An Idea For A Holiday

A couple of months ago we began to mull over some possibilities for our anniversary holiday. Forty years together needed something special to mark the occasion! I had often thought it would be a good idea to revisit he Jan Luyken Hotel where we spent our honeymoon but beyond that we didn’t know what we wanted to do.

We looked at some very exclusive holidays that would have been wonderful but at the end of the day we’re just too expensive. Then one Sunday morning while enjoying our bacon rolls, I read an article in the Guardian about great European train journeys, specifically The Gotthard Pass route.

“The Gotthard is Switzerland. And Switzerland is the Gotthard. The mountain is intimately linked to Swiss identity,” states the article’s authors, Nicky Gardner and Susanne Kries in their accompanying book Europe by Rail. The Definitive Guide. I’m not a rail aficionado but I was intrigued enough to buy the book.

Since the opening of the new Gotthard Base Tunnel in 2016 the old route over the Pass had fallen into disuse. The tunnel significantly cut travel time but at over 50km long it also misses the beautiful alpine scenery. The old line as originally opened in 1882, a technological wonder which allowed trains to traverse the mountains.

Baedeker, according to Gardener and Kries, called the route “one of the grandest achievements of modern engineering.” Like art, my understanding of engineering is limited but also like art I do appreciate and am in awe of the skills, knowledge and expertise that goes into the final achievement.

And so a holiday idea began to take shape. A revisit to our past in Amsterdam followed by a train trip to Basel where we could pick up the route as specified in the above mentioned book. The authors did recommend Luzern and Locarno as suitable stops although the train journey itself could be done easily in one day. We took their advice and stopped in Basel and Luzern. Today we have picked up our journey and are travelling over the Pass to Locarno where we will take a short break before continuing.

I will post photos later but for now I’m going to enjoy the view. See you on the other side

Crossing Europe by Train

Our usual holiday travel consists of flying through Schiphol airport, Amsterdam and onward to our chosen destination. Our current holiday travel is slightly different. We flew into Amsterdam and for the first time in many, many years we actually left the terminal building rather than transferring to another flight. From there it is an easy train ride to Amsterdam Centraal station and onward to accommodation and sights.

I have long loved travel by train but The Wing Commander is a more reluctant traveller. I view travel as part and package of the whole experience whereas he prefers to arrive to begin the fun. However, on this occasion, and for a reason which will become apparent in a later post, I have managed to persuade him to travel more slowly and learn to love the train.

Our first rail trip was a long one; Amsterdam to Basel at over 6 hours, and it was not without its problems. As we boarded I got very excited as we were right up at the front, two seats and a glass wall behind the driver’s cab. I had never see the inside of a train cab before and looked forward to seeing the driver at work. Unfortunately, we were immediately informed that, due to a technical issue with the train, we would have to travel backwards. Also a second train was coupled to the front of ours so we looked through our (empty) driver’s cab into another cab.

By the time we were leaving Utrecht we had learned that it was the first day of the Dutch school holidays and many families were travelling without reservations meaning over crowded carriages, even our quiet first class carriage. This in turn meant it was almost impossible to access the buffet car and certainly dangerous to try to navigate the crowded aisles with hot coffee.

The train did eventually turn to head in the right direction after Mannheim but we were running late and to put the icing on the cake, so to speak, we got turfed off the train at Basel Bad rather than continuing through to our real destination of Basel SSB. This meant a run up to another platform with our luggage for the short trip across the Rhine.

Overall the journey was good but the technical issues, overcrowding, and final discomfort of unexpectedly having to change trains was irksome and not the experience I was hoping would convert The Wing Commander.

We had only booked one night in Basel. We were staying in the old city and it was very pleasant just to walk along the Rhine and admire the old buildings. It is a city that is worth visiting and probably deserves a couple of nights stay to do it some justice. For instance, we could have visited the Picasso and El Greco exhibition and, weirdly, have enjoyed the massed pipes and drums of a military tattoo had we so wished! A bit of a busman’s holiday for us coming from Scotland!

Our next train ride was shorter, Basel to Luzern, and was both more comfortable and more scenic than our first trip. The one hour and fifteen minute journey was on a ‘double decker’ train. First class was also very spacious, quiet and comfortable. From our vantage point in the upstairs carriage the views were fabulous and gave a real feel for Switzerland.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I may yet convert my OH to train travel! It helps that our destination on this part of the journey is such a beautiful city with mountains and a lake to dazzle even the most disillusioned traveller.

A Love of Portraits

When it comes to art I’m one of those awful critics who ‘knows what I like’ but has little understanding of the artistic process, style, technique etc. I do, however, have a wide and eclectic taste in ‘what I like’. The Wing Commander, on the other hand, has a very specific dislike of religious art and will speed through galleries of endless Madonna with Child variations. Nevertheless, we both enjoy a good gallery stroll when we get the chance.

So, what do I like? I like the Impressionists, I like Dali and Picasso, I like seascapes, I like Art Deco and nouveau and I like female portraits. I began to appreciate the latter about 15 years ago on a trip to St Petersburg and a visit to the Russian Museum there. The National Gallery in Edinburgh also has some fine examples. I can’t remember which specific portrait kindled my interest. It was probably a painting of a wife of a wealthy merchant or statesman, a woman only considered important because of her spousal attachment, but I was drawn to them. Maybe I am imagining a story behind the eyes staring out at me but it is a story I rarely see in male portraits.

Today, at the Rijksmusuem there were several examples that caught my eye. Here are two that I particularly liked. I hope you find joy in them too.

‘Isabella’
Three sisters

Where Have All The Years Gone?

Time creeps up on you surreptitiously. Somehow the number 40 has crept up on us and we are celebrating our Ruby Anniversary. Where did those young people go?

Honeymoon in Amsterdam 1982

We were married in July 1982. I had to live in the parish where we were to be married for 2 weeks before the ceremony so I moved back with my parents while I left my husband-to-be to make arrangements for our honeymoon. We had decided on Paris. He booked Amsterdam.

It was not entirely his fault. Paris was booked up and the travel agent suggested Amsterdam as a last minute alternative.

Travel agent’s receipt for our honeymoon

And so for the princely sum of £420 we had 4 days in Amsterdam, including flights. We were young and poor! But we had a wonderful time. The Jan Luyken Hotel prepared a room for us with complimentary gifts including traditional Dutch gold bols drinks to celebrate our wedding.

Gold bols

We took one tour to Delft and Rotterdam. Unfortunately, the tour stopped for lunch (not included in the price) at the Hilton hotel in Rotterdam. We were mortified! We had no money to spend on lunch so we had to share a fruit salad before re-boarding the coach back to Amsterdam!

And here we are, 40 years later. How does time pass so quickly?! To start our special celebratory holiday we decided to revisit a little of our past by booking our first stop once again at the Jan Luyken Hotel. The hotel has changed hands over the years and has been remodelled, yet is surprisingly familiar.

We are very grateful to the staff for our warm welcome and thoughtful gifts. We thoroughly enjoyed the complimentary fizz, sweets and celebration balloons and decor. Our love has survived the tests of time and we are appreciative of the years we have grown together. We just don’t understand why we are no longer 21 years old!

We are not quite as poor as we were 40 years ago and much water has passed under our bridges. We are very grateful for all the friends and family who have supported us thus far and hope we can celebrate a few more years together while we also wonder we’re all the past years have gone.

The Viceroy’s House.

What a week! Piratesmas was postponed because of the terrible weather forecast and then covid finally caught me. Thankfully, the former has been rescheduled and the latter, while annoying in the extreme, has not been severe although it has meant a few days recuperating in bed. Today, however, I was able to get up and dressed and to spend some time in the garden with the dog.

The Wing Commander, who has avoided my covid, had a game of golf lined up for today so I had the house to myself, an unusual event since the pandemic began. I took the opportunity to choose a film to watch which I knew he would be unlikely to be interested in. I decided on The Viceroy’s House, a 2017 film but one I had not previously been aware of.

On the one hand it had a stellar cast, with Hugh Bonneville and Gillian Anderson supported by Michael Gambon and Simon Callow among many others. All are great actors who are generally well worth watching. On the other hand it was based on the granting of Indian independence and the partition of the country, a period and nation I know too little about.

The historical setting is laced with a love story across the religious divide of India. Sadly neither the able cast , the drama nor the love story can raise this film much above mediocre. The political intrigue, colonial attitudes and civil tensions should make for a better entertainment than The Viceroy’s House can muster sadly. Perhaps it needed more time than the 1 hour 45 minutes to unfold the enormity of the events or perhaps it was too big in scope to ever give justice to the tragedy that unfolded.

Give it a watch if you want to fill a couple of hours but don’t expect great drama or history

Learning to Love Audiobooks

I have had an on/off relationship with audiobooks for several years. I have an extensive library of audiobooks and in the past have tended to listen to them while also reading the actual book. This is slower than reading myself but I do find it engaging to hear someone else’s voice read the words. Of course, one issue with this approach is making sure the book and the audio match up. I once listened to Don Quixote while the text was a completely different translation!

Some friends have advocated using audiobooks to help with insomnia. Thankfully, I am not as insomniac as I have been in the past but I am torn between the soothing sounds of a voice reading to me to send me to sleep and the anxiety of missing part of the story and having to rewind to the correct place!

A colleague recently suggested I listen while walking the dog each morning. I was reluctant at first as I walk Rousay off lead and need to have full attention on her while we are on the street or busy areas. However, I have slightly altered our route to a safe, off-road area where she can explore safely while I plug into a good book. I decided to begin with Animal Farm by George Orwell for two reasons: It is short enough to test out the experience but is also a very familiar story so I do not get anxious about missing parts if my attention is taken by anything happening around me.

I enjoyed listening to Simon Callow reading the story although I was a little perplexed that Napoleon, “a large, rather fierce-looking Berkshire boar”, had a strangely Scottish accent at times! However, I was off to a good start and continued with The Benn Diaries, 1940-1970 read by Tony Benn himself. I have always admired people who keep a diary throughout their lives. I have tried and failed on more than one occasion. I guess this blog is the most recent incarnation of a diary attempt!

Diaries are useful for seeing how people think and talk about events in their lives but, as a historical document, they are also suspect evidence of the past depending on whether there was an expectation that they would remain secret to the writer or were always intended for a wider audience through publication. Editting out the problematic entries is always possible of course if the writer wants to withold certain parts. At the beginning of his political career Tony Benn would probably not had much thought that his diary entries would have been of interest to a reading public and that is somewhat reflected in the writing. The diaries contain emotionally revealing moments such as the death of his older brother and the birth of his children while other parts describe various disagreements and infighting within the Labour Party which are useful for historians and commentators but probably quite dull for more general readers/listeners. Nevertheless, the diaries are an interesting insight into Benn’s early career and thoughts and a reminder for an old gal like me of events in my childhood that I remember but never fully understood at the time.

Today I started Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, my all-time favourite writer, and I am. once again, transported to Monterey, California with Doc, Mack and the gang of colourful characters at The Palace Flophouse and Grill. It must be forty years since I read the book and I am reminded of what a joy it is already, having only listened to the first chapter on our walk this morning. I think I may have moved my audiobook relationship firmly into the ‘love’ department!

A Joyless Church

I am currently reading the Minutes of the Kirk Session of Rousay and Egilsay as part of my investigation into my family history. I must admit I was not overly keen to read about the goings on of the church in the 1730s, expecting it to be boring, but I can categorically state it is anything but!

The population of Rousay at the time would have been, perhaps, 600-700 people while Egilsay would have been about 200 so neither were very populous and it is likely that people living there would have known, or known of, everyone else on the islands. It is difficult to keep activities secret from others in a small community and this is reflected in the minutes of the Kirk Session.

There are many entries in the minutes regarding the sin of Fornication (it has a capital F to indicate its seriousness) where the people involved are called to repent infront of the congregation for several weeks before they can be absolved. There is also a very specific category of fornication called antenuptual fornication which is evidenced by the birth of a baby within the first nine months of marriage and again requires the appearance of the couple, once the mother has recovered from ‘childbed sickness’, in front of the congregation to repent and the payment of a fine, sometimes this is in the form of forfeiture of a payment made at the time of marriage. Furthermore, a sponsor has to be appointed to oversee the child’s moral education.

In addition to sexual misdemeanors there are crimes of Breach of the Sabbath. In one case two boatloads of people had come from the neighbouring island of Wyre ‘to cut and gather floss’ , reportedly on the evening of the sabbath. All were called to account for themselves and all denied they had broken the sabbath claiming instead that they did not set sail until the sun had risen the following day. It was concluded by the Session that the report had come from people on Gairsay, another nearby island, ‘out of envy to hinder them of the privilege of cutting floss’ but that those involved should be exhorted to take good care of the observation of the sabbath in future.

‘Intimation was made from the pulpit against idle and unnecessary walking up and down on Sabbath Evenings’ was recorded in the minutes on another occassion when it was reported that several people had been seen walking along the shoreline on a sabbath evening ‘under pretense of seeking stray sheep and …cattle’. It seems that there was no proof of the allegations but to be safe the minister exhorted them to ‘abstain from such a practice…except in case of necessity’.

Two things impress me from these tales. In addition to the moral teachings of the church which had to be upheld among the congregation it is also striking how much money is collected from these ‘crimes’. It is unclear what the full penalty for fornication was but at least two culprits paid 40 shillings as part payment for their transgression. To set this in context of other church funds, the usual collection from the congregation at church after the sermon was 1-2 shillings. Payments made by the church to the poor of the parish are likewise in single digit shillings, often the collection of the day shared between two or three people. In other words, the church had created a nice little earner for itself.

Secondly, there seems to be a general disregard for the system of punishment or at least a lacklustre attention to it. On many occassions it is noted in the minutes that a person so accused did not turn up at church to be rebuked from the pulpit. They are simply called to appear the following week but there seems little else used by the church to force compliance. One woman who was accused of adultery and often did not attend was considered to be unsuitably repentant so she was referred to the Presbytry of the North Isles. However, she did not appear there either! In other cases such as the sailing on the sabbath or walking along the shore the individuals involved simply stated, truly or not, that the sabbath was over or that it was a necessity to find lost sheep.

Ultimately, the church appears a joyless, money-grabbing institution while the people seem resourceful and inventive in their own defence. They are the kind of people from whom it is a pleasure to be a descendant!

Alternative Baby Names

Everyone believes they pick the perfect name for their baby. In recent years there is often a desire to be ‘unique’. This might mean an unusual spelling such as KVIIIlyn/K8lyn =Kaitlyn. The names with the most alternative spellings are, apparently, Caden with 52 alternatives including Kayden and Caeyden, and Aaliyah with a whopping 89 alternatives such as Alaiya, Eliya and Aleigha. Some alternatives to a traditional spelling bear little resemblance to the original so that Ian/Iain/Ioan also includes various spellings such as Ayaan, Ehaan or Aiyaan. I can see a trend to keep adding vowels until the name seems original and unique enough. Of course, the proud parent could just drop vowels altogether and have Mykl (pronounced Michael).

We are all familiar with the ‘unusual’ names that celebrities choose for their offspring. Frank Zappa called his daughter Moon Unit in 1967 and she still carries the name although David Bowie’s son Zowie now goes by the more regular name of Duncan Jones. Not to be outdone, mere mortals have also jumped on the ‘weird’ name bandwagon. Talula does the Hula from Hawaii was made a ward of court in New Zealand to allow her to change her name to something more ‘normal’. She had refused to tell anyone her real name, instead going by ‘K’, one of the 12 letters of the alphabet not in her original moniker.

New Zealand’s Department of Internal Affairs have blocked chosen names such as 4Real and Mafia No Fear and yet somehow let Number 16 Bus Shelter be attached to an unsuspecting child. Perhaps, like Brooklyn Beckham, the name had some meaning as to place of conception.

As I have delved further back into my ancestors, many of whom share a small group of names that were passed down from parents and grandparents, I have also discovered some unusual spellings. Isobel can also be Isabel, Isabella/Isobella or even Isabell/Isobell. Margaret can be spelled Margret on one document and Magrit on another. I have found several versions of Catherine, including Kaithring, Kaithren and Kaithrine. Henry can have two Ns and even no R. Surnames also have a habit of changing spelling which causes problems searching for documents. Most of these differences were not down to a trend in creating unique names but more likely to do with the literacy level of the writer. Whoever was recording the names may not have known how they were spelled or guessed phonetically based on what the parent had said.

Today I came across a very unusual name in a marriage record from 1834. The marriage was recorded in both the bride’s and the groom’s parishes. In one they are recorded as James and Penelope but in the other as James and Pnellypay. From what I can gather it is a unique spelling in Scottish records so if you are looking for both a traditional name and a unique spelling your baby girl may become the first Pnellypay in Scotland in the last 200 years.

Voting Rights

Today is local elections day and I want to go to vote. I have had a low level headache all day so I’ve been slouching about the house wearing an old Disney t-shirt and a pair of baggy joggers. Now the Wing Commander is objecting to me leaving the house in such attire, especially in his company. I pointed out I have clean underwear on but he is being intransigent and will not be moved so I have had to change into ‘proper clothes’. I feel this infringes on my rights. It’s not like I’m going to vote tory after all.

Gym and a Swim

When I joined a gym a couple of months ago my intention was to go twice a week.. Sadly, I have not quite achieved that yet with most weeks having only one visit and some with none at all. This retirement lark is proving to be very busy and all sorts of other things have got in the way of my good intentions.

Only on one occasion have I used the swimming pool and that was when I took my granddaughter along so today, having a fully free day to myself, I decided to visit the gym and then use the pool. I grabbed a swimming costume and towel to add to my gym gear and headed off. The gym was quiet, as it usually is – it is one of the main reasons I joined this particular establishment, but there was also some serious exercising and weight lifting going on while I worked my way around the equipment. I have to say that I was pleasantly aware that I was beginning to acquire more stamina and flexibility in the short time I have been going even with patchy attendance.

I ended the session with the cross trainer and a brisk walk which left me fairly sweaty, then back to the changing room to get ready for a swim. This was where things took a slightly unexpected, or at least unforeseen, turn. Apart from taking my granddaughter to the pool as mentioned above I haven’t been swimming for probably ten years. I bought 3 swimsuits for a holiday in Aruba many years ago and they have lain unused in a drawer ever since. The swimming costume I grabbed this morning without thought or care, the smallest of the three was therefore…um…on the nippy side.

Swimsuits are stretchy, I thought, I will manage to get into it and maintain modesty surely. This thought process had failed to take into consideration the sweatiness of my larger-than-ten-years-ago body after my gym workout. It was a workout in itself to get all the relevant body parts into the costume. One I hadn’t anticipated and don’t really want to reprise. Note to self – do not use this costume again until there has been some shrinkage…in body, not swimsuit.

After a very pleasant and very slow six lengths I went to shower, the temperature of which was set to volcanic and no means of changing it to a more reasonable level. Thankfully another shower cubicle was available and I was ready to get out of the tighter-than-anticipated swimsuit while negotiating a very wet floor. This was when I remembered another problem with swimming pool changing rooms, the humidity. Trying to dry a wet body, in a humid environment, with a towel which has already fallen on the wet floor and get dressed into clothes that will not cooperate is a special level of hellishness. Trousers will inevitably drag on the wet floor while tops will stick to partially dried arms. My conclusion is that I shall begin to wear kaftans made of towelling and devil take the fashion police.

On returning home I took up position reclining on the chaise longue like a Victorian lady with the vapours. There is only so much activity I can manage in one day.