Sarah's Wedding

Weddings. So many people just love them. Can't say I'm one. They remind me of my many regrets.  I am utterly content with Bill in our everyday life, but that is in spite of being married, not due to it.  



However  I might feel about the subject, of course we attended Sarah's wedding back in June in Eyemouth, Scotland.














We  were due to drive up on Friday, the day they announced the results of the Brexit vote. The outcome was so astounding that we found it difficult to get on with real life



Even the bride posted on Facebook she was having trouble concentrating on packing. 

Eyemouth village green / cemetery; the stones have been moved to line the walls.

I managed to take all my wedding outfit and everything else I needed except for a change of clothes for a four-day weekend away. So Jane, my sister-in-law, and I found a charity shop and I bought a couple of tops to tide me over.

Never did discover what was this grand place..

Gunsgreen House, Honeymoon tower to right.

The wedding was held at a Georgian manor house, Gunsgreen House, also called the House of Secrets, owing to the fact that a previous owner was a smuggler. 




Everyone was fascinated with all the hidey-holes, but having visited a host of National Trust properties of late I wasn't as inclined to explore. 

One of those glasses is Jane's, held while she took the photo, honest!

The weather cooperated beautifully, clearing to a lovely day. The ceremony was hilarious, both bride and groom very nervous. When the usual the question was put to the pair, Sarah answered "We do" and everyone roared. I thought, 'She's answering for him already!' but later on we learned that it was supposed to have been a joint response, Gareth just forgot.



Helen read a story about dinosaurs which at first struck me as quite odd and more appropriate for a bedtime story, but then I've often observed that this family is slightly obsessed with the trappings of childhood. It seems to be a very British thing and in any case the dinosaur story turned out to be apt. Everyone laughed again when the couple exited to a pop song about dinosaurs. Sarah's attention to every detail was obvious.



Gareth was born in Edinburgh and so can claim Scottishness, though his parents are from Wales and Manchester. 




It seemed appropriate for Gareth to wear a kilt, but Bill never considered it for a moment any more than I would wear an Indian headdress because of being born in Oklahoma. 




On the other hand a number of the guests did choose kilts and interestingly one who seemed most suited to his outfit was Gareth's brother-in-law, a Frenchman. Figure that one out. 



Bill had written his speech as father of the bride and we had shopped for his outfit. Sarah had cruelly told him he could wear 'anything' and she's just lucky he didn't walk her down the aisle in a clown suit, that was such a red rag. 



I nixed any number of items that smacked to me of Italian pimp and we managed to get him kitted in something we could both live with. He bought a beautiful jacket and trousers and a black velvet bow tie. Bow ties do suit him well. 

Everyone cleaned up so well. I loved Simone's green dress with red apples on it!

The jacket was a plush grey and black paisley velvet which looked almost sober from a distance. The lining was a flamboyant floral silk which pleased him no end. 

Bill clearly enjoyed doing the father-of-the-bride thing. He didn't get to walk Helen down the aisle, but at least he got to do a speech. I'd forgotten about that.

I'm afraid I would have put him in the plainest black suit, but since his opportunities for wearing such a thing are limited to funerals it seemed a shame for him not to have some fun. 



The speech - the only one on the day - went really well. I don't think he said anything nice about Sarah - apparently that's appropriate - and he, rightly, gave all the credit for raising her to his ex-wife, Kathleen, for which she got a round of applause. He welcomed Gareth to the family, calling him a 'proper gentleman', which Gareth's dad liked, not like the 'itinerant busker' or the 'snake oil salesman' she'd brought home in the past; it took me a minute to realize he was referring to actual old boyfriends. 



I wore the same dress I wore for our wedding and for Charlotte's christening. The cost per wear is still ridiculous and I didn't see the point in buying another dress I wouldn't wear very often. I'm very boring, I know. 

Me and my favourite sister-in-law.

We stayed at a B&B about half a mile from the wedding venue. It was an odd place above a fish and chip shop. The entrance was through the back past the garbage and the mobile chip van and though the decor was lovely, it didn't quite remove that taint. We did have a lovely view of the sea, however and it was pretty much all there was available where we could stay next to Bill's sister and brother in law from Sydney. 



Gareth's parents took a house to share with extended members of that family. The bride and groom, and their siblings and families stayed at Gunsgreen House, though I gather the honeymoon suite was actually in a tower near by. Then they were off to their honeymoon, first a few days in Venice and then to Rovinj, Croatia. 

Uncle Chris. I can't say I'm very impressed with Bill's camera.

Sadly, the whole Brexit thing had me so rattled I not only forgot to take clothes, I left my camera in the B&B. Bill had his, but not being familiar with it, I didn't take very many photos. I have a few from Jane. There is one other I'd love to have, one of my happy memories of the day. Chris took a picture of Jane and me standing either side of Bill, holding his jacket open to show the glorious lining!



I remember escaping the party for a bit, sitting in a corner of one of the sitting rooms of the big house. The lady photographer came in to rearrange her film and such. We had a chat about the fact that my parents had been professional photographers and about the trend for taking photos during the ceremony, as happened on this occasion. 

Why you need a professional on the day. This is my photo; see the professional outcome below..

We laughed about my mom rolling in her grave. Another one of those old fashioned rules from my youth. Still, I do wonder as a bride, do you look at the minister or do you smile for the camera? In any case, this photographer clearly knew her stuff, as evidenced by her stunningly beautiful work.

I meanly teased them about this photo, that they had now officially ridden off into the sunset and lived happily ever after...I know, I'm awful.

I was pleased that Brexit didn't seem to take over the wedding as I thought it might. It never came up at our table over a delicious meal (including cranachan). However, I'm told it was heatedly discussed at another table where the younger members expressed astonishment that anyone could be so stupid as to vote to leave the EU. Unfortunately, Bill's ex-brother-in-law and his girlfriend were seated at that table and it turned out they had voted Exit, which probably explains why they didn't look like they were having a very good time.

After the meal was a disco and there was another photo opportunity out back in the form of a taxi and a set of costume hats and other accessories. The object was for guests to pile into the back of the taxi and pull silly faces for the camera. It was very popular with the guests, but I explained to Helen that I simply do not possess that kind of silliness. No amount of gin and tonic would tempt me.

So the day finally passed and I got to go to bed. Sarah kindly gave us one of the flower arrangements from the tables which they brought around the next day when taking their leave. I know fine well I took half a dozen photos of that amazing floral arrangement, but I have looked everywhere and cannot find them. I nurtured the leftovers as long as I could, perhaps too long.

The leftovers

I have read several times about people planting long stemmed roses and growing rose bushes with the aid of a potato for nutrients. I gave this a go with the roses in her arrangement, but have only ended up with a crop of potatoes...



I did however find a good use for the large vase.

Beach findings..shells and sea glass.

I may not be a big fan of weddings, but I certainly wish all the best for Sarah and Gareth.

Garlieston

This place got its name from a Lord Garlies, later 6th Earl of Galloway, but unfortunately I always see this name and think 'garlic'.





It was a lovely place, the old part of the village right on Garlieston Harbour. As was, unfortunately for the residents, our caravan park. We backed up to a wall that separated us from the front steps of several terraced houses. 




I hoped their view out the back was much nicer, or that they could enjoy the empty green over the winter. 




At least the local pub did a good trade, no doubt from the caravan park as well as the locals.








We were only there the one night. 





I appreciated the sheer luxury of a dish drainer in the dish washing area, funny how little it takes to impress! 





And there was a wonderful parade of dogs owned by the various motor home owners, mostly big breeds, kind of a a surprise.







I think these photos show why we think southwest Scotland is pretty special.




It was a beautiful place to spend our last night on the road, but boy was I ready to be home! 




Not least because I had a lunch date with Vivien the next day and it was going to be lovely to catch up with her. And it was a very photo-worthy lunch, but that is another post...

On the Way to Donegal

We're just returned from our first holiday this year: we spent two weeks on the north west coast of Ireland, in County Donegal. I was going there to look at the place my Irish ancestors left in the 1840's when they emigrated to the West of Scotland. I hoped I would find out a lot more about them, but knew it was unlikely because most of the Irish records were destroyed either in their war of independence or in the civil war that followed. Still, I'm very pleased we went. Bill has always been a bit dubious about the wisdom of a Brit travelling to Northern Ireland, but we had zero bad experiences and found all the Irish people we met to be extremely pleasant.

This involved driving up to catch the ferry at Cairnryan (used to be at Stranrar) from Scotland to Larne, on the east coast of Ireland. We broke our drive somewhere on the coast of southwest Scotland in Galloway. We've joked that if Britain decides to leave the EU then surely Scotland will have another referendum and vote for independence. Then we would have an excuse to move to the southwest coast of Scotland, which is incredibly beautiful and seems to have better weather than we do in the northeast of England. Something about the Gulf Stream I've never got the gist of. 

The campsite was miles from anywhere and there wasn't much to do except walk on the beach and investigate the building (a farm house as it turned out) around the corner. 



An entirely pleasant way to spend the evening.

Culloden Moor

I didn't expect to find a National Trust museum at Culloden (Cull-LAW-den) Moor but since it was there and it was free - to us, as National Trust members - we went in. To be fair, there isn't a huge amount you can say about a field where 200+ years ago a lot of men died in a short, bloody battle. However, they managed to eke out a whole building - plus gift shop and coffee shop - and a GPS-enhanced recording to carry as you walk around the mown paths in the wind and the rain. I discovered my best tightwad defense against the gift shop enticements was to remind myself I'm Irish, not Scottish. My people only lived in the southwest of Scotland for 30-50 years after which most of them immigrated to America or Australia. Also that the whole tartan thing is a complete hoax.

The thing that completely flummoxed me at this National Trust museum, once I got over the missing comma that made me think they were claiming the civil war happened in the 1630s (so perhaps I was being a bit pedantic), was that I never once found the word 'Catholic'. The Scots who gathered to fight for 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' were just hoping to back away from the Presbyterian church to the Scottish Episcopalian church, according to the National Trust. Apparently there were no Catholics. They never mention that Prince Charles was Catholic, the very reason he got so much support from France and from Rome, where he was born and died. 

This really confused me, so I went to ask some of the staff at the nearest desk. I just wanted to verify that we were talking about the Prince Charles I thought we were, to make my point that it was a little odd to talk about Scottish Episcopalians but not Scottish Catholics.  I asked three different women, one of whom went back to speak with the Director, to confirm that Charles was in fact Catholic. The first two didn't have any idea and the last thought this was so, but didn't know for sure.  Obviously, they don't work at the National Trust for Scotland because they love history. If you don't love history, perhaps you should just stop here...

Almost half a century ago, I started loving the stories of Henry VIII (who, desperate for a male heir, split from the Catholic church and created the Anglican / Episcopalian church) and of his younger (Protestant) daughter, Elizabeth I. Blame Stewart Granger and Jean Simmons. 

Of course Elizabeth I died without an heir and James VI of Scotland became James I of England. His grandmother was Margaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII. The Latin for James is Jacobus and this is where we get the term 'Jacobean', referring first to the reign of James I, but later giving the name Jacobite to the supporters of James II and his descendants. This last was for my benefit as, though I've long understood who the Jacobean's were, I'd not caught on why they were called that.

There was a dwelling in this location (lucky people!) at the time of
the Battle, but the present structure is only about 100 years old, a re-creation.

Charles I was the son of James VI & he did badly - too much of that 'Divine Right of Kings', etc. - and got his head cut off by Oliver Cromwell's lot, the Puritans. His son, Charles II managed to get back on the throne after a bit. I'm not clear about why; I've never been very interested in the Puritans, though they had their points. Charles II had plenty of offspring, but none were legitimate. Almost a relief in some ways as his wife was a devout Catholic and he himself converted on his deathbed.  

I've nothing personal against Catholics, OK? This is just the history of Britain. Their experience with Elizabeth I's older sister, 'Bloody' Mary, fear of The Spanish Inquisition and also the desire to be free from the authority of Rome will all have fed their motivation to remain Protestant. However, as can be seen from all the deathbed conversions there was some ambivalence on the part of the monarchs.

Anyhow, Charles II's brother, James VII - of Scotland - & II - of England - took over. Only his first-Protestant-until-her- deathbed wife, had died and his second wife was Catholic all around, hence his heirs would be Catholic. This - and probably more of that Divine Right stuff - lost him his job (though not his head; it was called the Glorious Revolution) and they lived out their days in France. 

The eldest daughter of James II (by his first wife) was much more acceptable: Protestant, with a Protestant husband. So they got William & Mary over from the Netherlands. which left James II's Catholic descendants hanging around in France. The would-have-been James III was known as 'The Old Pretender' and his son, Charles Edward Stuart, as 'The Young Pretender', or 'Bonnie Prince Charlie'.  Meanwhile, after William & Mary, came Mary's sister, Anne.  Then they had to fish about again and find another Protestant ruler, this time a Hanoverian Lutheran, George I whose great-grandfather was James IV & I. Then his son, George II, the last monarch who was born outside of Britain. Which brings us to 1746.

Having been, I can now tell you this about Culloden Moor:

• The battle there was the last major battle fought on British soil.
• It only lasted about an hour and somewhere around 1,000-2,000 men died in that hour, almost all Jacobites.
• 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' was rather cowardly, remaining at the back of the field rather than taking his place at the front. He was also very greedy. Had he 'settled' for taking Edinburgh and reigning as King of Scotland, it is thought he'd have got away with that. Instead, he tried to take England as well, with a vastly outnumbered, exhausted army. He had a perilous few months escaping capture, but eventually was rescued by a French ship and died in Rome at the ripe old age of 67.
• Following this brutal battle, Jacobites were hunted down, the wearing of tartans or kilts was banned, the power of the clan chiefs was removed; in short it became illegal to be Scottish in much the same was it was illegal to be Irish (in Bill's words). The Highland Clearances followed shortly after. 

I don't know how much of the present day wish of some of the Scots to be independent again comes from this history, but keeping the Gaelic culture alive probably has to include remembering events such as these. There is an English phrase, 'Proud as a Scot' and I suspect proud people have long memories. 

As to the museum at Culloden Moor? I wouldn't bother if I were you. Just read the history on Wikipedia and walk the field (preferably on a cloudy day). Or, if you don't mind having your bodice ripped, read the first few of Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series. 

I can also highly recommend Bess of Hardwick, First Lady of Chatsworth, by Mary S. Lovell, set in the time of Elizabeth I, which both Bill and I read and enjoyed while we were on this trip to Scotland. 

Western Scotland

I've heard a lot about the Western Highlands but have never visited. So far I can tell you the scenery is dramatic and that it is either sunny and warm or hammering down rain all day and all night. Bill came home shivering, having walked up Ben Nevis with his friends in the deluge. To each his own: I was happily stitching a patchwork bag on my sewing machine, very grateful the motor home was proving water tight!



I've had a brief encounter with the famous Scottish midgies, but can't say I got bit (though I may have jinxed myself by writing that.) I plan to stay indoors at dusk from now on.

Given my experience of a lovely nap in the sun, I would try more of Western Scotland (in spite of the fact it is now bucketing down again!)