The Laird's Tour

By Anne Rothwell 

There’s a great package organised by Caledonian MacBrayne ferries in Scotland, called the ‘Hopscotch’. This allows you to island hop with your car around the Western isles. There are several different routes and we have tried two. The first was to the Outer Hebrides -Barra, North and South Uist, Harris and Lewis. The other, less far flung, was to Arran, Kintyre and Islay.

Although Kintyre is a very long peninsula, not an island, it’s a convenient stopping place by boat between Arran and Islay.At the southern tip, near the Mull of Kintyre, we stayed in a farm B&B upa very narrow country road and way off the beaten track. Looking out at the sweeping rural views from our bedroom window gave an almost physical balm to the mind, far away as it was from the rat race.

However, the most memorable event of our trip occurred as we were travelling north up the west of Kintyre when we came across Glenbarr Abbey. As I’d read something about this place and the fact that the laird (head of the McAllister clan) showed people around personally, we turned up the drive, drove through the trees and parked in front of a beautiful large ivy-clad house.  

As I got out of the car, the front door opened and a lady with grey hair, tartan trousers and an American accent came out to greet me - the laird’s wife no less (lairdess?) She told me that her husband did a continuous circuit of the house, that one joined at any point and left when they reached that point again. She took me upstairs to join the group of two, who shortly left, leaving me to my personal tour with the laird.

He was quite impressive in his kilt with all the accessories, and it was clear that his spiel was memorised word for word through constant use and it took a few moments to realise that he wasn’t always being as serious as he appeared, but had a dry sense of humour.  

The house astounded me. Although there were obviously valuables and family heirlooms, much had been sold off and he was clearly struggling to make ends meet. Much of the space was filled with his wife’s collections -one of dolls, one of thimbles, one Christmas arrangement on a mantelpiece which he said she’d insisted should stay up all year. 

There was also a very amateurish portrait of them, which had been painted by a friend. But the pièce de resistance was a model railway running round one of the drawing rooms. None of your ‘OO’ gauge either; this was ‘O’ gauge for you train buffs. Who says the English have a monopoly on eccentricity?

First published in VISA 120 (April 2014)