May 22, 2011: Losts, Frank, and Beatrix Potter

A Day of Lost

Some people party too hardily and end up with a lost day.  We didn’t do anything wrong and had a day of “losts.”  First, when we left Crieff to drive into the Highlands for a week in our timeshare, the B&B was very busy.  John was chatting with a pal who had come to visit and Jacky was busy taking care of guests who were paying and asking directions.  We waited a few minutes to say our farewells but decided we’d get on the road and not interrupt.  Besides, we knew we’d be back in twelve days.  About an hour down the road Anne got a call on our mobile from Jacky.  Both Jacky and John were concerned because they had “lost” us--they hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.  That was “lost” number one.  “Lost” number two came when we rang in at the B&B we had booked in Stonehaven.  Bill came to the door, but looked stupified when we said we had a reservation.  He said there was no booking, but changed his tune when we showed him the confirmation email he had sent us.  When we reminded him we were the travel guide writers he hurriedly got us into the best accommodation in the house.  The third “lost” of the day came at dinner at the fancy Creel Inn in the wee village of Catterline along the North Sea.  We ordered wine and dinner--crab soups as starters and a main for each of us.  The wine was delivered about ten minutes later, but after thirty minutes we still didn’t have even our starter.  I finally checked with one of the three hovering wait staff who said our meals would be right out.  About five minutes later a waiter sheepishly (after all, we were in sheep country) came to our table and admitted they’d lost our order.  Goodbyes, accommodations, and dinner all lost on this day.  

Golf with Frank

The story of playing golf with Frank at Balfron Golf Club in the Trossachs near Loch Lomand begins with leaving Crieff in bright sun and only scattered clouds.  By the time I reached Stirling, 22 miles away, the clouds were increasing.  At Buchlyvie (I’ll give you the pronunciation later) the rain started in earnest and by the time I reach Balfron GC four miles further on it was a mix of rain and hail.  I sat in the car for five minutes until the rain let up a bit.  Putting on my rain gear and taking five clubs out of my bag so I could carry, I started up the hill to the clubhouse where I was to deliver a copy of Hidden Gems II to the club manager and then play the course for a second time. Brian wasn’t in the clubhouse or anywhere around, but Frank was.  Frank directed me into the small members area and I put the book on Brian’s desk.  Then it was time to decide whether to play in the still dripping rain or bag it and drive back to Crieff.  Frank was considering the same decision.  Finally, I said I’d give it a go and Frank asked, “Fancy a playing partner?” It seems he too had decided to risk the iffy weather. Together we headed to the first tee.

Let me tell you about Frank.  Seventy-years old, he had worked for 44 years on electrical power lines all over Scotland.  He’d been a member of this club for ten years and kept saying he wasn’t a very good golfer.  He was actually quite decent, probably an 18 or 20 handicap and he played strictly by the rules.  He had what he described as a “shinty swing”-- shinty being an ancient Scottish team game played with a hockey-type stick and ball.  Shinty is thought to be the foundation game of both Irish Hurling and North American Ice Hockey.  Frank’s shinty swing was with wide stance and hands slightly apart.  It wasn’t a classic golf swing, but it was effective for hitting the ball a good distance although his short range accuracy wasn’t sharp.  Frank made a good playing partner as he helped me play my way around the course I’d only played once before.  What made Frank most interesting though was his manner of speech.  He had a way of slurring and mumbling that made me think he might be from Yorkshire and a familiar laugh, a sort of “ha,ha,he,he,he,” that took me a few holes to place.  Frank’s speech pattern and laugh was that of the character Jim Trotter from The Vicker of Dibley British TV show.  Once I realized that, I kept waiting for Frank to say, “No,no,no,no...yes.”

Frank congratulated me for winning our match on the 13^th hole, even though I hadn’t known we were playing a match.  We finished our round in the dry--it had been spitting rain most of the way around--and in only three hours and five minutes.  We’d been moving so fast up and down the hills of Balfron GC that I’d barely had time to grab a handful of peanuts on the 16^th.  Frank introduced me around to the members getting ready to go out, wished me a good rest of my trip, and then invited me come to the course and play again as his guest.  

On the drive back to Crieff I realized that my round with Frank is a perfect example of why we spend so much time in Scotland.  Oh, yes, and Buchlyvie is pronounced “buck′-lee-aye.” 

Beatrix Potter Country

Anne got to plan part of this spring’s trip--the Lake District visit to Beatrix Potter country.  While she got to plan it, I had to drive some of the narrowest, tightest roads in Britain in heavy rain.  First stop on our tour was the village of Hawkshead and the Beatrix Potter Gallery where we saw many Potter original drawings and paintings.  The best of Hawkshead, though, was the Hawkshead Grammar School, a school William Wordsworth attended.  His name was carved into one of the desks, but as the attendant said, “Nobody knows for sure that he was the carver.” 

From Hawkshead the road even got smaller to the villages of Near Sawrey and Far Sawrey.  Far Sawrey was just the ferry point across Windermere Lake, but Near Sawrey was home to Beatrix Potter, author of many more stories than just the Peter Rabbit I knew.  Her home, Hilltop House, and garden were open for touring and the small house was a welcome refuge from the constant rain.  In each room one of Potter’s books was open to a particular page and the game was to figure out what on the page was referenced in the room (ie., a particular view out the window or the fireplace). 

More to my liking was the the Tower Bank Arms (pub), mentioned in many of her stories, and a great place for a half of Guiness and a chicken, bacon, and mayo sandwich.  

The final stop of the day was at the Armitt Museum in Ambleside which featured many of Beatrix Potter’s drawings of mushrooms and fungi--she was considered quite a mycologist until some prestigious society rejected her drawings and she turned instead to children’s stories.  Despite the rain Anne was in heaven the whole day, and I even found things of interest.  I just wish the roads were a little wider.