Into no other city does the sight of the country enter so far; if you do not meet a butterfly, you shall certainly catch a glimpse of far-away trees upon your walk; and the place is full of theatre tricks in the way of scenery. You peep under an arch, you descend stairs that look as if they would land you in a cellar, you turn to the back-window of a grimy tenement in a lane:—and behold! you are face-to-face with distant and bright prospects. You turn a corner, and there is the sun going down into the Highland hills. You look down an alley, and see ships tacking for the Baltic
Robert Louis Stevenson
My meanderings took me to Glasgow again last weekend for a trip to see family. I've written of that much visited Scottish city in the past, so this week come brief recollections of another city I passed through en route to my destination. Indeed, I not just passed through the said city but changed trains within the only train station in the world named after a novel. Yes, by now, you will have guessed the city in question. It's Edinburgh, and its station, Waverley, is named after Walter Scott's novel.
I have several ways to reach Glasgow from my home in Blaydon. The most obvious is a direct train from my local railway station across the top of England to Carlisle and then a train north into Scotland. But the two train companies involved in that route offer slow and unreliable services. So, I prefer the other route from Newcastle to Edinburgh and a service across southern Scotland to Glasgow. The companies involved here offer fast and reliable services. And the views are just as beautiful as those across Northumbria and western Scotland. The East Coast route by train offers stunning seascapes and majestic sights such as Berwick. Since the 12th century, a town that has moved back and forth between English and Scottish control thirteen times. Right now, it's in England (although their football team plays in the Scottish league), but who knows what the future might bring? Also, when travelling between Edinburgh and Glasgow, you can feast your eyes on the various mountainous areas on either side of the train: the Ochil, the Pentlands, the Campsie and the Southern Highlands.
While my stay in Edinburgh on this occasion was only the ten minutes it took to change trains, it's a city I've visited so many, many times before.
I recall one of my first stays there was with my parents when I was around eight. One of the visits was to Edinburgh Zoo, where my father photographed me standing beside an Emperor Penguin. Neither of us looks particularly happy. The penguin because of my dress sense, which included wearing a hat resembling a 'deer stalker' and me because the penguin and I were around the same height (I was small for my age). I was right to be wary of my companion as seconds after my father took the photograph the penguin gave me a 'nip' on the arm with its beak. They might look cute and smartly dressed, but I learned that day you can't trust a penguin. I can easily see why Bob Kane and Bill Finger created a dodgy character of that name.
One thing I enjoyed on my early visits to Edinburgh and still do today is the camera obscura near the castle. I didn't understand the physics, of course. I just marvelled at how the operator offered us a real-time view of the city and, by way of a small piece of white card, could seemingly 'lift up' a person or vehicle. Even though my children are of a more 'sophisticated' time, a trip to the Obscura still fascinated them some 25 years later.
The castle is always a draw, and as with most children who visited in the early 1960s, there is a photograph of me sitting on the 15th century 'mons meg'. Something certainly not allowed today.
Given that Edinburgh was a short trip from Newcastle, my teenage friends and I would often 'pop up' for a stroll of its streets and taverns. There were no IDs in those days, just an ability to knock a year or so off your birth date and leave on a day or two of beard growth. What took me two days to grow then, I probably achieve in an hour now.
I've visited the Fringe and the Tattoo, and while they offer quite different entertainment, I enjoy both immensely. I've also explored through a guided tour of the 18th-century Mary Kings Close, partially buried under modern Edinburgh just off the Royal Mile. The highlight for me was seeing a 'thunderbox' still in situ. I guess it was too cumbersome to move to whatever new accommodation the residents of that building were to occupy.
During my career, I made many business trips to Edinburgh. For a few years, one of my responsibilities was to oversee an office there. It meant many flights back and forth from London. I'm not saying whoever built Edinburgh airport didn't think about wind direction. Still, it wasn't unusual for me to look out of the window and straight down the runway on the final approach. The pilot 'de-crabbing' on touchdown. It was initially unsettling, but it soon became a familiar sight as it happened so often.
I've had many a business celebration in Edinburgh, and one notable one was in late March around thirty years ago; my company had just completed a successful contract with our government customer, so we agreed with them we would celebrate by treating the two project teams to an evening meal and a few drinks. Partners invited given the denial of some home life for the teams given the long hours asked of them on occasion. I travelled up from London alone as the next day was Mothering Sunday, and my then-wife Veronica was to visit her mother. Therefore, I decided to do the same with my mother, planning to travel by train from Edinburgh to the northeast on Sunday after the previous evening's celebration to take my mother out to lunch. I would then fly south again from Newcastle Airport on Monday morning.
There is a saying within the customer community with whom I worked of no plan surviving first contact, which nearly proved true on this occasion. The celebrations went well, and after dinner, I retired to a quiet corner with some of the senior members on the customer side to share a glass or three of Scotland's national drink and, as so often happens as moods mellow, put the world to rights. I recall the conversation was highly convivial, and the hours passed quickly. So quickly that it was only when I noticed a sliver of light on the horizon and heard bird song that I realised how convivial our conversations had been. My watch showed 5 a.m., and I quickly calculated that as my train departed at 9:30 a.m., I might still catch a couple of hours of sleep if I left at once to get to bed.
So, hurriedly offering a good night to those with me, although good morning would have been more correct, I headed to my hotel, which was fortunately only a few minutes away.
A little less than three hours later, my alarm tore me from sleep. Feeling like a small furry animal now occupied the space my tongue used to be, I gulped as much water as possible. I then got myself ready to head for the station. There was no time for breakfast or coffee. I hoped to get something when I arrived at Waverley.
Alas, this was Sunday, and the only offering was from a small newsagent. And that offering was sweets or chocolate. Or sweets and chocolate. Sadly, nothing liquid. I wasn't hungry, though I'd have welcomed a coffee. I feared that in my 'tired and emotional' state, I'd fall asleep on the train, missing my stop in the northeast and waking up in Kings Cross. I read somewhere that you can't fall asleep while eating (I'm not sure there is any scientific truth to that), so I bought a large bag of sweets and two bulky Sunday newspapers. My logic was that I would stave off any drowsiness by eating the sweets and reading the papers.
The train left on time, and I was fortunate that coffee was available, so drinking that, eating my sweets and perusing the papers, I made my way south. I felt distinctly nauseous when I left the train around 90 minutes later. I had probably consumed more sugar on the short journey than in the last month. But at least I was awake. Jumping into a cab to take me to my mother's home caused the driver to double take. I guess my ‘enjoyment’ of the night before coupled with the sugar rush was showing through. Being a diplomat, unusual for cab drivers, he said nothing and, 15 minutes later, safely deposited me at my mother's home.
It was only a brief time before my mother and I donned coats to walk to the nearby pub for our booked meal. The pub had not long opened as we arrived, and on crossing the threshold, the distinct aroma of slightly sour beer assaulted my nostrils. It was not a smell I wished to meet, given that I probably still had a fair level of aqua vitae coursing through my veins. Of course, as it was a 'treat' for my mother, she insisted we begin with a glass of bubbly and then drink a decent red wine throughout the meal.
Now nicely 'topped' up for our stroll to my mother's home, on arrival, I said I'd pop upstairs and have a quick laze in the bath to freshen up a bit.
I woke to knocking on the bathroom door and my mother calling my name. My once warm bath water was distinctly chilly as I had been asleep for around 40 minutes. Fortunately, I did not slip beneath the surface, although I suspect it would have been a rude awakening.
The photograph shows Scotland's second national drink, which still outsells its American-born cola rivals. Maybe I should have stuck to drinking that on my celebratory night some thirty years ago!!
Love this, Harry. My grandparents retired to Roseburn Gardens, in the shadow of Murrayfield, when they sold their farm in Biggar so I have fond memories of school holidays staying with them and occupying myself with the streets of the city. The Zoo was a favourite, and I'll add the gargantuan Elephant Seal to the stench of penguins to those memories. The stale smell of the breweries lives long in the nostril! And Jenners, now sadly closed, a victim I suspect of online habits and and unwillingness by the proprietors to change. Many hours were spent with my nose pressed against the glass of cabinets housing model railways, hankering after things way out of my reach. These days we visit when we can, an AirBnB for the most flexibility, bracing walks up to Arthur's Seat and a dip in Portobello replacing childhood whims. Thanks for the memories!
Catching up on my reading and loved this entry! I'm studying abroad in Edinburgh right now and just took my parents (who came all the way from the US) to Mary King's Close today. Such an interesting look into a completely alien past. This great post reminds me that even people from such different places can have similar experiences!