This post will help to set the scene. It's not about my friends in Scotland (who certainly helped make my holiday the best yet) but the people I met casually, and found so interesting that I asked them whether I could take their photograph as a souvenir, explaining that I especially wanted to remember them. I asked their name too, after giving them mine. And every one willingly said who they were, and let me take that shot. Which is remarkable, their so readily obliging a total stranger from far-distant Sussex!
But it just shows how nice people can be. If they felt I was an unwelcome interruption to their day, they were way too polite to show it.
There were plenty of others that I chatted to, some of them really pleasant people, but the circumstances didn't lend themselves to taking a picture and asking their name. There was, for instance, the head man in the welcome team at the Gleneagles Hotel, whom I encountered on the platform at Gleneagles railway station, awaiting the arrival of a guest. He suggested that I visit the hotel for lunch, and was so chuffed when I turned up there half and hour later, that he personally showed me around the ground floor - no doubt to the astonishment of many a guest and member of staff. You will meet him in a future post about this famous five-star Hotel and its world-class golf courses.
Anyway, here are my holiday heroes, in order of encounter.
This smiling first face is a man named Adi from Eyemouth, who runs the snack bar in the lay-by on the northbound side of the AI road, just inside England. He's been there for years.
This lady is called Carol. I had a laugh with her while ordering coffee and cake for myself and a friend in the Café Wemyss at Kirkcaldy Galleries.
This is Richard, who was building these wooden bed-boundaries for a new layout in the Walled Garden at the Castle of Mey, between Thurso and John o'Groats. The Castle of Mey used to be the late Queen Mother's summer residence: she actually owned the castle. Nowadays Prince Charles goes there in August. (In April they had to make do with me)
This bashful chap is Graham, who is one of the volunteer RNLI team at Wick harbour, genuine heroes and heroines who set forth to rescue mariners in distress in that lifeboat behind him, whatever the weather. Did he tell me all about it? Did he give me a one-to-one tour of the lifeboat from the lofty bridge to the spotlessly-clean engine room deep in the boat's bowels? You bet he did. I probably looked school-girlishly keen to see. But gosh, it was interesting!
And this is Jenny and her son Stephen, in Argyle Square in Wick. I met Jenny twice. The first time was within minutes of thanking Graham for his tour, and we had a bit of a chat. Then, an hour later, after I'd taken a sunny walk along the cliffs south of Wick harbour and back through Wick's Conservation Area - Pultneytown - I sat down in this green square to devour a scone with a cup of takeaway tea. And along came Jenny, this time with her son. What a coincidence! As you can see, they didn't mind chatting with me a wee bit more.
South-west along the coast from Wick is Whaligoe, famous for its centuries-old stone Steps down to an inlet where fishing boats used to be kept. It's a long way down, and seems an even longer way up! The Steps need regular attention, and the chap in my photo is Charles, a stone mason. The lady is called Norah, and she is a scientist at Wick General Hospital. It was late in the afternoon, and I'd expected to have the Steps to myself. Encountering Charles first, I had a good talk with him about his work and his local connections (there is a stone memorial to his mother at the top of the Steps). Norah arrived as I was saying goodbye, and we all then had another chat.
A sunny day at Brora. And it's David, a technical teacher at Golspie School, with his wife Rachel. They were working on their garden, their home being one of the shoreline properties here. I was following the footpath, but it seemed to go right across their lawn. David reassured me that I wasn't trespassing: in Scotland there is a right to wander nearly everywhere. I enjoyed talking to them.
Waiting for a train back to Inverness at Lairg railway station was Raschia, a young woman who had been on holiday. I gathered that she'd stayed at both Tain (where her boyfriend was) and Lairg. We agreed that while Tain was a rather nice place, there wasn't an awful lot there to keep a visitor occupied. It lacks buzz. We further agreed that Lairg was even worse. That's a difficulty with these small towns in the far north: if you're used to city life (not that Inverness is especially sophisticated, but it's a teeming and seething metropolis compared to sleepy Lairg) then boredom will intrude. Sorry, Lairg.
I went to Duff House at Banff, which is in the care of Historic Scotland, and encountered three very pleasant members of staff who were keen to inform me about the beauties of the place, and the exhibits within. Here's Morag, at reception:
And inside the house was this roguish chap. His name was Gerard, and despite a twinkling eye, he knew his stuff. He's on the left edge of the shot just below:
We got chatting, and I persuaded him to demonstrate what it was like to sit inside a curious hooded chair that kept the doorman of Duff House safe from night breezes when - a hundred years ago - the place had been a hotel.
I'm sure he wasn't supposed to do that, but I cajoled him into it, and he could hardly refuse. Besides, it gave me a perfect notion of how such a chair would protect your back from draughts. He was a very nice man indeed.
On the next floor up was Louise, who had been very curious to know what Gerard and myself had been laughing so much about.
She was just as well-informed about the house. Really, I was most impressed at the enthusiasm shown by the staff I spoke with. Duff House functions as a cultural centre for this part of Aberdeenshire. If I lived here, I would have at least one decent place to go to. (The tearoom alone would be a draw)
Now it's Ballater, downriver from Balmoral. I'd decided on The Bothy for a bit of lunch, but it was pretty full, and having ordered I saw that I'd have to share a table. I asked these two ladies, Jean and Joy, who readily agreed. Well, we got on really well. They were both there on a morning outing on the bus from Peterculter, making use of their bus passes. Ballater was a fine choice - plenty of good air; the river Dee; lots of walks in the scenic hills north and south of the town; and a good sprinkling of upmarket shops, which historically supplied the Royal Family at Balmoral Castle but nowadays cater mostly for discerning tourists. (I was surprised not to find a Waitrose)
It's Broughty Ferry (Broughty pronounced 'Brotty'), a well-off coastal suburb of Dundee, and this is Stuart, a retired teacher. A sunset was brewing, and he had a Leica M9 around his neck, which caught my eye and started a conversation.
And this is Gillian, a nurse from Glasgow, who is here showing me the inside of the fridge-freezer fitted to her new caravan. She was pitched nearby at the Caravan and Motorhome Club site in Balbirnie Park, at Markinch in Fife. That's a fridge-freezer to die for, if you are a caravanner. Mine is only half the size. Close study of the photo confirms that Gillian was eating very sensibly, apart from some chocolate gateau for the Easter weekend. Entirely foregiveable.
Finally Paul, an Historic Scotland local manager, here holding the fort at Smailholm Tower in the Borders. Like Stuart, Paul is a passionate photographer, and we discussed photo software at length. He is the only person I mentioned my Flickr site to: I wonder if he will get round to taking a look?
This is just a selection of the people I bumped into every day. It mystifies me how it is possible to be lonely. All you need is some daily contact, however fleeting. I accept that some find it very hard to get out there and start talking. Perhaps I radiate cheerfulness, or just look interested. Or perhaps I am a strange inquisitive pest, who needs to be humoured. Who knows.
