ON QUIET roads, we came to the Caterthuns. My good friends, David and Nessie, were giving me a tour of Angus, a county largely unknown to me. Some of you are saying: "This is very exciting indeed. But what is a Caterthun?"
A Caterthun, my little jewels, is a hill, and in Angus there are two, a Brown and a White. They once supported Iron Age forts. The white is so called because of the light-coloured stones that formerly formed the ramparts and which still ring the su
mmit (the brown is named for its earthen embankments).
After a gentle climb of some minutes, we reached the top of the White Caterthun, which offered fine views all around. Here, arguably bearded chaps scoured the landscape for signs of neds from other tribes. Less threateningly, on the day of our visit, larks ascended, as they do, and I liked the larches that stood like sentries. They looked as if they might walk off at any time, perhaps on a stroll to Dunsinane.
In the village of Edzell, we fled in terror from a sudden shower and had a fine lunch at The Tuck Inn cafe. Having tucked in, we took off for the Rocks of Solitude. On a wooded walk by the River North Esk, we encountered other souls – none solitary – and everyone said hello, which is important to me. Even when with friends, the Lone Cowboy needs people to say hello, otherwise his leg swings back and takes aim at the bahookies of all and surly who deign not to greet fellow pilgrims.
I've been to far-flung places (in Scotland, that is; I never fling myself too far) where people just walk by without a word. Sometimes, it's shyness. Mostly, it's ignorance, like drivers on single-track roads who don't wave. I'd imprison all of them indefinitely but, then, I'd imprison most people indefinitely.
The Rocks of S, one presumed, were the little cliffs (clifflets?) that rose from the banks of the river. It was a fantastic place and a lovely arboreal walk. I am happy beneath trees. I believe my ancestors never got burned by the sun because they generally had canopies overheid. You say: "Did your ancestors eat a lot of bananas?" I shall ignore that remark.
Further north, we looked down on the splendid beach at St Cyrus, in old Kincardineshire. We did not actually stand on the beach, as time was hobbling on and, frankly, we couldn't be bothered climbing down and back up again. Funnily enough, earlier in the day, I'd remarked how I disliked those people who sat half-way up steep paths so you had to go peching past them, with your coupon scarlet and sweat spouting from your foreheid like a burst mains pipe.
So, that's what we did now. We sat on the shamelessly provided bench at the top of the path, and forced several citizens, in varying states of knackeredness, to say hello as they reached us. In our vicinity, there was a person hang-gliding, if that is the term. You know my views on using places of beauty for "leisure-amenity" and, while this fellow was at least in the air, he was not very high and seemed to be buzzing folks' heids. None of us had a large net, but I made a mental note to bring one next time.
And so we drove home to Arbroath for fish and chips. How pleasant to pass so many Saltires in Angus. It's a heartening, civic flag and is, I hope, flown out of quiet pride and not jingoism. Though I would see Scotia free and independent, I dislike nationalism as such. You see many home-flags in Norway and Ireland. It is just people saying: "Hello. I am Norwegian/Irish. How splendid it all is." Really quite innocuous.
Next morning, we walked along the Seaton Cliffs on the Arbroath coastline. It was a perfect day, sunny with a breeze, and nearly everyone said hello, including several pleasant Eastern European persons who work in the area.
We looked at birds and falteringly identified flowers, then stopped to sit on some rocks. I gazed out to sea and was thrilled to spot a dolphin. The thrill was the greater for the sight being unexpected. To our delight, two others appeared, cavorting off Carlingheugh Bay, as the sun shimmered enchantingly on the sea.
My gob was well smacked. What a way to end my visit! I was impressed with David's calm. If he'd a hat on his heid, I'm sure he'd just have raised it at the sea-beasties and said: "Good morning." Angus had been kind to me, with quiet roads, cheap beer, fiddly accordions, people saying hello, Saltires, wooded walks, upstanding graves, Pictish stones, and fine hosts. I promised to return some day.
