Loveliest spot

Nehchal Sandhu

Our overnight stay in Spean Bridge in the Scottish Western Highlands culminated in our host trying to cajole us into tarrying for another day. Mr McCluskey expatiated on walking trails in the proximate Grey Corries, affording spectacular views of Ben Nevis and lower Munros. And nearby training grounds used by elite commandos during the Second World War, dominated now by an elegant monument. He also presented the possibility of the peerless experience of ‘dining on the line’ in a Victorian Railway Station turned into a classy restaurant. His valiant effort notwithstanding, discretion being the better part of valour, I tamely helmed the snout of the car south-westwards in order not to fall foul of the decree issued by my wife about returning to Cleckheaton in Yorkshire more than 350 miles away by nightfall.

Speeding past the unremarkable Ben Nevis distillery, we were soon in Fort William, the second largest town in the Highlands named after Prince William, known to the Scots as the “Butcher of Cumberland” for ruthlessly suppressing the Jacobite uprising in the mid-18th century. Serving basically as a base for climbers, skiers, and the like, it did not offer any noteworthy sights. What followed on the route was Rannoch Moor, a boggy moorland, reckoned to cover 40-50 square miles, with significant peat deposits and some wildlife. Its treacherous sub-stratum had posed quite an engineering challenge during construction of the singular road and rail alignments that traverse it. We exited the Highlands at Crianlarich, a village remarkable for a rather low railway bridge. The first halt was at Stirling Castle, one of the largest castles in Scotland located on a volcanic crag astride the line separating the Highlands from the Lowlands. It had often housed members of the Scottish royalty, who enjoyed hunting game found aplenty in the vicinity. Well-preserved large and intricate hand-woven tapestries capturing the atmosphere of Scotland’s Royal Court were a special attraction therein. Stragglers from a disembodied Highlander Regiment awaiting absorption into other units were in the process of vacating their quarters within the Castle. About 90 miles from Stirling, we passed through Lockerbie that had hosted a Second World War Prisoner of War camp for Ukrainian members of the German SS. Some six weeks later, this unremarkable town was to attract world attention: debris of the bombed Pan Am Flight 103 fell there. None of its 270 passengers and crew survived and another 10-odd locals on the ground perished.

A further 10 miles saw us cross the Scottish border into England and after yet another 10 miles, we got to Carlisle, the “Great Border City” which had flourished in the 19th century with mills and engineering units spawned during the Industrial Revolution; it was earlier an important supply point for forts along Hadrian’s Wall. The City Centre with a castle, cathedral and semi-intact city walls, largely pedestrianised, was a delight to walk through, providing a peep into its history back into Roman times. Responding to a tip from the salesman at a fuel station, we made a brief halt at Penrith, on the northern margin of the Lake District National Park, not to see its many tanneries and breweries but to get a sense of the tradition of “well-dressing”. Known for its many wells, Penrith is one of the seats of a ritual in which wells and other water sources are decorated with floral designs in May each year. Sketches made on wooden frames covered with clay are filled with flowers, moss, beans, seeds and other natural materials. It is speculated that veneration of wells began as a pagan custom of registering gratitude to the Gods for a reliable water supply.

It was past mid-day and we were nearing the high point of the day: the Lake District National Park, which has attracted international tourists in millions each year. Our circuit commenced at Keswick, wedged between Bassenthwaite and Derwentwater Lakes, which became home for Samuel Taylor Coleridge in the early 19th century. He frequently received fellow poet William Wordsworth, who lived 12 miles away in Grasmere village, which the latter described as “the loveliest spot that man hath ever found”. Poet Percy Shelley, historical novelist Sir Walter Scott, authors Charles and Mary Lamb and essayist William Hazlitt, who were also hosted by Coleridge at his Greta Hall abode, wrote eloquently about the beauty of the environs. Skirting Thirlmere Lake, we got to Bowness on the ribbon-like Windermere Lake, the most visited among the 21 lakes in the National Park. And, sadly, we were drowned amidst hordes of tourists milling around waiting variously for a boat ride, or a meal, or entry into one of many souvenir shops. We beat a hasty retreat in search of renewed contact with nature. And this we achieved in Ilkley Moor, famous for the “Cow and Calf,” with the former represented by a rocky outcrop and the latter by a boulder. This was not far from where, one year earlier, a retired policeman had photographed an UFO and what he believed to be an alien.

At the end of a long day, my wife and I rejoiced at a friend’s home in Cleckheaton for different reasons — she since the tiresome two-day road journey covering more than 750 miles had ended, and I for having had the opportunity to see some very beautiful parts of Central Scotland and a few in England. 

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