Woolly says – The rain was throwing it down as we headed out of the city, poor Glasgow looked a bit bleak, I was just thankful that we hadn’t had my tour today, that would have been a disaster with the moaning women!
The motorway was down to 40 miles an hour with visibility being very bad, we crept along finally breaking off and heading towards the coast again. We had a number of plans for the day and the first was a walk for the mutt on the beach, I tried to see the road through the windscreen wipers and realised that I hadn’t got a raincoat, silly me, so sadly Jo and Zoe would have to enjoy the walk with him without my presence.
Pulling up at Ayr’s beach it appeared that Zoe had a problem with laces on her boots and would need to untie them all, Jo set off with Handsome Jack.
Ayr is a town situated on the southwest coast of Scotland and has been a popular tourist resort since the expansion of the railway in 1840 owing to the town’s fine beach and its links to golfing and Robert Burns. The wets ones returned with tales of seaweed, jelly fish and the mad mutt playing with another dog in the waves.
With everyone back in the car we headed to Robbie’s house.
Robert Burns (25th January 1759 21st July 1796), also known as Rabbie Burns, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide. His poem (and song) “Auld Lang Syne” is often sung at Hogmanay (the last day of the year), and “Scots Wha Hae” served for a long time as an unofficial national anthem of the country. Other poems and songs of Burns that remain well known across the world today include “A Red, Red Rose”, “A Man’s a Man for A’ That”, “To a Louse”, “To a Mouse”, “The Battle of Sherramuir”, “Tam o’ Shanter” and “Ae Fond Kiss”.
The girls and I dashed across the car park and into the centre The Robert Burns Centre. There was a large gift shop with everything Rabbie Burns you could imagine, with tickets in paws we headed into the museum part of the centre.
Inside was dark with tall glass glasses illuminating the great man’s story.
From his birth to his death, the women he had been ‘friends’ with and his work.
It was beautifully done and even better lots of it was interactive.
Having seen everything on display we collected Corgi legs and headed into the gardens. The rain had abated slightly and was a bit drizzlier rather than monsoon. The gardens were beautiful with greens, golds and browns covering the trees.
In the centre was a large Grecian memorial to the bard….. ‘… a Monument to the Memory of the Ayrshire Bard, where he first drew breath, and in that County where his genius was fostered and Matured … shall be erected at or near the Place of his Birth.’ (First minute of Burns Monument Trust, 24 March 1814). We walked round the exterior before going inside. Steps led us up to the dome in the top where we could stand and take in the garden.
It also gave us a first look at the famous bridge, which had inspired Mr Burns to write Brig O’doon. We walked towards it and spent a few minutes admiring before dashing back to the car before we got swept away in the latest down pour.
A few minutes’ drive away was the actual cottage he had been born in. His Father had started a smallholding on the land and the squat building sat at the edge of it.
The low thatched house was a lovely yellow with a doorway and slits for some of the windows.
Inside was an empty room with a fireplace, it didn’t tell us what it was but possibly the bedroom. Quotes were on the walls and Jo got rather overexcited to see one of her favourites “Give me the Child until he is 7 and I will show you the man”, …. it’s the former teacher in her.
Next door were the stables and hay racks, each stall was exhibiting items that would have been used all those years ago.
The next room contained a dining table and small fire, the house was much bigger than I expected.
We tried to get into the kitchen but didn’t stand a chance due to a large tour group taking up every space, the guide had only just started and with miles still to go we skipped though and hurried back to the car.
Chucking the wet things in the back of the car including the mutt, we set off for the next stop of the day.
The Isle of Whithorn is one of the most southerly villages and seaports in Scotland, it is referred to locally as ‘The Isle’ – never ‘the Isle of Whithorn’. The village is the location of the long ruined 13th century Saint Ninian’s Chapel, previously a chapel linked to Whithorn Priory and a stopping off point for pilgrims landing on Isle Head and making their way to Whithorn. Although no longer a true island, John Ainslie’s maps as late as 1782 and 1821 show the Isle as an island. The main street was originally a causeway, with the harbour located on what was then the true Isle.
Strangely for us we weren’t there to visit the chapel but to check on some kale, yes, the vegetable type. Having parked by the harbour and looked at the boats lying in the bay waiting for the tide to return and inspected the lobster pots we headed up the high street.
Small cottages lined the road some with bright colours. The church on the left looked slightly weather warn but inside was warm with half of it being made over to a small museum.
The boards told us about the Isle and people’s lives on it alongside the lifeboats and the community events. Having spent a bit to long looking through everything we raced further up the road to the community café in the hall before it closed at three.
Feeling replete we wandered back outside and set off to carry out the task we had come for, remember the kale? Heading through a garden gate we stopped to admire the different tubs used to plant all manner of flourishing fruit and vegetables.
And much to everyone’s delight the kale looked magnificent. Having taken a few pictures from the wall across the bay we hot pawed it back to the car before another soaking ensued.
Back in the car we discarded the damp coats and hats and settled back for the last drive of the day to the nights’ accommodation, where we would be able to let our family know that the kale was in great shape while they were enjoying much sunnier weather in Greece, I wonder if I ask nicely they might send the sunshine back.