Showing posts with label Edinburgh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Edinburgh. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 5, 2025

The Cobblestones of Edinburgh

 Sujata Massey


Recently, the last cobblestone was mortared into place on my property in Baltimore, Maryland. Hundreds of grey-black bricks were originally laid down as a long driveway for carriages in the 1890s. Some of the bricks had broken and others had sunk into deep grooves as cars had rolled over them for more than 125 years. Stoneworkers carefully dug up the bricks, built a smooth foundation underneath, and then put the puzzle back together. Not only was the improved old driveway a safe surface to walk along, it seemed to make our house sit more happily in place.

I felt a sense of recognition a few weeks later while strolling the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh—-from New Town to the central district and the famed Royal Mile. The city’s government has without question preserved cobblestone streets, even in major thoroughfares. And my goodness—it was hard to imagine the Georgian and Victorian townhouses looking right without the cobblestone footing. Yes, the cars rolling over the surface would endure vibration, just as I felt the texture under the grip of my flat shoes. sensible flat shoes I’d brought. Keeping history was worth it, and the picture above of Circus Lane in Edinburgh’s Stockbridge neighborhood is reportedly the city’s most Instagrammed spot. Cobblestones plus a curve—well, doesn’t it return us to the illustrations in fairy tale books? 


Twas the house with blue doors!


I’d chosen an Airbnb property with the label ‘Elegant Georgian Townhouse Near Station’ because I wanted to stay in New Town, the locale of some of my favorite Alexander McCall Smith novels in the Scotland Street and Isabel Dalhousie series. This section of Edinburgh was planned for modern gracious living was was constructed in phases from the 1769s through 1850. A gridlike pattern of streets with squares and private gardens was designed by a vriety of architects such as Robert Adam and William Playfair who created a neo-classical style. While Edinburgh has been nicknamed “Athens of the North,” I felt an eerie kinship  between it and the British colonial sections of Calcutta and Bombay. Of course, India was part of the Empire, and all this building was going on at the same time. I spent my first five years of life in Britain, and many times during this visit I imagined what my life would I be living if my family had stayed rather than emigrated. Would I still be a writer? Something about the window views and quietness of the house made it feel natural to settle down to work here.




It’s rare to enjoy a temporary lodging so much that staying in becomes an essental pleasure of the holiday. And that’s how the renovated Georgian townhouse felt. To make coffee in a French press in large kitchen with beautiful cabinetry was treat enough, especially when paired with pastries from one of the nearby bakeries. I slept deeply in a 3rd floor bedroom with a window under the eaves.







The living room was beautifully furnished and was dominated by the original tall windows that kept the room quite light, whether the day was gray or sunny. I relaxed by studying the framed art of the walls and contemporary and antique books in shelves. If I could play piano, there was an art deco one available in its own charming room. 

The townhouse was in the northeast corner of the New Town, very close to Broughton Road and its many small independent shops, cafes and pubs. We had delicious fish and chips on our first night at Broughton’s, and later a phenomenal tapas-sized dinner at Rollo. The neighborhood boasted a butcher/cheese shop, an organic vegetable market, and a Tesco Express all within a few blocks. There seemed to be a vibrant mix of ages and incomes, and plenty of students, rather than tourists (although the city’s other areas were packed with vacationers from around the world, even in October). Despite this constant onslaught on the city from outsiders, the people were genuinely friendly and helpful. I felt the warmth in every shop and restaurant—whether the people chatting to us were native Scots or had emigrated. 


Scotland Street


We dragged ourselves of the neighborhood for a few adventures. It was easy to wander up to Picardy Place and take the tram to Ocean Terminal, where the retired Royal Yacht Brittania (Queen Elizabeth’s yacht from the 1950s through late 1980s) was avaialble for touring. I was excited to present this trip to my husband Tony, who was a medical officer with the US Navy during the early years of our marriage. Tony found it fascinating to explore a genuine military vessel designed as a luxury cruiser. I was excited to picture the royal family here and look at the design choices made from the 1950s to the 1980s. I could envision King Charles here as a boy, and later as a newlywed insisting on having the first double bed brought into one of the bedroom suites.


HMS Royal Brittania









The butler’s pantry


It felt like spying to view the royal bedrooms furnished with the same textiles and china the royal family had used—and intriguing to see the tight quarters that were home to the staff of about 240 naval crew who were present to run the ship when they toured. Queen Elizabeth II said this yacht was the place she felt most relaxed and happy. It must have been very tough for former Prime Minister John Major to ask the Queen to give up the ship due to its cost. Now it’s one of Edinburgh’s most successful, and accessible, tourist draws.


Exterior of National Portrait Gallery



Interior hall 


Tilda Swinton painted by her former husband John Byrne

Walking distance from the house was the fantastic National Portrait Gallery, which shared the oil paintings of figures from Edinburgh’s past with exciting photography and other media reflecting modern, diverse faces. Strolling through the New Town, I wandered into antiques shops that were laden with exactly the kind of art and wooden furniture that suit my taste, although not my suitcase boundaries.




We shopped for men’s clothing at the Scottish haberdashery, Walker Slater, where Tony got a wool jacket styled for country wear. Then I went to my Scottish friend Rehana’s favorite wool specialist in Newtown, a shop called Brora, where I allowed myself a Fair Isle vest. I rationalized that could be worn while traveling between locations since there was absolutely no extra room in my carryon. A sudden need to replace Tony’s fraying belt led us to walk into a neighboring shop, Ede and Ravenscroft that dates to 1689, and holds rank as the UK’s oldest tailor. They sold belts as part of their inventory of very fine traditional men’s clothing. Truly, they specialized in robes such as one worn by King Charles at his coronation, and more mundanely by judges and lawyers in the courts. The shop also provided the white Regency-era wigs that are still worn in the UK courts.

Merchandise at Ede and Ravenscroft





I thought Edinburgh’s compact size made it an easier major city to stroll, shop and be at home in than London. A recent Time Out survey proclaims that based on resident polling, Edinburgh is one of Europe’s most happy cities.

Yes, there will be rain, and sunshine is a come-and-go experience on most days. Yet the emotional weather—specifically, the cordiality of people—couldn’t be more gorgeous.



Thursday, September 4, 2014

Travelling

Murder is everywhere – and so are many of those who write about it.  Annamaria is communing with elephants, serval, zebra, and wildebeest in Kenya.  Caro, recently, was wandering around Ketchikan, Alaska.  Cara is, as far as I can see, in France.  Lisa is in or going to China.  Yrsa is in New Zealand (I think).  Jeff is in Mykonos.  Who knows where Zoë is.  And Michael has just returned from wandering around South Africa.

So that leaves me.  Where have I been?

Well, I, too, have been travelling – most recently to the home of two of my grandparents - Scotland.  My grandfather, Hugh Scott MacGregor of Glasgow, and my grandmother, Francis Meta Watt of Edinburgh, emigrated to South Africa in the early 1900s, met there, and married in 1913.

I started with a wonderful and, remarkably, dry week of golf in Nairn on the Firth or Moray, close to Inverness.  This was links golf at its best.  This name comes from the fact that the golf course is built on the piece of land, usually not arable, that links the sea with the arable land.  Consequently most links courses are long and thin, often with the first nine holes going away from the clubhouse and the second nine going back.  I sliced one shot onto the beach and recovered by clambering over the sea wall and hitting a fine seven iron to put the ball back in play.  I hit another shot onto the beach a day later, but the tide was in and the ball is forever in the Firth.

The most unexpected part of my trip to the northern parts of Scotland was how often I felt I needed an interpreter.  The language sounded braw, but I didna ken what was going on.  I felt like a right sassenach bampot.  Ma wee brain was befuddled most of the time.

Nairn golf course - I never had to use my umbrella

Then to the beautiful, but grey, Edinburgh for the Festival, Fringe Festival, and Tattoo.  For the month of August, the city is awash with music, plays, stand-up comedy, and buskers.  It is amazing.  There are literally thousands of shows, starting in the morning, going into the wee hours.  We enjoyed Japanese drummers, Brazilian dance and music, eclectic jazz, South African a capella singers, chamber music, very funny reviews, and of course the Tattoo.

End of Queen's Mile approaching the castle



The castle just before the Tattoo
The Tattoo is a spectacular evening display of massed military bands – I go there for the bagpipe bands – with Edinburgh Castle as the backdrop.  The Gods were kind that evening, and for the rest of the week, and we kept dry.

During the Tattoo

Massed bands

The castle changes colour.



Then, after dining with various relatives, and being entertained by Caro and Alan for dinner at the Lodge at Loch Lomond, we went to the wild, west coast, which is ruggedly beautiful.  I am pleased to report I understood about 80% of what the two said.

Caro and Alan at Loch Lomond
Our dinner view
En route, we stopped at the amazing Falkirk Wheel - an amazing device that raises and lowers barges between the Forth and Clyde canal to the Union canal, which is about 30 metres above it.  The structure is huge and incredibly efficient.  It takes virtually no energy to lift and lower barges and boats because of the counterweighted caissons that hold the boats - each contain about a quarter of a million litres of water.  Thanks to Archimedes Principle, the two caissons always weigh the same, no matter how many boats are in them. 

Falkirk Wheel

Barge approaching Falkirk Wheel
One of the seaside towns we stayed at was Oban, which is beautiful, but a bit touristy.  And the seafood was magnificent - particularly the mussels.

Oban

Oban

Oban

Moi

Huge, delicious Oban mussels
Two of Scotland's western isles that we visited stand out:  Iona and Staffa.  Iona is the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland, with a monastery being established there by a priest, Columba, in 563.  Then it grew into the most famous abbey in the country.  It often had problems with marauding Vikings, who seemed to take delight in showing up every year or two, killing the monks, knocking down the abbey, and leaving.  Eventually, the Vikings stayed and were converted.  Then there were no more Viking invasions.

Huge, ancient stone cross

Modern sculpture in abbey courtyard

Run of an old church

It was Staffa that took my breath away.  It is very small Hebridean island, near the Isle of Mull, that boast some of the most striking basalt columns I’ve ever seen.  It is also home to Fingal’s Cave, which Mendelssohn visited in the 1820s and was so impressed he wrote an overture about it, called The Hebrides Overture, commonly known just as Fingal’s Cave.  The opening to the cave is about 25 metres high, and the cave is about 60 metres long.

I’ll let photos tell the rest of the story.

Staffa with its three types of basalt.  Entrance to Fingal's Cave is on right.



The views are breath taking

Stunning views
The geometric tops of basalt pillars


Fingal's Cave

View from inside Fingal's Cave
You can listen to Mendelssohn's overture by clicking here.

Stan - Thursday


Thursday, August 21, 2014

Role Models

I am in Edinburgh at the moment, enjoying the offerings of the Festival and the Fringe Festival, as well as a few of the local pubs.  Time flies when you're having fun, so I've decided to rerun a blog I wrote in October 2010.  I was reminded of it because of all the Scottish accents around me - some of which are broad enough that I need a translator!  My grandfather lived with us when I was young - he was from Glasgow - and was very influential in instilling in me a love of reading.

Last night I went to that great Edinburgh event - the Tattoo.

The very impressive Edinburgh Castle

Finale with all the performers from around the world - including Zulu dancers who must have been freezing in the cold wind.

Later today I will sup with that great Glasgow institution - Krimi writer, Caro Ramsey!

Stan - Thursday
_______________________________


Neither of my parents did well at school.  Both failed their Matriculation exams (the national examination taken when a senior).  My mother was a warm, generous person but not inclined to study.  My father was extremely smart, but a lousy linguist and failed Afrikaans, which meant he failed Matric overall.  I suspect his standing at home improved when he came second in the British Commonwealth Accountancy Exams a few years later.

Neither of them went to university.

But both of them were dedicated to providing their kids the best educational opportunities possible.  So I and my two brothers were sent to a parochial school in Johannesburg, not for the religious training (my family were not good churchgoers) but because it had the reputation of being the best school in town.

But more than providing that opportunity, about which I’ll say more later, they also made home a place to learn – not in any mandated way (other than homework, of course) – but by surrounding us with the opportunity to learn.  For example, although neither of my parents really enjoyed classical music, they bought several Readers Digest sets of LPs (that’s long-playing records for the younger set!) of famous symphonies, concerti, etc.  They bought The Hardy Boys books and Teddy Lester’s Schooldays, and encourage us to read the ‘one and thrups’ (comic books that cost one shilling and three pence), many of which were graphic versions of the classics.  And they were always willing to fork out for new books.

Gramps
While my parents provided the opportunity, my grandfather provided the passion.  Hugh Scott MacGregor was gentle Scottish mining engineer from Glasgow.  He and his wife, Francis Meta Watt (from Edinburgh and a relative of the steam man), came to South Africa shortly after the Anglo-Boer War in the early 1900s.  He came to work on the fabulously rich gold mines around Johannesburg.  With him he brought a beautiful, but simple bookcase, which I still have, and a collection of classical books – Walter Scott, George Meredith, Charles Dickens, John Ruskin, Robbie Burns, and so on, which I also still have.

Hugh LOVED to read.  But more than that, he knew a lot – about a lot.  So I have very fond memories of general knowledge contests around the dining room table.  My mother wasn’t so good, nor were my brothers, but Hugh and Bill (my dad) were good – my father surprisingly so since he never seemed to read anything other than the newspaper.  Being mildly competitive, I found that these competitions were an incentive for me to read more so I could stump the others.

Gramps's bookcase
But it was Gramps’s bookcase that hooked me.  Actually the books inside.  I can imagine me as a young boy taking out a leather book and opening it.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….”

How could one put the book down?

Or in another leather book – it was deep red, I remember - :

‘When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."

How could I not love poetry?  Especially when Gramps read it with his soft brogue.

St. John's College, Johannesburg
My schooling was at an Anglican school in Johannesburg: St. John’s Preparatory School, and for high school, St. John’s College.  Not only was it a beautiful environment, built in the early 1900s from stone, sitting on top of a koppie (small hill) in the middle of Johannesburg, but it was focused on producing rounded young gentlemen (very much in the English public school tradition).  So everyone was required to play sport.  In primary school, because I have such awful foot-eye coordination, I was relegated to being goalkeeper on every football (soccer) team.  I was actually quite good in that position because I am blessed with excellent hand-eye coordination.

 I also played cricket (a lot), rugby (a lot), tennis (a lot), and swam (a lot).  In fact (he said blushing), I still hold the Under 9 25-yard backstroke record!  That is the truth.  But perhaps not the whole truth!  It behooves me to disclose that the year after I broke the record, the school built a new pool that was 25 metres long.

But I digress.

What was wonderful about St. John’s was the emphasis on reading and the enjoyment of literature.  For example, in my senior year, I studied (and I mean studied) Merchant of Venice, Pygmalion, Pride and Prejudice, as well as an anthology of poems ranging from Tam o’ Shanter to Young Ethelred.  And I repeated the exercise with books in Afrikaans and Latin.  (There’s a thought:  translating Tam o’ Shanter into Latin.)

Stan as Goneril's gorgeous handmaiden
My English teacher would often have a group of boys to his house on a Sunday evening to talk about literature or to read One-Act plays.  Furthermore, in high school the school produced a different Shakespeare play every other year, and on the intervening years produced a Gilbert and Sullivan.  I was banned from the latter because of my lack of singing ability.  So I was a gorgeous handmaiden to Goneril in King Lear, and Salerio in Merchant of Venice.  In primary school, I was the March Hare in Alice in Wonderland.  I also produced a very funny One-Act play called The Rehearsal, which is worth reading.

So, as I look back on my life, I can see how greatly I have been influenced by those around me – the role models within my family and those they surrounded me with, and many stimulating, dedicated teachers.

When I think of how fortunate I have been, I naturally think of the many kids out there without role models.  Whose lives will be poorer because of it.

Stan - Thursday