Edinburgh in October

This is plainly ridiculous, but . . .

For the sake of completeness, here's a short post about the remainder of my day in Edinburgh six weeks ago! There's nothing like running a little behind with one's blog.

At the opposite end of Bruntsfield Place from Halibut & Herring, resides The Children's Bookshop - home of Fidra Books and brainchild of Vanessa of the Fidra Blog ("The ramblings of a book-lover who created her dream job… ").

How very nice it was to have the chance to pop in and say 'hi' to Vanessa (above left) and some of her team - and, of course to choose a book each for the SDs. And these are the books which, with Vanessa's expert assistance, I posted home to the tribe:

After a quick but very welcome cup of coffee, I dashed across the road and hopped on a bus for my next destination, Princes Street, and thence to the Best Bar in Edinburgh. Where I enjoyed a surprise lunch (and a Guinness, naturally) with a very dear friend.

Apart from the wonderful decor, what I love about this place is that if you order a sandwich, what arrives at the table is a sandwich with salad and chips! Brilliant.

After that, it was tea at The Dome , which was already, in mid-October, lavishly decorated for Christmas.

I'm not a big fan of early decorations, but these were so unbelievably splendid that I let them off. By now, there will be a lofty Christmas tree rising up into the dome itself.

I have never in my life taken a photograph in a public (or indeed any other kind, come to think of it) lavatory, but the ladies' loos at The Dome are so sumptuous as to necessitate the quick snap above (bit blurry, but you get the general idea, and it's not minimalist).

My whirlwind day-trip ended, emotionally for me, at the National Gallery of Scotland , a stroll through the Princes Street Gardens, and back to Waverley Station for my return trip to Berwick.
A day I shall remember always.

Halibut & Herring

Having enjoyed the most beautiful late-autumnal weather on Lindisfarne and on my first day in Coldingham, last week, it was slightly disappointing to emerge from Edinburgh's Waverley Station to be greeted by dismal dampness (or dreich, as one might say, were one a genuine Scot).

The brightly coloured autumn leaves in Princes Street gardens were blowing in every direction, and landing in great sodden heaps and drifts. It was all a far cry from the crisp, bright, sunshine which made my last visit such a joy.

Still, I had at least arrived in the beautiful city as planned, so I decided to eschew public transport and walk south-westwards through the rain (which, in fact, soon cleared up), across a corner of The Meadows to Bruntsfield Place. My intended destination (of which more in a subsequent post) lay at the far end of this fascinating street, which gave me plenty of opportunity to explore any number of interesting little shops - my favourite of which was the charming Halibut & Herring.

One of the most visually appealing emporia I've encountered anywhere, Halibut & Herring is full of good and unusual things - jewellery, homeware, smelly bath stuff, scarves and bags, toys, cards and more besides. I bought a few little treats for my girls and some other presents (not shown below) to keep for birthdays and the festive season. All very reasonably priced, and all utterly scrumptious.

Wendy Beaumont, who owns the shop, was delightfully friendly and helpful, and it was rather difficult to tear myself away. Indeed, had I not been mindful of the fact that anything I purchased would have to be lugged home on the train via London in the rush hour, I should certainly have stayed longer and ticked more items off my Christmas gift list.

SD#3's new pink cupcake apron was an immediate success and inspired the manufacture of several dozen chocolate crispy cakes on Sunday.

Of which, three days later, not one remains . . .

Coldingham Bay beach huts

Regular readers will be familiar with the beach huts here on the Muddy Island (see, eg here and here and here and, for the views of another islander, here).

Last week I walked on the beach and climbed the surrounding cliffs in Coldingham Bay, Berwickshire. Here are some of my TBTM pics from that gloriously sunny autumn morning (click to enlarge). And see how different the beach huts are from the ones back home!

Sea Change - the voyage

Addendum to previous post on Sea Change: The Summer Voyage from East to West Scotland of the "Anassa", by Mairi Hedderwick: I completely forgot to include this essential and most attractive map, showing the route taken by Mairi and her Captain (click to enlarge):

I do so love hand-drawn maps.

Off to Scotland again myself soon. Hurrah!

Sea Change

Occasionally one plucks a book from the TBR mountain, seemingly at random, which turns out to be Just Exactly Right.

For me, Sea Change: The Summer Voyage from East to West Scotland of the "Anassa", by Mairi Hedderwick - which has been sitting on the TBR pile for literally years, since I acquired it when last in the Hebrides - proved, last week, Precisely Perfect in Every Way.

Regular readers may in fact remember that I was resolved to make a start on it way back in May, when I mused about my family's love of the author's delightful Katie Morag stories . But I was sidetracked by other books and it became submerged. My 'summer reading' has ranged from sporadic to non-existent - just too much else going on. But I suddenly remembered it and it seemed like a good choice of beach reading in Mersea Week, when boats are - even more than usual - the island's defining theme.

Sea Change opens with a couple of quotes, the second of which is from Better Small Boat Sailing by John Fisher (1955): 'Two kinds of women take to boats - those who like it and those who fear to be left behind.'

Born in Gourock, Mairi Hedderwick took a job, at the age of 17, as a mother's help on the Island of Coll in the Hebrides and there began a life-long love affair with islands and small communities bounded by sea. After attending the Edinburgh College of Art, Mairi married and had two children. In 1962 she decided to opt out of the rat race, and the family moved to Coll where they lived in a house three miles from the nearest neighbour with no road or electricity, with the only water available from a well. The Isle of Struay, setting for the Katie Morag stories, is loosely based on Coll. Though some of her grandchildren live there still, on turning 60, Mairi decided it was time to stop being 'Grannie Island' and to move on to becoming 'Granma Mainland'. Sea Change is the story of the journey she decided to undertake to mark this great turning point in her life:

'I had decided to leave the island, and live on the mainland. But before the transition, I had also decided, the water in between would have to be propitiated - slowly, lingeringly, and bravely. It would be a fitting farewell to the seascape I have loved and known so well for so long - but always with my feet firmly planted on the rock and sand of the island.

I am in awe of the sea; I am also frightened by it. "But you lived on an island!" Ah, but that is the excitement of it! To be surrounded by such an element makes for a feeling of security - in storm or calm. To look out of a salt-encrusted window at a Force 10 in the bay, kettle bouncing and blistering on the hotplate, is quite the most secure of feelings. Equally, to hear the scritch-scratching of lazy sun-soaked wavelets on the shore, through wide-open windows in the long, light nights of June, that also confirms safe encirclement.'

'Safe encirclement' - the true words of a landlubbing islander - just like me!

Hedderwick and her unnamed 'Captain', an old family friend, purchase a rare classic cruiser, Anassa, built in Rangoon in 1954, and embark on a six-week voyage from Lossiemouth on the east coast of Scotland, down the Caledonian Canal and out to sea, through the Sound of Mull and northwards around the western coast as far as Loch Nevis.

'What better way to say farewell to my island home than sail the waters between island and mainland and explore the fingers of fjords that indent the west coast of Scotland? Be an adventurer in the last true wilderness with only the silver-pathed reflection of the moon and the stars to guide the way.'

The pair's roles are clearly defined. The (very experienced) Captain is firmly in charge of navigation and sailing, while Hedderwick is cook, bottlewasher, mistress of home comforts aboard their cramped temporary home and slightly reluctant and nervous 'crew'. And, of course, records the whole journey in ink and watercolour, as well as words. And what words! She writes so directly, so honestly and so darned well. We are party to her deepest lifelong fears of the sea, of seaweed, and of hideous, nameless sea-monsters; her persistent seasickness; her sense, always, that she is out of her element on a boat and that everything that goes wrong is entirely her fault. But her dogged persistence and determination that she will do this are hugely endearing and we will her to overcome her demons and succeed.

There are setbacks right from the start. They run aground in the Moray Firth, caught on an uncharted shingle bar at the mouth of the River Ness, brought down by storm floods:

'There is another split second of disorientation, followed by total incomprehension and panic. I scramble up the slope of the deck to the port gunwale, as evil swirling river water rushes over the starboard gunwale. Immediately the Captain is getting me into my survival suit and lifejacket. I'm incapable of any action save clinging to the rail and looking skywards. The inflatable dinghy takes for ever to unrope from the deck. The Captain's foot inflates it a crazy speed, at a crazy angle. I am waiting for Anassa to crack asunder or keel right over. Can I swim for the far shore, where people are already stopping their cars and staring? I will not swim over the yellow fingers of seaweed that dervish-dance along the submerged port side. How far will I have to jump to avoid them . . .?

As the seconds of panic ease into minutes of possibly reassuring stability, only because I move not a muscle and shallow breath, the Captain assesses our situation. "We'll just have to wait for the tide to come back in and lift her off. No problem. Just patience." . . . He is laughing. Would you believe it? As I relax my grip on the stays . . . my knees trembling with loosening tension, I know it has all been my fault. Guilt floods in with the enervation. What damage has been done to Anassa's keel and hull? My fault, my fault . . . I was at the helm . . . Day one of the Voyage and I am quite ready to pack it all in.'

There are many other moments of adversity - some nautical, some practical, some concerning tensions in the relationship between the frequently tetchy Captain and his often frightened and frustrated crewmember. Yet somehow, despite it all, they find a shared humour and slog on, according to their original plans as far as possible.




The author's acute ear and eye for character, so evident in the Katie Morag stories, make for some delicious, spot-on, descriptions of people and boats encountered en route. And her response to the eternally magnificent West Highland scenery is unfailingly fresh, never descending into guidebook cliche, for which one can only give her extra, grateful, points.

This is a spiritual journey and a personal challenge greater than it might, at first, appear. Yet despite the deeply serious, life-changing intent and effect of the voyage, Hedderwick is adorably self-effacing throughout. Just when we think she's really getting to grips with life afloat, she'll make some desperate, yearning reference to bubble baths or luxury loos. And near the end of the return trip, having triumphantly achieved her 'foody' objective of eating only freshly gathered sustenance (no tins or packets on board - lots of fresh-caught mackerel) for six weeks, she is suddenly overcome by a dispiriting suspicion that the Captain is in fact a secret Pot Noodle eater.

Set in some of the British coastline dearest to my own heart, and written in the slightly bewildered voice of the non-boaty person rather belatedly afloat, Sea Change spoke very directly to me and I found it sheer unputdownable delight from start to finish.

Fold-out reproductions of Hedderwick's lovely watercolour seascapes, and dozens of line sketches of life on board Anassa make the book visually interesting, too, but in my view the words alone amply convey the essential truths and beauties of the author's remarkable Sea Change.

A favourite island artist

Seeing some lovely photos of Loch Linnhe (which lies between Glencoe and Fort William in western Scotland) while surfing around some photography sites has inspired me to extract another book from the TBR Mountain (the height of which is reaching Highland proportions itself). And this is what I have chosen: Sea Change: The Summer Voyage from East to West Scotland of the "Anassa", by Mairi Hedderwick.

I bought this three years ago while saying on Mull but have never got round to reading it. At the same time, I bought Eye on the Hebrides - a personal record in words and sketches of Mairi Hedderwick's six-month solitary journey of the Western Isles of Scotland - and Highland Journey: Sketching Tour of Scotland Retracing the Footsteps of Victorian Artist John T. Reid , both of which I did read at the time.

Sea Change slipped through the net, but I'm really looking forward to snuggling down with it. The back-cover blurb is promising:

'What possessed Mairi Hedderwick to undertake a six-week voyage with the Captain down the Caledonian Canal and out to sea in a small, antiquated sailing boat? . . . The names of the places she visited ring out like an old Gaelic song: Lock Linnhe, Loch Etive, Lochs Ailort and Moidart,Loch Nevis, Loch na Droma Buidhe, Loch a'Choire and Loch Leven. And finally, mysteriously, to the "island", her old home, her pilgrimage complete and the purpose of the journey fulfilled.'

There are hand-drawn maps and pull-out watercolour panoramas. I'll post a review here as soon as I've finished it. It seems that it's out of print, but there is a plentiful supply of new and used copies on offer via Amazon and Abe Books.

Mairi Hedderwick is one of my family's top favourite artist-writers. It all started when SD# was a toddler and I used to take her down to Colchester library every week, and it was there that we first discovered Katie Morag.

Katie Morag McColl lives on the tiny fictional Hebridean island of Struay , where her mother is the postmistress. Her father runs the island shop (and in later stories the island Bistro), and her 'Grannie Island' has a croft at the other side of the bay. Grannie Island drives a tractor and wears wellies and doesn't suffer fools gladly - especially Katie's other grandmother, Grandma Mainland, a city-dwelling confection of frothy pink clothes, feathery hats, wafting perfume and bouffant silvery hair.

Struay is populated by a delightful collection of characters of all ages, and Katie's adventures are homely but significant for small children, and filled with love, laughter and the sound of the sea. When a new baby arrives in the family, Katie gets in a grump and hurls her beloved teddy in the tea - but luckily, he survives a few submarine adventures of his own and the tide washes him up on the beach. Katie gets into scrapes with her visiting Boy Cousins, shampoos a sheep ready for the Island Show, makes a point of visiting her neighbours on Baking Day, and takes a starring role in Grandma Mainland's wedding to a local fisherman (spoiler alert!!).

The stories are amusing and realistic, and the illustrations are sheer delight. Hedderwick performs a wonderfully reassuring service to harassed, imperfect mothers who juggle work and family, by portraying a domestic life of general untidiness and sometimes utter chaos. No picture of Katie's bed is complete without a discarded apple core beneath it, and Mrs McColl struggles with breastfeeding and teething babies and burns the cakes on the day an important guest is coming for tea.

If you're new to Katie Morag, I recommend a quick look at her very own web page and suggest that the best book to start with is The Big Katie Morag Storybook, which collects together a selection of stories and poems.

Here's a quick biog of Hedderwick which I've lifted from her publisher's site:

Mairi was born in Gourock, Scotland in 1939. At the age of 17 she took a job as a mother's help on the Island of Coll in the Hebrides and there began a life-long love affair with islands and small communities bounded by sea. After attending the Edinburgh College of Art, Mairi married and had two children, Mark and Tamara. In 1962 she decided to opt out of the rat race, and the family moved to Coll where they lived in a house three miles from the nearest neighbour with no road or electricity, with the only water available from a well. The Isle of Struay, setting for Katie Morag, is loosely based on Coll, and some of the content reflects Mairi's own experiences: Katie's toys are those of her own children, Granny Island's Rayburn stove was Mairi's own, and Mairi admits she has thrown her own teddy bear into the sea - twice!. As an adult! As well as writing and illustrating children's books Mairi writes and illustrates travel books for adults. She spend a lot of time visiting schools and is always accompanied by Katie Morag's teddy that travels with her in a black bag.


And she featured in Scotland on Sunday's 'Welcome to My World' series last weekend, which you can read here here. I certainly like the sound of her 'perfect weekend'!

You can download and print this Katie Morag bookplate absolutely free, as many times as you wish, from Anne Fine's wonderful My Home Library website (there are loads of other bookplates here and printable bookmarks here - altogether a bit of a must for parents and teachers, this one).

And finally, while this Hebridean Desk Address Book sits on my desk (where else?), I do rather hanker after some other spin-offs in the Hedderwick range. There's a Hebridean Desk Diary, a Hebridean Visitors Book and a Hebridean Birthday Book.

East coast sea glass

As I've mentioned before, I'm a slightly obsessive picker-up of sea glass . I always have been, but since living so close to the sea, it's become an almost daily ritual. It doesn't seem quite right coming home empty-handed - and in fact I rarely do.

Were that priceless commodity - time - more readily available to me, I'd really love to learn some basic jewellery techniques, so I could wrap some of my finds in silver wire and turn them into ear-rings and necklaces. Until the relentless daily round eases off a little, however, my sea glass sits about the house in large glass dishes.

I wish I could lay my hands on my copy of Anita Shreve's heartbreaking novel Sea Glass , so I could quote a few passages in which she precisely captures the essence of my own fascination with these elusive, evocative shards. Rubbish from ages past transformed by the waves into gemstones of infinitely subtle hue. And with a tactile quality which is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn't walked for miles distractedly turning a piece of sea glass over and over between their fingers. It's addictive stuff.

Jeweller Gina Cowan sums up the history and attraction of sea glass on her seductive site.

Absolutely ages ago I promised to post a photo of a beautiful twisted piece I'd found. Here is it - though it's not easy to show its intriguing shape to best advantage.

Here's the haul from yesterday's walk (above).


And when I grabbed a bag to stuff with scarves, hats, water, tissues etc for this morning's session at the rugby club, I noticed a clinking sound in an outer pocket which turned out to be a handful of sea glass collected on the beach at North Berwick on this day last October.

How lovely to discover it again - though it made me yearn to rush up there and walk along that craggy shore, which could hardly be more different from my own portion of the eastern coastline. I've just been looking at some stunning photographs of the landscape around Berwick Law and wishing my life away.

And yet, who knows, perhaps some of the the well-worn sea glass washed ashore on Mersea began life as bottles dropped into the sea hundreds of miles further north.

Or maybe my North Berwick jewels had made their way from Essex to Scotland over the decades (even centuries) and I have simply brought them home.

We'll never know. But it's fun to dream.