Woolly says – I’d woken to rain and lots of it, peering out of the window the lovely seaside town of Oban looked very bleak in comparison to our arrival yesterday afternoon.
Oban (meaning The Little Bay) is a resort town within the Argyll and Bute area of Scotland. Sitting on the Firth of Lorn, the bay forms a near perfect horseshoe, protected by the island of Kerrera; and beyond Kerrera, the Isle of Mull. To the north are the long low island of Lismore and the mountains of Morvern and Ardgour.
Dwellers have inhabited the area since the Mesolithic times, prior to the 19th century, the town supported itself the very few households with a minor fishing trade. The modern town of Oban grew up around the distillery, which was founded there in 1794. A royal charter raised the town to a burgh of barony in 1811. Sir Walter Scott visited the area in 1814, the year in which he published his poem The Lord of the Isles; interest in the poem brought many new visitors to the town starting its tourist trade which continues to the present.
During World War II (1939 to 1945), Merchant and Royal Navy ships used Oban as an important base in the Battle of the Atlantic. Oban was also important during the Cold War because the first Transatlantic Telephone Cable (TAT-1) came ashore at Gallanach Bay. This carried the Hot Line between the US Presidents and USSR General Secretaries.
Yesterday we had taken a stroll along the pebbly beach which Handsome Jack had thoroughly enjoyed, checking out the war memorial and tiny lighthouse.
The harbour was a hive of activity with ferry boats ploughing back and forth to the small islands just across the water and the fishing boats bobbing around packed and ready for an early start in the morning.
My plan for the day had been to see a bit more of the harbour but given the sheeting rain everyone seemed reluctant, so we headed to the inside places of interest. Next door to our accommodation was the towns Cathedral. The Cathedral Church of St Columba in Oban is the seat of the Roman Catholic Bishop of Argyll and the Isles designed in the Neo-Gothic style by the architect Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, with the foundation stone being laid in 1932 and the building completed in 1952. The exterior was without embellishments and seemed small in comparison to some churches let alone the cathedrals we have seen on our travels.
Inside was equally unadorned with its high grey arches and wooden ceiling, it felt that it was used for pure worship and not for the finery others display.
The altar was a plain affair but beautifully done.
Having taken enough pictures, we headed uphill to the most prominent building the town owned. McCaig’s Tower or McCaig’s Folly is built of Bonawe granite taken from the quarries across Airds Bay, on Loch Etive, from Muckairn, with a circumference of about 200 metres (660 ft) with two tiers of 94 lancet arches (44 on the bottom and 50 on top). It is a Grade B Listed historic monument. The closer we got the more impressive it became with the arches providing viewpoints for a whole three hundres and sixty degrees.
The structure was commissioned, at a cost of £5,000 sterling (equivalent to £690,000 in 2023), by the wealthy, philanthropic banker (North of Scotland Bank), John Stuart McCaig. Erected between 1897 and his death, aged 78 from cardiac arrest, on 29t June 1902 with the intention of providing a lasting monument to his family and provide work for the local stonemasons during the winter months, which he certainly had done. A whole interior was planned with museums and galleries but following his death all work stopped on it, and it remains with only the outer walls in place.
It was splendid, with ivy creeping over parts of the arched windows and incredible views across the bays. With the rain increasing in volume I trotted back down the hill to the town and sort refuge in the town’s distillery.
Oban distillery is a Highland single malt Scotch whisky distillery established in 1794 by the brothers John and Hugh Stevenson, and it is one of the smallest in Scotland, producing a whisky that has been described as having a “West Highland” flavour that falls between the dry, smoky style of the Scottish islands and the lighter, sweeter malts of the Highlands. I had considered booking us on a tour but as none of the party liked whisky and Jo didn’t even like the smell it seemed like a waste of money, so we contended ourselves with looking at the shop and gasping at the prices!
A short walk away was the last thing on my list for the town, its small War & Peace Museum. Inside was dry and welcoming with walls and display cases crammed with a fascinating collection of artefacts and photographs depicting the rich cultural history of the busy port town and its people.
As well as the fishing and maritime industries, the railways, road transport, and the strategic role played by Oban during the war years when the town was home to Australian, Canadian and US aircrew and RAF Flying Boats operated from the bay.
It was fascinating looking at the photographs, uniforms and information that had been gathered about the town.
Having finally seen as much as we could, we raced back to the car, dripping over the interior as we removed our wet coats and jackets before setting the sat nav for the next destination.
The roads had lost their beauty behind the clouds and rain that refused to stop, our two hour journey seemed to last much longer as instead of enjoying the views we sat watching the spray off the road instead.
Jo had requested a stop along the way to a small town called Dunblane. As we climbed out of the car and stood admiring the cathedral she explained why she had wanted to come here.
At about 8:15 am on 13th March 1996, Thomas Hamilton, aged 43, was seen scraping ice off his van outside his home at Kent Road in Stirling. He left soon afterwards and drove about five miles (eight kilometres) to Dunblane. Parking up at the Dunblane Primary School, he cut the telephone cables before entering the school and shooting 16 pupils, one teacher and injuring a further 15 others before putting the gun in his mouth and killing himself. It remains the deadliest mass shooting in British history. It was something that everyone knew about in the UK at the time, a small town literally blown to pieces by one man.
Woolly says – With these sombre thoughts we headed into the cathedral. Inside was beautiful with stunning stone arches and a huge wooden roof that had small bosses inserted way above me.
Heading to the alter I paused to admire the wonderful wooden curtain and the detailing on it. The organ was also encased in the wooden finery.
Behind the altar was a massive stained glass window and as I looked backwards I realised that every window was filled with them.
A large memorial on one wall caught my eye as did some graves under my paws.
We wandered to the rear of the building and found the memorial stone for those that had lost their lives on that horrendous day and stood in silence to show are respects for those small children who would never grow older.
Outside many of the graves were surrounded by fencing with notes on them stating that they were all being renovated, there was a lot of work there given how many were fenced off.
Heading down the road into the small town we admired the buildings and took a peek at the river before finding a cosy pub for a late lunch.
With only a short drive to go to our next accommodation we hit the motorway, arriving twenty minutes later. An early stop for the day but I have a lot planned for the next day and the humans would need a rest to ensure they had enough energy to complete the itinerary.