Gretna Green to Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway

I'm lagging behind a bit, so apologies about that, but the important thing is that I'm here now and that 'here' is Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway in South Lanarkshire (a little south of Glasgow).  I arrived on Monday afternoon after an 80km ride from Gretna Green, which was hard work with lots of uphill.  I did 45km of the ride at increased resistance, mostly at gear 10 (four gears higher than my usual), but 5km of it at gear 11.  It was particularly hard work as I'd had very little sleep the night before, but I did it, and I did it in two hours and forty four minutes.

It wasn't until I got here that I discovered that Leadhills is the second highest village in Scotland at 395m above sea level.  The highest is Wanlockhead, just next door.  The adhesion railway (a railway that relies on friction between a steel wheel and a steel rail) that runs between the two villages is the highest narrow gauge railway in Britain!  

If only I'd known of all the uphill before I planned my route...but then I guess I'm not going to be able to get through the Highlands without some significant uphill rides.

For all that it is really hard work cycling up here, it is spectacularly beautiful with the villages nestled in amongst the mountains, and bubbling streams scoring their way down the hillsides...

Leadhills in the mist

Cottages at Leadhills

River in the Lowther Hills by Leadhills

Leadhills Village

I had planned on staying at the Hopetoun Arms pub and hotel, 'the highest residential hotel in Scotland,' but I was so taken by the beautiful scenery that I decided to pitch my tent so I could be right in the middle of it.  Because my planned ride was to the railway then I set up camp there, rather than in the middle of the village or right next to the Hopetoun Arms, and I gave my little camp the same set-up as always to give it that homely feeling...

After the tragedy at Gretna Green I have been vary wary of the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis, so I've discarded any remnants of tartan from my tent and other belongings for fear of attracting trouble, but I'm now also a little fearful of all haggis.  I have been assured that the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis doesn't roam in these parts, and that they're a lowland species, but I don't want to take any risks.  I've been told that only friendly haggi (the plural of 'haggis') roam the Lowther Hills and I'm to look out for the friendly, semi-aquatic, Duck-Billed Haggis, especially as it's breeding season at the moment.  It seems that the best thing for attracting most haggis to a location is to spread black pepper corns, or to put some in a haggis trap, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to be surrounded by haggis after my experience at Gretna Green.

Anyway, haggis aside, when I was planning my stop at Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway I wondered if I might see Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends, as it seemed to me the kind of place they'd love to hang out...

Henry, James, Percy, and Thomas

See?  A perfect match, don't you think?

Alas, I didn't see Henry, James, Percy, or Thomas, but I'm sure I saw their relatives...

Charlotte

Clayton

Clyde

Decauville

Elvan

Jack

Little Clyde

Luce

Mennock

Nith

They're definitely related, but I feel sorry for Little Clyde having to live in the nominative shadow of Clyde.  Why couldn't he have been given a name of his own?  I wouldn't be surprised if he gets rebellious in protest later in life and perhaps goes off the rails.  Poor little mite.

After cycling to the railway, I thought it might be a little noisy if I set up my camp right next to the station...

...With the locomotives coming and going...

So I pitched my tent just a little way up the hill where I could watch the trains pass from a distance, still hear the little clickety-clack clickety-clack of the wheels on the track and their tooo-hooo whistle as they approach the station.  I love watching them from here...

 

I'd gone for a little wander after pitching camp, as I usually do to get a feel for the area, and I met a woman who I don't think can be from the area or really have much clue how railways and catching trains work.  She'd been waiting for a train for quite some time, but hadn't thought to wait at the station.  For some reason she thought she could just hail the train like a cab, and never got the hint that almost no train operators work like that.  She'd clearly been waiting a long time...

Of course, she wasn't very talkative, and it wasn't actually her who'd told me the story of her long wait.  Just down from the little bridge she's perched on is a beck, and while I was wondering what to do about this skeleton on the bridge (because I felt as though someone ought to do something), a little voice called up for me not to worry, 'She's one of the locals now.  Been here a wee while.  Never did nab the train to Wanlockhead like she wanted.' 

At first I couldn't see where the voice was coming from.  It didn't sound like a child's phraseology, but it wasn't exactly an adult's timbre either.  I peered over Thin Lizzy's shoulder, but couldn't see who might own the voice, only for the voice to say, 'I'm over here, by the brook...not that way, here, in the grass.' That's when I saw him...

...a very large, male, Duck-Billed Haggis. I leapt back in surprise.  After all, nobody had told me that the Duck-Billed Haggis spoke English, only that they are friendly, but still, I was nervous after my experience of the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis.

'There's nay reason to be scared, Lass.  I'm nay ginna harm ya.  I'm just looking fa some fish fa ma wee uns.  Oh, and ma name's Donald.'

I considered his stocky build and bumbling movement, very different from the leaner and speedy Blanket-Making Wild Haggis, and decided I probably was safe, and the folk of Leadhills hadn't been lying to me about the Duck-Billed Haggis' placid nature.  I do rather wish they'd told me about the English speaking thing though.  So having come to the conclusion that I was most likely safe, I scrambled down the bank and Donald proceeded to tell me all about Thin Lizzy.  It turns out that Duck-Billed Haggi can live to be over four hundred years old, and that Donald himself was already 236!  He told me that Thin Lizzy had turned up when he was a wee boy, almost a hundred years before the line was even opened.  She wasn't the brightest spark and apparently didn't fancy the walk to Wanlockhead - a whole two miles - so as soon as she heard of the invention of the train she came to Leadhills in anticipation of a mainline to Wanlockhead, where she wanted to go 'to see the sights of the highest village in Scotland.'  So Thin Lizzy has been waiting for a train that never came for 214 years because she was too lazy to walk two miles.  Donald said that the good folk of Leadhills kept her well fed, and were always trying to encourage her either to walk the short distance or to give up waiting and come inside, but she was having none of it, declaring she'd get on that train if it was the last thing she ever did.  It turns out it was the last thing she never did, except every so often someone will now take her on a carriage ride to fulfil her destiny and involve her memory in the community.

By now I'd sat down in the grass, engrossed by the story, and I'd come to really rather like Donald.  The locals were right - these haggis are friendly - and Donald was shocked and saddened to hear my story of Scott and Hamish and the fear that the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis had instilled in me.  He quite understood and told me that 'their sort' are the kind that give all haggis a bad reputation, but it's only them and the Sabre-Toothed Haggis that need be feared.  I hadn't heard of the Sabre-Toothed Haggis, because I actually know very little about the animals, only that haggis in general is a national dish in Scotland (which I deliberately didn't bring up with Donald).  I wasn't liking the sound of the Sabre-Toothed Haggis and I must have started to look around nervously because Donald quickly chipped in that they're definitely not found in these parts.  Apparently they will occasionally be found in the upper Highlands, but mostly they're confined to the Scottish islands.  I'm still worried about encountering them during the rest of my epic trip, but Donald advised that, while I might see them, they're only really a danger to small dogs and the Highland Haggis, and that the Highland Haggis is as docile as they come.

Sabre-Toothed Haggis

Highland Haggis

Well, just as he was telling me all this there was a shrill squawk and Donald jumped eight feet in the air.  I thought maybe we were about to be attacked by some other strange Scottish creature, but it when I turned towards the direction of the squawk I saw this...

Donald's wife, Della, with the children, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Daisy, and Della wasn't too pleased that Donald hadn't gone home with any fish for the children, or in fact hadn't returned home at all.  She'd been worried sick about him and had had no option but to bring the hagglets out on her search.  The squawk had been her warning call of anger at him for having found him chatting away blythley to yet another tourist.  Donald let Della speak, nodded in all the right places, blushed appropriately (did you know that a Duck-Billed Haggis' fur goes bright red when the animal blushes?), and uttered deep regret and apology.  I thought he was about to undo all the hard work of this response when he began telling Della about Scott's and Hamish's tragic endings, but Della was as horrified as Donald had been and said that in that case it was important that Donald had set me right about the mentality of most haggis, and by way of apology for the whole haggis community for the tragedy that had incurred she wanted to give me a brand new haggis-fur-filled mattress for a new four poster camp bed, and she'd implement the Haggis Army to protect me from any other Blanket-Making Wild Haggis or any rogue Sabre-Toothed Haggis that might be along the rest of my route to John O'Groats.  I tried to say that my current mattress and bed are perfectly comfortable, but she was quite insistent and said that the drapes of the new bed would be impregnated with haggis-repellent specifically targeted at the B-M W Haggis and the S-T Haggis for added protection.  I wondered if the repellent would have any negative effect on the Haggis Army members, but she assured me not.  So here's my fancy new camp bed and mattress...

I have to say that I feel so much safer now, and I am deeply grateful to Della, Donald, and the Haggis Army for ensuring my safety from dangerous haggi from here on.  Della assures me that they will be discreet and, if they do their job properly, I will never see any of the Haggis Army unless I call them.  I think she meant call out to them rather than phone them up.

Della, Donald, Daisy, Huey, Dewey, and Louie had been walking me back to my tent together, but Della had whispered something to the hagglets when we were half way back and they'd run off excitedly up the hillside.  We'd only been back at the tent a few minutes when the hagglets came running in, carefully carrying a tray of freshly baked shortbread that smelled truly delicious.  

Della said that the children had made it that afternoon, and they'd been going to make millionaire's shortbread too when she'd realised the time and was worried about Donald, so instead of making the millionaire's shortbread they'd come on their hunt for him.  But seeing as we were all now hungry, it seemed perfect that they share the shortbread they had been able to make.  Of course, I shared what food I had left too, and we ended up having quite a feast...

I had such a lovely time with Donald, Della, and all the family, and we've spent a lot of my time here together.  They've shown me the whole area and told me a lot about the history of the place.  

I was wanting to share with you all that I've learnt - how Leadhills has the oldest subscription library in Britain, that Wanlockheads has the second oldest; how Leadhills got it's name from the Lead that used to be mined here; that the area is still rich with minerals and Lanarkshire has even given its name to one of those minerals, Lanarkite; that the history of the mines and the history of the libraries are intertwined, and that the old miners' library is now a museum that tourists can visit.  But unfortunately I don't seem to have time for any of that now, having told you about Donald and Della and the hagglets instead.  I couldn't have not told you about them, though, so I hope you will forgive me for prioritising what I did.

I have to say that I am loving my new bed.  It is so comfortable, and the haggis-fur-filled mattress is amazingly warm, but I guess that's to be expected from an animal that lives in the wilds of Scotland.

Tomorrow I move on to Queensferry, Edinburgh, so I'll update you on how that trip goes when I get back to you over the weekend.  In the meantime, thank you for your support on my epic journey from Land's End to John O'Groats and if you'd like to sponsor me for my ride then you can still do so at my Just Giving page.  As ever, every penny is hugely appreciated by me and all at Pop-Up Gym, for which I am fundraising, a place where folk recovering from spinal injuries or with other neurological conditions can come to exercise with specially adapted equipment.  The only place like it in the north of England.

**All photos, except those of my tent and of the MotoMed, are taken from Google Images

Lowther Castle and Gardens to Gretna Green

Hello folks, I'm sorry for the delay in getting back to you with news of my ride from Lowther and of my time here in Gretna Green.  It's been a busy weekend for me, and of course I had to find my way out of that trough.  Quite by luck I found one last piece of very sticky toffee covered in fluff and bog water stuck to the lining of my pocket.  I rubbed it clean as best as I could and the rest of the grime came off soon enough when I'd been sucking on it a few minutes.  It was just what I needed to give me the energy to climb out of the trough, though I didn't actually find the toffee until the morning, so I spent the night staring up at the stars.  It was rather chilly, but very pretty.  How was your weekend?

Before I could begin my weekend I had to get to Gretna Green, which meant a 63km cycle from Lowther Castle and Gardens.  I was feeling fairly sprightly when I began and it didn't take me too long to warm up and get up to speed - I like to try to keep to a pace of at least 100 rmp for most of the ride, but warm up and cool down at a much slower pace.  It was quite nice not to have a terribly long ride to finish my week, and I covered the distance in two hours and three minutes, with 30km of it at gear ten, so increased by four gears from my usual.

I was excited by this ride as it's taken me across the border into Scotland!  Although I still have a long way to go, I feel like I'm making good progress now.

I'd hoped to stay in a hotel in Gretna Green by way of a celebration for making it to Scotland, but I never quite got around to booking anywhere, and much to my dismay I discovered that everywhere was fully booked!  How dare they!  I was still able to use the facilities of several of the hotels, because they were feeling kind and generous, but ultimately I had to pitch my tent.

I chose to pitch it by the lake in the water garden in the grounds of Greens at Gretna Hotel

It's a beautiful spot, and I vowed I wouldn't venture into the pond either to swim or bog snorkel. I have kept my promise.  As you can see in the photos, the kind folk from the hotel have set up a posh table in the pagoda for me so that I can be protected from any rain while I eat, and feel a degree of decadence, even though I'm camping.  I haven't let on about my four poster camp bed and butler sink bar, though I might venture into the hotel for a drink later.  I've had quite a few looks of envy while I've been sat here at my beautifully laid dining table in the pagoda.

It's extra pretty at night when it's all lit up...

So anyway, when I'd set up camp and had a wee tipple at the bar I went investigating and discovered more about the history of the place at the Gretna Green Museum and Exhibition. 

Gretna Green is a small village, close to the slightly larger place of Gretna, and mostly seems to consist of the blacksmith's and small complex that's built up around it.

For the benefit of any readers from beyond the UK, Gretna Green is famous for being a place for eloping couples to come and marry, and the blacksmiths is actually where the marriage would occur, which is why it has become such a central place in this small village.  So why Gretna Green?  Well, back in 1754 Lord Hardwicke created an Act that meant that anyone under the age of 21 could not marry without their parents' consent, and that the parents could veto the marriage if they disapproved (I think it was because he didn't want his own daughter to marry the young man she had her heart set on).  The Act covered England and Wales, but in Scotland the law still allowed boys to marry at age 14 and girls at age 12, with or without parental consent.  At the time, Gretna Green was the first place in Scotland on the main coaching route from London to Edinburgh, so runaway youngsters would dash up there as fast as their horses could carry them, leap into the smithy and get the 'blacksmith priests' to marry them.  The marriage was legally binding and could not be quashed by objecting parents if the young couple stayed in Scotland for at least 21 days following the ceremony.  

Part of the final proceedings in the ceremony was the blacksmith hitting his anvil hard with is hammer, symbolically representing the couple being forged together in the heat of the moment.  The original anvil is still used in weddings today, though there isn't the same 'need' for desperate youngsters to elope.

I thought that while I was here I ought to see if I could stick with the marriage tradition of the place.  I'm not in a relationship, but I didn't see why that should stop me.  While I thought about the best way to go about finding a husband in the two and a half days I'm here, I figured the first thing I'd do would be to look for a dress.  Being in Scotland I thought it only right that there be some tartan in it.  I fancied something elegant with a subtle tartan sash, or the likes, perhaps something like this...

Looking good, huh?
I wasn't so taken with what the woman in the shop made me try on.  She said it was all she had in my size at such short notice...

Not my taste at all, and certainly not for the obligatory wedding photographs that would freeze the memory in time forever.  I'm sure someone loves them, just not me.  

I tried on one dress that was beautiful, and I was told it's Scottish, but there was no tartan on it, and it was out of my budget...

Very floaty and elegant.  What do you think?

I left there rather undecided, and dreaming of being able to afford the Scottish floaty dress that made me feel beautiful and elegant.  While I thought about it, and looked for another bridal shop in the village, I stood under the kissing gate waiting for inspiration and hoping a possible groom might pass by...

One bloke did pass by, and while he sadly turned me down as his wife (I know!!!), he did offer to his services at my wedding...

Perfect!  That's the music sorted.  I don't want a bloke who wears a bear on his head as my husband anyway!  However, I did still have the problem of a distinct lack of groom...until I realised that in this wedding mecca there is a shop for everything, and yes, I could go shopping for a wannabe groom.  Hurrah!  I checked out a few options...

This guy was lovely, but tragically he was nabbed by someone else just before I had the chance to say yes.

While I liked these two, they seemed to be in a bromance, and I wouldn't be surprised if they'd popped up to the Gretna Green One Stop Weddings for Gay Marriage place.  I hope they did, because they looked very happy together.  I was still single though, so I had to keep on looking...

These three scared me, simply because I don't think the very young boy should be 'on the menu'.  Perhaps he was there as a possible page boy, but they didn't make that clear, so I disregarded them all on the grounds of morality, and that the older two should take some responsibility for what they are representing.

Onward...

Erm...no...just no...

Also, why do they all, except the first one, come as a pair (or a pair and a half)? It's very odd.

So my last chance was this pair...

To be honest, they're both a bit young for me, and not really my type, but they were the only option I had left, plus they had a wedding dress available that matched their kilts, so I tried it on and stood beside them to see how it felt...

The dress was nice and not too tight.  Not exactly my dreamy floaty dress, but it had the tartan I'd originally been looking for.  As for the grooms, I couldn't decide between Scott (left) and Hamish (right), and to avoid them fighting over me, because I'm sure they were about to, I said we'd settle it by having them race through the courtship maze.  

It's meant to be that the bride goes in one entrance and the groom in the other.  The maze is laid out as two interlocking marriage bands, and the couple are to meet on the raised platform in the middle, then work together to find their way out again.  In this case, Scott and Hamish would start at the separate entrances and the first to the middle would be my groom.  While they were doing that I went to sort out the wedding rings.

I got this one made on the blacksmith's anvil.  Nice, huh?

There was still no sign of either Scott or Hamish declaring triumph at the maze's central stand, so I sorted out possible places for photos afterwards, and thought these two sculptures were beautiful and the perfect backdrops for wedding photos...

Still with no sign of Scott or Hamish, I went to check that the Smithy was the right place to get married, or would the old Anvil Hall be better.  It wasn't much on the outside, but the inside was pretty in its simplicity...

I decided that the blacksmith's would be best as it's intimate, whereas Anvil Hall might feel rather lonely and empty, although by the time I got back to the maze, quite a crowd had gathered.  I'm not sure how they'd heard about my imminent wedding, but they were all cheering for me and whomever I was about to choose...

Even William and Kate made and appearance!

I thought it was a bit mean of them to upstage me in their fancy horse-drawn carriage, but they said they had only ridden in it for transportation purposes and that it was actually for me to ride in around the village after the event!  Such kindness.

All this preparation was quite exhausting, but now was the time for me to find out whether I'd been Mrs Scott or Mrs Hamish.  Where were those boys?  Actually, where were those boys?  It'd been a couple of hours now since I'd set them the task and there was no sign of them.  I couldn't see them anywhere, and the crowds were getting impatient.  Word spread that the boys had somehow got lost in the maze and folk rushed in to find them.  They searched and they searched.  Nothing.

Until...

Yes, someone spotted the lesser known and highly dangerous Blanket-Making Wild Haggis!  Known for attacking anyone in its path who happens to be wearing tartan.  They savage their victim in an outrageous attack of violence and then turn their tartan clothes into blankets!  I was desperate to find my two potential loves, and couldn't believe that they could possibly have fallen victim to this wild of wild beasts in this popular tourist village.  The blacksmith told me there had been a spate of similar disappearances, and that they'd been warning folk to keep an eye out, but obviously word hadn't reached everyone coming into the village.

I didn't want to believe what I was hearing, the possibility of having lost my grooms even before I'd had a chance to get to know them properly (at all).  But then this...

Noooooo! Scott and Hamish!

And then...

The others.  A tragic end to so many innocent folk and all because of one innocuous looking beast.  Do not be fooled by the innocent appearance of the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis.  Thankfully, the haggis is not a protected species, not the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis anyway, and even more thankfully the person who spotted this one wasn't wearing tartan and had come equipped...

He had quickly hunted the beastly haggis down, and before I knew it, the monster was being served up to me as an offering of something or other.  I think it wasn't meant to make me feel better, but it seemed rather soon after the haggis had devoured Scott and Hamish for me now to be eating the haggis.

I had a little nibble, but gave most of it to Will and Kate, who let me have a ride in their carriage down to the river Esk where I could have a little think...

It was very pretty.  I reflected on the events of the evening and how close I'd come to being a married woman - always something I'd wanted - but realised that it would have been very difficult to continue on my ride with either Scott or Hamish in tow as neither of them had particularly liked cycling, nor particularly wanted to leave Gretna Green just yet.  Whilst it's terrible what has become of them, the situation has made me realise that neither of them were the right man for me, and who knows, maybe they were eternal grooms, working at that weird groom store, constantly on sale.  I'll give what is left of them - their blankets - to Gretna Homeless Shelter.  Perhaps Kate and Will have shared the rest of the haggis with some of the crowd too.  I hope so because some of them looked rather peckish.

I didn't have far to walk back to the main village from the river, and Green's Hotel were great at letting me have a lovely hot bath to wash away the muck and emotion of the day.  It was heavenly...

The hotel folk were very apologetic that they couldn't let me stay in a hotel room that night, but they were absolutely chockablock, what with all those crowds of folk booking in.  I was fine in the quiet of my little tent, though, and quite liked the solitude after the frenetic and emotional day.

I've had a very quiet day today, pottering about the main complex of the hotel, enjoying the water garden, and popping up to see Kate and Will in their hotel room.  They invited me to share in a nibble of lunch with them, and it seemed rude to refuse, especially as Will's granny was journeying up from London to be with them.  It was a nice little affair...

I'm off to bed in a moment as I have to head to Leadhills tomorrow.  I'm not altogether sure where that is, other than north of here, but I'm looking forward to the cycle.  It'll help clear my mind after such an eventful stay in Gretna Green, but I'm hoping that I don't come across any more of the vicious haggis species.  There are plenty of gentle ones out there, I know, but I will now be forever wary of all haggis, I'm sure.

See you in Leadhills, and when I'm there I'll have more idea of where it is and be able to let you know.  In the meantime, please do sponsor me for my epic bike ride, if you haven't already. It's easy to do at my Just Giving page, and it's all in aid of the charity Pop-Up Gym.  Every penny of sponsorship/donation is very greatly appreciated, and even the smallest amount helps.

**All photos, except those of my tent and the MotoMed, are taken from Google Images.