Dunblane

It’s pouring cats and dogs outside, fortunately I have found the perfect window seat in my hotel bedroom and I have WiFi! It’s been all go since leaving Edinburgh behind and picking up a hire car. We have meandered a bit and finally come to rest in the loch side town of Kinross. Lots of lovely places to share with you and lots energetic walks. The most poignant of these has to be Dunblane.

Dunblane has claim to fame for two reasons. The home of British tennis player Andy Murray and the place of a horrific massacre in 1996. Most of you will remember the time when 16 five and six year olds were shot down in their school gym with their teacher, by a madman in February of that year. Whatever possessed him to do such an awful thing is beyond reasoning. Two classes higher than these children was Andy Murray’s class. He was on his way to the gym just as the massacre happened. Fortunately he and the rest of the school children were saved as the madman went on to shoot himself.

The consequences of this disaster were far reaching. Gun laws were introduced in the British isles to severely limit the ownership of a handgun by an individual . From this year on all schools started to introduce tight security measures for entry into their buildings. Even quiet parish schools had to have key code systems with locked doors introduced. Our days of trust were over.

Entering Dunblane a few days ago I wasn’t sure what to expect. Not the pretty old town that greeted me. Very small and very quaint. Our hotel was just on the edge of Dunblane cathedral. A huge building for such a tiny place. I gather it’s size was due to its close proximity to Stirling castle.

The cathedral felt very special. Such an enormous but simple building. Half of it fell into a ruin up until Victorian times when the half being used just wasn’t big enough for the congregation. Windows and the roof were restored. Many of the windows designed by famous members of the arts and craft movement of the time. Today the building has stood the test of time and contains a simple monument for those lost children.

I’ll leave you with a few photos as always. Hopefully I’ll be back soon with more tales to tell. Hope all is well with you.

Barbara xxx

Letting The Train Take The Strain

One of the pleasures of travel for us is taking a train ride. For some of you I can imagine that is an anathema, but for a pair of oldies who don't often have the chance of train travel, it is an added element to any holiday. Such was the case earlier this month. A rather grey day loomed and we had explored most of the vicinity. We drove to a nearby station, parked up for free and boarded the Paris Rouen train headed to Rouen.

Not quite sure what I had expected in this French city, certainly not expecting too much. By the end of the day my opinions of Rouen had shot sky high, very much like the wonderful 12th century cathedral, one of the largest in this country. Leaving the rather oddly shaped station, too lopsided for my liking, we navigated through the many road works until we entered one of the older streets and began to see the real city. Passed the dungeon where Joan of Arc was imprisoned, passed beautiful timber framed buildings, law courts with stone embellishments, until we came face to face with the cathedral. I defy anyone not to have their breath taken away with this marvel of stone.

Tomb of Richard The Lionheart

Inside was the same story. A massive Gothic structure with many periods of construction. Glorious stained glass windows, intricate stone stairways and tombs of the famous. I particular liked the line of stone saints standing in an orderly queue.

My impressions of Rouen had already rocketed, despite the drizzle that continued to fall. It couldn't dampen the delight of many wooden timbered buildings lining many of the streets. Even the buses with their etching of the cathedral were a delight.

Some of the streets had culverted streams flowing down the side. I daresay a bit of a hazard if you were a little tipsy. Cats stared from upstairs windows, watching the world go by and tourists wandered along gawping in delight. At the Abbey of St Ouen a delightful park surrounded it and fresh green leaves sparkled with rain drops.

Returning to the station we walked through the square where Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake. Now a cross stands to mark the spot. Along the lane edged by Joan of Arc's dungeon all reminders of her fate.

Relaxing once again on the return journey, we criss crossed the Seine, still looking rather grey, before returning to our station. A perfect day.

Barbara xxx