flashback: a lousy day in Scotland, June 1975

A retrospective series of a trip to the UK in 1975, recreated from travel journal, letters to friends, and photos.  The photos were slides that I finally had scanned in 2009.  Place names from my journals and slide captions might be wrong.

From a tourist brochure of the time:

In the interest of full travel journal exposure, I am including this lousy day with few photos.

from my scrapbook

Monday, 23 June 1975

2 PM [Having left The Isle of Skye] Now on the train pulling out of Mallaig Station.  There were sheep and lambs standing and lying under a stopped train next to us.  Even though I mourn leaving Skye, the most beautiful place ever, it is good to be on a train.   [I had a Britrail pass, and because I was trying to save my money, I tried only to travel to where the trains went.] I enjoy the trains immensely—that lovely clacking of the wheels and the whistle calling.

Cheese for lunch—delicious cheese from the Orkney Islands that was only about $1 a pound on Skye!  I am going to skip the Lake District [now I regret that so much!] and will take two days less in Wales so that I can go tomorrow to Lochranza, on the Isle of Arran, from which I can take the ferry to Claonaig, on the Kintyre Peninsula, from which it is ten miles to W. Tarbert, from which I can take a ferry to the Isle of Islay. [This was more Donovan inspiration because of his song by that name.]

I like the little black and white sheep dogs here.  Two befriended me on Skye, one in Waternish and one in Broadford.  They are sweet, loving dogs—now my favourite kind.  They abound in the highlands and islands.

At the hostel in Broadford on Skye, at first I thought the warden was friendly and jolly, but we later came to believe his humour was really sarcasm! He seemed to not really like young people.  He told me, “Their attempts to cook are pathetic!” and that they seemed ‘helpless”.

Saturday night, a young woman asked him if he could recommend a church.  He said he did not go to church because 11:00 AM is when his real work begins.  (Hostels close from 11-5 for cleaning.)  He added that besides, he’d have to be a Christian, wouldn’t he, and that anyone who believes in an afterlife is naive, because there is only one life.  She got pushy about him going to church and he got rude and she went upstairs.

[On this day, I took the train back to Larbert, stayed overnight with at the parental home of my Scottish penpal, J___, and picked up my heavier luggage that I had left for the Skye trip.  Mary had left Skye earlier than me, had spent the night in Edinburgh, and had already been through Larbert to pick up her luggage and her case of books from her time in Israel.]

Wednesday, 25 June 1975

Yesterday was awful.  I had bought a beautiful Scottish blanket [woven, soft wool and dark red; I still have it] and it cost me £2.50 to mail it.  I am so worried about running out of money.  Then, because I had stupidly left my hostel card in Skye, I had to telegram the warden to ask him to mail it to Wales—another £1.06.  But I did work out with a travel agent that I could afford to go to Islay—about £5 for ferries but only £1.50 for a bed and breakfast. Cheaper than the £2 London YWCA!  So after almost missing my train from Larbert….

J seeing me off as the train leaves the Larbert station.

….I took British Rail to the coast, to Ardrossan, and got a £1.75 return ticket to Brodick, Isle of Arran.  I felt lonely and kind of scared traveling alone without Mary. Arran was a lush and flowery green place, quite touristy, and the scenery looked overstuffed after Skye’s simple lines.  Then when I got to Arran, I would have to go 15 miles to Lochranza, a town at the tip, to take the ferry to a town on Kintyre, then 15 more miles to another town, then take a two hour steamer to Islay.  I was planning to take great photos and make some Christmas present books illustrating Donovan’s song.

How high the gulls fly
O’er Islam
How sad the farm lad
deep in play
Felt like a grain on your sand

How  well the sheep’s bell
music makes
Roving the cliff
when fancy takes
Felt like a tide left me here

How blessed the forest
with birdsong
How neat the cut peat
laid so long
Felt like a seed on your land

approaching the Isle of Arran with high hopes

on the Isle of Arran

When I got to Brodick on Arran, I planned to hitchhike at the cars from the ferry and if no luck, take the bus.  A ride instead of the bus could save me £2.50.  I had no luck hitching so I went to take the bus.  The driver said it would be only 35p, but then he said I and I alone had to put my backpack in the boot.  The door was very heavy and I would have to lift the door over my head with one hand and lift my big frame back pack up way over my head with the other.  I simply could not do it and the driver just left me there. [Looking back, this is so strange.  I think it is quite probable that the driver just did not like “hippies”.] I tried to hitchhike, praying I would get to Lochranza in time because the ferry left in just one hour.  I got a ride for seven miles but not all the way and I missed the last ferry.  I had to give up and hitchhike back and I got a lot of “dirty hippie” looks  and 50 cars passed me and I was afraid I would not even get back to the last Brodick ferry, and if I missed it, where would I stay?  The buses, I had been told, would not stop between towns. The people on Skye were so friendly, maybe because it was less touristy? that I got spoiled.

Finally, after considerable walking, I got a ride for the last of the seven miles back to Brodick and caught the last ferry back to Ardrossan and caught the train to Glasgow.

When I got back to Glasgow, it was evening and the city seemed rough and scary.  I was afraid to find the hostel, so I called J in Larbert and asked if I could stay one more night.  My cold had come back and I had to sit in the smoking car.  In Larbert, a kind man helped me get my pack from a pile of suitcases that had been put around it.  I walked to J’s house and I had only had 4 hours of sleep and J watched a documentary on television till one AM and because I got there so late, I was hungry but had not bought myself a can of food because of the shops being closed. No snack was offered. It was clear that I was no longer welcome. This morning, J did not see me off at the station.  I could tell when she saw me off from the house that she was well sick of me.  [This is no exaggeration.  Both Mary and I have spoken many times since of how neither sister ever wrote back to us again, even though I wrote to them apologizing for any bad guest behavior. Maybe they did not appreciate me coming to their house with a cold! I wonder now if I ever thought to offer them any money for meals.  I do know we helped with the dishes… I learned for sure that houseguests and fish stink after three days!]

  I barely made the train from Glasgow to Crewe and the bridie I bought for breakfast was half raw. I can’t find the Vicks inhaler that I bought for my cold. I feel that the young men across the aisle, who are not speaking English, are looking at me with laughing comments that I cannot understand. I hope my luck improves!  At least I am feeling cheerful about finally going to Wales.

A map of the no good horrible very bad day. Larbert was very close to Stirling. Map from Google, 2018

 Later: my luck has improved.  In a bakery, I got a big egg cucumber and tomato sandwich in a bun with lettuce, and a big apple tart and two bridies for later, all for 41p.

from my scrapbook

 Next: better days in Wales