Travel – Page 2 – something from seaview

Missoni exhibition

Earlier this week, I travelled to London to see the Missoni exhibition in the Fashion and Textile Museum.

I love this museum. Founded by Zandra Rhodes in 2003, it starts and finishes with bold colour. No better place to house the Missonis’ exuberant creations.Inside, the exhibition announces itself within a painting by Ottavio Missoni himself …… and then you are led through a corridor lined with paintings that inspired the Missonis and set the tone for their work. (Here are just a couple of those pics as examples – and please bear with me for the poor photography, light flashes etc throughout this blogpost – the conditions were not conducive to the camera!)

I wasn’t surprised to see that Ottavio loved Sonia Delaunay (her 1936 Senza Titolo here).And Gianni Monnet’s 1946 rich and textured Costruzione also sits well with the Missonis’ work.From the corridor, you step into a big, dramatic room. First thing, you notice the mannequins.And then you take in the huge patchworks of knitted pieces hanging …… all around the room. These are the most stunning pieces, and, best of all, it’s possible to get up to them quite closely to study the construction. They really do appear to be sewn together, but aren’t lumpy at all.Now back to the mannequins – they are amazing – where to look first? The purple short jumpsuit, perhaps? I read elsewhere in the exhibition that Ottavio Missoni considered purple a wonder colour because it went with everything. That’s quite different to my thinking, so gave me pause to reflect. What is really striking in this garment, of course, is those patterned hexagons on the jersey top.What about the elegance here?! Those fluid lines with the extra black gore panels so perfectly inserted, and the skilful way the pattern sits on the body! What a gorgeous and flattering dress to wear!Such an interesting dress here – the construction!Surely my machine-knitter husband could copy some of these for me?!Trademark Missoni zigzags here!Just take a more careful look at that dress glimpsed behind the zigzag pant suit – it’s actually mostly made of unconnected threads. You’d have to be an Elizabeth Hurley to wear this dress.Here’s one of my favourite garments, – this gorgeous multi-coloured, multi-patterned coat.Or is it? There’s that red dress – right at the top – that I really like. Can you see the one I mean?Still trying to see more of that red dress … but now we come to one of the faults in this exhibition – you couldn’t see the the back of the whole display properly, nor could you see the backs of the individual garments. Would anyone notice if I leapt quickly up the stand?That wasn’t the only tantalising thing with this exhibition. I rather think the exhibition designers had got carried away with their exhibition designs, forgetting the point of the exhibition was to showcase the Missonis. They had programmed the lighting on a loop which travelled constantly from highlights here to there, from dark, to shade – to finally (oh, thank heavens!) light all around. Take a look:Stylish and cool it may be, but b***** maddening!

Upstairs I was distracted from my irritations by the abundant and sumptuous examples of pattern. These are Ottavio Missoni’s basic studies for designs. You can see how he takes simple graphical designs such as a child might do, and develops them into the fabulous patterns we associate with the Missoni brand.I particularly love the way he completely shifts his colour palette here.Missoni zigzags.And this piece breaks out of the constraints of the grid to flow and ripple.As well as these “starter” pieces, there were swatches.Detailed labelling was missing, but I guess some of these pieces became garments …and others were just put to the side.Such a fabulous design resource here!If you make garments, you will naturally be interested in not just the colourful patterns the Missonis designed, but the construction of the finished garments too. So hard to see how those gorgeous clothes on the mannequins were constructed, but there was one Missoni jumper in a case upstairs which gave an interesting glimpse of how it was made.If you look carefully at the detailed photo, you can see that it’s a patchwork! I cannot imagine how machines coped with this work – or was it hand done? I would be very hesitant to embark on such a work lest I get lumpy knitwear seams, but no evidence of that here. It’s a stunning garment.Finally, the exhibition took you to a room furnished with Missoni carpets – oh, wow!A really lovely space to sit down and watch the Missonis talk about their lives and work. What came over most strongly was the warmth between Ottavio and Rosita. This lay behind their successful business – and radiates today through the younger generations who currently manage the business.A parting shot of the carpet in detail. I had a good look at these carpets and they are not made of separate pattern pieces seamed together – they have been woven as one continuous, flowing pattern. Remarkable!Whatever my complaints – a wonderful exhibition. I’m just greedy – wanted to understand more. A final piece was a film by Turkish artist Ali Kazma showing the Missoni factories at work. This was important because I think we need reminding that this wasn’t just genteel playing with colour and pattern – this was an extremely successful business functioning with super speedy, super efficient and super sophisticated machinery.

When I left the exhibition, I found that I had time on my hands so I dropped in on nearby Southwark Cathedral. Built between 1220 and 1420 it was the first Gothic Church in London. It was then repeatedly damaged by fire (including the Great Fire) so was rebuilt and repaired. It’s a beautiful space.But with the Missoni exhibition still in my mind, I was drawn to the kneelers …Not quite Missoni – but sort of interesting …

Norham Tweed walk

A beautiful sunny spring day last week – and we were off for a walk. One of our favourite walks, this one is bookended by Norham’s fine church and it’s equally magnificent castle. Sometimes we start with the castle, sometimes with the church. You can see in the map below how the route runs in a circle – first along a loop in the Tweed and then inland to complete the circle.This day, we decided to start with the church.The Church of St Cuthbert at Norham is one of the churches we like best in the locality, and on this day it was looking particularly fine, garlanded with early spring blossom.Just inside the churchyard, in the damp and dark gloom of the churchyard wall, there are ramsons – wild garlic. They were everywhere on this day’s walk – a pungent smell when crushed underfoot. This church is a distinguished building historically and architecturally. It dates from 1165 (the same age as the nearby castle). Kings have met here (Edward I and John Bailliol of Scotland in 1292). 1320 saw it fortified by Robert the Bruce as he attacked Norham Castle. You can read more of its fascinating history on the church’s own website.Just look at those Norman arches – what patterns!This small face on the east end looks down on us from the past. I think that’s a grimace: Enjoy yourself – or else!The graves stand as solemn markers to those who went before. Was Grace Friar Nicholson a book-lover, I wonder, with those two open volumes above her tombstone?No doubt that this person loved dogs – what a fine way to be remembered!Time to leave the churchyard with its moving mementos, and set out on the walk proper. A narrow path leads down, through the fields, to the Tweed.Oh – the magnificent Tweed! Such a glorious river, flowing down from the Scottish Borders, and marking on its eastern course the border between Scotland and England. That’s Scotland on the far bank where the swans are sailing by.

What really strikes me as I look on this view is how deceptive were the green and blossom we had been enjoying in Norham church graveyard. It is still early in the year – the trees on the far bank are dun-coloured without their new leaves out.

Our path continues along the Tweed, well-managed by the good folk of Norham. It is a truly inviting walk.Before long we approach Ladykirk and Norham bridge, and this gentle path ends.Ladykirk and Norham bridge – as the name says – runs between the Scottish village of Ladykirk and the English parish of Norham. A fine late nineteenth century bridge. Just look at the detritus on the other side! Over the winter the country experienced heavy heavy rainfall, particularly in the west of the UK, where the River Tweed rises. As we walked along the Tweed, we were increasingly reminded of the floods, and damage, and basic mess this land had experienced thanks to the heavy rain.Here, at the foot of the steps leading up to the bridge crossing, you can see more rubbish – including plastics, bottles and other man-made undesirables. All swept down by the torrent of the Tweed.Nature is fighting back – with hosts of wild garlic and celandine flowers.This is fishing country – paradise, I would guess, if you have a deep pocket. An old fishing shiel, a little boat, grazing sheep … What better place to stop for a bun and a flask of coffee? But also note the detritus, caught in the branches of the tree. We reckoned this to be some 15 feet above the current height of the Tweed – there’s been serious flooding here.It is such a beautiful river. The stories of ancient bitter Scots and English fighting are all around, and particularly marked in the histories of Norham Castle, Ladykirk church (built at James IVth of Scotland’s command entirely of stone so that it could survive being put to the torch) and nearby Flodden field. As for the Tweed, well “Men may come, and men may go, but I go on forever.” Thank you, Tennyson. It’s deeply reassuring.Just before we turn up from the Tweed, we find these scummy eddies. One’s instinct is to assume this is man-made pollution, but Stephen (most conveniently) is reading Tristran Gooley’s How to Read Water and he informs me that it may be warm temperatures acting on natural ingredients that produce this effect. It might, of course, be the result of chemicals running of the fields. Best not to speculate.

At this point, the path moves away from the Tweed, and we enter wooded country. Part of the pleasure of this walk to me is, indeed, the variety of landscapes we pass through. There are primroses ..and celandines …and ramsons again! Just look at those banks of wild garlic on both sides of the path!It’s not long before we see our next “marker”. There, glimpsed through the trees, is one of the viaducts of the old Kelso to Tweedmouth railway line.It’s quite a job to scramble up to the top …and you have to go carefully …because trees are growing into the masonry …and the old iron railings are falling to pieces.But it is wonderful to be at the top – you can see the Tweed snaking away where we left it.There are few things to my mind as poignant as a dismantled railway line. All that effort put into the building, all the excitement of travel, all those ordinary everyday journeys! This line took holiday makers from the mills in the Border towns to our home village of Spittal on the north sea coast. You can just imagine the trains chugging along this track.Such a fine piece of engineering.

The next piece of the walk took us along the road.Roads are not favourite walking, but it’s sunny, there’s almost no traffic so we have the world to ourselves – and look at that burgeoning rape crop about to break into heady yellow flower on the field on the right!There’s another “marker” along this part of the journey and it’s this that makes the road walk worthwhile. This is Norham railway station. And it’s for sale – it went up for sale in 2013 for a cool £420,000.It was a railway museum for many years, but was closed, alas, by the time we discovered it. More of its history here.And – yes – that is a letter box in the wall, a Victoria Regina too! How amazing must it be to have your own private letter box!!Before long we leave the road and the route took us into a watery world again – over a bridge …and alongside a stream.It’s cool and dappled after the hot road walk. Once more we’re walking through banks of wild garlic.Now time for our final “marker” – our pièce de résistance, you might say. Here we turn in to Norham castle.It’s such a fine castle, with all the attributes that one associates with castles – moat, drawbridge, slit windows for arrows to pass through. And it has a fine history to boot. It was built in the 12th century by the Bishops of Durham as a defence against the Scots. Again and again it was besieged by the Scots – nine times in all – and captured four of those times. One of those times of Scottish ownership was just before the battle of Flodden. James IVth besieged the castle for several days, battering the walls with his powerful artillery.It sits in a magnificently commanding position right up on high above the River Tweed, looking straight over to Scotland.From the castle you look down on those small folk in the village.And that’s where we’re heading now for the very final leg of our journey back to Norham church. Norham village is a pleasure to walk through, looking sunny and simple in the 21st century compared to those bitter fighting times of earlier centuries. Daffodils, village green, war memorial. Village perfection (but who knows what lies below this well-behaved surface …)Back to the church …– and that heavenly blossom where we started.

London visit: home from home

I regularly visit London. It’s partly to see my two children who live there; sometimes I visit my sister and her family, and sometimes dear friends. But I also go to see London! – to see exhibitions, galleries, explore some part of London that I don’t know well, walk in the parks, shop. So much to see, so much to do!

I’ve lived there at various times during my life. My parents moved there when I was nearly 2 years old. They had a tiny little house in very central London, not far from my father’s work in the Foreign Office.

This was in the early 1950s so London was still recovering from the war – a lot of bomb-damaged sites, seeded with the bright yellow of wild ragwort. I loved to balance on the low ruined walls, holding my father’s hand, as he walked me to kindergarten on his way to work. Sometimes he took my sister, Marian (on the right in this picture) and me to his office nearby in King Charles St. (King Charles Street is close to Downing Street, and I don’t think you could casually walk up to the Foreign Office front door any longer as both streets are now gated off.)My parents didn’t stay in London long, so my next stop there was in the 1970s, when I had finished at university. I shared the top floor flat in one of these imposing Earl’s Court houses with two other girls. By this time, London was a much more multi-cultural city. Earl’s Court was known as a particularly Australian back-packer haunt. It’s busy main street was full of money exchange shops so visitors from all over the world hung out there.Through the years, as I’ve lived in Kent, Oxford, Devon and now Northumberland, I’ve travelled back to London regularly. These days my visits are focussed on my children’s homes in North London, and I’ve had to learn my way round parts of London I’d never visited before.

I used to get panic attacks in the underground, so my journeys around London are almost entirely by bus. But what a lot you see from the top deck of a London bus!

Here is my journey starting on the Saturday in Crouch End. We are heading into central London, to the British Museum.I am struck – as ever – by how green London is – trees, parks, gardens, all gloriously green.Even London’s traditional red buses are sometimes green.And, what also stands out amidst the greenery is the amount of building work going on. There’s a lot of money at work here. (The affluence of London is particularly striking to one coming from the more impoverished north of England.)I’m fascinated by the glimpses of old London amidst the hustle and bustle of modern ways. The fine old painted sign on shabby shops 319 and 321 remains to tell us that they once sold Scales, Weights and Weighing Machines. Nowadays there is a Massage Parlour, Nail Bar and Computer Centre – all a sign of the times. Our forebears wouldn’t have recognised any of these businesses.Here, they have kept the façade of the fine old building with the new building just behind – can you see? Contrast this with evidence of modern multicultural London. That sign over the doorway is written in the Amharic script. Remarkably (to me), each character represents a consonant and a vowel. What a riotous explosion of colour on what must have once been a pretty dull building!I always look out for these caryatids on St. Pancras New Church. They have been patiently supporting the roof since the 1820s.The British Museum is busy, busy, busy. It’s an old friend. I’ve been marvelling at this imposing, pedimented façade for a long time.But the interior is new – and so exciting. This rotunda inside the Great Court is a work of genius, and the roof is just wonderful.So much to see, but we mustn’t get distracted. We’ve come to see the British Museum’s Indigenous Australia: enduring civilisation exhibition.Luckily, it wasn’t too crowded so we were able to enjoy the exhibition comfortably. We were asked not to photograph, and articles that I have read since explain that some of the owners of the material have been quite specific about this, even asking that parts of some artifacts be concealed from visitors’ eyes. So, I am only reproducing images that have appeared in newspapers or on postcards.

It’s a very powerful and disturbing exhibition – if I were to define it in a couple of words I would speak of loss and dignity. There are objects of great beauty and fascination, but there is no more reason now why they should sit in the British Museum than the Elgin Marbles or the Assyrian carvings. Indeed, it’s worse than that because many of these objects still have significant cultural value to the indigenous peoples of Australia.

To the credit of the curator, Gaye Sculthorpe, and her team, they have taken four years to prepare for this exhibition, and consulted widely with the Aboriginal people, respecting their wishes in the display of materials. I think they deal honestly with some very difficult issues.

Take this shield, probably collected at Botany Bay during Captain Cook’s 1770 visit. For the Aboriginal peoples, it is a symbol of attack and invasion, for Cook and the colonists it was a foundational treasure.

There were the Dreaming paintings that have so attracted Westerners to Aboriginal art. These modern acrylic paintings are by Spinifex people (the upper painted by four men, and the lower by six women) and tell a bitter story. They are the Spinifex peoples’ record of the land from which they were ousted in the 1950s and 60s so that the British and Australian governments might test atomic weapons there.A fine turtle shell, shell and fibre mask from Mer, an island in the Torres Straits. It’s thought to be older than 1855, and is typical of much of the collection that the British Museum holds in that it was donated by the Lords of Admiralty. How did the Lords of Admiralty come to own it, one wonders? Through conflict? greed? scientific research? gift? All part and parcel of Britain’s murky involvement in Australia’s past. It is said that the material on show is just a tiny percentage of what the British Museum actually holds in its Oceania and Australia collections. Hmm – what would the British Museum be if it started to return some of its holdings?Modern basketware (2010), made of plant fibre and wool by Yuwali (also know as Janice Nixon). I love this piece – can it be that it is untainted by the dismal colonial story?!! Oh, I hope so. I found myself longing for some salvation from the miserable exploits of the colonial Brits.

And I came home with this. The Spinifex ladies’ painting transfers wonderfully well to artefact, and it’s a lovely bag – with a powerful back story.

There’s no doubt that it’s a very interesting exhibition. I learned a great deal, and – in the face of all the criticism that Indigenous Australia: enduring civilisation has drawn – that’s very important.

Just suppose we were to turn the tables and someone made the discovery that some Northumbrian Rock Art was lurking in a Sydney museum? and what’s more a Viking-like marauding party massacred, raped and pillaged this local material away?

Time for something lighter!

I wanted to buy fabric, and when I was younger, you could buy fine materials in Liberty’s and John Lewis. So thither we went.So disappointing! Liberty’s is such a fine store – such a visual delight. But honestly, what rubbish they sell! Colossally expensive really quite ordinary items (shopping bags in the pic below), so I guess they are mainly interested in the tourist market. As for fabric – well, they do sell their lovely Tana Lawn prints, but that’s pretty well all the fabric they sell now.So to John Lewis.If you could count on anywhere selling fabric, surely it would be John Lewis! They do still sell fabric, but their stock doesn’t cover almost the entire ground floor (as it used to). It’s a miserable little aisle on the fourth floor. Not what I wanted there either.But we did get lunch in the little restaurant overlooking Cavendish Square. (More London greenery, though the grass is looking very parched, badly in need of heavy rain.)Now, I’m lunching here with my daughter, but I well remember lunching here with my mother when she brought me to John Lewis to buy terry towelling nappies before my babes were born. Of a whim, I looked for nappies today, but could I find nappies for sale – No! (Sic transit gloria mundi!)There is consolation: Helen knows where to go for my fabric. Why Soho’s Berwick Street is the place! (I love it!! After all, I’m hailing from Berwick-upon-Tweed these days! And as ever, I’m fascinated by the buildings – look at the detailing under the parapet on the taller building!)There are lots of fabric shops in Berwick Street, but Borovick is the excellent little shop where I finally find some fabric that I’m pleased with.Time to head back to Helen’s home. They still haven’t removed the tacky bum-flaunting fairy over the doorway. I rather think it’s going to stay there for a very long time ….One of her cats is particularly pleased to see that I’ve brought some seedlings with me because there’s several small catnip plants hidden deep in the pot.This is Tottenham’s Tower Gardens, and when I first visited I was struck by the quality of these little homes. Look at the detailing on the brickwork, the finely-shaped chimneys – and the simple decorative details over the windows.

In the late 1890s, £10,000 was donated for the purchase of this land by jewelry magnate, Samuel Montagu. Homes were to be built to rehouse Jewish workers, then living in the crowded conditions of Tower Hamlets in London’s East End (whence the name: Tower Gardens).

The chief architect was William Riley. He was a member of the Art Workers Guild which had been founded in 1884 and was an offshoot of the Arts and Crafts movement. All the details – tree planting, brickwork etc show this influence.It’s a conservation area, but disapppointingly poorly implemented. Look at the changes somebody’s made to this house! Weirdly out of context, but it’s somebody’s home and no doubt they love it.Sadly, modern living (satellite dishes and rubbish bins) don’t improve the look of these charming houses.Then I was grabbed by the names. Where on earth does Waltheof come from (see the sign on the building beside Rose Supermarket below)?!

What a strange small world. This was Northumbrian land. Waltheof appears in the Domesday book of 1086. He was the son of Gosparic, Earl of Northumberland. The local football team is Tottenham Hotspur (remember the Duke of Northumberland’s son, Harry Hotspur, in Shakespeare’s Henry IVth?)

Now it’s a vibrant multi-cultural area as this mini-mart on the edge of the estate testifies. (But first look at the detail of the window in the roof). Rose Supermarket caters for English, Turkish, Greek, African and Caribbean tastes. Wow!Before long it’s time to go back to Berwick-upon-Tweed and Northumberland. My heart is always warmed by the sight of King’s Cross Station. Such a simple, magnificent statement with the strong lines of those huge arches, and the mellow tones of London brick. Stephen prefers St. Pancras station next door. What a contrast in architecture!!

The fact that these two important London train stations sit next to each other is a reminder of their history. King’s Cross was built by the Great Northern Railway company in 1852 (designed by Lewis Cubitt), and St. Pancras, serving the Midlands and Yorkshire, was built a few years later (1868) for the Midland Railway company. The famous frontage on the Euston road (which you see in the picture below) was actually the former Midland Grand Hotel, designed by George Gilbert Scott.

I wonder which you prefer?Never mind – we’re going to the north-east, so it’s King’s Cross for us. Just look at this wonderful ceiling in the revamped and extended station building. I think Lewis Cubitt would be well pleased by what they’ve done to update his station.

Edin’s Hall Broch

Last week Stephen took me to Edin’s Hall Broch. He had discovered it on one of his longer walks, but I had never been there before – indeed, had never even heard of it.

As it turns out, Edin’s Hall Broch is a very remarkable place, and I am surprised more people don’t know about it. Or perhaps they do. Perhaps it’s just another closely guarded Borders/Northumbrian secret.

For those of you who (like me) don’t even know what a broch is, here is a brief summary of received internet wisdom.

There is much debate about their function and purpose. What is agreed is that they are only found in Scotland, they are superb examples of drystone architecture, and they are round. Nobody is sure whether they were built for defensive purposes or to be lived in as farmsteads.

But ooooh – I do love the word “Broch”! I roll it round my lips and savour the sound – quite different from any other word I know. It wasn’t really that special a day to be out. As you can tell from our photos, the day was dull, and it was quite sharply cold for May. But it was still a comfortable – and very interesting – walk from the carpark, about a mile and half from the ruins.

After a short walk through a forested area, you cross the Whiteadder Water by the Elba Footbridge. The Whiteadder Water then runs parallel to the walk as you climb the hill up to the broch.The Whiteadder Water is magnificent here, swirling dramatically over craggy rocks. But, wait – is there a yellow conspiracy afoot?! There’s masses of gorgeous clumps of golden scented gorse, many of the trees are in that early flush of colour when the leaves are transparent yellowy-pale-green, – and to cap it all we saw a Yellow Wagtail bobbing around on the rocks in the stream! Where the scenery wasn’t yellow and green, it was silvery-white. The lichen is as much an ornament on these blackthorn trees as their own blossom.Our route takes us on up and up. The sheep gaze down anxiously at us from the ridge, not sure whether we are friend or foe. Don’t worry, sheepy friends, we’re travelling up to the right of this pylon.

Ah yes, this pylon. We were happily admiring the beauty and wildness of the place when we realised that there was a huge great plonking pylon – no, a chain of pylons striding across the valley. How fascinating that we’d subconsciously “subtracted” it from our awareness. How strange too that we object to wind farms but seem oblivious to these earlier man-made monstrosities.The way is well-signposted. But look behind the sign, and there’s a telling indication of modern farming. That’s the old drystone wall broken and crumbling, and it’s been superceded by an ugly barbed-wire fence (which you can just see in the foreground of the photo). How very sad.Nature gives and it takes. En route we found evidence of the harsh reality of nature red in tooth and claw. Somebody’s dined here….perhaps the sparrowhawk we saw wheeling above?However the kindly sheep have left me some lovely bits of fleece to collect – it’s the softest and cleanest fleece I have found out and about for a long time. Wish I could catch a sheep to take some more fleece home with me!Finally, we get to the top of the hill, and there – amid a lot of other stone ruins (it’s a prehistoric hill fort) – is Edin’s Hall Broch! (You get a really good idea of the whole site with this aerial picture on the Welcome to Scotland website.)The people who built this place knew about dry stone walls – they could teach modern farmers a thing or two. Just look at the size of the stones at the base of this building!The size of the walls too is enormous – at their maximum they are over 5 metres wide.There’s a proper entrance, and what must be a front door slab lying on the ground beside.On either side of the front entrance, there are guard rooms.Set in these huge walls around are well-built steps and more rooms. Perhaps the most intriguing thing about this place is that this is one of only a handful of brochs in the Lowlands. They are mostly found in northern western Scotland. And this broch is not like the northern brochs – it’s too large in diameter for starters, so there are doubts that it was ever roofed. As you will see on the information board reproduced below, Historic Scotland have come up with the hypothesis that somebody in the 2nd century AD travelled south bringing broch-building skills with them and adapted them to this Border locality.Who knows?

What we do know, however, is that when this site was first excavated in the late 19th century, a number of artifacts were found (these were donated to the Museum of Scotland). They include a stone spindle whorl, a piece of jet ring, an amber bead, an oyster shell, bones and a fragment of a glass bracelet. Very much the normal sort of possessions of people’s lives – food, ornamentation, and the means to clothe oneself.

I’d read about spindle whorls recently in Rebecca’s Needle and Spindle blog. She describes so clearly what an vital part they had to play in basic survival tactics – and that would have been especially the case in these colder northern climes.

So – I’m once again stretching my imagination back to the people who lived here, and I’m finding that they (like me) enjoyed a bit of bling. Ancestors of the modern sheep grazing around would have been of value to them for clothing – just as they are to me.

The modern world interrupts my old-times reverie. Well – a slightly more modern world. Down through the trees, on the other side of the Whiteadder Water, there’s a glimpse of an intriguing house – actually another Round House. Apparently it’s The Retreat, built in the late 18th century by the Earl of Wemyss as a shooting lodge. You can’t help wondering if he was referencing the round broch on the opposite hill in his choice of architecture…… It looks very comfortable and well-appointed compared to the exposed stony broch of the ancients.

Union Chain Bridge

When our first visitors came to our new Northumbrian home, often their first request was to go to Scotland. Easy peasy – we are just a few miles from the Scottish border so it’s a quick drive up the A1 and there you are, in Scotland.

However, we soon discovered that it was much more fun to take people who wanted a quick trip over the Scottish Border to the Union Chain Bridge. Firstly, we go because it is just beautiful.

It sits over the Tweed, a magnificent and beautiful river, and you are particularly well placed to admire the river from the bridge.Secondly, we go because it makes us laugh.

On each side of the bridge, the respective Scottish and Northumbrian councils have placed signs to ensure that you fully appreciate this is a border crossing and know which country you are in.

As you cross the bridge into England, there is a modest English sign. (Here James, our very first visitor in January 2011, helpfully points out the sign.)On the other side of the bridge, however, the Scots want to make sure you really appreciate that you’re in Scotland. There’s a big, big sign – no two signs, actually, (as Ellie and Jak point out here on their May 2012 visit).And you’ll notice that the English, true to their proverbial reputation of reticence, make a simple statement of country. (Zacyntha’s first visit here, March 2011).While the Scots come over all friendly and effusive and actually welcome you! (Ted and Helen’s visit, September 2011).Not any more, they don’t! Was it an irate English or Scots man that finally took matters into his own hands with this result?!Whatever, it is now a rite of passage for first visitors to our Northumbrian home that we take them to the Union Chain Bridge.

Here’s Wenny and Jenny with Stephen on their April 2013 visit.Later that year, in May, Katherine brought her mother, Mary to see the bridge.Katie was here in September 2011.And James brought Barbara here in March last year.Mike and Zacyntha also came in March last year.So many happy visits! (and fun – really exciting to be standing on the bridge when a car drives over, and you are all of a wibble wobble.)

But back to our topic. The third reason why we visit the Union Chain bridge is because it is a great bridge, a great engineering feat with a great history.

It is the oldest surviving iron suspension bridge in Europe.

It was built by Captain Samuel Brown RN in 1819-20. During his time in the navy, Brown was working on the development of wrought iron anchor chains. After he left the navy, he set up a manufactory in Millwall for the production of these chains. He was still developing his ideas, and in 1817 he filed a patent for the production of flexible chain links for suspension bridges. The opportunity to try out his new invention came when he was asked to build the Union Chain Bridge by the Berwick and North Durham Turnpike Trustees. (And, completely incidentally, in the famous photograph of Brunel, the great man is posing in front of chains produced by Brown’s later company, Brown Lenox & Co.).

The flexible chain links are still evident now, but in very poor condition.The bridge took less than a year to build so cost the Trustees only £7,700 – far far less in cost and far more quickly built than a traditional stone bridge.

It attracted great interest, not least among fellow engineers. Robert Stevenson and John Rennie were here at its opening, and both Marc and Isambard Kingdom Brunel also came to see the bridge. A plaque on the English side, records Captain Brown’s name for posterity.It also records that additional strengthening work was done in 1902-3 with the addition of steel cables. You can see the newer grey cables strung over the original green bars here.What the plaque does not record, is that the bridge was thoroughly overhauled and renovated again between 1974 and 1981 – defective chain links were replaced with spheroidal graphite cast iron links.Sadly, the bridge is once again urgently in need of repair. Everywhere you see the signs of decay, wear and tear.Indeed, the local councils are so concerned about safety that stringent warning signs lead up to the bridge. On the Scottish approach…And on the English approach … Over the last few years, there has been worrying talk of bridge closure. A horrifying thought for the locality! The bridge isn’t only essential for drivers and walkers crossing the Tweed, it also carries cables transporting electronic data.

There were rumours of council bridge repair funds having been re-allocated into other budgets. A friends’ pressure group was formed to push for repairs and proper appreciation of this fine bridge. Their sign has joined the others on the bridge approaches. (The friends have an excellent website with historic pictures and lots more information: http://www.unionbridgefriends.com )The really good news – and extremely hot off the local press (just published in the February 19th edition of the Berwick Advertiser) – is that the Scottish Borders Council has now agreed to contribute £550,000 towards the restoration work, matching the funding already on offer from Northumberland County Council. Now they can approach external funding sources, including the Heritage Lottery Fund, to secure the required balance of some £3 million (some say nearer £5 million). The bridge needs a new suspension hanger system and upgraded parapets.

So – hopefully, it may indeed be fully repaired and in fine fettle to celebrate the 200th anniversary of its opening on 26th July 2020!There is yet another reason why we admire this bridge so much. It is not called the Union Chain Bridge for nothing. On each of the parapets, there is a motto: Vis Unita Fortior. Clumsily translated from the Latin, that reads: United strength is stronger.

I now have to come over all political. Yes, I do believe united is stronger. The United Kingdom is the better for its unity. Europe too is stronger and better for the European Union. Many countries all over the world are better for the Commonwealth. We are all the better for the United Nations.

Time to echo John Donne:

No man is an island, entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own or of thine friend’s were. Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.Thank you Ellie, for prompting this post on the lovely Union Chain Bridge!

The Museum of Scotland

I spent yesterday morning at Edinburgh’s Museum of Scotland – very definitely my very favourite museum!

You walk into this huge light-filled space, and are drawn to look upwards. You just have to gasp at the inventiveness and glory of it all.Climb up to the top floor, look down – and – it’s still amazing!On the way up and down you will pass all manner of extraordinary things.The original museum was designed by Francis Fowke ( who also designed parts of London’s Victoria & Albert Museum and the Natural History Museum). It opened in 1866.

There was a major redevelopment here between 2006 and 2011. The curators took the opportunity to impress their 21st century take on the building and its collections. This is what gives the fine old building its remarkable character.

Looking down into the well space, you will see the light chamber of a lighthouse.Glance over at the far wall and there’s the jaw of a whale, pottery, metalwork.It’s the serendipity, the juxtaposition of such extraordinarily unrelated objects that works so well here. It reminds me of another favourite museum of mine, the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford.

There are extraordinary bicycles,Signs from old railway stations,Curious sea-creatures in glass jars,Fantastic tea-pots – and lots lots more!Of course, these are only meant as tasters for what’s in the rest of the collections, in the rooms behind. I saw far too many fascinating things to list them all here, so I will just mention two exhibits that I regularly visit.

These are some of the 17 miniature pine coffins, each containing a small dressed doll, found on Arthur’s Seat in 1836. Nobody knows who made them or for what reason – lots of speculation. They have obviously been made with great care. I find them sad, and slightly disturbing – but so intriguing!My other choice couldn’t be more different – for a start it’s one of the largest items in the museum whereas the miniature dolls must be some of the tiniest exhibits. This is a rare surviving example of an atmospheric or Newcomen engine. It was used to pump water from the coal mines at Caprington colliery until 1901 – and it still works! It moves slowly and regularly and reassuringly – just as it must have been for those 19th century miners. It is a magnificent beast, and I am drawn to it by its size and power and efficacy.

So, thank you very much, Museum of Scotland, for a wonderful morning’s entertainment and exploration. I’ll be back for more before too long!

(Oh – and we had a delicious lunch in the basement Museum Brasserie too.)