Postcrossing

I've always been a keen sender and receiver of mail. I'm also interested in the logistical side of the postal service. I collected stamps as a boy but the main thrill for me is the welcome sound of letters hitting the doormat or returning home and glancing into the hallway to see if anything has arrived. As a teenager, I collected football programmes and obtained many batches through the post. There was even a fad for play-by-mail gaming at one stage! I've subscribed to various publications throughout my life, joined several clubs and societies that sent out literature by mail, written to different organisations and individuals. A whole bundle of stuff basically. The slow change started in the late 90s with the advent of the internet.

My postbag initially swelled as I became active online as I discovered endless websites offering books, CDs, DVDs etc for sale, plus as a young single bloke without responsibilities, I had plenty funds to indulge myself not to mention ample time to consume the material. Gradually the electronic forms of communication began to exert their influence and I found myself drifting towards a digital lifestyle. A book of stamps could sit in my wallet for months on end and I would peel one off if I had to send a birthday card. I kept up my postal DVD rentals (still do) and still received some paper literature but much of my affairs had migrated online. Lockdown initially pushed me further into the paperless world as I took out electronic subscriptions for my railway magazines and bought newspapers via the Kindle store.

However I did order some traditional printed matter during the enforced stay at home period and mail deliveries - if somewhat irregular - became a feature of the domestic routine. Something to look out for. With many of my favourite pubs, cafés, bookshops etc bolting their doors for weeks on end, I hit upon the idea of penning a few letters of support. I initially though about scribbling out messages on postcards but I didn't have a ready supply and decided I wanted to say more than just a few lines. Instead, I created a letterhead on A4 paper and filled a page with text. I included my contact details lest anyone wish to get back to me. Several places did. Always by email. I must have fired off between 20 and 30 letters in total but I did resort to email for some of my communication as - of course - postage costs soon mount up. Around this time, I joined the Handwritten Letter Society after spotting their Facebook presence. It's not a penpal group, rather a statement of intent that you will endeavour to keep the art of traditional letter writing alive. I remitted my £5 joining fee and my pack duly arrived from Dorset, along with a lovely letter from organiser Dinah. I received an A4 certificate, pin badge and postcard. A nice little enterprise and I follow the society on social media - contributing now and again. I have since found a couple of penpals online, from Lincolnshire, London and Liverpool. You could easily rack up dozens of people to correspond with and several Facebook sites are dedicated to this activity. What's probably the most surprising thing for middle-aged folk exploring the penpal posts is the large amount of young people seeking to physically write to somebody. You might assume the so-called digital natives would give little thought to the matter of putting pen to paper but a single trawl through a Facebook group would quickly dispel that notion. I would hazard a guess the experience of writing and receiving letters provides a welcome, slower paced, distraction from the hustle and bustle of instant communication. Anyway, I had received my postcard from the Handwritten Letter Society. What would I do with it? To whom would I mail it? I did keep up the habit over the years of sending postcards to my parents when on holiday and I still maintain this family tradition. But I can't remember the last time I sent one to another household. With no real expectations, I searched for postcard sending projects and I hit upon something called Postcrossing. Within a minute or two, I realised this was exactly what I was looking for.

I signed up and requested an address. My first card was going to a woman called Oksana in the Ukraine. I shipped it off at the cost of £1.45. Annoyingly, there is no special postcard rate in the UK and they are classed as international letters in the lightest weight category. So how does Postcrossing work? When you join, you can write to a maximum of five random people. A link to each person's profile is supplied, along with their name and address. You are also give a unique reference code which must be written somewhere on the card. Upon delivery, the recipient enters the code into the website and the system registers that you have successfully sent a postcard. Your name and address is then put into the pot for another member to correspond with. In a nutshell, for every card you send you are due one back. You have no control over the destinations. All traffic is generated by the computer. The clever part is that you cannot receive any cards until you have actually sent some. I would discover just how important this condition was when I attempted to form my own local postcard circle. After writing to Oksana, I quickly decided I wanted to send a few more. All I needed to do was source a few postcards. I found a lady on Etsy selling packs of her own Edinburgh Castle designs. That got me up and running and it's good to support an independent artist from Scotland. I've bought a few of Cassandra's rather fetching images (pictured above) and I pick up a few cards on my travels now and again to keep my stack topped up. I even managed to grab a handful of freebies from Lidl as part of a government sponsored St Andrew's Day celebration. Some people go to elaborate lengths on their profiles to describe which type of designs they'd like (or not like) to receive. I tend to ignore much of this as I figure I'm the one sending, so I choose. I do read the profiles to see if I can tailor my message to suit the interests of the addressee. English is of course the lingua franca but my cards to the German speaking lands are often written auf Deutsch. When you register a card, you can also write a message of thanks to the sender, which I always do. When one of your cards arrives safely, an email alerts you to this fact. You can then request another address and so the process continues. Due to the complexity of the algorithm (which tries to ensure a healthy spread of countries) and the ebb and flow of people wishing to send, you sometimes receive more cards than you might expect, although this apparently evens out in the long run.

All good clean fun! Five cards can travel simultaneously for beginners but as your tally increases, you are awarded extra slots. I'm currently allowed to have eight cards travelling concurrently. I'm not exactly sure about the origin of my first received card. I arrived home from a holiday in the south of Scotland to find two in the hallway. One from France (pictured) and another from Germany. I've since received messages from all over Europe, the USA, Canada, Japan, China, Singapore and Taiwan. Also one from the UK. Nothing yet from Australia, South America or Africa. But it's a long term hobby. Travel times vary wildly and may well be skewed due to the Covid situation across the globe. A card to Holland may arrive within three days, one to Russia or China can take several weeks! Delivery in those countries could possibly be delayed due to translation issues with the Latin script. Some Russian members do display their details in Cyrillic and that's not difficult to copy. I haven't yet attempted this with Chinese characters! If a card is not registered within 60 days of dispatch, it becomes "expired" - meaning you can then ask for another person to write to. This has happened to me once with a card to America. Perhaps it got lost in the post or the recipient simply forgot to enter the code. The whole system relies upon people actually sending the cards and those receiving them to log the details. I always enter the details carefully online. I assume the program already knows who is sending to whom and will alert you if you type in a code that refers to a different card or doesn't match at all. Haven't tested that yet. Royal Mail recently hiked the price of an international postcard to £1.70 (equivalent to two first-class stamps) - a whopping 25p increase. I feel this is somewhat unjustified given that I receive cards from Germany which travel on a single 95 cent stamp. Pretty much half our rate! Americans pay just $1.20 which pans out around 90p. Surely we could have a global postcard stamp for a quid? I'm going to contact Royal Mail today and see what they say about that. I read a few weeks ago that parcel volumes have now overtaken letters in our domestic mail service for the first time. There has certainly been a boom in online ordering for Christmas this year! The Queen's mail is now run as a private company and obviously they will concentrate on areas of business that offer the best returns. One thing that must stick in their craw is the way private courier firms can dump items on Royal Mail that are destined for harder to reach areas. The likes of UPS and TNT can use their own drivers to cream off the profitable routes. The economy rate for international postcards (beyond Europe) has been raised from £1.18 to £1.45. I've seen people say on forums that there isn't much difference in delivery time between the two tariffs. Meanwhile on the home front, a first-class stamp now costs 85p (up from 76p) while second class has gone up by a mere penny to 66p. The latter offers good value for non-urgent domestic letters, considering the weight limit is a generous 100g.

I mentioned I attempted to set up my own little UK postcard group. I placed a few messages on penpal pages and around 15 people said they would like to join. I duly collected all the addresses and instructed everyone to whom they should send. Rather than mutual exchanges, I formed a loop of names and each person would write to the next, in a clockwise direction. Next time around, two along, and so on. I structured the initial circle so that people wouldn't be receiving cards from their own geographical area (although in time this would become inevitable). I had a good spread of members from Dorset to Banffshire. By the second round, I had over 20 participants but the cracks started to show. One lady said she was leaving because she'd sent two cards but had received none in return. Other people had commented on the group page with similar tales. It dawned on me that even though someone actively signs up for a group, there is no guarantee they will take part. Rather naïve on my part, but you live and learn. I get it - people join in good faith but maybe life gets in the way. Or you try it once and decide it's not for you. Fair enough. What puzzled me slightly were the responses to my sending instructions where folk said they would get on the case, then clearly didn't. Perhaps a way of getting me off their back. Or it's possible they simply forgot. Again, I understand. As a counter measure, I decided to make the third merry-go-round an opt-in affair. I posted on the group asking people to confirm whether they wanted to participate. Eleven said yes. Not bad. One chap however was one of they guy's that had failed to send before (as postmaster you can work these things out). I'll give him another chance, I thought. But this time he sends to me. That way, there's less chance of a committed member losing out. Quite a few folk posted images of their received cards and I felt this round was a success. I, of course, got nothing in the mail. I wonder if he'll throw his hat in the ring for the next exchange in the new year? Some of the twenty-somethings use phone apps that allow you to create your own card and pay a fee to have it mailed on your behalf. Mixing tradition with new technology. I like it.

The Postcrossing website allows you to store an electronic "wall" of your cards. Here is a selection of mine. So where do I put the physical product? I purloined a supply of A4-sized plastic pouches and started filing the cards by country. Sets of flag stickers were ordered from eBay and one was placed in the postage-stamp corner of each wallet. Nicole also bought me an old-style photo box which (I think) is designed to hold pictures measuring 6 x4 inches. Most postcards conform to this size but some are slightly bigger. I have divided the box by continent and any cards that don't fit find a home in the plastic folders. I'm definitely in this for the long term and am hoping to build a collection covering most of the world. If people think I'm nuts then I can confirm their diagnosis as being 100% accurate. It takes all sorts.

Dumfries & Galloway

The October holidays came around and a trip to Germany was still off limits. We plumped for five days down in the southwest of Scotland. That suited me absolutely fine as Dumfries was a town I'd long wanted to explore and the wider area was largely unknown to me. I'd been down a couple of times with the football supporters club but you don't get much of chance to do anything other than watch the game and grab a quick lunch. Nicole and I had previously taken a day trip to a nature reserve on the Solway Firth but this holiday would give us ample opportunity to visit a number of locations without any pressure of time. The Premier Inn on the outskirts of Dumfries had cheap rooms available and I promptly booked us in from Thursday to Tuesday. I quite like these chain hotels as you know you're getting a comfortable standard of accommodation and they make a good base for a few days exploring. The Corona restrictions meant eating and drinking establishments would be closing at 6pm but I could live with that.

I do enjoy a drive down the M74. Once you are past the populated parts of Lanarkshire, the traffic thins out and the three-lane motorway undulates through the green hills. You cruise effortlessly past the HGVs and it's an unlikely scenic route. We hit Dumfries around 2pm and decided to drive into the town centre and go for a wander. After a bite to eat in a High Street café, we had a look around the town centre and I found the imposing statue of Robert Burns particularly impressive. The bard spent the last decade of his life in the town and this heritage was one of my main reasons for wanting to visit. I was struck by the number of grand stone buildings that had clearly seen better days and many of these properties were vacant, awaiting further decay. It's a problem affecting many medium-sized towns. In truth, Dunfermline (where I live) and Kirkcaldy (my place of work) aren't faring any better. Retail has suffered in recent years - a process that lockdown will no doubt accelerate. More worrying from a historic point of view are these former banks and insurance offices now standing derelict and just too goddamn big to attract new tenants. Wetherspoons have a good track record of repurposing these hulking premises but one tasteful conversion leaves several others awaiting some care and attention. We made our way down towards the River Nith via a charming old vennel and I picked up a bunch of postcards at the tourist office to fuel my recently acquired postcrossing habit.

Dumfries marks the tidal limit of the river, which meets the sea at the Solway Firth. We were greeted by the pleasing sight of a dipper going about its business. These birds are remarkable creatures as they can withstand strong underwater currents. There are several bridges across the Nith as it flows through the town. The most famous crossing is the six-arch Devorgilla Bridge. Old Bridge House is built into the end of the iconic structure and now serves as a museum. Unfortunately we had just missed its seasonal opening period. The pedestrian suspension bridge is a Victorian construction dating from 1875. A pleasant walk between these bridges takes you past the Robert Burns Centre - housed in an 18th-century watermill and now functioning as a cinema and arts venue. Further downstream is a park popular with families and another old mill stands on the opposite bank. This one is derelict however and festooned with ivy. It did make for a nice little urbex snapshot and apparently there are various proposals to convert it to community use. As ever, finding the finance is easier said than done. I took some lovely pictures of the Dumfries skyline in the fading light and it was time to make tracks to the hotel. Located right on the edge of town at a major roundabout, we were conveniently placed for the day trips to follow. The room was the typical Premier Inn layout and perfectly suitable for unwinding after being out and about. With pubs and restaurants forced to close at the end of High Street hours, our meals would most likely be fetched from the supermarket and a Tesco was handily located further up the ring road. A trip to RSPB Mersehead on the Solway Firth was our first outing and - following a breakfast at McDonald's - we hit the road south and stopped in the village of New Abbey - home of the spectacular Sweetheart Abbey. It's origin as a shrine to human and divine love is as appealing as its setting. The graceful ruin nestles between the grey bulk of Criffel Hill and the shimmering waters of the Solway Firth. Its blood-red sandstone walls are vivid against the lush green grass. Much remains to see today and the most impressive part is the arched nave of the Abbey Church alongside the bell tower.

My camera work was hindered by the scaffolding that surrounded the building and no access to the interior was possible. I could however peer through the gaps in the security fencing for a view of the nave interior. I then headed round the back to have a wander around the huge graveyard - probably the biggest I have seen attached to a church. Most of the stones were traditional upright slabs but there were also a number of crosses, obelisks, classical stones, and table-shaped tombs. The majority of the older stones bear traces of lime wash, and a few still have this covering intact. Before the twentieth century it was apparently common to treat gravestones in this manner to protect them from weathering. For a minute, the place reminded me of the famous scene from The Good, The Bad & The Ugly where Eli Wallach's character runs among the headstones, looking for the lost gold. No hidden treasure to find today but someone - perhaps the big man upstairs - was smiling upon me as a ray of sunshine illuminated the whole area where I stood. A previously drab day was suddenly transformed into an excellent photo opportunity. After a few minutes, the light was gone. It was time to move on and we had to give the charming little village tearoom a miss as we had eaten breakfast less than an hour ago. We arrived at RSPB Mersehead and were greeted by a huge flock of barnacle geese in the adjacent field. It was nice to observe these magnificent black and white birds at close quarters. The reserve has a small visitors centre but only the toilets were open today. The manager was working from a stall on the entrance road and gave us lots of recommendations for things to see and do during our visit. He was a pretty intense chap and it was a relief to finally break away and head inside. Still, his heart was obviously in the job, no doubt about that. I purchased a couple of pin badges to stick in my birding hat. One day I'll have every square inch of wool (or rather acrylic) covered. Not like me to be obsessive about completing the set, eh?

There were a couple of spacious hides and one overlooked a pond. Various ducks were swimming among the geese and swans and we spotted a shoveler duck in the melee. Once you've seen its bill you appreciate where the name comes from! The other hide was positioned in quiet grassland and we watched a stonechat flit from one bush to the next. I managed to grab a good picture for posterity. Deer were also roaming around and we could easily have walked for miles in this picturesque area. However, we wanted to push on to the town of Castle Douglas - famed for its long High Street featuring many traditional shops. We passed through Dalbeattie on the way and I was surprised by the presence of granite buildings, something I'd always associated with Aberdeen at the other end of the country. Further research taught me the Dalbeattie granite was once taken to Liverpool Docks and thence exported around the world. Travelling certainly does provide an education! The remaining quarries in the area now produce mainly crushed aggregate for road building. Less glamorous but at least it provides jobs. Dalbeattie and Castle Douglas are situated in the historic county of Kirkcudbrightshire, also known locally as the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. The whole southwest region is under the care of Dumfries & Galloway Council and that makes sense from an administrative point of view. The name Galloway also refers to a vaguely defined traditional territory which most people would equate with the counties of Kirkcudbright and Wigtown. The traditional counties - besides still functioning legally as registration areas - still provide a strong sense of local identity and it's a pity the media too often pinpoint towns by their Council Area. The old counties were never abolished, in fact they never even had ruling councils apart from an 85-year spell from 1890 to 1975. Yet some people insist they are no more. Crazy!

Castle Douglas has a large car park at the top of the gently sloping High Street. The perfect place from which to launch our assault. There was indeed an impressive selection of independent outlets. To name a few at random: stationer, sweet shop, arts & crafts, hardware (a vast emporium), butchers, florist and of course several eating options. Feeling peckish, we were drawn inside the Greek restaurant as if by magic! The daytime menu featured a wide range of mezze dishes priced £3 to £6. The waitress recommended we choose four or five of these mini platters. We were the only customers, although a few others came in just before we left. The food was excellent and freshly prepared by a genuine Greek chef. We enjoyed the meal so much we even went back a couple of days later when we happened to be passing Castle Douglas again. Appetites sated, we spilled back on to the street and I headed down to the Sulwath Brewery at the far end. I knew they had a shop and planned to grab a handful of beers to enjoy over our stay. I walked through a vennel into a courtyard where people were seated at tables enjoying the produce. No indoor drinking was permitted but the bar was in operation with takeaway bottles and brewery souvenirs available for perusal in a corner of the room. I grabbed a canvas bag containing six assorted ales - perfect! It was good to see the place still trading during the Covid restrictions but I did read a couple of weeks later that the council had stepped in to close the outdoor seated area down on what seemed like pretty spurious charges. Since the food was being supplied by outside caterers, the authorities deemed this a way of attempting to circumvent the restrictions. Rather petty in my opinion. Does it actually matter where the food is cooked? Now a thriving local business faces an uncertain future as cash flow is strangled.

I had noticed on the map that Threave Castle was situated just a couple of miles outside Castle Douglas and could be conveniently accessed from a roundabout on the A75. A minor road led to a car park and from there it was a short walk to the castle. We found this trail and made our way in the dimming light towards the castle. It sits on an island in the River Dee and normally a boat would ferry visitors across during operating hours. All bets were off due to Corona however and we viewed the 30-foot tower house from the jetty. It was built in the late 14th century by Archibald the Grim, Lord of Galloway. It became the stronghold of the Black Douglas family and still today, around its base, you can see the artillery fortification, an innovative defence years ahead of its time, installed around 1455 when James II besieged the castle. I found the location wonderfully evocative and could understand why painters often sit and create an image of this scene. As we strolled back to the car, the sun began dipping below the horizon and we pulled away as dusk was upon us. As I bombed along the A75 back towards Dumfries, I saw snatches of a beautiful sunset in the rear view mirror. A pity we didn't hang around to watch, but I'm sure similar opportunities will present themselves. A quick food stop at Tesco and we settled in for the night. Next morning was Saturday and we checked out the market in Dumfries town centre. It wasn't anything special and we had breakfast at charity café where - strangely - there was a serious shortage of vegetarian options for Nicole. I sent a postcard to my folks and we decided to drive out to the Galloway Forest Park in the afternoon. This covers a huge area and features no less than three visitor centres. The woodland is well known for being largely free of light pollution and the resulting dark night skies provide perfect conditions for stargazing. Unfortunately the weather forecast for our stay was cloudy.

On the drive out, we spotted a solitary Belted Galloway cow on a hillside. Finally I got the chance to see an example of this legendary breed of cattle. We drove through some pretty remote terrain, every bit as desolate as, say, the far northwest Highlands. Eventually we arrived at Clatteringshaws Visitors Centre which overlooks a man-made loch. We grabbed a bite to eat in the café and then walked the Bruce's Stone Trail - a straightforward stroll of just over a mile. The path ran through mature woodland before ending at the large boulder against which the famous King of Scots was supposed to have rested following a battle. The surroundings weren't spectacular but pleasant enough and it's always nice to find yourself in a new part of Scotland. After a couple of hours pottering around we headed back to Dumfries and Nicole went for a nap while I jumped into the car and drove to the nearby village of Kirkton where I hoped to do a little urban exploring. Carnsalloch House was my target and I expected it to be in ruinous condition following an arson attack in 2018 - apparently the third fire to occur at the A-listed property in the space of a few years. It shows that even abandoned houses in the countryside are vulnerable to mindless vandalism. The Leonard Cheshire Organisation took over the house in the 1960s and it was run as a home for the disabled until the turn of the century. This strikes a chord with me as my mum's sister spent a good portion of her life in the Glenrothes Cheshire Home - a purpose-built unit rather than an old stately home like Carnsalloch. I presume high running costs were one of the reasons the Dumfriesshire home was vacated. I parked in the village centre and made my way down to the place where the map said Carnsalloch House stood. One small problem - it wasn't there. A new villa had been erected on the site and I can only assume permission was granted to demolish the old building due to its dangerous condition. I had no alternative but to turn tail. You win some, you lose some. Back to the hotel for me then.

On Sunday we drove back to the Solway Firth to visit the charming little coastal village of Southerness. Standing proudly and surprisingly close to the shore is the lighthouse - the second oldest in Scotland. It was commissioned by Dumfries Town Council in 1748 to assist vessels in passing safely through the estuary, then a busy shipping channel. Moving goods by sea was the only practical solution in those days as decent roads were few and far between. The lighthouse was significantly improved in 1805 under the watchful eye of legendary engineer Robert Stevenson. Dumfries was a major port in the southwest and produce from the mills would be floated down the River Nith to the Solway. Southerness Lighthouse is built upon a square base rather than circular and we could easily have walked out to touch it when we arrived as the tide was distant. We went for a pleasant wander along the stony and sandy beach and spotted a group of golden plover sitting among the rock pools. The skies were grey but the view across to Cumberland in England was impressive. After a leisurely half mile we turned back and ambled towards the village. The tide was now lapping its way towards the shore and I watched a group of turnstone huddled on a tuft of grass that was gradually being engulfed by the incoming water. One by one they flew off but a handful tried to hold out until they too were forced to flee. It made for a funny going, going, gone sequence of photos. We weren't spared by the tide either and found ourselves unable to approach the lighthouse which was now marooned just off shore. A flight of steps took us into a residential scheme and we looped our way back to the start. A large caravan park, or holiday village as they now seem to style themselves, is situated in the centre of Southerness and no doubt brings welcome trade to the local shop and the pub/restaurant. It would otherwise be a fairly isolated spot, although the golf course overlooking the beach also seems to be a busy place.

We booked a table for a mid-afternoon meal at a pub called The Swan. It stands on the banks of the Nith about a mile and a half downstream from Dumfries. It specialises in gourmet burgers and the river walk was one I'd planned while researching the holiday a few weeks beforehand. A riverside path would take us there. We parked on the waterfront and were soon passing the old mill. Further downstream a cemetery sloped down to the water's edge and the view was completed by a church tower in the background. Nicole's achilles tendon started playing up and I suggested we shorten the walk by switching to the pavement alongside the road to the village of Kingholm Quay where we were headed, thereby eliminating a river meander. As we approached our destination a bus passed by in the opposite direction. A quick check of the excellent Traveline Scotland app confirmed the service was every two hours on a Sunday. That would work out nicely for making our way back to Dumfries. One of the reasons the Swan had caught my eye was the fact it served a couple of local ales. I was looking forward to some refreshment but my hopes were dashed upon arrival when I realised daytime alcohol sales were only permitted outdoors. Of course I must have heard about this restriction but it hadn't really registered. Ah well, pint of Pepsi it was then. My Scottish themed burger came with a side portion of haggis and I had no complaints whatsoever about the meal. We found our way to the nearest bus stop afterwards and were the only two passengers on board for the short run back to Dumfries. Public transport operators must be really struggling and I wonder if any government subsidies are being paid in order to maintain services for key workers? Perhaps not out in the sticks but surely it's a real concern in urban areas. As luck would have it, the bus passed by the place where we were parked and we were able to jump off just as the rain began to fall. A soaking neatly avoided.

The highlight of the final day before our hotel stay ended was an exploration of the Robert Burns heritage in Dumfries town centre. The great man was Ayrshire born and bred and he also had a spell in the capital city where he mingled with the Scottish literati of the time. Burns came from an agricultural background and took a lease on a Dumfriesshire farm upon his return from Edinburgh. At this point he also trained as a customs officer as farming hadn't been a successful occupation for him in the past. This proved a wise move as he was forced to give up the farm and seek employment in the town of Dumfries. An appointment as an exciseman duly followed. His salary - along with whatever income accrued from his poems and songs - allowed the bard to live fairly comfortably in a red sandstone house with his wife Jean Armour and their children. They could afford the services of a maid and the building contained two storeys. Rabbie was no pauper but true worldwide recognition of his work didn't arrive until long after his death. Were his work not in the public domain today, it would surely generate vast amounts of royalties. The end came in 1796 when Burns passed away at the young age of 37. Jean lived for another 38 years and a fine statue of her stands near the entrance to St Michael's Churchyard where the Burns Mausoleum is located. They had nine children together but didn't officially marry until 1788. Robert was a well-known ladies man and had several offspring with other women. Now that I'm interested in studying old family documents, I've been meaning to find a death certificate of a Burns child to see what profession(s) were listed for the father. Must do it sometime. It has been compulsory to nationally register all births, marriages and deaths in Scotland since 1855 and I know at least a couple of Rabbie's kids lived beyond that threshold. I've been an admirer of Burns ever since I was in my final year at primary school. Our teacher - Charlie Kennedy - was president of a local Burns Society and encouraged us to learn (at least part of) the marathon tale of Tam o' Shanter. I managed to memorise the whole lot and won 3rd prize in a recital competition at Lochgelly Centre. I remember performing the epic verse at my gran's one night during a family party. I must have been around 12 years old.

I did actually reprise the old saga in my late 30s when we had guests for dinner, although I may have had to refer to my notes for prompting on this occasion. While Burns is chiefly regarded as a poet in his native Scotland, his songs have resonated across the whole world and remain popular to this today. Not just in English speaking countries either. I suppose it's quicker and easier to connect with a song and while poetry can be - and often is - translated into other languages, some of the emotive content must surely be lost when dealing with such a huge block of text. Burns House was of course closed to the public during our holiday. The preserved interior with its narrow passages and stairwells would make social distancing well nigh impossible. A shame, as it would have been nice to see inside. Free admission to boot. Original manuscripts are on display as well as some of the bard's personal possessions, such as the desk and chair where he created some of his finest works. The house is a pilgrimage site for enthusiasts around the world and several literary giants have visited, including fellow poets Wordsworth, Coleridge and Keats. Burns's constitution had reportedly been weakened by years of toil on his various farms and the long rides in harsh weather during his days as an exciseman can't have helped matters. His funeral took place on the same day as his son Maxwell was born. The bard was laid to rest in an unassuming plot in the far corner of St Michael's Churchyard. A simple slab marked the grave and some felt this was an inadequate memorial. The reality was probably that the family couldn't afford anything grander. Although Robert and Jean had lived a comfortable life in Dumfries, they weren't awash with cash and proposals to publish posthumous volumes took years to come to fruition. Burns was given the freedom of the town following his death and a campaign was launched to erect a more suitable resting place for this icon of Scottish literature.

Among those who took a leading part in the fund raising activities was Sir Walter Scott. Money flowed in from all over Great Britain and from as far afield as India and America. By spring 1815, enough was in place for work to commence. The plans were based on a design by Thomas Hunt of London the job was put out to tender. Local stonemason John Milligan won the contract and the first stone was laid in June 1815. The tomb was constructed in a less crowded part of the churchyard than where Burns had initially been laid to rest. It's certainly easy to find the mausoleum as its gleaming white stonework is in stark contrast to the other graves. The bard's remains - along with those of two of his sons who had died in childhood - were disinterred and moved to their new home. Exhumations were - and still are - carried out a midnight. Burn's coffin was found to be in a poor state and fell apart when moved. Far spookier was the story about his body crumbling to dust. This is relayed on a plaque next to the tomb and there are quotes from the workers who witnessed the event. Jean was buried beside her husband in 1834 and son Robert was also interred in the family tomb upon his death in 1857. I must check out this death registration some time. It was heart stirring to tour all this heritage relating to one of Scotland's greatest ever sons. There is obviously a strong Burns tradition in countries that experienced high levels of immigration from Scotland, such as Canada and the USA (where he is - infuriatingly - often referred to as Bobby Burns). What's perhaps less well known is the existence of a host of Burns clubs in the former Soviet Union. Rabbie was regarded as a people's poet over there and I remember attending an exhibition in Dunfermline where a pamphlet for a Burns supper in Kiev was on display. Many of his poems contained strong themes of social justice and I guess that chimed with the socialist ideals in eastern Europe.

I also stumbled upon a less artistic Burns establishment in Dumfries - his old drinking den, or howff. It's well documented that he enjoyed his fair share of female company but Rabbie was equally at home boozing it up with the lads. Tam O' Shanter is testament to that. In 1889 the Dumfries Burns Howff Club was formed with the purpose of organising a Burns Night dinner in the Globe Inn in order to mark its unique connection with the poet. The club celebrated its centenary in 1989 and is still active within the Burns movement today. Burns himself described the Globe as "my howff" i.e. regular watering hole. Attached to a wall opposite the pub was a mural depicting imagery from the song The Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman and featuring a swashbuckling Rabbie on horseback. As crown employees who collected taxes for the government and intercepted illegal goods, the excisemen were generally unpopular among eighteenth-century communities. Burns was keenly aware of this and composed a humorous song from the perspective of one such township revelling in the absence of the loathed customs enforcer who has been taken by Satan to hell. Certainly, it is difficult to reconcile the poet's latter-day occupation with his seemingly republican political outlook. Needs must and all that. Or maybe some folk just like adventure and whose side you happen to be on is a trifling detail. All cultured out, it was time to hit the road and go back to Castle Douglas for a more comprehensive look at the High Street. As stated previously, we sneaked back to the Greek restaurant for a second sampling of the mezze menu. Undeniably delicious, but it's never quite as good second time around when you don't leave much of a gap in between. That brought out final full day to an end and it was back to the hotel one last time. We still had a travelling day to fill and the planned expedition was one of my favourite types - a museum visit. The Devil’s Porridge Museum commemorates HM Factory Gretna, the largest munitions factory in the world during the WW1. The exhibition also explores the stories of the Solway Military Coast during the Second World War and beyond. The "greatest factory on earth" was an incredible nine miles long and two miles wide. Around 30,000 people were employed in the production of essential wartime armaments. Half the workforce were women and it marked the first time in the area that females had formed such a large part of the workforce. It was a top secret affair and at times a highly dangerous occupation, but it helped turn the tide of the war.

The explosive paste used in the manufacture of weaponry was nicknamed the "Devil's Porridge" - hence the title of the museum. We pre-booked our slot online and arrived at 10am after a frustratingly slow journey along the A75. The dual carriageway vanished a couple of miles outside Dumfries. We were met at the door and given the sanitisation drill. Cleaning was rigorously carried out with the staff wiping down surfaces almost as soon as you'd left one display and moved on to the next. Overkill or a sensible precaution? Depends upon your own commitment to such measures. The museum layout did an excellent job of portraying the history of HM Factory Gretna and this obviously included a lot of social change as well as the mechanics of war. For many young women, it was the first opportunity of paid employment outside of domestic service, agriculture, secretarial duties, nursing or primary school teaching. The workers were housed on-site in large dormitories which must have intensified the feeling of serving your country. Exposure to fumes and the ever-present risk of explosions meant this was no cushy number. War may be a dreadful thing but there's no doubt the two global 20th century conflicts expedited major technological advances and hugely shifted attitudes within society. Then there's the human stories which are always worth exploring. One particular absurdity is the fact two people who - under normal circumstances - would readily sit down and enjoy a drink together can suddenly find themselves on opposing sides through no fault of their own. The huge factory complex had no practical use once the Great War had ended and the efforts of 10,000 navvies - mostly Irish - to build the place and the 12,000 women who staffed it were soon just a memory as the site was dismantled. Thankfully we can enjoy learning about these days in this modern purpose-built museum which itself has developed over the years from the early years in a church hall and industrial shed. The story continued upstairs beyond 1918. The Solway Coast was extremely active during the Second World War, with military and civilian activities closely intertwined. The Annan, Eastriggs and Gretna area welcomed hundreds of people far from home, including evacuees, Dr Barnardo’s boys and prisoners of war stationed in the locality.

Local people sprang into action to do their bit for the war effort in a variety of jobs. Many went to work for the Ministry of Supply at the Eastriggs and Longtown ammunition depots - the former HM Factory Gretna site. Several helped out at the many Imperial Chemical Industry factories which had opened locally such as ICI Powfoot to produce munitions. As well as local soldiers going off to fight abroad, Gretna faced tragedy closer to home as a result of a bombing raid in April 1941 when 28 people were tragically killed by a rogue German bomber. The sight of Hawker Hurricanes and Spitfires were common place in the Solway skies, with young pilots training at RAF Annan and using local satellite airfields to practise landing and aerial manoeuvres. The Annan base would later become home to Chapelcross Nuclear Power Station, the first such installation in Scotland. This would play a vital role in Britain’s efforts during the Cold War period. I took my time going round the museum in order to take in as much information as possible. I was completely satisfied with the visit and the admission price of £6 was very reasonable. When I really enjoy a museum visit, I always make a point of purchasing something from the shop or patronising the café to give the place an extra boost. I know that funding is a never-ending issue for these places and if we all made a small contribution, the future would be more secure. Before hopping into the car, I wandered over to inspect the green locomotive on display outdoors. A shunting engine, it was actually a fireless steam loco charged in advance of operating duties. This was crucial from a safety point of view as it ensured no stray sparks would fly around and the work often involved pulling wagons of the devil's porridge itself. Obviously the pressurised steam reserves didn't last forever and three charging stations were sited around the complex. Very interesting. I had never heard of a pug without a fire raging on the footplate.

Fife Witches Remembered

I have previously written extensively about the sad case of Lilias Adie, the Torryburn resident accused of practising witchcraft in the West Fife village back in 1704. Many women in these unenlightened times (and a few men) suffered the ordeal of a "trial" which of course resulted in being condemned to death if found guilty - often by burning. In any event, remains were disposed of and the final resting place went unlogged - except in the case of Lilias. She died during her incarceration and is unique in the sense that an exact grave exists. Her coffin was bundled into a swiftly-dug pit on the Torryburn foreshore and a stone slab dumped on top. The latter course of action was to prevent re-animation of the corpse by Auld Nick himself.

A century and a half later, Lillias's watery grave was plundered by wealthy local collector Sir Joseph Noel Paton who had amassed sufficient artefacts to build a private museum within his Dunfermline mansion. He was obsessed with the whole story of Lilias and had two walking sticks fashioned from the wood of her coffin - still in good condition due to the special conditions of the environment. One of the sticks was owned by Andrew Carnegie - Dunfermline's most famous son - and was donated to the Pittencrieff House Museum. The skull was taken from the grave and exhibited to the Fifeshire Medical Association in 1884. It thereafter resided at St Andrew's University but has since gone missing. It's last confirmed location was at the 1938 Empire Exhibition at Bellahouston Park, Glasgow. A photograph has however been preserved by the National Library of Scotland. From this image, forensic artists at the University of Dundee constructed virtual model of what Adie's face might have looked like. The story gained quite a bit of attention in the national media and people began researching her life and its tragic end. I first became aware of the tale after attending a talk by local historian and archaeologist Douglas Spiers. I have since attended another of his detailed lectures and he is clearly the go-to man for all things related to Lilias. I have met Doug on several occasions and he is always willing to chat about history in general. He set out to pinpoint the exact location of Lilias's burial site and after much tramping about in his wellies, identified a seaweed-covered slab not far from the high tide mark as the likely spot. The stone was clearly quarried and not a random glacial deposit. Crucially, the location tallied with the descriptions on documents from the period. I checked out the grave myself last year and have been aware of local interest in Lilias's story steadily growing. To this end, the Facebook group Fife Witches Remembered sprang up and quickly attracted a lot of members. Such was the interest from outside the Kingdom that the title was altered to Remembering the Accused Witches of Scotland.

Formal meetings have also taken place face to face and no doubt a group constitution solidified. Local councillor Kate Stewart was instrumental in setting up the organisation and was involved in a proposal to site a witch memorial in Torry Bay. I attended a public meeting but the residents' opinion was firmly against the erection of a decommissioned beacon which the council had lying around. I have blogged elsewhere about the proceedings and the frustration I felt, so won't repeat it all here. A light in the gloom was the fact the suggestion to place memorial plaques around the area received no objections. Which brings us to today's event. The stones were to be laid upon the Fife Coastal Path at Culross, Valleyfield and Torryburn - a sensible move as this walking route attracts huge numbers of visitors to the region. The unveiling ceremony was scheduled to take place on Culross Village Green and would be a socially distanced event. Given my interest in local history and previous investigation of Lilias's life, I couldn't miss a gathering like this. Nicole was up for it too. I had envisaged maybe 50 people turning up but when we arrived in Culross, parking was at a premium. I dropped Nicole off and went in search of a space. By the time I arrived in the village centre, the proceedings were about to begin and there must have been over 200 folk assembled. Unfortunately no microphones were used and it was very difficult to hear the announcements over the strong breeze and traffic noise. This inevitably led to people creeping closer to the orators which negated the whole concept of keeping at least two metres apart. Some people did complain about this on social media afterwards but it was purely a consequence of the speeches being inaudible from a distance, no recklessness intended.

Kate Stewart delivered the opening address and handed over to leading lawyer Claire Mitchell QC who has launched a campaign to pardon the the tortured (and let's face it, murdered) women. Also speaking was Lindsey Marchant from the nearby Greengate gallery. Ms Mitchell said - "I would be happy to see a memorial anywhere in Scotland but there is a particular resonance with Fife because so many people along this coast were executed as witches. We don’t have a central point of saying we’re sorry for what we did, or recognising it, or acknowledging it in any way". It is estimated that 380 Fifers were accused of practising black magic between the 16th and 18th centuries and many were imprisoned, tortured, hanged, then burned. A sobering thought and certainly not in keeping with any so-called age of enlightenment. Poor Lilias was even accused of copulating with the devil - in a cornfield no less! Normally you couldn't make this stuff up but the tragedy here is that people actually gave credence to the sensational claims. It was pleasing to see such a healthy turnout for an important cause and let's hope the plaques provoke thought among locals and visitors alike. As the official press photoshoot was in progress, I wandered over to piggyback on the action. We bumped into Douglas Spiers and he - as always - waxed loquaciously on the subject matter. Ronnie Collins was also milling around (try keeping him away from anything historical on his home turf!) and an informative afternoon out was nicely capped by the appearance of the Nelson's ice cream van - driven by a friendly local farmer we often meet on our walks around Culross. As Nicole remarked, it certainly does reinforce a sense of community when you bump into so many people you know. We had tea and cake in the café above the pottery and the headed home. Justice for the wrongly convicted witches shall prevail!