Of neck-warmers, neck-gaiters, snoods and possibly wimples

Neck warmers are definitely 'in' this winter, although I don't suppose they have ever been 'out'. This said, I've not been aware of them in their current form before. But I now have one. 

What is a neck warmer? It's a short tube of fabric, woven or knitted, woollen or man-made fibre, that fits loosely around one's neck, to keep it warm more efficiently than a scarf will. And unlike a scarf, there is nothing that hangs down your front, to get tangled with your bag strap, or indeed your camera strap, or (if you walk in the country) will catch on thorn bushes or barbed-wire fences. It's a neater garment entirely, and doesn't require constant adjustment. 

I arrived at my cousin Rosemary's yesterday, and she immediately showed me one that her local friend Anne had knitted for her. This Anne has been making them for Christmas. Rosemary too is now making them. She urged me to try hers on, to see if I liked it. I did, and was surprised to find that I liked it very much, particularly as it was in various shades of grey, and went with my coat perfectly. Actually, it would go with nearly all my coats and jackets. 

Rosemary said she had plenty of wool, and could knit me one in a bright colour very quickly. I thanked her, but said I'd rather have a grey one like the one I still had on. Whereupon she said, 'Have that then.' 'Really? Are you sure?' 'Absolutely. I've made another for myself, a blue one, and can easily make more.' 'OK, I'll gladly accept this one, and thank you very much indeed!'  

Thus it was that we set off for Canterbury in Fiona, both wearing a neck-warmer. Here I am, after lunch, outside the Fenwick department store loo, taking two shots in a big mirror to show what my grey neck-warmer looks like:

And here's a shot of Rosemary wearing hers, when later on we had tea and cake at our favourite place in Canterbury, Tiny Tim's Tea Room. This picture gives you a somewhat better idea of what the thing looks like:

It hangs around your neck in a series of folds, and it's perfectly possible to pull it up at the back and bring it over you head, to form a kind of hood, so that your ears are protected and well as your neck. It's rather more stylish than a balaclava helmet would be.

You can buy these neck-warmers ready-made in outdoor shops, especially just now, or you can knit them at home. Rosemary has texted me the knitting instructions, which go as follows (in her words):

Neck warmer

About 100 gms chunky yarn.

(You can use double knit putting two strands together. )

Using 6mm or 6.5ml needles depending on tension cast on 77 stitches. Do 4 rows in garter stitch then change to stocking stitch until knitting measures 11.5 inches. Do 4 more rows garter stitch then cast off. Sew sides together to make a tube. Job done - simple. 

I imagine most women can turn out a home-made version in a jiffy. I can't, never having acquired much in the way of domestic skills. Kirche, Küche und Kinder were never my thing.  

The neck warmer Rosemary gave me carried a whiff of perfume - pleasant, but I prefer no fragrance at all - and so I've given it a quick hand-wash and it will soon be dry and ready to wear again. And none too soon - it's perishing cold outside! 

These things go under other names. I've seen neck-gaiter, which sounds odd to me. And they are also called snoods, although I thought that a snood was a longish loop of fabric, very much like a scarf with the ends joined together, Or at least that was what the snood I bought at Debenhams in Taunton on 7th November 2011 looked like. It was a very chilly day, and I hadn't brought a scarf along, so I was very glad to buy a snood instead. It cost £20, which is about £28 in 2022 money. This is what it looked like. These shots were taken five days later at Tyntesfield and Clevedon Pier:

As you can see, it was voluminous! Because of that, and because beige wasn't an exciting colour, I reverted to ordinary scarves after a while, if I wore a scarf at all. Somehow a scarf seemed easier to wear, despite its length and the way scarves flap about in the wind. I think my new neck-warmer will be easier still, with that hood capability as an extra.

It strikes me as funny that the word 'snood' - which sounds so medieval - should still have currency, especially when it might be made of a high-tech material nowadays. I await the revival of the wimple!

Finally, I can't resist revisiting my 2021 write-up of one of the accessories that came with my previous Leica camera, the X-U. See my post The X-U - part 2 on 28th August 2021. This was a bright blue neoprene tube, with drawstrings at each end, plus toggles. It was meant to be a multi-purpose thing.  It could obviously be drawn over the camera, to protect it from dust or smoke, or to hide the fact that I was carrying a Leica around:  

And I also (rather facetiously) suggested that it could be used to fend off strong sunshine, or chill winds, by being worn around the neck:

But I'm not so sure now that this was as ludicrous as I thought. Maybe the neoprene tube was meant to be a neck-warmer, among its many other possible uses. Even so, surely not as cosy as the one I have now. 

Riding the furthest north train from Georgemas Junction

This year's five-week Scottish Caravan Holiday was obviously rather special. It took me to the northernmost tip of Northern Scotland, and then further north to Orkney. I made the most of it. I took 6,500 photos during that five weeks, most of them while in Scotland itself, and the bulk of them way up north. It's fair to say that Scotland has an enduring appeal for me, despite its cooler weather and its many remote parts. 

I'd go so far as to say that, despite being Welsh, I'd much prefer to move to Scotland if ever I were forced to leave Sussex. Whether that would be wise - considering my age, likely medical needs, and the fact that I would essentially be going into virtual exile - is something to be considered very carefully. But I've already placed certain parts of Scotland onto a shortlist. Northern Scotland is top of it, and within that broad region the Moray Firth (with Inverness handy) would be the most sensible choice. But having seen what is up there, I think I should think seriously about Orkney too. 

It struck me that people who move to such parts are looking for an enhanced quality of life. Space, fresh air and fine unspoiled scenery; plenty of wildlife; outdoor activities of all kinds; a rich cultural legacy; and modern facilities within easy reach - provided one has access to fast main roads and the towns. If I moved there, I would soon establish myself in the local scene. I'd make many new friends. I like good food and art and history - well, there's plenty of that. I'd be in my photographic element. To cap it all, house prices are modest: I could sell up in Sussex, buy a very nice place indeed - and of course a new car - and still have plenty of cash left in the bank. 

Mind you, in view of the distances involved, I might have to get used to flying, something I'm not so keen on. But as far as I can see that's the only downside for a retired but active lady of leisure, who would still want to visit places down south on a regular basis. Still, for years to come - given all that money in the bank - I could afford to make long trips in that new car, with comfortable overnight stops to smooth over the wear and tear of travel. 

It sounds as if I've made up my mind! No, it's just a possibility. I like Sussex, and at present there's no reason whatever to uproot myself. 

But undeniably, there are times in one's life when uprooting oneself is exactly the right thing to do. I met a forty-something person who had done just this, when riding a train in Caithness on 16th September. 

A train in Caithness? Yes, I'm talking about a short section of the Far North Line, which starts in Inverness, and proceeds through Dingwall, Invergordon, Tain, Lairg, Golspie and Helmsdale to Georgemas Junction, where it goes sideways on a branch line to Thurso, the most northerly mainland town in Scotland, then returns to Georgemas Junction, and carries on to Wick, the terminus. I'd called by in Fiona at Georgemas Junction, just to see the station again, and had discovered that very shortly one of the four daily trains from Wick was due to stop there. It would go first to Thurso, return to Georgemas Junction, and then proceed southwards to Inverness. 

Well, this was a chance to ride on the most northern section of line in Great Britain! It might never recur. I grasped the opportunity. However pointless it might seem, I would catch this train, ride on it to Thurso, then come straight back. Just for the hell of it. It would be an experience. Perhaps it was something that very few people ever did. But that only enhanced its appeal.

I had ten minutes or so to wait. I contemplated Georgemas Junction. It was, by the way, quite familar. I'd come here before, in 2010, then again in 2019. It's in an exposed position in the midst of open countryside, with no town or village nearby. The nearest place is Halkirk, nearly two miles distant by road. Adjacent is a yard for loading or unloading heavy freight, such as lengths of pipeline and timber, and nuclear waste from Dounreay. Originally Georgemas Junction had two platforms, linked by a footbridge. This was so in 2010. But in 2012 one of the passenger platforms was sacrificed to allow the installation of a freight siding and a modern lifting gantry. I saw that change on my last visit in 2019. I don't think these extra facilities have seen much use. 

The remaining passenger platform hasn't seen many travellers either. Apparently the regular pre-Covid usage was 1,500-odd passengers a year - a little less than 30 per week, or maybe 5 per day. You wonder who they could have been! The train service is, however, rather good, as each of the four daily trains to and from Wick calls twice at the junction, in order to visit Thurso. So that makes 4 x 2 x 2 = 16 trains stopping there each day from Monday to Saturday, easily the best train service in Caithness. And the trains have to stop. On each occasion the driver gets out of his cab to move the Thurso points - I saw him do this.  

As for passenger facilities, there is a free car park, a bicycle rack, some information boards, and a modern but draughty shelter. I'd hate to be waiting here for a late-running train on a winter evening!

Here are some 2022 views. 

Left, the line to all parts south. Right, the branch line to Thurso. Centre, the ground frame that the train driver operates, to set the road for Thurso or the south.

That station house, mostly boarded up now, is a time capsule. There are still dusty windows you can peer through and see inside. Within, a scene that hasn't changed for decades, with posters dating from the 1980s. The station house must be used for something - see those first-floor windows in good order, and there are some electrical fittings inside too. But the guard on the train I caught told me that he had never yet seen anybody inside that building. A mystery then. 

Perhaps there is the hope that a private person will one day buy the station house and turn it into a home. People do. Here's an example, seen in 2019 at Watten, further up the line on the final run into Wick:  

It was another occasion when a train was due, and I just happened to stop by at the right moment to see it - although it would simply rumble through here and not stop, as Watten station closed long ago, in 1960. But you can still see the old platforms. People who live so close to the railway are often rail enthusiasts, or have some past connection to the railway, and embellish their gardens with railway paraphernalia, and generally preserve any surviving features. 

I got fine shots of the train as it came through, Wick-bound.

These station houses certainly get a really close-up trackside view, a pleasant amenity here. Not so pleasant next to a busy main line further south, though. How would you get any good sleep? 

Back to my contemplation of Georgemas Junction.

It's all neat and tidy, but despite the sunshine a trifle bleak, and as the minutes passed I debated whether to wait in Fiona or stick it out in the cold. The spartan shelter provided precious little comfort. I was very glad of my gloves and woolly hat!

Aha! I spy with my little eye something beginning with T.

The guard hopped out, and I asked him whether I could buy a ticket to Thurso and back, the important point being whether the train would drop me off and reunite me with Fiona. Yes, I could, and it would. So I hopped aboard, and into the delicious warmth inside.

Now where to sit? The train had started from Wick almost empty, and I had an enormous choice. I was feeling rather excited. This was such an adventure!

I selected a seat facing forwards on the right-hand (platform) side of the carriage. 

We were about to depart. Oh dear, there was Fiona. Would she be all right? What were the chances that somebody would visit Georgemas Junction while I was gone, and do harm to her, or steal her? Actually, the chances were desperately slim. So be it. I promised my beloved car that I would return and rescue her. But she looked positively forlorn as the train moved off.

Meanwhile the guard came to my seat to sell me the return tickets. Here he is. 

We got into conversation. We had plenty of time. I asked him his name: James. 'That's a good Scottish name,' I replied. Actually, he said, he was from Bristol, and had moved up to Inverness a little while back. Turning forty, he had suddenly felt too old for the young-professional kind of city life, stuck in an office, and had yearned for something different - a predominantly outdoor occupation in wild countryside. His Far North Line job was just the ticket. 260 miles a day, meeting all kinds of people. He was so glad he'd made the move. 

He was in equal measure amused and intrigued that I wanted to make this return journey just for fun. I explained that I was on holiday from distant Sussex, and this was a journey I'd long wanted to make. And it might also be my only opportunity - who knows whether I'd ever be here again. It wasn't a cheap pleasure. The tickets cost me £5.40. For a twelve-mile round trip, without getting out at Thurso. But of course, I felt the experience would be worth the money, and I came away with a tangible paper souvenir, now tucked away inside my bag. Here's a shot of those tickets: 

I realised afterwards that I could have got a one-third discount, by flashing my Senior Railcard. But in my excitement I forgot all about it.

On the first leg to Thurso I concentrated on watching the view, and took no photos worth showing here. There was time at Thurso to get out of the carriage and snatch a few shots of the station. James gave me a thumbs-up sign.

Quite few people got on at Thurso, which to my own mind is a busier place than Wick, being not only on the very popular North Coast 500 tourist route, but also close to the Orkney ferry at Scrabster. It was no surprise that a couple with rather expensive-looking bicycles got on board, and spent time securing their bikes so that they wouldn't fall over, and stashing their panniers above on the rack. The girl had some trouble detaching her panniers. They must have been well-filled and heavy.

I asked the man where they were bound. The answer was all the way back to Glasgow, changing at Inverness. It was already approaching five o'clock. They didn't expect to reach Glasgow much before midnight. 

James had more to do on the return leg to Georgemas Junction. 

As for myself, I was still on a high. I always like a train ride, and this one was living up to expectations and then some. The passing scenery wasn't spectacular of course. Caithness is generally flattish, with gentle slopes cut by the occasional river. Coming out of Thurso, the first couple of miles ran beside the Thurso River in its valley, and with the sun out, I got a few half-decent shots like these:

Then all too soon we were back at Georgemas Junction. Some of the other passengers glanced up in surprise as I rose from my seat and made for the exit, ready to press the door-open button. Happily, Fiona was still there.

Out onto the platform, I passed the driver, walking forward not only to change ends, but to operate the ground frame. James was at the other end, waiting. 

I thanked him for a great ride that I would regard as one of the highlights of my holiday. He cheerfully gave me one more photo. 

I have to say, I do not know why the train companies are insisting that trains can make do with just the driver. The guard has many obvious duties, not least to assist passengers on and off trains and to dealt with their queries, as well as ticketing. Maybe there are special circumstances, such as on London Underground trains, when a guard might be superfluous. But on ordinary trains like this he seems indispensable.  

I watched the train depart. I dare say this will prove to be a unique experience, at least on this line, and I'm so glad I seized my chance.