Day 42: Inverness, the Black Isle, Rosemarkie, Fairy Glen, and Cromarty

I woke up at 2am this morning in a cold sweat.

When I was in Perth  I had ordered a new bank card and being of no fixed address had arranged to collect it from the bank in Inverness in a week or so.

I was in Beauly. I had passed Inverness and was heading for John O’Groats tomorrow. No bank card.

Fortunately Inverness was only about half an hour south so that was my first port of call today. I passed an interesting looking book store in a church hall building on my way into the Bank so had to call in.

I have already told my girls that if I suddenly pop my clogs, call Oxfam to come and take all the books. In the time I have been away I have sent my long suffering sister five packages of books so what is one more, or two or five even?

It was a sort of mecca for bookaholics. Not only books, old maps and prints

Inverness is the capital of the Highlands, and not since Edinburgh have I seen such a bustling town. Some was undoubtedly due to the arrival of two cruise ships. I did not see the ships, but the shopkeepers eyes were gleaming as they discussed the influx of wealthy tourists, and they posted effusive welcome greetings to the passengers on the Caribbean Princess and the other ship whose name I forget, prominently in their windows.

The other signage prominent in the town was for the Leave campaign. Not leave the UK – leave the EU.

Inverness has a bit of everything one could wish for; a bright clean Eastgate Centre indoor shopping centre (no birdsong in this multi-storey car park however)

And a Victorian market for smaller traders.

They have a pole dancing club called Private Eye Gentleman’s Club.

Its own cathedral and lots of churches too.

Fewer people here seen to be wearing kilts though which perhaps explains this one I spotted in a charity shop.  

“Gents kilt and flashes (for the socks ye ken.)

Hand made in Inverness for Caring and Sharing (the name a charity chain in this region.)

Ancient Urquhart Tartan  - Waist size 32” – 34”  Length 25”

Recommended selling price £500 (yep, that is the going rate in all the kilt manufacturers. )

Our price £250”

They are very expensive and most young men choosing the wear them for weddings and celebrations seem to hire them.

On my way back to the car I spotted a back packer.

He was knocking everyone else off the pavement as he strode out. I cannot think it was real. It would have been impossible to carry for real. I suspect it was a graphic ad for one of the many outdoor product shops that proliferate everywhere in Scotland.

I also ran into a slight altercation outside the railway station where the police outnumbered the protesters.

Although it turned out to be a friendly demonstration bringing mental health issues into public awareness, and the police were not there to detain but to escort them safely along their route and stop traffic where necessary as they went about their legitimate business of waking up the public. Perhaps the police should have been escorting Backpack man and protecting the public from him knocking them into the road and under passing buses.

Card safely collected I headed off to do a trip around the Black Isle just north of Beauly and Inverness. Known in Gaelic as Eilean Dubh it is neither Black so far as I can see, nor indeed an island. It is a peninsular within Ross and Cromarty, but one of the locals suggested that it may have stemmed from the time of King James who used it for hunting. At this point in history the whole area was covered in dark fir trees, and that might have been from where the name originated, or maybe from the fact that the soil in this area of Scotland is the colour of bitter chocolate and very fertile.

The weather was doing a good impression of the stereotype of Scottish summertime. It was damp, overcast and miserable so an ideal time to stay in the car and drive the circular road around this bit of Scotland. And to be perfectly honest, I am not only a bit castled out, but I am also getting a bit blasé about pretty little harbours. And white sandy beaches.

Lorna had told me to stop at Rosemarkie. It was a rose coloured sandstone village and the name seemed appropriate. Close by was a Fairy Glen. Now I have had nought to do with fairy since a holiday in New Zealand where they were certainly commanding my attention, but I needed a break from sitting in the car so went to investigate.

It was a wet walk under dripping trees but nice waterfalls.

Another local told me that it was called Fairy Glen because in the past people who had particular wishes or desires would tie coloured rags to a particular tree in the glen, confident that their desires would be met. I didn’t see any rags tied to any trees, but a nice idea.

I had expected Fortrose to be a big town, but in the time it took me to say its name I was through and out the other side – and no I was not going at 98 miles an hour. Gloria and I were actually dawdling.

So the next place we came to was Cromarty and I LOVED Cromarty. 

Cromarty has well preserved cottages near the water.

Overlooking Cromarty Firth were some very elusive oil rig platforms to me, but what do I know?

It also has fine Georgian buildings and two little gems of museums.

First the Courthouse where happily admission was free. 

It has the usual displays about the history of the town, fishing and hemp manufacture – rope version  not the plant version – and a collection of public archive material just kept in a little cupboard.

Covering such diverse topics as brewing and distilling, emigration and poor relief.

In the courtroom, triggered by opening the door, was an ongoing court case presided over by the local gentry who were hearing a case in 1779, where a man is accused of disorder and intent to harm. It was a true case of the time. It gave me a start because not only the voices but the life sized  models in the dock and behind the bench, looked so realistic.

One is encouraged to sit in the gallery and hear the case out. I did. It was very well done.

Continuing down the stairs and you find yourself in the prison cells. I had to smile as apart from the straw bed and the fact there was only one prisoner in the cell (model of one) it looked just like the Victorian prison cells I worked in as a teacher for nine years. Only there, two men to a cell.

Until I saw the photograph art gallery in the officers room I had no idea my photos of grave stones could be called art. Here the exhibition was called Symbols of Eternity. Now there’s an idea.....

Next door to the Courthouse was a Scottish National Trust building, once home to a remarkable Victorian called Hugh Miller. I knew absolutely nothing about Hugh, and would probably have given the museum a miss if I had simply seen it on an itinerary, but it was just next door and another Scottish National Trust gem.

 

A beautiful little garden had been set up as a memorial to Hugh who was very much a renaissance man: theologian, scientist, banker, stone mason and journalist.

As a newspaper editor he was fond of sledgehammer journalism and didn’t care who he offended in his search for independent news telling and truth. Hurray, a man after my own heart. He was also very involved in the free church movement. I think he was a bit of a genius.

The cottage exhibition told his story and had a fine display of the fossils he collected that also made his name...

He was born in the cottage and lived in the Georgian house next door to it for some of his life.

I found it quite charming. I liked it as much as JM Barrie’s house in Falkirk, and like JM Barrie he was told stories of fairies, ghosts myths and legends by his mother as they sat around the fire and developed as a writer and collector of fairy tales as an adult.

Tragically he committed suicide on a Christmas eve in 1856 when he was just 54, driven mad by pains in his head that may have been a brain tumour.

Cromarty is a lovely little town. There was a local market in the village hall while I was there with people selling art work and local food. There were some very striking photo montages on the walls of the hall of local people and their lives and families. Terrific idea.

There was a lovely art gallery and a pottery in the town down by the beach,

Some attractive restaurants, and a well stocked antique and collectible shop in the high street that had some very interesting items in the window, but alas no more room in Gloria for collectibles.

Obviously Cromarty is an arty place.

I asked about the oil rigs and it appears they are in the Cromarty firth for renovation and repair.  

I skipped going in to Chanonry Point on the off chance of seeing Moray Firth dolphins, because one of the locals told me the tides were not right for a sighting.

Time to head for Beauly and pack for John O’ Groats.