Saturday, 16 July 2022

The Battle of Culloden and Cawdor Castle: Scotland '22 Part 3

The Last Pitched Battle on British Soil and a Castle Built Long After Macbeth was (or wasn't) Thane of Cawdor

Setting the Scene


Scotland
Moray
From Glasgow, we headed north-east to spend a week in a borrowed cottage (thank you Jenny and Bob) in the delightful fishing village of Findochty, pronounced (for no obvious reason) ‘Finechty’ beside the Moray Firth. During our week we travelled west as far as Culloden, east as far as Scotland goes, south to Huntly and Fyvie and north to the harbour wall. This post is about the eastern journey to Culloden and Cawdor.

Scotland

I have over-complicated the map above by adding, as accurately as I could, the locations of several places much smaller than those marked by the publishers. Findochty has a population around 1,000, Buckie is the local metropolis (it has a Tescos and everything!), Elgin is the main population centre of Moray district and Forres is where we stayed last year (Scotland ’21) with Norma and Wilson.

The Culloden Battlefield


Highland
Culloden Moor is some 55 miles east of Findochty, a journey of about 80 minutes mostly along the A96. Just before the town of Nairn we entered the Highland Region and left the main road as the battlefield is a little further south (allowing us to avoid Nairn's notorious traffic bottleneck.)

The battlefield car park is huge (I wonder what the combatants would have made of the concept of a ‘battlefield car park’?) and stuffed with cars and tour buses.

The queue for the visitor centre was lengthy but the English and Scottish National Trusts allow free entry to each other’s members, so at least we did not have to pay. Inside we had a coffee and then walked slowly through the exhibition, arriving outside at the right time for the guided tour.

This was what we had come to see.

The Government front line, Culloden

It does not look much, but this was the site of the last ever pitched battle on the island of Great Britain. Last ever? ‘Ever’ is a long time and who knows what the future holds; ‘for the foreseeable future’ is less of a hostage to fortune.

Duke of Cumberland
by Joshua Reynolds
Charles Edward Stuart
Scot Nat Portrait Gallery

The tour party, stragglers apart, is out of shot to the right. We were walking along the Government forces front line (now marked by red flags) as it was in the morning of the battle.

How did it come about that on the 16th of April 1746, a morning of snow and hail, 7,000 Government troops under the command of the Duke of Cumberland, the youngest son of George II (King of Great Britain and Ireland) faced 5,000 men under the command of Charles Edward Stuart (AKA Bonny Prince Charlie) the grandson of James II and VII (late King of England, Scotland and Ireland)? (No two sources concur on the numbers on each side, but all agree the Jacobites were out-numbered)

Three Paragraphs of Condensed but Unavoidable History

In 1688 James II (of England) and VII (of Scotland) was removed from his thrones by the ‘Glorious Revolution’. His could have survived being openly Catholic and might even have got away with being too interested in ruling (the job of Parliament since the Civil War) but in 1688, his second wife gave birth to a son and heir, thus creating the danger of a Catholic dynasty. this was the last straw and he was ousted in favour of Mary, his 26-year-old daughter from his first marriage and a devout protestant.

James and his supporters (Jacobites) slunk off to Paris for a good long sulk. Both Queen Mary and her sister and successor Queen Anne left no heirs, so the throne passed to their nearest protestant relative and George of Hanover duly became King George I.

After the deposed James II died in 1701 his son plotted to make himself James III. He had an abortive go in 1717, and in 1745 with George II now King, he tried again. Feeling his age, he sent his charismatic son Charles Edward Stuart (Bonnie Prince Charlie) to do the rebelling for him.

The 1745 Jacobite Uprising

Arriving from France to claim the throne for his father, the son of James II and wannabe James III, Charles Edward Stuart raised his standard in the Scottish Highlands in August 1745. He gathered an army, marched south and by October was in Edinburgh and had control of much of Scotland – though Edinburgh and Stirling castles remained in Government hands.

Had he settled for Scotland, he might have succeeded, but Charles believed himself son of the rightful heir to the throne of the whole island of Great Britain, not just the northern third. The dynamic and charismatic 25-year-old persuaded his allies that English Jacobites would flock to his banner while the French would stage a helpful invasion in southern England.

The 1745 Jacobite Uprising. Advance Edinburgh to Derby 280 miles (450 Km) in black
Retreat Derby to Stirling 300 miles (480km), Stirling to Culloden 145 miles (239 km) in green

Although the scion of a long-established Scottish dynasty, Charles had been born and brought up in Italy and had never before visited the island he sought to rule; maybe he was out of touch. He marched south. Unencumbered by heavy weapons the Jacobites moved fast and met little resistance. Crowds came out to see them, but recruits were few and far between. On the 4th of December they reached Derby, 280 miles from Edinburgh and only 130 from London, where they expected to be joined by a force raised by Sir William Watkin Wynn. This force failed to materialise and there was no sign of a supporting French invasion. General Wade was moving south towards them, the Duke of Cumberland coming north, both were moving slowly because they were encumbered with heavy weapons.

To avoid being crushed between these two millstones, Charles Stuart turned back. After an orderly retreat he laid siege to Stirling Castle in January and beat off a relieving force. Although victorious he was weakened, gave up the siege and retreated further north to Inverness.

He was followed by the Duke of Cumberland and his army. Cumberland reached Aberdeen in late February and waited for better weather.

The Battle of Culloden


Culloden Moor

On the 15th of April, the government forces were billeted near Nairn. They were comfortable, rested and celebrating their commander’s birthday. Regular troops, they had spent the winter training for this day. Many had experienced battles in Europe, where Britain, the Dutch Republic and Hanover were fighting France, Prussia and Bavaria in the War of the Austrian succession (1740-8).

Another section of the Culloden Battlefield. Most of it probably looked like this in 1746

The Jacobites had spent much of the winter retreating north. Their army contained some regulars, mainly French and Irish units, but many irregulars largely from Aberdeenshire and Perth following their clan leaders as they had done for centuries. Running out of money and supplies, they knew they would be out-numbered and out-gunned.

The Culloden Monument, erected in 1881 by Duncan Forbes in memory of the fallen Jacobites

In desperation the Jacobites decided on a surprise night attack, a tactic that had won them the Battle of Prestonpans in September. They did not set out on the long march to Nairn until after dark for fear that government spies would spot their actions. For further security their leaders eschewed all existing paths. Culloden to Nairn is hardly Scotland’s wildest countryside, but it is not a walk in the park. Many became lost, there was confusion over orders and in the end, there was no attack. Not all the ‘night raiders’ made it back in time for the battle.

One of a number of stones erected by Duncan Forbes marking where the members of various clans, and 'the English' were buried.
There is no evidence that the chosen sites mark any graves at all

Battle lines were drawn up on the early morning of the 16th, but the kick-off was delayed until 1 pm by bad weather. It was soon over. The Jacobite left became stuck in boggy ground, the right advanced more quickly, but lost many men to the government artillery. In the centre, the previously irresistible ‘Highland Charge’ was met for the first time by professional soldiers with muskets and bayonets

There was a field hospital on this site at the edge of the battlefield, but this building is 19th century

The Consequences

As defeat became rout Charles Edward Stuart was ushered away by his senior officers. His escape from the battlefield and later from Scotland became the stuff of legend. He returned to Italy but when his father died in 1766, he was not recognised as King of England, Scotland and Ireland by the Pope, as his father had been. He descended into alcoholism and died in 1788.

Franz of Bavaria
by Deiter Stein1

The Duke of Cumberland became known as Butcher Cumberland after ordering his troops not take prisoners. His military career soon ran into difficulties, he was forcibly retired and died in 1765 aged 44.

The Jacobite cause was finished for good. The current Jacobite pretender to the British throne is 89-year-old Franz, Duke of Bavaria (a courtesy title, only). He is also pretender to the Kingdom of Bavaria but has lived a long and active life and never felt the need to press either claim. 

There was brutal repression in the highlands, and the clan system was broken for good.

Controversy

Historians still discuss the conduct of the battle and its meaning. The view of the National Trust for Scotland, and this was emphasised by their battlefield guide and the story-teller we met last year at nearby Fort George is that it is a mistake to regard the battle as Scots v English. The Duke of Cumberland had two regular highland regiments in his army, and by some counts more Scots fought for the government forces than for the Jacobites.

It is more helpful to see the battle as Old v New. The Jacobites represent autocratic rule by a monarch who believed in his divine right to rule, the government forces represent rule by an elected parliament with a largely figurehead monarch. The franchise for parliamentary elections was too restricted in 1746 for it to be described as ‘democracy’, but it was a first step in that direction.

Lunch at the Cawdor Tavern

Just east of Culloden we stopped for lunch at the Cawdor Tavern. For all its charms, Scotland generally lacks the pretty village pubs that can still be found fairly easily in England, (despite the pandemic and our changing drinking habits driving so many out of business). There are some, though, and the Cawdor Tavern, with its flowery garden and large rhomboid bays, would be an asset to any village anywhere. I have no picture, and no excuse for it.

We popped in for lunch. Lynne went basic, choosing chips topped with melted smoked cheddar and haggis from the ‘light bites’. Being more refined I enjoyed a nicely presented and well-made chicken liver paté with apple jelly - a starter from the interesting main menu.

Cawdor Castle

As the names suggest it is a short trip from Cawdor Tavern to Cawdor Castle.

Cawdor Castle

Let’s get Shakespeare out of the way first. The allied forces of Norway and Ireland, for some reason led by the Thane of Cawdor, attempted to depose Duncan I. They were defeated in battle by Duncan’s army led by Banquo and Macbeth who killed the Thane of Cawdor. Returning to Duncan’s Castle (possibly in Forres) they crossed a ‘blasted heath’ (possibly Dava Moor) and met three witches. The witches told Macbeth he will become Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor and King hereafter. The witches vanished and then Macbeth ran into his mate Ross who told him that Duncan had already made him Thane of Cawdor. Part of the prophecy had come true, so Macbeth hurried off to kill Duncan and claim the big prize.

Shakespeare never let the truth spoil a good story. The real Macbeth was a somewhat uppity Lord of Moray. In 1040 Duncan I, King of Scotland (which then stretched south from the Moray Firth to the Tay or sometimes as far as the Firth of Forth) set out to teach him a lesson. He was killed in the ensuing fracas and Macbeth became king. His reign, 1040-57, was largely peaceful but he was never Thane of Cawdor.

The central tower, dates from the 1370s. It resembles Irish tower houses like Athenry or Aughnanure or the Peel Towers of northern England, though larger and more elaborate. It was built around a holly tree which still stands in a sort of basement to the tower, just across from the drawbridge. I have no photograph of this either, but if you can imagine a knobbly stick some 2m long you don’t need one.

Cawdor drawbridge

The Interior

The current owner is the 26th Thane of Cawdor, who is also the '7th Earl of Cawdor, of Clan Campbell of Cawdor’. For much of the year he lets any clown with a credit cart wander round his house – we help pay for the extraordinarily expensive upkeep.

Inside the décor is rather later than 14th century. Some of the rooms feel a little cluttered, but the Earl has a sizeable collection to show off.

Inside Cawdor Castle

The prescribed route took us upstairs to the Tapestry bedroom. In the late 17th century an owner blessed with money and taste was able to order Flemish tapestries made especially for this room…

The Tapestry bedroom, Cawdor Castle

And then to a second bedroom…

Second bedroom, Cawdor Castle

…before descending to a drawing room. Much later in design it almost looks cosy, a clever trick as large rooms with high ceiling were very difficult to heat.

Drawing room, Cawdor Castle

We passed through a small dining room with another ornate tapestry…

Small dining room, Cawdor Castle

…before descending to the kitchen.

Kitchen, Cawdor Castle

We shared our walk round with a large number of Americans from a cruise ship parked at Invergordon (what you mean, you don’t park a ship?) There have been occasions (Tallinn, Dubrovnik) where large numbers of cruisers have been a nuisance. Fortunately, the number brought to Cawdor made it feel like the house had a good crowd in without being overwhelmed.

The Gardens

Cawdor Castle also has several gardens which are worth a wander round.

Box hedges, Cawdor Castle Gardens

They are all formal gardens,…

Is that a cardoon behind the ad hoc sprinkler? Cawdor Castle Gardens

… but the styles vary.

Flowers in ranks like soldiers, Cawdor Castle Gardens

The castle management know (or think they know) what American tourists want, so inevitably we eventually came across a piper.

There's always a piper, Cawdor Castle

I don’t know what the plants think about this, but we thought it was time to go.

Back in Findochty

Just over an hour later we were back at our borrowed cottage in delightful Findochty (pronounced Finechty).

We sat out the back for a G& T and then dined on half of the enormous fillet of halibut we bought yesterday at Eat Mair Fish in Buckie. Gentle cooking is appropriate for such a fine, fresh fish; we treated it with respect and happily reaped our reward.

Later, wee dram in hand (Tamnavulin, for those interested in these things), we returned briefly to our G & T bench as the light began to fade and night became chilly. Sunset had been at 10 but by 10.30 there was still light enough for a photograph.

Findochty Harbour after sunset

If you watch the harbour entrance for a while you will, if you are lucky see a fishing boat or pleasure craft coming or going. If you don’t watch it, concentrate on something else and then look up casually, you stand a chance of seeing a pod of dolphins making their way up or down the Moray Firth. There’s plenty out there, but to see them you must, apparently, catch them off-guard.

1 From Wikipedia, reproduced under CC Share-Alike 3.0

Wednesday, 13 July 2022

Glasgow (2), A Walking Tour: Scotland '22 Part 2

A Wander Around Glasgow with Some Fixed Objectives and Some Lucky Finds


Scotland
Glasgow
Wednesday promised to be cool but dry – at least until lunchtime. With the Cathedral and Necropolis, our main objectives for the morning, about a mile and a half to the east, we set off along Waterloo Street towards Glasgow Central Station, looking forward to fun in the boneyard and whatever else we could find on the way.
Along Waterloo Street towards Glasgow Central Station

Citizen Firefighter

We found Citizen Firefighter outside the station. It is a memorial to those who have lost or risked their lives attempting to save others from burning buildings. I mean no disrespect to firefighters, but to me it looks like a squat, mildly unpleasant alien from Dr Who. Others must see it differently. It was unveiled in June 2001, just months before the appalling events in New York on the 11 of September that year and Citizen Firefighter was where the people of Glasgow chose to come, to leave flowers and pay their respects. The statue is the work of Edinburgh sculptor Kenny Hunter; more than two dozen of his works can be found in towns and cities across the UK and in France and Germany.

Citizen Firefighter outside Glasgow Station

Glasgow Museum of Modern Art

Heading further east we walked towards the ‘Merchant City’, now an area of cafés and restaurants with more than a few grandiose Neo-Classical buildings.

One such building, now Glasgow Museum of Modern Art, was erected in Royal Exchange Square in 1778 as a town house for tobacco magnate William Cunninghame. Just what was he thinking? Fashions change, but a self-important taste-free trumped up prat can be found up in any era. He made his fortune from the labours of enslaved people, and was not above ripping off the slave owners as well. It was not just his taste in architecture that was questionable.

Glasgow Museum of Modern Art

Keep it Coney

The Battle of Waterloo (1815) was a big deal. We had started this walk on Waterloo St, and outside the Museum of Modern Art we encountered a statue of the Duke of Wellington, the victor of Waterloo. In the decades after the battle dozens of such statues were erected, often funded by public subscription. Carlo Marochetti, an Italian born French sculptor who settled in London, is responsible for Glasgow’s version. Marochetti was well respected in his profession and he enlivens a regulation equestrian statue by posing the Duke with a rather camp hand on hip.

The Duke of Wellington outside Glasgow Museum of Modern Art

Marochetti would not have understood that use of the word ‘camp’ (the OED dates it from 1909), nor would he have understood ‘traffic cone’ (first patented 1943). Glasgow's Wellington has worn a traffic cone since 1980. The authorities removed it at regular intervals, and it was always immediately replaced. After 30 years of this, Glasgow Council published a plan to double the height of the plinth to deter all but the most determined cone planters. This would cost £65,000, good value, they said as they were spending £10,000 a year removing the cone. Glasgow citizens, in substantial numbers, pointed out it would save money all-round if they left it there. ‘Keep it coney’ became a hash tag, a popular movement and a campaign to promote Glasgow’s traditionally irreverent sense of humour. The council were made to look po-faced and ridiculous and the cone is now semi-official.

George Square

A short distance to the north is George Square, where eleven prominent men and Queen Victoria stand on plinths for all to admire. I had not heard of every one of them, Thomas Graham (chemist) and Thomas Campbell (poet and historian) may well be worthy citizens, but were two of several who had not come to my attention before.

Sir Walter Scott takes pride of place and stands atop the highest pillar…

George Square, with Sir Walter Scott and the Glasgow City Chambers

… while Robert Burns is there but we did not find him (though the map I now have suggests it should hardly have been difficult).

Queen Victoria and Prince Albert are not the only non-Scots. William Gladstone, three times prime minister, was from Liverpool and Robert Peel, prime minister and inventor of modern policing, was Lancashire born and a Staffordshire MP. The great engineer James Watt was a Scot, from Greenock, but became an adopted Brummie

James Watt

I am unsure whether to applaud their inclusiveness or regret their lack of confidence in Scottish genius. It is also worth noting that the poets, politicians, engineer, queen and consort celebrated here all have their heads spread liberally with pigeon guano

The cenotaph in front of the Glasgow City Chambers was erected in 1924 and was designed by sculptor Ernest Gillick and architect, John James Burnet. It is the site of Glasgow’s Remembrance Day ceremony.

Cenotaph, George Square, Glasgow

We were stopped by a local who asked where we came from. If she was disappointed by our not particularly exotic origins, she did not show it and advised us to walk into the city chambers and have a look at the lobby. So we did. Thank you, madam.

Entrance Hall, Glasgow City Chambers

Glasgow Cathedral and Necropolis

University of Strathclyde

Central Glasgow is largely flat, but the further north you venture from the Clyde the more likely you are to have walk upwards to the next parallel street. We climbed up to Cathedral Street and then continued our eastward progress passing many buildings of the University of Strathclyde. Glasgow’s second oldest university, it received its charter in 1964 and now has 24,000 students, a third of them post-graduates. It rather dominates this part of town.

The Cathedral

A huge pile of dour, dark grey stone, Glasgow Cathedral was erected between 1136 and 1484 (building a cathedral takes time). Constructed over the tomb of St Kentigern (also called St Mungo) the 6th-century missionary to Strathclyde, the Cathedral is now Scotland’s largest place of worship, though it is outbulked if not outspired by the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, built on slightly higher ground nearby.

Glasgow Cathedral (with the infirmary to the right)

It was a Catholic Cathedral until the Reformation of 1560 saw Scotland sever its links with Rome. After this all images and statues, side chapels, and relics were removed, worship became plainer and in English rather than Latin.

Inside Glasgow Cathedral

In 1663 the Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland voted for the non-hierarchical Presbyterian system of church government, which has no need of bishops or cathedrals. The Cathedral became the High Kirk and the building was divided into three parish churches - a stone building [is] not as holy or sacred as the human hearts in which the Holy Spirit truly dwells (Glasgowcathedral.org).

In the 19th century the Presbyterians lightened up a little (see Greyfriars Kirk in last year’s Edinburgh(1): The Castle and National Museum). In 1835, the High Kirk reverted to serving one parish, renamed ‘St Mungo’s, and was again called a ‘cathedral’. Services involved more ceremony; an organ was installed and stained glass returned to the windows.

Stained glass, a 20th century replacement for the 19th century original

The cathedral now has one weekly service, but to this non-believer it felt like it had lost something over the years and no longer has the atmosphere of a church, let alone a cathedral.

The Necropolis

The 1830s saw both a lightening up of Presbyterianism and a change in burial practices. Hitherto, the law had given churches a monopoly on Christian burials, but with an increasing population and limited churchyard space, change was inevitable. James Ewing, Glasgow’s Lord Provost, was keen for his city to have its own version of Paris’ Père Lachaise, so planning started in 1831, even before the law changed in 1832. The Necropolis opened in 1833.

Situated on what Wikipedia calls a low but very prominent hill behind the cathedral, it is approached across a bridge.

Across the Bridge to Glasgow Necropolis

50,000 are now buried here, and there are monuments to 3,500 of the 'great and good'.

Glasgow Necropolis

The roll of important inmates is, like the participants in Strictly Come Dancing (US: Dancing with the Stars), largely a list of people I have never heard of. David MacBrayne of Caledonian MacBrayne is known to anyone who has taken a Hebridean ferry and there are Dunlops, but not John Boyd Dunlop, inventor of the pneumatic tyre.

The tallest pillar is surmounted by John Knox (d. 1572), the father of the Scottish Reformation. The pillar predates the necropolis and he is actually buried in an unmarked grave in St Giles Cathedral, Edinburgh.

John Knox (from the rear!) Glasgow Necropolis

There is also a monument to the poet William Miller (d. 1872). A children’s poet, he is hardly well known. but everybody can recite the first verse (usually in its anglicised version rather than the original Scots) of Wee Willie Winkie, the only work for which he is remembered.

William Miller memorial, Glasgow Necropolis

He died in penury in 1872 and was buried in nearby Tollcross. This memorial was erected later.

Back to our Hotel via the Merchant City

TARDIS

Down the High Street from the Necropolis we encountered a TARDIS.

The first police box was installed in Albany, New York in 1877. A few other American cities adopted them and in 1891 Glasgow became the first British city to install one. Over the next 30 years designs varied but in the 1920s a blue box designed by Gilbert Makenzie Trench, originally for London’s Metropolitan Police, became the norm.

TARDIS, Glasgow

Doctor Who's TARDIS disguised itself as a police box in 1963, at which time they were still common. A telephone line connected directly to the nearest police station was available to police or public via a flap on the outside. Only police could access the inside, where there was a fire extinguisher and first-aid kit. In exceptional circumstances the box could become a temporary cell. Personal radios and mobile phones made them obsolete long ago and this one, as far as I know, is just to amuse tourists like us and to stir a few memories (unless. of course, The Doctor really is here.)

Murals

Glasgow is a city of murals - I included one in yesterday’s post. The mural opposite the TARDIS shows St Mungo, who lived from 528 to 614, in modern dress. Born in Fife, he was conceived out of wedlock by a daughter of the King of East Lothian who made several attempts to kill the mother and unborn child.

They were rescued by St Serf who became the boy’s mentor. At the age of 25, Mungo began his missionary work on what is now the site of Glasgow Cathedral and is regarded as the city’s founder and Patron Saint.

A keen-eyed observer of the Glasgow crest at the top of this post would see the central shield contains a tree with a bell hanging from it, a fish swimming (?!) across the trunk and a robin perched in the topmost bough. All are related to St Mungo and the stories can be found on mediaevalglasgow.org . I will quote the ‘robin story’ as it is relevant to the mural.

St Mungo and a Robin, High Street, Glasgow

A wild robin was tamed by Saint Serf. It was accidentally killed by some of his students who blamed it on Mungo. He took the dead bird in his hands and prayed, bringing it back to life, whereupon it flew back to its master.

Which is all fine and dandy (if a tad unlikely), but while my eyes saw the mural, my head saw….

St Mungo and Robin

…and I can’t unsee it.

Through the Merchant City

We turned west through the Merchant City where we encountered several more murals in Ingram Street.

After a saint looking at his lunch, we have a fox inspecting his dinner, Ingram Street, Glasgow

Rain started to fall so we ducked into a café opposite the mural. It was too early for lunch so we had a late coffee and waited for the shower to pass,

We did not have to wait long. We plodded on and by the time we reached Waterloo Street lunchtime had arrived and The Smoking Fox looked a reasonable place for a beer and a snack. Our ‘sharing plate’ exceeded expectation; the pile of nachos (seemingly freshly made), melted cheese, guacamole and slices of chilli was dismantled with pleasure.

Being old, we retired to our hotel for a brief nap before our afternoon exertions.

To the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

The Kelvingrove Art Gallery was a mile and half to the west, a 30 minute walk, according to Google. It would take much longer.

The pedestrian crossings and roundabouts above the M8 were once the centre of Anderston, a weaving village (and before that hunting forest) absorbed into Glasgow in 1846.

There has been much redevelopment since Billy Connolly was born here in 1942 and it still continues. Anderston and adjacent Finnieston are ‘being improved’ but too many buildings and businesses along the main Argyll Street look uncared for.

We had plenty of time to examine the place in detail, a shower kept us penned in a doorway for ten minutes. The rain stopped, we moved on and a couple of hundred metres later had to resort to another doorway, this time not for a shower but for a major cloudburst.

Kelvingrove, when we eventually arrived, is a very different place. The gallery sits beside Kelvingrove Park, which slopes upwards to the main campus of Glasgow University. Like St Andrews it was founded by Papal Bull in 1451, making it Scotland’s joint oldest university. Glasgow has produced three British Prime Ministers, two Scottish First Ministers and a list of scientists and doctors who revolutionised their fields. It now has 32,000 students.

Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery

The original museum opened in the latter half of the 19th century, but the current building, dating from 1902, was financed by the 1888 International Exhibition of Science, Art and Industry held in Kelvingrove Park. The building is vast; my photograph shows only the central section which houses the pipe organ commissioned for the 1901 Glasgow International Exhibition.

Pipe organ, Kelvingrove Musuem and Art Gallery

The 22 galleries cover everything from art to animals, Ancient Egypt to Charles Rennie Mackintosh (Glasgowlife.org.uk). Arriving tired and bedraggled we made no attempt to see all 22, but concentrate on Charles Rennie Mackintosh, as very much a local, and Egypt - always an area of interest.

We took a good look at the furniture of Mackintosh and his circle.

Furniture by Charles Rennie Mackintosh and contempories, Kelvingrove Art Gallery

Dark wood furniture is out of fashion at the moment, but these seem very elegant, and no doubt the wheel of fashion will turn.

Furniture by Charles Rennie Mackintosh and contemporaries, Kelvingrove Art Gallery
The Last Turning, James Peterson (Thanks Wikipedia)

We spent some time with paintings of the Glasgow School who thrived in the 1890s and 1910s, so roughly contemporary with Mackintosh. They were not quite to my taste and as the grouping is ‘geographic as much as artistic’ picking an example to stand for them all is tricky. They also split into ‘Glasgow Boys’ and ‘Glasgow Girls’ though the names do not particularly imply youth.

One slightly earlier painting that caught my eye was View of Glasgow and the Cathedral by John Adam Houston. Painted in 1840 his viewpoint is from high on the Necropolis. My photograph was from lower and zoomed in on the cathedral. Glasgow changed between painting and photo; though I did not show them there are taller buildings now - and fewer (or no) smoking chimneys.

Glasgow and its Cathedral, John Adam Houston, Kelvingrove Art Gallery

The Egyptian section is interesting, but like all such collections outside Egypt, the provenance of at least some of the artefacts is probably a bit iffy.

We were tiring and failed to do the museum full justice. Once through the mummies we headed back.

En route we encountered Charles Rennie Mackintosh himself. I have been (gently) taken to task for failing to adopt the pose of the great man (thank you, Jacki) but I had my back to him and the photographer remained silent.

Chares Rennie Mackintosh and me, Anderston

The sculpture is the work of Andy Scot, who was also responsible for the magnificent Kelpies we detoured to Falkirk to see last year.

We plodded back to the hotel and settled for dining in their bar because we lacked the energy to go out.

Tuesday, 12 July 2022

Glasgow (1) Irn Bru, The Clyde and La Lanterna: Scotland '22 Part 1

Scotland's National Drink, Most Important River and Best Italian Restaurant

Getting There


Scotland
Glasgow
My satnav tells me it is 404km from home to our hotel in Waterloo Street, Glasgow. That is a long way, over four hours driving plus a coffee and sandwich stop, but it was a surprisingly easy. The M6 ran freely past Stoke and Manchester, became less busy as we progressed further North and once in Scotland, where the M6 becomes the M74, the traffic was refreshingly sparse. It became busier and more complicated approaching Glasgow but the urban motorway system decanted us onto the city streets only a few hundred metres from our destination.

Every British person knows where Glasgow is (or should do) but this blog has visitors from around the world, so here is a map.
 Glasgow, Scotland's biggest city is remarkably close to Edinburgh, the second biggest.
Thank you Lonely Planet for lending me your map

Meeting the Real Glasgow

We checked into our hotel. Our room had a jokey welcome message on the television, …

Welcome message, Ibis Styles, Glasgow Central

….while a can of Irn Bru and a Tunnock's tea cake sat on the bedside table.

A can of Irn Bru and a Tunnocks's Tea Cake

The humour may not be international, so for non-British readers here is an explanation - which I feel moved to make in verse. It’s a sonnet of sorts (well, it has fourteen lines).

The Delights of Scotland Explained for All

You maybe imagine that whisky is Scotland's national drink,
And you would be right.
Distilled, nurtured and bottled in the northern third of our shared isle,
It is exported to the world,
And the world is grateful.

But there is a soft drink, a soda, a fizzy pop, called Irn Bru
With long rolling 'r's in Bru and Irn both.
Made in Scotland from girders, they claim,
And exported to Scots worldwide,
Where locals remain inexplicably ungrateful.

And a Tunnock's teacake? South Lanarkshire made,
With a concept not unique to Scotland,
A hemisphere of marshmallow balanced on a crumbly biscuit,
All within a chocolate shell. What's not to like?

I have headed this section ‘Meeting the Real Glasgow’ and there is, of course, more to Glasgow than pop and cakes.

Glaswegians have a reputation for toughness, even aggression, and an accent which makes a friendly greeting sound like the prelude to a headbutt.

But

Everyone we spoke or dealt with during our brief stay was friendly and helpful and many were also amusing. Twenty or so out of 600,000 may not be a statistically significant sample, but it left us with the impression of a friendly and welcoming city quite at odds with its reputation.

The Clyde

Needing to stretch our legs, and attracted by the possibility of the sun breaking through, we took the short walk down to the River Clyde.

On the way we passed a mural, these are a feature of Glasgow, and there will be more in the next post.

A Glasgow mural

We reached the river a little downstream of the Squiggly Bridge.

The Squiggly Bridge

Most major cities have a river, for some it is incidental, like the Irwell in Manchester but for many it forms a major part of their identity. London is defined by the Thames, Liverpool by the Mersey and Dublin by the Liffey. Glasgow would not exist without the Clyde and the shipyards that once lined its banks made Glasgow the ‘Second City of the Empire’. But here, in the heart of the city, I was surprised by how small it is, bigger than the Liffey, maybe, but much smaller than the Thames and a mere brook beside the vastness of the Mersey.

The Clyde and the Squiggly Bridge

And why is that footbridge in the photo called the Squiggly Bridge? It is not obvious from a distance.

From close up the Tradeston Bridge (to give it its official name) clearly takes an S-shaped journey across the river. Allegedly this lengthens the bridge, allowing it to reach the height required by river traffic without having a steep gradient. The bridge was opened in 2009 and was part of the Tradeston regeneration scheme, giving the area a direct link to Glasgow 's main financial district.

The Bridge is Squiggly

The middle of the river is a fine place to view the city's architectural mix.

Just a small corner of Glasgow's architectural mix

The Armadillo and the SEC

We followed the riverside walkway, past an upmarket hotel, riverside apartments…

By the Clydeside apartments

… and the occasional reminder of the industrial past until we reached the Armadillo - the building that every news reporter in the city feels they have to stand outside to prove they are really in Glasgow.

The Armadillo, Glasgow

Opened in 2000 as the Clyde Auditorium, the architects' (Foster and partners) concept of interlocking ships hulls celebrating Glasgow’s industrial heritage was instantly dubbed The Armadillo.

The SEC and Industrial Heritage, Glasgow

It's is now officially the SEC Armadillo, part of the SEC (Scottish Exhibition Campus) along with the OVO Hydro which appears in the photo above along with a big chunk of industrial heritage.

La Lanterna

Established in 1970, La Lanterna is Glasgow’s oldest family-run Italian restaurant. It has won, and keeps winning, awards for its cooking and wine list, and was declared Scotland’s Best Italian Restaurant, 2021. Even better, it was just a 6-minute walk away, round the corner in Hope Street.

The walk took longer than planned. Phone in hand, we continued straight past the restaurant and failed to notice our error for another 50 metres. In our defence, it has a smallish entrance leading to a large basement. Perhaps we were distracted by the enormous façade of the Voco Grand Central Hotel which separates Hope Street from Glasgow Central Station. The hotel’s website describes it as ‘Victorian glamour’, adjectives that, for me, sit uncomfortably together.

Huge façade, Hope Street

On eventually finding the entrance, we were asked if we had booked. The answer ‘no’ caused a little consternation. Last year, Covid regulations meant almost everything had to be booked, this year we were to discover that even without social distancing rules, Scotland, like the West of Ireland has too few restaurants for those wishing to eat. Booking, we would find, is necessary in some unlikely places and my easy assumption that a popular spot like La Lanterna would have space on a Tuesday evening was optimistic. We were relieved when, after a five-minute wait, we were escorted to a small table in the packed basement.

The Dinner

We were soon equipped with a Negroni each. I thought I was too old to start bothering with cocktails until we went to Cuba in 2020.

Toasted focaccia, made in-house for us to dip into olive oil and balsamic vinegar – the suggestion of our waiter – was simple and moreish. This was real focaccia, not the stuff sold in supermarkets, and better balsamic vinegar and Italian olive oil than most can supply.

From the lengthy and impressive wine list I selected a bottle of Primitivo from Salento, reasonably priced, deep, dark red and full of Italian sunshine. ‘My favourite,’ said the waiter – I bet he says that about all the wines.

Lynne’s vegetarian moment was well rewarded by her Penne all Sorrentina, penne with courgettes, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms and garlic. I chose Maniche Alla Barese. Maniche, a tubular ribbed pasta (and, co-incidentally, a retired Portuguese footballer – Chelsea, Atlético Madrid, Porto), with Tuscan sausage, broccoli, tomato and chilli. The sausage was meaty, the sauce spicy and the broccoli actually tasted of broccoli, which is not always the case.

Penne alla Sorrentin, La Lanterna, Glasgow

For dessert Lynne had Affogato (lit: drowned), first encountered earlier this year in Kings Lynn. The bonus at La Lanterna was not just having espresso to drown her ice-cream but also a glass of Bicherin chocolate liqueur.

My Zabaglione was a delight. Lynne reminded me that many years ago I used to make Zabaglione – I should never have stopped. The bonus here was a small scoop of vanilla ice-cream - vanilla that actually tasted of vanilla. I frequently moan about the ice-cream world’s use of vanilla to mean ‘plain’ that is not what it is supposed to be. There was nothing plain about this gem and it slides effortlessly into my pantheon of great vanilla ice-creams alongside Borza’s Ice-cream Parlour in Porthcawl (long departed but a happy childhood memory) and the Michelin starred Walnut Tree in Abergavenny.

We walked back through the streets of Glasgow as dusk fell (sunset is around 10pm in mid-July) with a general feeling of well-being.