Search This Blog

Showing posts with label Scotland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scotland. Show all posts

Friday, 1 May 2015

FFB - Castles

Having covered a castle or two in my posts about Segovia/Salamanca/Avila, it seems appropriate to feature this book review, originally published in the Portsmouth Post in 2005. Castles is a lovely tome to own, a fascinating book to read and it’s also useful as the definitive guide to the most impressive historic buildings and sites in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. This is the latest revision of a classic bestselling book by Plantagenet Somerset Fry who died in 1996. Fry was a world-renowned authority on castles and, in case you wondered, actually changed his name by deed poll. A second edition was published in 2009 and is still available.


British and Irish castles are fascinating and romantic places to visit. Whether they’re ruins, restored heritage sites or still occupied, they evoke times past, the scenes of historic events that shaped our countries and our people – battles, sieges, executions, negotiations, kidnappings and betrayals. Grim and compelling history written in stone.

The vast majority of the castles were constructed as a result of the Norman invasion and are generally characterised by the motte and bailey. The motte is a mound on which a castle was built while the bailey is the courtyard within the castle walls, often circling the motte.

While these castles acted as places of defence and offence, they were also occupied by the local lord and his family. As time passed and society became more settled and secure, the need for castles diminished, save for defence against foreign invasion. The last to see active service was Dover Castle, which was used as the control centre for Operation Dynamo, the evacuation of Dunkirk. A garrison was maintained there until the 1950s.

Portchester is a fine example of a Norman castle built within the confines of a late third century Roman Saxon shore fort. Reputedly, it has the most complete Roman walls to exist in northern Europe. Portchester was well used by England’s royalty and still has the old twelfth century church. Basing House near Basingstoke is worth a look too, where Civil War re-enactments are staged each year.

Arundel is another castle which began life just a few years following 1066 and was added to in subsequent centuries, being rebuilt after serious damage during the Civil War. It was brought up to its present magnificent appearance in the latter part of the nineteenth century.

In East Sussex, Herstmonceux is more a great fortified mansion than a castle and became the Royal Greenwich Observatory in 1946 but it’s now a study centre.

Lewes is one of the very few castles with two mottes associated with one bailey. When the castle was built, boats could navigate from the Channel up the Ouse so that Lewes was actually a useful port in East Sussex. Way back in 1846 the London and Brighton South Coast Railway constructed a tunnel, which is still in use, under the bailey of the castle.
 
As this book attests, there are literally hundreds of castles in Britain and Ireland. Virtually every one is covered, many descriptions accompanied by attractive and often haunting colour photographs.

Many of the castle names have impinged into our subconscious. Names such as Bodiam in Sussex, Colchester in Essex, Hever and Rochester, Kent. Chester in Cheshire, Windsor, Tintagel in Cornwall, Ludlow in Shropshire, Warwick in Warwickshire, Barnard in Durham, Bamburgh and Alnwick in Northumberland. St Andrews and Ravenscraig in Fife, Stirling in Aberdeenshire, Beaumaris on the Isle of Anglesey, Edinburgh, Caerphilly, Prembroke, Newport, Powys, Caerleon in Newport, Caernarfon and Conwy in Gwynedd and Hay-on-Wye in Powys, whose remains now house several of the famous second-hand bookshops. Ardrossan in North Ayrshire, Drogheda in Louth, Dublin, Donegal, Dunluce in Antrim, Enniskillen, Wicklow, Waterford and Trim which was used in the film Braveheart. Falkland Castle in Fife, where you can still find the original royal tennis court built in 1539.
 
There are at least five Newcastles – Bridgend, Emlyn in Carmarthanshire, Lyons in Dublin, Under-Lyme in Staffordshire and Upon-Tyne. The latter was built by the Conqueror’s son in 1080. Nearby is Tynemouth which was one of the largest fortified sites in England; it was integrated into the Priory and now all that’s left are the ruins of the priory and the castle gatehouse, which overlook the mouth of the Tyne and the bleak North Sea.
 
For the purpose of this review I’ve gleaned a few interesting snippets from the book concerning several notable castles. Every castle is identified by its national grid map reference and basic opening times and access details are provided (though subject to change, naturally).

Cornwall’s St Michael’s Mount’s original church was consecrated in 1144 but was destroyed in an earthquake in 1275. This is a magical place to visit.
 
Leeds Castle is nowhere near Yorkshire; this Kent castle’s name stems from the original Esledes and was bought by a wealthy Anglo-American lady in the 1920s and she spent the rest of her life transforming it.
 
Blair in Pitlochry doesn’t belong to the Prime Minister but to the Dukes of Atholl. Dumbarton in Scotland is recorded as a stronghold for longer than any other site in Britain; it was built on a volcanic neck of basalt rock jutting out into the Clyde.

Glamis in Angus was the childhood home of the Queen Mother and was featured in Macbeth. Linlithgow in West Lothian was the birth-place of Mary, Queen of Scots.

Cardiff castle was raised on the site of a Roman fort in 1080 and over the centuries has been remodelled and improved and is considered one of the best to visit in Wales; note especially the ornate ceiling in the Arab Room.
 
Ireland has more than 3,000 castles, most overgrown ruins and until recently they were resented and seen as symbols of hated foreign rule and domination. Castle Blarney is famous for its stone; anyone who kisses it is supposed to be blessed with eloquence. Besides being a twelfth century castle, Carrickfergus has served as a prison, armoury and air-raid shelter.

Corfe in Dorset was owned by Sir John Bankes; his widow led the garrison to fight off two Parliamentarian sieges, though she was defeated by an act of treachery and the castle was slighted – one of several useful terms to be found in the glossary – damage or destroy to make it unfit for further use.
 
Ashby de la Zouch (Leicestershire) features in Sir Walter Scott’s classic Ivanhoe. Scott was clearly besotted by castles, writing the two-novel tome Kenilworth after the castle of that name in Warwickshire.
 
I can’t resist mentioning the rarity Shropshire’s Moreton Corbet which was built by the head of an old Saxon family rather than a Norman, in about 1200. Another Morton can be found in Dumfries - a fourteenth century castle tower on a high promontory overlooking Morton Loch.
 
Brief but illuminating feature spreads with illustrations provide more facts and anecdotes on life in early castles, medieval weapons and the people’s food and drink. There are also articles on sieges, entertainment, sport and the English Civil War, among others.
 
You’ll spend many an hour with this book and if you live in the UK you’ll be inspired to go out and seek out the castles themselves, to celebrate your heritage and glory in the rich human tapestry of our islands’ history by visiting a castle.
 

Saturday, 11 October 2014

Saturday Story - 'The Newly Weds' - part 2 of 2


Wikipedia commons - Scottish mountains

THE NEWLY WEDS
 
Nik Morton
 
Part 2 of 2:
Story so far: Barry Paice is mountain climbing with his new wife Sadie when they encounter her ex-husband Jasper climbing with his girlfriend Lynne. Lynne is saved from a fatal fall by Barry and she reveals that Jasper and Sadie want them both dead… Now read on.

 

Barry didn’t believe Lynne. It was too far-fetched! Yet it seemed to be stretching coincidence too far, meeting Sadie’s ex on a mountainside.

The soft iron clinker of Jasper’s boot rasped on the rock behind them.

Barry swung round.

Eyes shining, Jasper advanced on him, piton hammer raised threateningly.

‘Oh, God,’ Lynne moaned. She stood, nursing her injured arm in its sling, her eyes staring. Sadie clambered towards Lynne, a vicious piton hammer in her hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barry glimpsed Jasper lunge forward. Barry ducked and lost his foothold and stumbled to one knee.

The piton clanged against rock and Jasper kicked out. The metal toecap caught Barry on his shoulder, jarring his frame. He spun away his heart lurched as he slipped over the edge.

The rope round his waist pulled, and the sudden arrest of his fall winded him. He hung suspended at the end of the nylon rope.

Jasper leaned over the edge and grinned. ‘Sorry about this, Barry, old son. It’s nothing personal, only business!’ He sounded rather sad about it. ‘We want your money – and the insurance, of course – so we’ve arranged this little climbing tragedy.’

We? Barry’s mind raced as his scrabbling feet found a slender rocky rib for purchase. He thrust himself up on the ridge, he grabbed at Jasper’s nearest leg and held on tight as he fell back.

‘Don’t!’ The sudden wrench unbalanced Jasper and he flew over Barry’s head, arms flailing helplessly. His wail bounced off the mountainside.

Heaving in great gulps of air, Barry pulled on the rope and spotted Sadie. Behind her was the slumped shape of Lynne. And now she was heading up the ledge for him.

He redoubled his efforts to pull himself up, hand over hand on the taut rope.

Suddenly, Sadie kicked out and her sole’s iron muggers broke the fingers on his left hand and grazed across his chin. For a fraction of a second he blacked out with the excruciating pain. He came too as he was cast down again on the end of the rope. His heart hammered while his body slammed into the rock wall, ribs bruised or broken.

          Hazily blinking up at Sadie’s scowling face, he couldn’t believe she was his wife. The delightful bow of her mouth widened into an ugly shape. She bawled, ‘Murderer!’

She stamped her boot down on the rope and he felt it vibrate, twisting him round in mid air.

‘Jasper was better than you!’ she shouted. ‘Every time – even last night!’

Surely this wasn’t the woman he’d courted and just married?

‘I hated you touching me!’ she screamed. ‘The whole romance was a farce, all planned!’ She laughed dementedly.

His chest ached but not merely with the bruising he’d sustained in his fall.

She hurled the piton hammer and it hit his shoulder, its point slicing into the anorak then twisting out into space.

Desperately now, he tried to stop spinning and kicked out, and attempted to snatch a toe-hold.

His heart sank as the section of rope above made a cracking sound. She must be using another piton or a knife to sever it. Sweat streamed into his eyes. He blinked and clamped his feet on the rope and hauled with his one good hand, but he had a long way to go.

Sadie’s sudden scream seemed to curdle his blood. He looked up.

She slumped forward, her head and shoulders looming over the edge, then she toppled and plunged past him, a piton lodged in her back.

Praying the partially severed rope would hold, he hauled himself up with only one hand.

Gasping for air and wheezing from pain, he edged over the rocky ledge and scrabbled to his knees, cradling his broken fingers in his lap.

Ashen faced, Lynne moved to him and knelt by his side. Her eyes filled with tears, she said, her voice rasping, ‘They were never divorced.’

‘What?’

‘They’ve done this before.’

‘What, Sadie and Jasper?’

Lynne nodded. ‘They’ve used different names and take turns to find a new spouse. Then their loved one meets with an accident shortly after the honeymoon.’

‘Couldn’t the police arrest them?’

She shook her head. ‘Never any evidence of wrongdoing. The accidents never appeared suspicious. I was to get the evidence this trip…’

He stared. ‘My God.’ He retrieved his bag and offered the flask.
She smiled weakly and drank. ‘You know,’ she mused, ‘this insurance investigation job’s getting tougher.’
* * * *
Previously published in 2 parts in TV Choice, 2010.
 
Copyright Nik Morton, 2014

If you liked this story, you might like my collection of crime tales, Spanish Eye, published by Crooked Cat, which features 22 cases from Leon Cazador, private eye, ‘in his own words’.  He is also featured in the story ‘Processionary Penitents’ in the Crooked Cat Collection of twenty tales, Crooked Cats’ Tales.


 
Spanish Eye, released by Crooked Cat Publishing is available as a paperback and as an e-book.






http://www.amazon.com/Spanish-Eye-Nik-Morton-ebook/dp/B00GXK5C6S/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1399382967&sr=1-5&keywords=nik+Morton


Saturday, 4 October 2014

Saturday Story - 'The Newly Weds' - part 1 of 2


Wikipedia commons
 
 
THE NEWLY WEDS 

Nik Morton

 

Part 1 of 2


 
Barry Paice hammered a piton into Crag Lamore’s volcanic overhang and it echoed down the dusk-filled valley. Here, the wall veered sharply, protruding out into the Scottish winds again. He unslung the hundred-foot nylon rope and banged a karabiner into the outcrop and fed the rope sling through its spring-loaded gate, testing it.

            He looked down. ‘Sadie!’ he bawled, lank black hair blowing into his screwed up eyes.  ‘It’ll soon be dark, we’ll bivouac above this buttress!’

            His wife waved acknowledgement.

            Once on the shelf, he made fast, lowering the rope sling. Gingerly, she clambered after him. He was really proud of her: she’d done very well. This wasn’t his ideal choice for a honeymoon activity, but she’d insisted that she wanted to learn alongside him. ‘Learn everything about you, darling,’ she’d whispered.

            Now, as she breathlessly joined him, he kissed her flushed cheek and stroked the long glistening blonde ponytail down her back. Her sparkling hazel eyes widened, alight with her achievement.

            Ahead on the scree slope was a tent. A man and a woman stood outside it.

            Abruptly, Sadie gasped. ‘My God, that’s Jasper!’

            ‘Your ex husband?’ Barry said.

            She nodded.

            ‘That’s a damned big coincidence.’

‘I know. What do we say?’

            He shrugged. ‘Just be civil.’ He chuckled. ‘Maybe that’s his new wife.’

            ‘Maybe,’ she said and they walked to meet the pair.

            Barry said, ‘You know Sadie, my wife, I believe.’

            ‘Yes,’ Jasper grunted into his grey-flecked beard. Weathered face crinkling lopsidedly, he embraced the auburn-haired young woman beside him. ‘This is Lynne, my girlfriend.’

Lynne was slim, almost petite, her brown eyes strangely withdrawn, evasive.

‘Bygones be bygones, Sadie?’ Jasper said, extending a hand.

Sadie nodded. ‘Very well. Friends, Jass.’ They shook.

Jasper Balfour was quite a character, jovial and knowledgeable and, surprisingly, the shared supper went down well.

Night fell. The full moon glowed. ‘Barry, old son,’ barked Jasper, beard bristling, ‘how about us climbing the peak tomorrow together, eh?’

Barry glanced at Sadie and she smiled vaguely and nodded. ‘All right,’ he said.

Some time later, Jasper rose. ‘Sadie, do you fancy a chat? We’ve got quite a bit of catching up to do, eh?’

‘Is that okay, Barry?’ she asked.

‘Of course, go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’m going to turn in anyway, I’m knackered.’

‘Me too,’ Lynne said.

Later, Sadie woke Barry as she slid into the sleeping bag beside him. She felt warm.

‘Talk about much?’ he murmured.

‘Oh, just what we’ve been doing since the divorce, that’s all.’

‘Not comparing notes, I hope?’

Her body stiffened for a second against his then relaxed. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said in a sultry tone. ‘And you won hands down,’ she said, meeting the action to the words.

‘Hm, I like that,’ he whispered and their lips met in the darkness.

Early next morning the foursome set out after breakfast and crossed a grey defile without too much trouble.

While waiting for Sadie, Barry noticed that Lynne was finding handholds with ease. She was above, in the lead on the vertical rock face. Jasper was traversing virtually at her feet.

Fumbling for a hold, Jasper’s hand knocked Lynne’s foot from its crevice.

Barry gasped. Lynne’s yell of alarm echoed. Sparks flew from her boots and metal implements as the gneiss screeched under her. Amazingly, she fell without dislodging Jasper.

With measured haste, Barry belayed the rope round his waist and a needle of rock by the ledge mere seconds before Lynne slithered screaming into his arms. She hit him with such force that he stumbled backwards, her bloody hands and torn cheek pressed against his face. His hands clamped onto her and the nylon rope tautened and held. Near the edge, he sank to his knees with her in his arms.

‘Is she all right?’ Jasper called.

‘I think so!’ Barry replied. Lynne’s ripped jacket spewed white material as he quickly unfastened it to assess her injuries.

Her eyes were wide open, staring. Cradling her skinned palms against her chest, she moaned. Auburn hair fell in disarray.

Barry unstrapped his pack, took out a flask and gave her a swig of brandy.

She gulped it gratefully. ‘I – I think my arm’s broken,’ she whispered.

Tenderly, Barry checked. ‘No, it’s sprained – and your cuts are superficial. You were lucky.’ He quickly improvised a sling for her left arm. ‘Everything’s all right.’

Small dribbles of blood streamed over her scratched cheek. Even though she was now safe, her eyes held alarm, not pain. She glanced fearfully at Jasper who was slowly descending towards them. Then Lynne’s eyes darted at Sadie who hurriedly scrambled up. She whispered, ‘Everything’s not all right.’

Dabbing her torn palms with a lint pad, he eyed her sceptically.

‘Believe me,’ she pleaded, clasping his anorak. ‘Jasper meant to kill me up there.’

He shook his head.

‘Honestly,’ she said, bravely regaining her feet. ‘They want us both dead.’

 
To be continued next week!
 
Previously published in 2 parts in TV Choice, 2010.
 
Copyright Nik Morton, 2014

If you liked this story, you might like my collection of crime tales, Spanish Eye, published by Crooked Cat, which features 22 cases from Leon Cazador, private eye, ‘in his own words’.  He is also featured in the story ‘Processionary Penitents’ in the Crooked Cat Collection of twenty tales, Crooked Cats’ Tales.

 
Spanish Eye, released by Crooked Cat Publishing is available as a paperback and as an e-book.




http://www.amazon.com/Spanish-Eye-Nik-Morton-ebook/dp/B00GXK5C6S/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1399382967&sr=1-5&keywords=nik+morton

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Mary, Queen of Scots

Our day out to Jedburgh in June included a visit to the house of Mary, Queen of Scots. She stayed here in 1566.

Mary Stuart was born in December, 1542 and when she was six days old she inherited the crown from her 30-year-old father King James V, who died after a humiliating defeat by the English at the Battle of Solway Moss.

Henry VIII wanted Mary to marry his five-year-old son Edward, to bring the English and Scottish crowns together. Her French Roman Catholic mother, Mary of Guise, didn’t like the idea and had her 9-month old daughter crowned at Stirling Castle in 1543.

Furious at this, Henry VIII arranged a series of military raids, causing devastation in the Borders – his so-called ‘rough wooing.’

To protect Mary, the Scots arranged her engagement to 4-year-old Francis, heir to the French throne. She sailed to safety in France when she was five. When she was fifteen, she married Francis; and also became claimant to the English throne, in opposition to her cousin, Elizabeth.

Following a jousting accident that killed the French king, fifteen-year-old Francis succeeded and his wife Mary was crowned Queen Consort of France. Sadly, Francis died of an infection a year later and Mary Stuart arrived at the port of Leith, Scotland in August 1561.

Protestant leader John Knox saw her arrival as a problem. A year earlier Scotland had broken with Rome and established Protestantism as the national religion. Knox’s tract The first blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of women’ raged against female rulers.

Despite the perceived schism between the two religious factions, Mary took a pragmatic approach and was tolerant of the Protestant faith, making efforts to win over her people.

Still, she needed a husband. She rejected Queen Elizabeth’s choice, Lord Dudley, and married her cousin Lord Darnley, who proved to be immature and weak. He plotted to kill Rizzio, Mary’s Italian-born private secretary. He fathered her son, James.

Mary came to Jedburgh in 1566, caught a chill and nearly died here.
 
On recovering, some three months later, Lord Darnley was murdered in suspicious circumstances at Kirk O’ Field, Edinburgh. The Earl of Bothwell was accused and Mary came to his defence and indeed later married him in a Protestant ceremony. A group of lords rebelled against the marriage. At a stand-off at Carberry Hill in East Lothian, Mary refused to abandon Bothwell and gave herself up to the rebels in return for his escape to safety.  She was then forced to abdicate in favour of her son, James.

In 1568, Mary escaped and gathered an army of some 6,000 supporters. Her troops were beaten by her half-brother’s forces and she fled to England to seek help from her cousin, Elizabeth I, who determined to hold her captive for 19 years.

Letters suggesting Mary’s role in the Babbington Plot to assassinate Elizabeth and seize her throne condemned her. Her son James signed a treaty with Elizabeth while his mother was taken to Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire, tried and found guilty of treason. Elizabeth signed Mary's death warrant on 1 February, 1587.

On 8 February, Mary, Queen of Scots was beheaded, though it took the executioner two strokes to commit the fatal deed.

She was buried at Peterborough Cathedral. Then, when her son James came to the English throne on Elizabeth’s death 16 years later, he had her remains transferred to Westminster Abbey, where the rival queens now lie in the same chapel.

James became the king of both Scotland and England and the Stuart dynasty ruled Britain for over a century.

Thursday, 15 May 2014

Mary Stewart, R.I.P.

Author Mary Stewart was born in Sunderland in 1916 and died in Scotland on 10 May at the grand age of 97. I find it fascinating that her maiden name was Rainbow – she certainly brought colour and magic into the lives of thousands of readers.

In the 1960s and 1970s, I read quite a few of Mary Stewart’s books. At the time, she, along with Paul Gallico, was one of my favourite non-genre authors. She was very popular indeed and managed to break out of genre labelling with her suspense, mystery and fantasy works.

She wrote about contemporary and historical periods with equal assurance, whether the settings were Crete, Corfu, Austria, Lebanon, Provence, Northumberland, Cornwall, or the Scottish Hebrides.

It’s a long while back since I read her books, but I recall that my particular favourites were:

Touch Not the Cat (1976) about a heroine who possesses the gift of telepathy and involves suspense, deceit and attempted murder.

Madam, will you talk? (1854), her first published novel is a murder mystery set mainly in France.


  

And of course the Arthurian trilogy The Crystal Cave (1970), The Hollow Hills (1973), The Last Enchantment (1979). (I have still to read the succeeding books in the series, The Wicked Day (1983) and The Prince and the Pilgrim (1995); yes, I know, I have too many books still unread!) These books inspired the acclaimed BBC TV series Merlin. [In my as yet unpublished time-travel dystopian novel Time With A Gift Of Tears, my hero travels to Arthurian times and arrives in a crystal cave; my nod to her book).

You can get view the original blurbs and dust-jackets of her novels here

An excellent writer, who put you there, in the scene, and made you care about the characters.

 

Friday, 9 May 2014

FFB - MURDER SOLSTICE

This is Keith Moray’s third crime novel featuring Inspector Torquil McKinnon on West Uist. You don’t need to read the earlier books to appreciate this one.


For such a small isolated place, West Uist certainly has more than its fair share of wrongdoing and death! St Mary Mead and Cabot Cove are almost idyllic in comparison. Although there are quite a few deaths, there is no graphic gore.

The book starts with a double suicide then switches to the arrival of the Daisy Institute, a cult-like group who have bought Dunshiffin Castle in preparation for celebrating the summer solstice. Apparently, the esoteric markings on the ancient Hoolish Stones are significant and the cult leader will reveal all at the solstice. Not surprisingly, the group is not popular, particularly since several islanders have been recruited to their number. 

As if this wasn’t enough, Sergeant Lorna Golspie has been sent to the island to investigate McKinnon’s running of the police station. All of the characters are intriguing or amusing – whether that’s the Padre, the newspaper editor, Annie the dog-lover, constable McPhee or the station sergeant, Morag. You certainly want to make their acquaintance again – by the end of the book, they’re like old friends!

The writing style is engaging too; Keith Moray definitely has a way with words. One example: ‘… he wondered whether instead of clues and fish suppers there might just be a red herring or two in the latest edition.’

An enjoyable crime novel.

***

Keith Moray is the penname of Keith Souter, a prolific author writing in four genres. He is a part-time doctor and medical writer.

As Keith Souter he writes YA historicals featuring a young lad called Jack Moon in Victorian times. He also writes adult historical novels featuring Sir Richard Lee and Hubert of Loxley.

As Clay More, he writes westerns – see my blog ‘Is there a doctor in the house?’ yesterday where his latest creation is plugged, Dr Marcus Quigley, dentist, bounty hunter and gambler.

And of course as Keith Moray he writes crime novels featuring Inspector Torquil McKinnon; there are five in the series so far, the latest is Death in Transit (2013).