Castles and Icons
Mist rolling in from the Sea, memories and recollections inspired by a song and a beach.
1977, 14 years old, living where? Memories stretch behind me, I find my eyes looking upwards and to the right, searching for them. It was the year following the 1976 hot summer. I remember scenes from that year. Mr Dutton, farmer, local milkman, charismatic character in my young life, would take his old tractor to the ponies field to deliver fresh water, the pond had dried up. It was hot, and I would wear shorts to ride my pony Sonny. Willaston, the village in the Wirral where I spent hours, full days, riding. On those hot sultry days, I would buy a pint of milk in a glass bottle from Mr Dutton. He would open his giant fridge, the cold air blissful, refreshing, milk in a stubby glass bottle costing 11pence. There is something melancholy that washes over me with the memories, was I lonely? I don’t remember that, discombobulated probably, uncertain of myself, not easy in the company of others, externally brash at times, inwardly squirming. Sonny saved me, every weekend was spent in the company, of my little chestnut pony. Sonny and my collie dog Misty, never lonely when they were close but usually alone with them. Hours out in the countryside riding, or walking. Teenage years loom like storm clouds on the horizon, menacing, threatening danger. So 1977 (maybe), rolling the memories forward a little. I remember a car journey, Paul McCartney and Wings on the radio, Mists rolling in from the Mull of Kintyre. Strange that it was on the radio, my father listened to BBC Radio 4, the news, weather and the shipping forecast, and Just a Minute, and his old colleague Brian Redhead, friends from days working at the Guardian Newspaper, no, maybe that was later. I remember though, imagining the mist rolling off the sea, across a headland with a lighthouse. I had no idea where Kintyre was, some distant place in Scotland, I vaguely recall looking for it in an Atlas. My Scottish holidays back then were on the east coast where my father could research his family history, Fife, Perthshire, St Andrews. I don’t have his photographs, I’d like to see them, but won’t do so now. My heads doing it again, sometimes it feels like there is a pinball machine in there as it flicks from one thought to another, slow down I ask it, please. Why am I telling you all this anyway? Well here I am now, living on the peninsula on the West Coast of Scotland known as Kintyre. Maybe I have been heading here all my life, with a misty ear worm in my head, luring me in. I have a gift for you today, an ear worm present, sharing the video of Paul and Linda and who else was in Wings? (I know you know!) and a cast of many others singing, piping and partying on one of my favourite beaches.
Oh don’t worry about there being no lighthouse, or it being a good hours drive to the Mull itself, let’s not spoil a good story. Remind me please, and I’ll take you to the Mull on another day, gorgeous, glorious wild place that it is. What I love about this video, is the timeless nature of the scenery. I walk past those same rocky outcrops, pause to contemplate life, on the same skerries, watch the waves crashing, and caressing the same sand, and pebbles, throwing up the same driftwood. The differences are man made, there is no longer a wooden fence in front of the bothy, and there is significantly more plastic washed up on the beach. And the dense conifer trees in front of Saddell House have all gone, and now of course there is Grip, remind me to revisit Grip later.
So here we are at Saddell Bay, home to a fabulous 16th century castle https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saddell_Castle currently being renovated by The Landmark Trust to give it a future for another 100 years as the sea nibbles ever more frequently at its foundations. I read that the origins of the castle go back to Somerled the Lord of the Isles, back in 12th century, oh this place exudes history, it is literally engraved on the stones strewn across the land of Kintyre, with their cups and axe shapes etched deeply into moss and lichen encrusted surfaces.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somerled
https://www.landmarktrust.org.uk/explore/craft-and-restoration/rejuvenating-saddell-castle/
Billy and I come to Saddell often, to walk on the beach, and wander through the glorious temperate rainforest that wraps both ends of the Bay. We stop to talk to the trees, to marvel at the lichen and softly stroke the moss, to delight in the glorious biodiversity flaunting itself in plain sight, and quietly mourn all that has been lost through human misunderstanding over so many years. There are perfect seaside holiday sorts of days when there is barely a ripple on the water, which millpond still, glistens azure under a deep blue sky. Arran providing a mountainous backdrop to this perfect Scottish beach. I love Saddell on these days. I love Saddell even more when the sea is seething with energy, the waves churning, great rollercoasters of water, defying the land to resist them, sucking the stones backwards, thundering, reshaping the beach, depositing great sea bourne tree trunks onto the shore, for future visitors to rest on in months to come.
I reflect for a moment on that word visitor, rewatch that video, it is so obvious to see that whilst Sir Paul and I have aged, he more gracefully than I, the rocks, those great black pinnacles stand proud, barely altered by these few human years, their weathering slower and imperceptible against our own. We truly are the visitors to this world, passers by, stopping momentarily on this planet that we call home, waiting until our carbon frames dissolve and are once again consumed by the great maelstrom to refresh the earth.
Be gentle, visitors, leave only footprints in the sand, allow the sea to repaint them everyday, provide us with a new canvas on which to write our gentle passing stories. So Billy and I watch the waves on this day, we play on the beach, we relish the wind blowing in our hair, and the onslaught of natures noises on our ears, the swooshing, sucking sounds of the waves against the beach. I think that for Billy and me, there is no greater pleasure than walking by the sea, with great woodlands stretching inland and a million secrets to be uncovered.
I love art, for me photography is art, I play with it as such, creating images not just taking pictures. I admire artists, their craft, dedication, patience, vision, creativity, their ability to conjure a world through paints, or glass, or wood, or steel, a multitude of media to tell stories visually. I love art installations too, am fascinated by the minds that can imagine into being a creature of steel, or wood, and install it in a place where it adds a new dimension to the natural beauty without detracting from it. When I am visiting as a tourist, I often seek out art works on public display, too uneasy to interrupt an artist at work, I look for opportunities to see their work, so that I can absorb it quietly, and allow my mind to create a memory for me to bank for the future. So we return to Grip, echo of the myriads of people who over the centuries have visited Saddell Bay, and gazed across Kilbrannan Sound to the mountains of Arran, or the great smooth dome of Ailsa Craig, or watched the streamlined shapes of the gannets closing their wings and diving into the azure waters.
Cast iron Grip, created by Anthony Gormley for Saddell Bay, to celebrate Landmark Trusts 50th anniversary, part of a LAND installation in 2015. Gormley is quoted on the Landmark Trust Website as saying
“There is an excitement about making a sculpture that can live out here amongst the waves and the wind, the rain and snow, in night and day. The sculpture is like a standing stone, a marker in space and time, linking with a specific place and its history but also looking out towards the horizon, having a conversation with a future that hasn't yet happened."
https://www.landmarktrust.org.uk/explore/culture/grip-stays-put/
Oh those words - “having a conversation with a future that hasn’t yet happened”
There are things that humans have contributed to our wonderful planet, magnificent structures that can be seen from space, and long after we have been replaced, will stand as a curious witness to the potential humans had for greatness. As Grip was purchased by an anonymous donor to stay where he is, perhaps he will still stand, bearing witness, for as long as the rocks on which he perches remain strong and have not been ground down to become more sand on the beach. Perhaps one day as the waters rise, he will join those magnificent underwater sculptures depicted so beautifully by @AmiePearce in Silent Sentinels.
And I return once again to
Mull of Kintyre
Oh, mist rolling in from the sea
My desire is always to be here
Oh, Mull of Kintyre
and invite you to drop by one day, to visit Saddell Bay. Remember to turn left at Lochgilphead towards Campbeltown and delay that journey on to Oban for another day. Oh and don’t forget to stroll through the rainforest as well as across the beach, you won’t regret it.
Have a wonderful weekend, and chat again soon.
Sarah
Such a lovely meandering chat about a place I know and love too. Paul and Linda were accompanied by the lovely Denny Laine, who co-wrote the song, and of course the Campbeltown Pipe Band.
Thank you for a most enjoyable read. 🙏