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We had agreed not to visit Stirling Castle, but the "William
Wallace Monument" had us all intrigued. It was an ancient
looking stone turret or tower jutting out from a hillside that
overlooked town from the side opposite where Sterling Castle did the
same. The monument was written up in the tourist literature and Lyn
and Jesse were itching to see it (but not me). I drove them there,
and I waited in the car with a PCD and spent the time planning our
day on the laptop and entering the coordinates into the GPS. Within
20 minutes they were back, only to call me in to the souvenir shop so
I would talk them into buying everything that they even remotely
wanted. That is one of the many roles I play in our family. You see,
I refuse to travel 4000 miles, then sit in a tourist shop Before we left Stirling, we stopped to view the "Stirling Bridge" made famous by the 'battle of Stirling Bridge', the incident provocative enough to lead Mel Gibson into making "Braveheart" and earning an Oscar, etc. The actual bridge is quite ordinary and has an anonymous little plaque that commemerates the famous battle and briefly mentions the fact that the current bridge was rebuilt years later (of course). Anyway, we were in the same PLACE as the battle. That's good enough for me and reason enough to take some pictures.
On the Motorway south, a rest area tourist store offered more T-shirts and souvenirs and we continued to indulge my habit. It was already late afternoon when the exit marked 'Lockerbie' finally appeared. We made the pilgrimage, but had to take time to explain the historic significance to Jesse. It was interesting to listen to my own words to him as I tried to put my thoughts together. The city of Lockerbie was just an anonymous little farming town, nestled in beautiful Scottish countryside, that had the historic misfortune of having a terrorist jet disaster occur directly overhead. The town was simple and plain, as anonymous and pleasant as every other town we drove by without stopping on the motorway that day, but we followed the signs through town and to the far outskirts to the cemetery with its memorial to the crash victims.
We drove off to the south, crossed over to England, and started our quest for 'Hadrian's Wall'. Hadrian was a famous Roman, governor general of Rome's holdings in England (if I remember correctly).(?) As the northernmost outpost of the Roman empire, he was constantly being victimized by bands of Celtic warriors (pronounced 'Keltic', not like the Boston basketball team). Hadrian's idea was to build a little wall, across the northernmost holdings, from the Irish Sea on the west to the North Sea on the east. That's all. He picked this part of northern England because it was a natural isthmus, as narrow as things get across England, but the actual distance was huge.
Just another gigantic Roman civil engineering project. Of course, little remains of the wall, just various archeological excavation points spread across a couple of hundred miles. We had a chance to stop on the eastern side of the wall, near Newcastle, on the drive north, but we spent too much time with Sid Carson and we had decided to view the wall from the western side on the drive south, instead. Luckily, a highway ran parallel to the route of the old wall, making it easy for us to exit from the motorway, and cruise eastward to pick a favorite point to view. Of course, luck had nothing to do with the highway's presence, it simply followed the historical route followed by travelers since, well, since Roman times. The 'wall' is a bit of a misnomer, as 'fortification' or 'barrier' might be a better description. The size and proportions are impossible to describe and the sheer scale of Roman manpower required for its construction is nearly impossible to imagine. We passed a couple of small excavation sites, and turned off to see a 'Roman museum' that was both small and ready to close. No big deal. We drove on east (about 15 miles all told) to the largest excavation point easily accessible from the western motorway. By now, unfortunately, the misty Scottish weather had turned into an on-again off-again drizzle, not enough to merit an umbrella, just enough to keep your jacket wet right through to your bones. For some reason, I had expected the excavation of the wall to reveal footings and foundations that would be essentially 18 inches wide and 200 miles long. Like one of the zillions of rock wall between UK farmer's fields, but this one across the width of northern England. I had forgot that Hadrian had wanted to deter warring Celts, not pen in his sheep. So while much of the wall was indeed simply a defendable barracade, from place to place there would be formal fortifications with watchtowers designed for easy arming and mounting convenient defenses. These smaller outposts would be manned by a small squad, who would also walk from place to place across the wall. Many places between outposts would include natural fortifications, wherever possible, like steep slopes or even cliffs. All in all, an impressive design and an even more impressive construction project, when you consider the tools available to the Roman builders.
Of course, no sooner were these large sentry outposts built but civilivation immediately followed with the construction of adjoining private structures of merchants to supply the soldiers (tailors, ironworkers) and their necessary households. The concept was exactly duplicated with the frontier outposts that settled the American west. It was fascinating to think that we were standing in a collection of dwellings with the same purpose that preceeded in construction by over fifteen centuries! The excavated foundations were not much to look at, but fascinating to think about.
The area was unguarded, but did have a lockable gate and posted hours of operations. We were worried about the site being 'closed' soon, but for naught. We were able to walk about, read freely, and visualize the original residents of this ancient site. Eventually, Lyn made it up the hill to join us and take some pictures. What a perfect place to end our visit to England. We drove around a little before returning to the highway. Several other spots offered explanation signs and historical perspectives. But within the hour we were back on the Motorway, heading south back toward the Manchester airport and our flight home tomorrow morning. The drive to Manchester would take over three hours, through the beautiful part of England known as the "Lake District". We had originally scheduled ourselves to have an entire day to spend here, but had given that up early in the trip. We will need to do our meandering in the Lake District during our 'next trip to England'. On the way to Manchester, we were to pass the city of Blackpool. Blackpool has an interesting history, as it is located on the seashore of the Irish Sea. It has been for centuries a place for families to escape from their jobs and spend a week or so on holiday. There is a boardwalk and a centruies old amusment park. Blackpool evolved just like American beach towns like Atlantic City, Myrtle Beach, or Santa Monica. The comparison was striking. While these US beach towns all have a similar look-and-feel with Blackpool, this one was first built in the early 1800's. Blackpool is also home to the world famous Blackpool tower. It, too, was built in the 1800's immediately after the construction of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. I guess the English didn't want to be outdone, so they used similar techniqes and the materials from that newfangled ironworks to construct a tower of their own. The tower was only slightly visible to us as we arrived in town just after sunset, but it was obvious in its historical significance. We did park the car and walk about for a couple of blocks. It was a hoot to see hamburger stands, cotton candy, a fun house, etc, just like going to the seashore in America. What a delight.
On our day of arrival (15 days previous) we had made a reservation at the Holiday Inn Express at the Manchester airport, during our zombielike state in our brand new van. This strategy was perfect, since we would require no effort to get to the airport in the morning. We found the hotel easily this night, and hauled all of our stuff into the room, so Lyn could repack it for checking onto the plane. I swung out and filled the tank one last time, at the same petrol station we bought maps at the first day, then parked the van returned to the room and we all headed to bed.
I had originally arranged for us to take separate flights over and separate flights back. We did go over separately, joining up in the Manchester waiting area, but I had since changed the return arrangements so we would fly home together. The original plan would provide me an extra hour to drop off the car after they left, and my flight was more direct and would arrive home first (due to no 'free ticket' seats being available on the better flight). Eventually, through Delta, we were able to all get on the more direct flight.
We arrived in the US at Atlanta. The customs agent took our declaration in ten seconds (T-Shirts and souvigners) and simply said 'Welcome Back Home'. We had a couple hour layover, so we hung out at the new Chili's. Since we left Manchester in the morning, after sleeping a full night, we were not groggy zombies on the return flight. After an hour or so, we were on our plane to Florida and headed for home. We caught a taxi at the airport and 20 minutes later were in our driveway. This was a good thing because after sleeping that Saturday night in my own bed, Sunday eventing I was back at the airport and headed out to San Francisco, first class all the way. I started wrting this story about two months later and it took 15 months to put on paper, and another year to convert it to the web. The memories and the pictures will last us all a lifetime. What a delightful trip.
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Copyright, 1999, all rights reserved |
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Originally Written November 1999 |
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We
woke up exhausted, again, (I can't imagine why) and
stopped again at Safeway for some final supplies. I filled the tank
(a now daily ritual) while Lyn hit the store. It was 'once around'
Stirling before heading out of 
town.
and
say "oh no, don't spend 5 on that!". Everybody knows I do
this, so they come and get me when they start to talk themselves out
of buying things. Seventy dollars later, we are on our way.
We
drove west across Scotland and, within an hour, came to
Glasgow. Our impression of Glasgow was poor, and I hate to even pass
it on here. Some of it was simply that we were tired from all of our
driving. Other that we were just plain old "UK'd out". The
city itself seemed dirty, and in some kind of a recession with lots
of abandoned industrial buildings. Of course we were literally just
'passing thru' and may have simply wandered into the proverbial
'wrong part of town'. I have no way of knowing, but we stayed only
long enough to take a picture of the soccer pitch for the two big
Glasgow teams: the Rangers and the Celtic, to grab some snacks 'take
away', and 
head
south and back to England.
The
cemetery was quite common, with an older portion in front and a
newer section in back that was impressive not in appearance but only
by its significance. The various granite markers, lists of names,
etched messages of grief from family members were difficult to
behold. It was so quieting to think of so many random lives cut
short, rained down on this poor random little hamlet. And it was
difficult to imagine the town being inundated during the police and
media circus surrounding the years-ago event. By now, everything had
returned to 'normal', as 'normal' as things would ever be in that
little town. Even our presence on this day slowly clouding over with
a mist of Scottish rain, proved that nothing would ever be 'normal'
for them again.
The
particular excavation that we stopped to view was one of the larger,
strategically spaced garrison points. This garrison, actually a small
city, would house over a hundred solders and would include barracks,
a kitchen and dining hall, a place to meet, etc. Soldiers would trade
between the easier duty in these larger more comfortable outposts and
time spent in the more rustic smaller ones located in between. In
this way, the wall, the small outposts and the large garrisons were
liad out like a giant picket fence along this two hundred mile long
fortification against mauraders. The troops that patrolled by moving
between the various garrisions would actually be walking on 'guard
duty', looking for invaders, verifying the status of construction,
etc. This was long before telephone and walkie-talkies, so the
constant and vigilent traversal of foot soldiers was what kept the
whole northern defense working. The logistics of first building the
structure, then properly manning it, then the ongoing logistics of
supplying the men with necessary food and armaments is such a
testament to the well working Roman civil engineering process. But
while you can visit the Coliseum in Rome, or view the famous
acquaducts, it is unfortunate that so very little of "Hadrian's
Wall" can be visited today.
The
structures we were at were strategically built upon a hilltop, with
excellent views provided of miles of approaching land and dotted with
other lookout points. The support and civialian structures were built
on the backside of the hilltop, protected from direct contact with
any hostile forces. Unfortunately, the modern parking lot was
constructed at the bottom of the hill, over half a mile away. Lyn
just laughed as Jesse and I set off up the hill. The panaramas were
wonderful and we shot dozens of pictures. The rain cleared at times,
then sprinkles would start again. Each of the buildings were well
documented and presented, an excellect 'hands-on' learning experience
for our 11-year-old.
By
now it had been dark three hours, and was therefore getting to be
near midnight. We got turned around a little in Blackpool while
trying to leave (despite having a GPS), but we eventually found our
way to the motorway down to the Manchester airport. We had started
making decisions about what items would be thrown away and when, what
would be taken home with us. We had A LOT of repacking to do
(tonight!) as we would be on an airplane tomorrow around 10am. We
found the motorway, and pointed the van south toward Manchester.
Within an hour or so, we were seeing signs for the airport.
When
I awoke In the morning, Lyn had the bags completely repacked. We had
filled the two extra duffel bags that we had purchased as souvigners
in England (one from Cadbury World, one for the France World Cup)
along with every cubic inch of our bags that had arrived only three
quarters full. I pulled the van around to the frnt of the motel, and
we pushed a brimming wheeled luggage cart from the room to the lobby
(where did it all come from?). From there it was a quarter mile to
the terminal departure area, to drop off those two and all the stuff.
While they waited in line to check our bags and tickets, I drove the
hundred yards back to Hertz and dropped off the van, then walked back
to the terminal to join them. Within an hour or so, we were back on a
Delta Jet heading for home.
Unfortunately,
this raised the dilemma that, since my ticket automatically upgraded
to 'business class', we would be seated separately on the same plane.
I solved this by switching seats with Jesse for a while during the
middle of the long flight to Atlanta. After a small meal, the movie
"Titanic" started. I sat with Lyn (quite a squeeze in
coach) and let Jesse watch the movie on his own personal seat TV.
After, the 3 and a half endless hours that constitute that awful
movie, Jesse and I switched back and finished the flight home.
