Our five week research trip to Scotland

Part One – Leicester – Strathclyde

In the past, when we travelled to Scotland with the caravan, we left Leicester at 4 AM to pass through the M6 Toll Road and take advantage of the preferential rate negotiated by the Caravan and Motorhome Club. Sadly, those days have gone, and it now costs sixteen pounds to travel on the toll road. The toll is now fully automated, so with a quick flick of the debit card, we were on to our first stop – Tebay Services, Westmorland. We were eager to hit the road because Storm Floris was waiting for us over the border.

We love stopping at Tebay services (if only for farmshop, cafe and restaurant). It’s rather strange when you first arrive, because the caravan site is almost deserted. However, as evening approaches, it quickly fills up. It reminded us of the time we travelled to Greece (with only a fishing tent to sleep in!) when campers belted through the former Yugoslavia (avoiding Albania) to reach Greece as quickly as possible. In those days there were queues at the bakery and bread and other supplies quickly ran out. It gave us a taste of what life would be like under a communist regime and it wasn’t very appealing. So, next morning, fuelled by a Cumberland sausage cob (!) and a cappoucino we set off to go head-to-head with Storm Floris.

We crossed the border without incident and, as usual, my heart was full as I remembered everything my family (mum, dad, granny, uncle, four kids and an alsatian) left behind when my father moved south in search of work in the sixties. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it because as soon as we were on the M74, Storm Floris made her presence known. Here, the land flattens out and the wind whips across from the west even on a good day. Soon the caravan was being buffeted by gale force winds and Dave slipped into four wheel drive as spray rose from the road making driving difficult.

At this point in the journey I usually recite Young Lochinvar (one of my fav poems) coming “out of the west”, but the driving conditions were so scary I held my wheesht. I’m sure Dave was grateful for that. In fact, the weather was so apalling, that the CAMH warden at Hamilton rang us to ask if we were still intent on camping there. We were told to come straight in and not to wait until 1pm, as was usual. I was grateful to arrive in one piece and told Dave (not for the first time) that he was a hero, even though his cape was packed in an overhead locker along with the spare towels.

The weather eventually calmed down and the caravan was no longer in any danger of aquaplaning across the motorway. We left the ‘bra’ [which protects the large front window from damage] in place as we were moving on the next day and wanted a quick getaway.

The next day, August the 5th, would have been my mother’s 97th birthday and we decided to make a pilgrimage to Craigneuk via Motherwell to visit the house where I was born. Last time we visited, an elderly lady came out and asked if she could help. She brought me up to date on some of the families I’d grown up with. Sadly, she didn’t appear this time, so we took as many photos as we could and returned to the van.

It was quite emotional standing before my old home and remembering growing up in that cul-de-sac. Back in the fifties, children played without adult supervision and pavements were marked with chalk drawings and peever beds. Although the road was now empty I could recall the children who lived there: Wallaces, Smileys, Bunces, Parkes and my many cousins. Along with the other girls I would sit on the back doorstep and write little tales and poems to read back to each other.

Then, one Christmas I was given a Petite typewriter and my writing career began . . .

It seems strange to think that the Ravenscraig Steel works was – quite literally – in our back garden. We never paid it much heed, concentrating instead on renacting the movies we saw in Saturday cinema in each other’s back gardens: The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Rob Roy and my particular favourite The Ghost Goes West. The works were demolished in 1996 and a new town – Ravenscraig, built there instead. On the last evening we visited it, but there were no ghosts waiting for me, nor a sense of what had been.

One of the eponymous Ravenscraig boilers, me as a “wean”and with grannie. Looking down Meadowhead Road and remembering . . .

I hope you’ve enjoyed the first instalment in our five week trip around Scotland; we covered two thousand miles researching #3 in the Dark Skies Trilogy. I daren’t look at the petrol receipts bcause towing a twenty-five foot caravan guzzles up the gas.

Next time, we travel onwards through the Trossachs to Barcaldine near Oban where we stayed in a romantic campsite situated in a Victorian walled garden.

In the meantime, do check out the first two books in the series and my other novels which are FREE to download on kindle unlimited. You can also read them on your kindle or purchase a paperback. Signed copies of the paperbacks are also available; please leave a message in the “comments” and I’ll get back to you.

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