Barry Mill

Since joining the National Trust, we have resolved to visit one property per month. First on the list was Barry Mill in Angus, not far from Monifieth where my folks used to have a static caravan. Set in lovely grounds, the building is one of the last remaining water-powered oatmeal mills in Scotland, just outside the small village of the same name. Close by on the East Coast Main Line is Barry Links Railway Station, consistently one of the least used in the UK. A token two trains call twice a day in each direction.

The three-storey mill is powered by the Barry Burn and grain has been processed here since at least 1539, although the current operation dates from 1814 when the mill was rebuilt following a major fire. This was a commercially active site until 1984 and the National Trust saved the complex from complete dereliction by stepping in to buy the property in 1988. The mill was opened to the public following a four-year restoration programme. Things didn't go too smoothly initially and the A-listed attraction was threatened with closure in 2009. It was one of the Trust's least visited properties and a public meeting was held to discuss the way forward. Financial support from Angus Council and a charitable trust enabled the mill to remain open and we arrived to a warm welcome from the onsite staff. After an alfresco coffee in the small picnic area, we joined a guided tour. Four people, including ourselves, were present. Before the perfection of potato farming in the early 1800s, oats formed a huge part of the Scottish diet and meal mills were scattered across the land. A 1794 map of Angus shows well over 100 such operations in the county. Workers were paid partly in kind. The works on a top-down principle. Oats are dried in the kiln and transported up to attic level, from where they tumble downwards through the various milling processes until they reach they basement where the are bagged for outward delivery. Water powers everything. A lade diverts part of the flow from the Barry Burn and this turns the main wheel. The axle drives a system of gears that control the milling stones, sack hoists, sieves and elevators. The local community was heavily dependent upon the output. With mice a constant problem, the onsite cat played an important role. Kirsty, who died in 1991, was the last in a long line of Barry pest controllers. The National Trust employs a head miller to supervise the working demonstrations that take place today. The growing industrial revolution brought changes to grain production. Larger and more efficient concerns were built in cities and the importation of produce from the New World made it increasingly difficult for rural mills to survive. Barry somehow clung on. We were unable to gain access to the drying kiln as it was under repair but it was possible to look through the door. This was the only part of the complex to survive the 1814 fire. A typical working week here was five 13-hour shifts and a half day on a Saturday. Health and safety was rudimentary and an in formation board told the story of a poor fellow who was fatally injured by the machinery. As the tour wound up, we were invited to touch the surface of various milling stones. It had been a very interesting glimpse into a vanished industrial age.

We decided to follow the walking trail along the wooded valley housing the burn - about half a mile each way. The pond has been retained to provide a resource for local wildlife. Bats frequent the area and swallows take advantage of the nesting opportunities in the old buildings. The tumbling oxygenated water allows trout to thrive, while dippers and kingfishers are known to zip up and down the small glen. As we wandered back towards the car park, several families passed by, enjoying a fine spring afternoon in nature. The mill grounds and nature walk are open to all and I should imagine the prospect of a free afternoon out is an enticing one when you have kids to feed. However, the mill can only survive as an attraction if enough people pay for admission, or at least purchase items the small café and shop. This is a circle that can be difficult to square. Barry Mill has already been granted one reprieve. We hope it is still educating people another generation down the line. On the homeward journey we paused at the Monifieth caravan site to relive past memories and enjoy the lovely views across the Firth of Tay.

Killin Circuit

The Highland Perthshire conservation village of Killin is situated at the western end of Loch Tay and the magnificent Falls of Dochart cascade through the settlement, the A827 crossing them on a slender stone bridge with four arches. Originally built in 1760, it was partially reworked in 1831. Killin was a stronghold of Perthshire Gaelic and the language was spoken natively by some residents as recently as the 1970s. We were in town today to complete a circular walk that would take us to the shore of the loch and return via an old railway.

We pulled into a car-park that was built on the site of the former railway station. A council depot occupies the land where the goods yard was situated. We picked up the path of the old line and soon crossed the River Lochay on a fine low-level steel bridge. The Lochay and Dochart converge just before entering Loch Tay. The railway crossed the Dochart on a five-arch concrete viaduct, but this was not part of our walk today. The Killin branch opened in 1886 and split from the main Callander to Oban route, running five miles to the terminus at Loch Tay Station - an interchange facility for the steamboats that plied their trade along the elongated stretch of water. Sailings ceased in 1939 and the station was closed to passenger traffic, although the tracks remained in use as the engine shed for the branch line was located here. We left the trackbed and took a path through the Loch Tay Marshes - an area popular with birdwatchers and anglers. Redshank and Oystercatcher were displaying today. The towering Ben Lawers dominates the surrounding landscape. It is the 10th highest mountain in Scotland and falls just short of 4000 feet. We skirted the western extremity of the loch and hooked back up with the railway, following the trackbed back towards the village. Despite the fact no trains have passed here in 60 years, there were sleepers embedded in the path at various points. I also spotted a railway telegraph pole still standing, but gradually rotting away. They aren't easy to find nowadays and hark back to a time when signal boxes were linked by overhead wires. The Killin branch closed in 1965 when the main route to Oban bit the dust. Parts of both railways have since been converted to cycleways. Traffic had seriously declined in the 1950s and the axe fell. Rural lines were shutting down across the whole of the UK at this point. We once again crossed the Lochay Bridge and I hopped over the fence into the adjacent field to take a nicely-lit photo. On the drive back towards Callander we stopped to view the picturesque Glen Ogle Viaduct, now carrying only bikes and foot soldiers. Further down the A84, the steering wheel seemed to move of its own accord and we found ourselves turning right and pulling up beside an outbuilding next to the Lade Inn. What did the sign say above the doorway? Ah yes, the Scottish Real Ale Shop.

This small business is a Mecca for beer lovers. We rang the bell and someone came out of the pub to open up for us. The shop has been trading since 2005 and stocks ales from the length and breadth of Scotland, including remote locations such as the Island of Colonsay. The Lade Inn house ales are also available. Over 40 breweries are represented and you are sure to find something to suit your taste.

Hag exhibition, Dunfermline

We are lucky in Dunfermline, having a changing programme of special displays at the Carnegie Galleries. The latest installation is HAG - knowledge, power and alchemy through craft. The exhibition brings together the work of 13 Scottish female artists, each embodying the transformative power and wisdom often feared, misjudged and suppressed by history. Women who defied convention and lived outside prescribed norms were often dismissed as "hags" or "witches" and banished to the margins of society. The exhibition seeks to reclaim the term "hag" from the earlier derision and present the skills as a symbol of strength.

Each of the contributors has dedicated years to mastering their medium, revealing knowledge and a profound relationship with the materials they shape and transform. Pictured right is a piece by Jo McDonald, who sources discarded books and changes them into sculptures. Another item that caught my eye was a dress woven from locally foraged plant materials, by Caroline Dear. An exhibition of this nature is always going to be a case of hit and miss. Pleasingly, more than half of the artworks appealed to me and I was glad I had made the effort attend. Nicole also found the material interesting and it was a nice little weekend trip into town.