This is an article recently published in the BSG magazine.
I have to say straight away that Scotland is my Favourite place to be. I first discovered it in 1990 – driving through the heaviness of Glencoe in a November dusk and I have returned time and time again since. I never tire of its Beauty, its diversity or the friendliness of the Scots. I never feel baulked by the long drive – there or back – and I never miss an opportunity to go.
So when Frankie was invited to Aberdeen and Moray to demonstrate and run some workshops, I had been looking forward to it all year.
This piece is not about the wonderfully friendly Sugarcraft ladies from both cities, it is not about the diversity of architecture of Aberdeen and Elgin - it is not even about the fishing. This is about one very odd day when strangeness was in the air, when the fey Scotch mist dissipated and turned one normal day into a day not to be forgotten. It is about Thursday 22nd September 2011.
It was certainly an odd few hours - although that might be an understatement; a little like saying that the wedding of Kate and William was slightly extravagant.
Of course, it could also easily be an overstatement, my perception on these things is somewhat hazy at times – we’ll just have to see, I suppose.
The day started normally enough – we were on holiday finally, after working for a few days and the three of us (and the dog – mustn’t forget the dog!) decided that a drive to Ballater, a nice walk in some wonderful scenery and a spot of lunch would be in order.
I had found a road on the map that looked interesting; it ended up in the middle of nowhere around the back of the Balmoral Estate at a Loch called Muick in Glen Muick and was at the beginning of the eastern end of the Cairngorms. There was nothing beyond it apart from Country. Miles and miles of Country – mountains, moors, rivers and, hopefully, not too many people.
It’s not that I don’t like people, individually, but when they get together they seem to become an entity rather than just a lot of ‘persons’. It’s like one wasp on its own is sort of ok, but you wouldn’t want an entire swarm anywhere near you.
Anyway, I had found this road and having partaken of a lunch in the delightfully overestimated cuteness of Ballater - there’s a Shopping Mall there for goodness sake! Ok, only three shops in it, but a mall in a tiny village is never the less pushing the definition tourism in the wee place just a little too far – we took a leisurely drive over the bridge into what the road sign called South Deeside.
Now, to me, that just sounds industrial! South Deeside - like South Merseyside or Thameside, which always makes me think of Wapping. The truth was entirely different. We were in very beautiful surroundings of mixed woodland on a single lane road just approaching the foothills of the Cairngorm Mountains. The traffic was light and there were ample passing places along it to allow oncoming traffic to pass.
And that was exactly what I did when I saw the large black Range Rover beetling its way down the lane. The driver gave me a stunning smile, a wave of his hand and mouthed “Thank you” before driving politely past.
It was Prince Charles.
Like two gunslingers in a western shootout, Frankie and her sister Anne pawed for their cell phones, within a split second texts were on their way around the world….
“You’ll never guess who we just saw…”
My only thought, other than to marvel at the speed at which mobile phones had been located, loaded and fired, was to wonder if Prince Charles was saying “Was that Mike Kelly? It was…I’m sure that was Mike Kelly…”
The weirdness had begun.
In a few minutes though, we were really in the Country. Deciduous trees had given way to Coniferous forest which had now yielded to open Scottish Moorland. Breathtaking views around each corner became different each time the sun pierced through the scudding clouds creating rainbows on the autumn sky and coruscating across the distant loch and rivers. The girls were finally quiet which either meant that they were as gobsmacked as I hoped they would be or the mobile signal had been lost.
After a few miles we reached the visitor centre car park, even out this far there were tourist pennies to be taken, but I felt that it was ok out here. An ancient crofting village had been preserved, real people still lived and worked here, but the visitor centre was a very real attempt at education, conservation and maintenance of the area and three pounds wasn’t too much to pay for that.
As I was putting my money into the machine and marvelling at the dozen or so cars in the car park – what were all these people doing out here? – I looked down. There was a piece of paper lodged between the ticket machine and the longish grass growing tight against it. It was a ten pound note. A Scottish ten pound note, but real money none the less. That was nice, not life changing you understand, but a bit like finding money in a pair of jeans you haven’t worn for a while or discovering that there’s still one last custard cream in the corner of the biscuit tin that you missed earlier. I strolled back to the car thinking that it was turning out to be a very nice day thank you very much and a nice long walk now would be the icing on the cake. Annie asked if she could stay in the car while we took Basil the dog for a walk. She wanted to relax (sleep) and I think that she thought it might rain. Actually, that’s a pretty good mind set to have in Scotland in September – it might rain! A suitable mindset for Scotland in June and July is that there may be midges around, as well as the previously mentioned rain mindset of course. But as Billy Connolly once said – there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes. We had the right clothes and so, leaving Annie in the car with a good book and some Scottish Tablet in case of emergencies, we set off along the track towards the Loch.
A mile or so along I spotted a lone figure walking towards us. Clad in green wellies, olive green jacket and hat she was walking with a good pace and purposeful stride.
“That’s Camilla.” I thought to myself. Frankie was pre-occupied with Basil who had yet to grace us with his daily gift of a perfectly formed poo. “That’s Camilla and I don’t know how to address her. Is that Camilla? It is, oh my God it’s Camilla – what do I say?” my thoughts continued to race as the figure approached.
It made perfect sense to me that Camilla should be out here; I didn’t once stop to think that it was strange to see her. This was where she lived and if I lived here I would be out all day everyday. If this was my back garden I would spend as much time out in it as possible – that didn’t strike me as unusual. Neither did her lack of companions, she was alone and looked hale and hearty, happy to be alive and unconcerned about her solitude, maybe she felt the same about people as I do. No, all I could think about was what to say to her. Frankie was still unaware of the proximity of Royalty right up until I said the only thing that I could think of at that particular moment, which was;
“Ooo hello, we’ve just seen your husband.”
At this point Frankie looked up expecting to see someone we knew or at the very least someone I knew. It had happened before and strangely with the same sister in the same country.
We were staying near Loch Tummel and had spent a wonderful day around Rannoch Moor and Loch Rannoch spotting salmon leaping in the falls, red deer and buzzards in the hills and many species of birds all around us. We had stopped along the roadside to fire up the KellyKettle (The most wonderful invention, ever, Google it if you don’t know what one is!) making a fresh brew of tea whilst drinking in the scenery of the River Tummel, the Queens View and the Hydro Electric Dam (much better to see than to say). Then, in the evening, we had eaten a wonderful meal and had partaken of a dram or two of various single malts and were relaxing in the afterglow verging on stupor when Annie had leapt to her feet exclaiming “I don’t believe it!” and dashed across the restaurant. She had seen a work colleague from Bexhill who was also on holiday in the same Hotel at which we were staying.
It was a touch surreal because the thing one most tries to forget whilst on vacation is work, but it does seem to be the main encroachment into sleep and thought, for the first few days at least, until one is sufficiently unwound enough to completely forget about it. For a colleague to appear in the same Hotel in the same week, to me, is the stuff of nightmares but Annie seemed rather pleased.
I notice I have slipped into using the pronoun “One” since mentioning Royalty, I wonder if I could get away with using the royal “we” on the odd occasion as well.
“What a charming dog, I have one of these too” said Camilla, with a smile. I was considering bowing, but could quite easily have slipped into a curtsey and so decided to remain upright for the time being.
“Thank you,” Frankie said, the epitome of cool “he is rather cute.”
I was trying to choose my next comment, still struggling with ‘Your Grace’ versus ‘Your Highness’ or maybe just plain ‘Ma’am’ to rhyme with jam not farm, of course, when I discovered, to my horror that Basil had chosen this moment to relieve himself of his little package right in front of the future Queen of England. Dumbstruck, I stuttered an apology, “Oh, it’s ok” said Camilla, completely unfazed before wishing us good day and striding on.
In a daze I glanced around looking for a stick to remove said package from the path swearing at the ignobility of the hound as I did so. Frankie naturally had drawn her cell phone once more only to discover the continued unavailability of any network and so our encounter went unbroadcasted for the time being.
Our own walk continued for a way further but the weirdness was not yet at an end. As we approached the Loch a piece of crumpled paper rolled along the heather pushed by the breeze. Muttering something about litter miles from nowhere, I considered picking it up whilst noticing a familiarity about its colour. It was a twenty pound note – an English one – wrapped around a two pence piece that must have fallen from someone’s pocket at some stage fairly recently as it was only a little damp.
I’m still not sure what was going on; we considered the possibility of Camilla spreading the coin of the realm to ease the suffering of us poor middle classes, but really it was an extreme case of happenstance and anyway I gave the twenty to Frankie who used three pounds of it to buy us a lottery scratch card each. The girls won nothing.
I won a tenner!
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| A rather poor photo of Camilla taken after the dog poo was cleared away! |
