordon’s Royal Hotel in 1973. This was reportedly a dramatic, memorable day for local people, and the magnificent mural serves to keep those memories alive. Also eye-catching is “Pipes and Drams”, a tribute to the Invergordon Distillery Pipe Band. I can’t help thinking that Wasted Tam must approve of the distillery’s product, even if he hates murals (and possibly pipe bands too!)

***“Volunteer Spirit” by Ken White shows the previous Invergordon lifeboat, which served in Invergordon from 1996 until 2021.***

However, my favourite of all the murals is “Our Legacy”, depicting some of the wildlife and wild places to be found in the Invergordon area. It includes this quote from Trinidadian author Aliyyah Eniath –

“Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, kill nothing but time.”
Taken from “The Yard” by Aliyyah Eniath

The quote echoes my own feelings for the natural world, and as an added bonus the colourful mural features in one corner my favourite bird in the whole world, the oystercatcher. The mural was created with the assistance of local children, whose names are preserved for posterity beneath the images they helped to paint.

***“Our Legacy” by Tracey Shough features wildlife that can be see in the Invergordon area.***

Taken as a whole Invergordon’s murals are a fine example of community public art, but I worry that they’ve done little to boost tourist numbers or revive the local economy. And, if Wasted Tam is in any way typical of other townsfolk, they’ve not done much to enhance civic pride either. Invergordon Off the Wall is a well-intentioned, impressive project, and deserves to be better appreciated.

***Oystercatcher detail from the “Our Legacy”.***

On the road again…First stop, the Kelpies!

Posted on May 24, 2023 by Platypus Man

At last, after a gap of nearly four years due to the Covid pandemic, we’re heading back to Scotland. Our final destination is Orkney – our favourite place in the whole world – but during the long drive north there’s time to stop off at some other Scottish highlights. And those highlights don’t come much higher than the Kelpies, reputed to be the largest equine sculptures in the world

***“The Kelpies” by Andy Scott (born 1964)***

Dating from 2013/14, the monumental steel sculptures by artist Andy Scott stand 30 metres (100 feet) high, and weigh in at more than 300 tonnes each. They are made up of an extraordinary 34,566 separate pieces, including 7,918 huck bolts (whatever they are!) and 928 steel skin plates. The pieces took a whole year to manufacture, and the final assembly of the sculptures took 90 days.

***The Kelpies tower over the Forth and Clyde Canal***

According to Scottish folk mythology, a kelpie is a dangerous shape-shifting creature that lives in water but can also appear on land – close to a river, of course – as a grey or white pony. In designing his sculptures Andy Scott imagined two Kelpies emerging from a river in the form of horses. His sketch (below) shows how the now familiar heads of his two creations relate to the whole animals.

***Andy Scott’s vision of kelpies emerging from the water***

Folklore tells us that children in particular are attracted to these cute equine critters. But therein lurks a terrifying danger, for if anyone tries to ride one, the animal’s sticky magical hide will not allow them to dismount! The Kelpie then carries its victim into the river and eats him. Worse still, Kelpies are very sneaky and may also appear in human form, materializing as pretty young women in an attempt to lure lustful men to their deaths – see below how this played out in the gratuitously salacious imagination of artist Herbert James Draper (1863 – 1920). Or they might take on the form of a human mugger, laying in wait by the river until a passer-by is close enough to ambush, capture and kill.

***IMAGE CREDIT: “The Kelpie” (1913) by Herbert James Draper, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons***

Fortunately Kelpies have an Achilles heel, a weak spot that enables humans to subdue them. To overcome a Kelpie you must grab hold of its bridle, at which point it will fall under your command. Captive Kelpies are prized for their immense strength and endurance. Having been transformed from malevolent spirits into compliant draught animals, they can be harnessed to safely carry passengers or to haul vast loads.

Scott’s sculptures are modelled on a real life beast-of-burden, the iconic Clydesdale horse. These magnificent draught animals played a key role in the early days of Scotland’s industrial revolution, hauling barges and wagons laden with raw materials and manufactured goods to where they were needed. To ensure his sculptures captured the essence of Clydesdale horses Scott worked closely with two local animals called Duke and Baron (see below), and is reported to have developed a close relationship with them.

Helix Park near Falkirk in the central Scottish lowlands, where Scott’s sculptures are to be found, is no stranger to Clydesdales. The Forth and Clyde Canal runs through the Park, and Clydesdale horses must once have been a familiar sight trudging wearily along its banks hauling monstrously heavy barges. Scott’s sculpture pays due homage to their heroic efforts, as well as reflecting a fascinating part of Scottish folklore.

Andy Scott has done a great job, creating two stunning, monumental sculptures that are deeply embedded in Scottish history and mythology. As well as viewing them from afar, this time we signed up for a special tour which took us inside one of them and enabled us to better appreciate the huge creative and engineering effort that went into making these vast sculptures. I’m so pleased that we broke our journey north to re-acquaint ourselves with the Kelpies, which are unquestionably amongst my favourite pieces of public art in the UK.

It’s World Topiary Day!

Posted on May 14, 2023 by Platypus Man

Today, Sunday 14 May, is World Topiary Day. Who knew? Not me, obviously, but Mrs P stumbled across a reference somewhere and thought it might make for an interesting post. For the uninitiated, topiary is the art of shaping shrubs and sculpting compact trees and hedges into ornamental representations of birds and animals, as well as various decorative architectural forms. It is believed to have originated in ancient Rome, was revived in Renaissance Italy, and became a big hit in 17th century England.

***Tatton Park Italian Garden, Cheshire, UK (2018)***

Today, if you look hard enough, you can find examples of topiary just about anywhere. We see it frequently when visiting grand stately homes in the UK, but have also encountered it in parks, gardens and other horticultural settings as far apart as Costa Rica, Australia, the US and Singapore.

***Felley Priory, Nottinghamshire, UK (2017)***

At its best topiary is great to look at, and you are left wondering “How long did that take?” or “How did they manage that?” and, just occasionally, “Why on earth did they bother?” It’s an art form, and I can’t help admiring people with the imagination, skills and dedication needed to turn a few random bushes and trees into something so spectacular that “Wow!” is the first thought springing to mind when you encounter their creations.

Of course, the trouble with living things is that eventually they die, and one of the saddest sights is to see topiary creations disfigured by the ravages of time and disease. Unfortunately, it’s a particular problem right now in topiary fashioned from the box tree. Box is a compact, slow-growing evergreen tree that is ideal for topiary work, but a fungal disease called box blight causes leaves to turn brown and drop off, leaving behind unsightly bare branches. This, sadly, is ruining and sometimes killing off many otherwise attractive topiary creations.

**Trentham Gardens** ***Italian Garden, Staffordshire, UK (2018)***

Some places go mad for topiary. Zarcero, for example, is a totally unremarkable little town situated in the mountains of Costa Rica, roughly 80km from the capital San Jose. Unremarkable, that is, until you visit the park, where cypress trees have been painstakingly shaped into arches, dinosaurs, birds, dogs and sundry other shapes. Not at all what we expected on our 2008 trip to Costa Rica, but loads of fun!

Zarcero, Costa Rica (2008)

And what about Railton? Although wildlife viewing was the main purpose of our only visit to Australia – as it had also been when we went to Costa Rica – how could we resist a visit to Tasmania’s “Town of Topiary”? Looking back to my blog of that trip I see I had a lot to say about Railton, not all of it very complimentary. I observed that “Many of the living sculptures have seen better days and are apparently suffering from die-back, or neglect, or both. A few are plainly still tended and the “topiary park” has some reasonable figures, but others have clearly been abandoned to their fate and nature is taking its inevitable course.” That was back in 2016. Hopefully things have improved since then, and the Town of Topiary is back on track..

Railton, Tasmania (2016.) The horse and jockey is probably the best single piece of topiary I’ve ever seen.

Our experience at the Green Animals Topiary Garden in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, was more positive but equally unexpected. There are plenty of good reasons for visiting the smallest state in the US, and topiary isn’t one of them. However Green Animals offered a welcome distraction from the endless extravagance of the Gilded Age mansions, and was definitely worth the side-trip we made to see it in 2007. It claims to be the oldest topiary garden in the US with more than eighty sculpted trees, including teddy bears, a camel an elephant and even a person in a peaked cap.

Green Animals Topiary Garden, Portsmouth, Rhode Island (2007)

Our own garden is large enough to accommodate a piece of topiary – indeed, our neighbour, who is a keen and talented gardener, has done just that – but it’s not something I’ve ever been tempted to try. In my view, life’s way too short to consider turning hedge cutting into a hobby. The wretched things needs clipping regularly, or they quickly become unkempt: look carefully at the photos, and you’ll see that many of the living sculptures we’ve seen over the years were badly in need of a trim!

So instead of creating my own piece of topiary I’ll have to make do with appreciating other people’s efforts, like those shown in the photos taken from Mrs P’s extensive archive of our travels. Who would have believed you can achieve so much with just a few trees and a hedge trimmer? The way I see it, topiary is definitely worth celebrating, so long as it’s someone else who’s doing all the hard work. Have a Happy World Topiary Day, guys!

Dinosaurs reborn!

Posted on May 3, 2023 by Platypus Man

We took a day trip to Yorkshire Wildlife Park last week. It was great to catch up with their iconic critters, a couple of which – Amur Tigers and Warty Pigs – have featured in earlier posts on this blog. But there was a new exhibit that also caught the eye. As well as investing in 21st century wildlife and conservation, the Park has also been throwing money at Pangea, where kids both young and old can get up close and personal with the dinosaur of their dreams.

Dilophosaurus, displayed in the Pangea exhibit at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. — **Dilophosaurus**

When we visited the Park in December for its annual winter Festival of Lights and Lanterns, illuminated dinosaurs were much in evidence. But although the seasons have changed since then, and the Christmas lights have been packed away, the prehistoric presence remains. According to the Park’s website, Pangea “is home to over 30 life-sized moving ROARING dinosaurs! From the terrifying T-Rex to the villainous Velociraptors, you will find everyone’s favourite Jurassic characters in the heart of Doncaster!” Plainly dinosaurs are for life, not just for Christmas.

Towering dinosaur displayed in the Pangea exhibit at Yorkshire Wildlife Park.

Big, fierce and scary, dinosaurs fire the imagination. I’m sure some of the youngsters who visit the Pangea exhibit come away with a secret dream to become fossil hunters, spending their lives searching for the remains of the iconic, long-gone beasts. It’s an enticing notion, but the reality is very different. During our many trips to the USA, Mrs P and I have visited several dinosaur fossil sites. Here, eager visitors are greeted by a near-incomprehensible jumble of fossilised bones, and maybe a few random, indistinct dinosaur footprints.

***Vernal Dinosaur Quarry, Utah (1996)***

The search for dinosaur fossils is challenging in the extreme. Fieldwork invariably takes place in harsh, remote landscapes that are a world away from the comforts of 21st century living. The work is slow and painstaking; meticulous attention to detail and the patience of a saint are essential attributes of any wannabe dinosaur hunter.

Big, ground-breaking discoveries are thin on the ground. Most days on site must be a tedious slog, groundhog days with added blisters. When the sun goes down there’s often little to show for the day’s efforts, maybe just a few more fragments of disarticulated bone that seem to bear little relation to the dreadful dinosaurs that roam our imaginations.

Few of us have the skill-set or temperament to become palaeontologists, so the display of dinosaur skeletons in museums has an important role to play in helping us understand and appreciate the world of dinosaurs. But even those skeletons have their limitations, and this is where exhibits such as Pangea come into their own.

Brontosaurus, displayed in the Pangea exhibit at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. — ***Brontosaurus***

Yes, Pangea is sensationalist and shallow, but it does bring home to visitors just how amazing dinosaurs really were. The brutal brontosaurus*, the towering tyrannosaurus and the staggering stegosaurus are given scale and context by the exhibits at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. I defy anyone to view them without thinking “Wow! Creatures like this once roamed our Earth? Really?”

Apatosaurus, displayed in the Pangea exhibit at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. — ***Apatosaurus***

Pangea is a fun, low-effort learning experience. Wearing my intellectual, pseudo-academic hat, I do wish there was an additional exhibit replicating, or based upon, one of the dinosaur discovery sites we’ve visited, so that visitors could gain some basic insights into the realities of palaeontology. I know that will never happen, but although it is a lost opportunity – in my humble opinion, anyway! – Pangea does have real value in increasing popular interest in, and knowledge of a lost world.

Velociraptor, displayed in the Pangea exhibit at Yorkshire Wildlife Park. — ***Velociraptor, with Tsingtaosaurus behind***

Dinosaurs have been reborn at Yorkshire Wildlife Park, and I’m pleased to have made their acquaintance.

Top Left: Tsintaosaurus. Top Middle: Pachyrhinosaurus. Top Right: Ankylosaurus. Bottom Left: ? Bottom Right: T-Rex.

* OK, for anyone reading this who knows their stuff about dinosaurs, I acknowledge that the brontosaurus wasn’t actually brutal. It was a herbivore, albeit one with a HUGE appetite. But the writer in me loves the way the words “brutal brontosaurus” roll off the tongue. Sometimes, you have to sacrifice just a tad of truth on the altar of alliteration!

Castles ain’t what they used to be!

Posted on April 19, 2023 by Platypus Man

When I was a kid I thought I knew all there was to know about castles. In my mind these ancient, grim monstrosities were built for heroic defence in times of war. Their imposing ramparts were, I believed, always surrounded by an unfathomably deep moat and punctuated with soaring towers in which the lord could lock up captured enemy warriors, as well as random passing princesses. A single, rickety drawbridge crossed the moat and led to a sturdy gate, above which was one of those ominous holes through which the defenders could pour hot oil and other nasties onto the heads of their adversaries. This romantic image of castles inevitably beguiled and seduced my younger self.

In my innocence it never occurred to me that castles were also homes, that people lived out their daily lives in them. And of course, as the centuries passed and a fragile peace took hold across the land, castles outgrew their original purpose. No longer needed for defence, they were redesigned to become places where the wealthy and powerful could show off to their neighbours. Castles morphed into mansions meant for boasting rather than battles.

Arundel Castle in West Sussex is a case in point. Work began on the construction of the castle in 1067, just a year after the Norman conquest of England, and the towering walls and sturdy gates leave the visitor in no doubt that defence was once the main purpose of this place. But even the most well made of castles are not impregnable, as Arundel’s 800 Royalist defenders learned to their cost when besieged by Parliamentarian forces during the English Civil War in 1643. They surrendered after just 18 days, and in due course Parliament ordered the destruction of the fortifications to ensure that the castle could play no role in any future conflict.

Gatehouse at Arundel Castle, West Sussex. — ***Gatehouse, Arundel Castle***

The castle’s fighting days were over, and it languished in ruins for many decades, its owners – successive Dukes of Norfolk – having other priorities at the time. The 8th Duke eventually carried out a few repairs around 1718, and about 70 years later the 11th Duke (aka “the Drunken Duke!”) undertook some further restoration. And in the early 1840s the 13th Duke internally remodelled the castle in preparation for a visit in 1846 by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

The Baron's Hall at Arundel Castle, West Sussex. — *The Baron’s Hall, Arundel Castle*

The Dining Room at Arundel Castle, West Sussex. — *The Baron’s Hall, Arundel Castle*

Wealthy Victorians were never happier than when “improving” their homes, so it’s no surprise that between 1875 and 1905 the 15th Duke embarked upon yet another grand project to modernise Arundel Castle in line with upper-class fashions of the time. It is the 15th Duke’s legacy that is most visible to visitors today, and it’s thanks to him that Arundel Castle became one of the first English country houses to be fitted with electric lights, integral fire fighting equipment, service lifts and central heating. Although the walls and gates make the castle’s defensive origins abundantly clear, many of the internal fittings are grand – opulent, even – and obviously belong to a totally different, post-medieval world.

The Duke of Norfolk is still king of his own private castle, but a charitable trust maintains the buildings, grounds and contents, guaranteeing public access for at least 100 days per annum. The Trust seeks to

“maximise the public enjoyment and education by refurbishing and improving displays and the condition of artefacts, supported by hosting special events such as jousting, civil war re-enactments and other events in keeping with its history.”
Source: Giving is Great retrieved 12 April 2023.

The Library at Arundel Castle, West Sussex. — *The Library, Arundel Castle*

The Canaletto Room at Arundel Castle, West Sussex. — *The Library, Arundel Castle*

Arundel Castle is an interesting place to visit, but vastly at odds with the image of castles that so captivated my imagination as a child. On the one hand I guess we should be grateful that successive Dukes chose to preserve it, rather than simply bulldoze it to the ground and replace it with something extravagantly tasteless. But on the other hand no amount of jousting events or civil war re-enactments can mask the fact that – aside from the walls and gatehouses – the medieval world that gave birth to it is difficult for casual visitors to identify. I don’t think a trip here would have helped me much with that school history project on castles I wrote nearly 60 years ago!

Warwick Castle is perhaps an even more extreme example of a medieval masterpiece that has been ruthlessly repackaged for a 21st century audience. In many ways it feels more like a theme park than a historical site, a fact brought home to us when we encountered Zog the accident-prone dragon shortly after arriving for our visit last month. Zog is the creation of the wonderful children’s author Julia Donaldson, brought to life by illustrator Axel Scheffler. I have a lot of time for Julia and greatly admire her work – who doesn’t love the Gruffalo? – but I can’t feeling that Zog has his place, and Warwick Castle isn’t it.

Warwick Castle, with Julia Donaldson's Zog the Dragon in the foreground. — ***Zog at Warwick Castle***

Like Arundel, Warwick Castle’s origins lie in the 11th century, in the immediate aftermath of the Norman Conquest. And just like Arundel, it served as a fortification for several hundred years before being re-born as a lavish country house. In 1978 it was purchased by the Tussauds Group, which at one point managed a portfolio of over 50 tourist attractions including Madam Tussauds waxworks, Legoland theme parks, the London Eye, Alton Towers, Thorpe Park and Chessington World of Adventures. In 2007 the Tussauds Group was itself acquired by Merlin Entertainments, which in so doing, became the world’s second largest leisure group after Disney. And that, I suppose, tells us all we need to know about Warwick Castle’s 21st century offer!

Warwick Castle. Left: The Gatehouse. Top Right: Inside the walls. Bottom Right: Reconstruction of a trebuchet on land just outside the castle walls

As we learned when we were there, Warwick Castle today is all about “visitor experiences” – the Zog Playland, the Horrible Histories® Maze, falconry and archery displays, the Castle Dungeon immersive experience, live action performances, and over 200 “special event days”.

There are glimpses of history too – the walk around the castle walls, for example, is worth the considerable effort, unless, I suppose, you suffer with vertigo. The state rooms, many of them dressed as they would have looked at a “Royal Weekend Party” in 1898, are grand but not at all medieval. And the reconstruction of a full-scale working trebuchet (to the uninitiated, that’s a monstrous catapult for hurling missiles at besieged castles) is instructive, if perhaps overly theatrical. But you have to work hard to find serious history, and to avoid being distracted by the shallow 21st century frenzy that pervades Warwick Castle.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that places like this are a welcome attraction for many families, a fun, safe destination to take the kids for a day out. But how many of those young people return home with any real appreciation of what life was like in the medieval period? How many take an interest in understanding and learning more about history as a result of their visit? A few maybe, but not nearly enough, I suspect. To traditionally-minded history lovers like me Warwick Castle seems like a a bit of a lost opportunity, though I guess that most visitors – and shareholders of Merlin Entertainments too! – would strongly disagree.

Warwick Castle. Top Left: Medieval armour displayed in the Great Hall. Middle Left: Diorama depicting life “below stairs” in medieval times. Bottom Left: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898. Top Right: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898. Bottom Right: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898.

Warwick Castle may well be fun for all the family, but it’s not necessarily the place where aging, stuffy, academically-minded history graduates like me are likely to find much comfort. I won’t be going back there any time soon.

Castles ain’t what they used to be!

—– —– —– —– —–

Note for regular readers of this blog: Summer is fast approaching, and we already have exciting trips planned to Scotland, Norfolk, Surrey and Rutland. No doubt we’ll think of a few other places to visit too. All this will provide me with lots more material to write about, while at the same time eating into the time I set aside for writing! So, for the next few months, my schedule will be to blog once every two weeks, on alternate Wednesdays. Weekly posts should resume in November.

Baddesley Clinton: murderous cuckolds, hidden priests and unintended marriages

Posted on April 5, 2023 by Platypus Man

These days we seem to spend a lot of our time visiting grand historic houses. While their architecture may be splendid and the contents sublime, it is often the human stories associated with them that bring these buildings to life. Last week, for example, we spent a happy afternoon at the moated manor house of Baddesley Clinton in the county of Warwickshire, where my imagination was captured by stories of murderous cuckolds, hidden priests and unintended marriages!

Baddesley Clinton moated manor house in Warwickshire, viewed across the moat with daffodils in the foreground. — ***Now owned by the National Trust, Baddesley Clinton is a 15th century manor house completely surrounded by a moat***

Construction of the house that we see today began in the 15th century. Surrounded by an impressive moat, it now consists of three long sides (ranges) at right angles to one another; a fourth range, which would have created a square building completely surrounding a central courtyard, was demolished in the 18th century.

Baddesley Clinton has seen its fair share of dramas over the years. In 1485, for example, its owner Nicholas Broome came home unexpectedly to find the local parish priest stroking his wife under her chin. Believing himself to have been cuckolded, the outraged Broome drew his sword and swiftly despatched the errant priest, an act for which he had to undertake expensive acts of penance before finally being pardoned by King Henry VII in 1496.

Baddesley Clinton moated manor house in Warwickshire showing bridge cross the moat. — ***A single, brick-built bridge crosses the moat and gives access to the house***

A century later, priests once again took centre stage in Baddesley Clinton’s story. In the 1590s the house was rented out to a pair of pious Roman Catholic sisters, Anne and Eleanor Vaux. At the time, anti-Catholic sentiment was rife in England, with gangs of determined priest-hunters prowling the land, intent on rooting out (and probably stringing up) men they regarded as heretics and spiritual enemies.

Anne and Eleanor were determined to do what they could to protect Catholic priests. To this end they commissioned Nicholas Owen, England’s “chief designer and builder of hiding-places” to create safe havens in their home for up to 12 endangered clerics. In 1591 Owen’s design was put to the test when a horde of priest-hunters descended upon Baddesley Clinton. Despite a search lasting many hours the priest holes remained undetected, and the five clerics in residence at the time lived to preach another day.

Central courtyard at Baddesley Clinton moated manor house in Warwickshire. — ***The central courtyard, and two of the three ranges that partially surround it***

Fast forward to the mid-19th century, when two married couples take up residence at Baddesley Clinton. Marmion Ferrers owns the property, and in 1867 marries the artist Rebecca Dulcibella Orpen. Rebecca’s aunt, Georgiana, is already married to Marmion’s close friend Edward Deering. The four of them share a passionate interest in the arts, and revel in one another’s company. Having moved in together under one roof, they become known as the Quartet.

Modern-day cynics may raise an eyebrow at this arrangement, and question whether it amounted to a polyamorous ménage a quarte. This seems unlikely, given the moral landscape of Victorian society and the fact that the Quartet’s members were devout Catholics. However, all is not quite as is seems, as it is believed that Edward had really meant to marry Rebecca rather than her aunt Georgiana.

Left: Ornate door frame in the Great Hall. Top Right: Baddesley Clinton’s private chapel. Bottom Right: the Great Hall

The story goes that, several years before the move to Baddesley Clinton, Edward Dering, young, dashing and seriously wealthy, visited the 53 year old widow Georgiana to ask for her niece Rebecca’s hand in marriage. However, Georgiana was a bit deaf, and believing that Edward was in fact proposing to her she gleefully accepted.

Stunned by this unexpected turn of events, Edward quickly realised he had only two options: to marry the love of his life and be regarded forever as a heartless cad by Georgiana and her supporters, or to preserve his reputation by dumping Rebecca in favour of her aging auntie. This being Victorian England, Edward inevitably did the latter!

The Drawing Room at Baddesley Clinton moated manor house in Warwickshire. — ***The Drawing Room: some of Rebecca’s portraits of the Quartet can be seen here***

Mrs P and I were talking about this story over a cup of tea earlier today. My wife isn’t entirely convinced by Georgiana’s supposed deafness. She believes that the widow understood only too well that her chances of finding herself another man by conventional means were limited. But – Mrs P contends – Georgiana also understood that if she played her cards carefully she could ensnare Edward, who she calculated was far too weak to admit that he didn’t really want to marry her at all because he had the hots for niece Rebecca.

We will never know the truth of it, of course, but it’s fun to speculate. And it’s also interesting to note that in the end Edward did indeed get the girl of his dreams. Georgiana died in 1876, followed by Marmion in 1884. The following year, Edward and Rebecca were finally married.

The Dining Room at Baddesley Clinton moated manor house in Warwickshire. — ***The Dining Room***

Rebecca was a moderately talented artist, and wandering through the elegant rooms of Baddesley Clinton it’s possible to see many examples of her work, including several portraits of each member of the Quartet. These remind us that historic buildings are more than just architecture and furniture: they are homes too, and over the years have been witness to countless domestic dramas both great and small, including murder, mayhem and marital mishaps!

Reclaiming the landscape: Poolsbrook Country Park

Posted on March 22, 2023 by Platypus Man

The eastern part of my home county of Derbyshire has a long association with coal mining. Limited production took place during the medieval period, but it wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution that large-scale mining began. When the coal industry was nationalised in 1947, there were 68 deep mines in Derbyshire. Now there are none, but their legacy lives on in a surprising way at Poolsbrook Country Park.

The area now occupied by the Park once consisted of farmland set in a rural landscape. Large-scale mining, which began in 1875, changed the place beyond recognition: mine shafts were sunk, massive colliery buildings were erected, and vast, ugly spoil heaps were dumped wherever seemed convenient at the time. When the Ireland Colliery finally closed for good in 1986, the whole area had been transformed into a bleak, dystopian eyesore that offered little of value either to local people or to the natural world.

Eurasian Bullfinch (male)

Luckily the local council had the vision to realise that with time, effort and resources, the site could be reborn as a valuable community amenity and wildlife habitat. Under its ambitious plans the mining infrastructure was dismantled and the old colliery spoil heaps were landscaped to mimic a natural lake/river valley, which was then planted with trees and wildflower seed.

Close-up of Mute Swan. — ***Mute Swan***

Today, the 165 acre (67 ha) site is home to a mosaic of habitats including lakes, wet grassland, wildflower hay meadows, woodland and hedgerows, all carefully managed for the benefit of wildlife. Good visitor facilities are also provided, encouraging local people to abandon the stresses and strains of urban life for a while and instead explore a small corner Derbyshire’s magnificent countryside.

So, rather than simply return the land to its pre-mining status as an unremarkable piece of farmland, the planners and environmentalists have significantly enhanced it. In doing so they have created a big attraction for lovers of the natural world, particularly birders like Mrs P and I. The photographs that illustrate this short post show just a few of the birds we’ve spotted at Poolsbrook Country Park since the easing of the Covid lockdown.

Female mallard and two chicks. — ***Female mallard and chicks***

Eurasian Coot. — ***Female mallard and chicks***

Casual visitors unfamiliar with its history would struggle to identify Poolsbrook Country Park as the site of a colliery that was in operation for over 100 years. This, in my view, is very encouraging, an illustration of just what can be achieved if we are ambitious about restoring our natural world. It offers real hope that with effort and resources we can put right at least some of the wrongs perpetrated by previous generations in the name of “progress.”