Springtime in Scotland

The calendar may say end of April, but some days a glance outside shows anything but spring sunshine - snow showers just this past week! This shot of Glen Coe was taken Tuesday by our friends Martha and John, who headed up to the Highlands after staying with us over the weekend.

St. Mungo's Cathedral

You may have thought St. Mungo was a product of JK Rowling’s imagination, but it turns out that he is the founder and patron saint of Glasgow and his bones are entombed in the city’s 12th century cathedral. St. Mungo also appears on the city’s coat of arms, which depicts his miracles (remembered in a little ditty):

          Here is the bird that never flew, Here is the tree that never grew,

          Here is the bell that never rang, Here is the fish that never swam.

Of those feats, the most impressive concerns the fish: An ancient Strathclyde queen was suspected of infidelity by the king. He demanded that she produce her ring, which he claimed she had given to her lover. In fact, the king had thrown the ring into the River Clyde. The queen appealed to Mungo, who ordered a servant to catch a fish in the river. When the fish was sliced open the ring appeared—thus saving the queen from execution (a much better trick than bringing a robin back to life or engaging in spontaneous combustion).

Tea Cakes For Two

If Irn-Bru is the quintessential Scottish soft drink, then Tunnock’s Tea Cake is its parallel for Scottish sugary snacks. A bulbous marshmallow biscuit covered in chocolate, the Tea Cake has been made in Glasgow for over 60 years. Favored by kids of every age, from RAF pilots to football players, the cookie symbolizes a local affection for all things Scottish. There’s even life after consumption - the foil wrappers can playfully be smoothed out and used as both street art and high art. The 2014 Commonwealth Games even featured 30 larger-than-life dancing tea cakes in its opening ceremony. What city has a better relationship with its iconic cookie? 

The Necropolis, R.I.P.

Glasgow’s city of the dead sits high on a craig, peeking over the medieval cathedral. Wealthy merchants founded the Necropolis in the early 1830s as a burial ground befitting their status. Ever mindful of commerce, they stated in the charter that “it will afford a much wanted accommodation to the higher classes…[and] would at the same time convert an unproductive property into a general and lucrative source of profit.” Some 50,000 souls rest here, many underneath elaborate sculptures. The headstones tell sad stories of elderly parents whose children died young and military officers who fell in obscure wars. Watching over all is a stern statue of John Knox. As in Victorian times, the graveyard is a park meant for strolling on a fine spring day when thoughts of mortality are pushed far away.  

Gone Shopping

Restocking our small fridge is an almost daily chore. Produce and packaged goods seem to have very brief shelf lives here and besides, without a car to lug groceries home, we tend to buy only what we can comfortably carry a half-mile from the store to our flat. Although there’s a wee Tesco market on the ground floor of our building, we only use that as our “wine cellar” and a place to get fresh croissants in the morning. The main shopping is saved for Waitrose, which is kind of like the Whole Foods of Britain. The store and its shoppers are regarded by some as elitist and labels on the milk saying “produced by farmers who share our values” don’t help. But, we like the quality of the food and we’re suckers for the come-on of getting a free latte and/or a daily Guardian or Times, if we buy just £5’ worth of groceries. (With newspapers running 1.60 and lattes another £2, you’re practically getting your food for nothing!) One nice thing about Waitrose is their community spiritedness. You get a green token at checkout to deposit in the bin of one of three local charities that change every couple of weeks. The store tallies up the tokens and makes donations accordingly. Nice to know about all the good causes and also that we’re contributing at least in a small way.  A big difference from PDX is the preponderance of self-check out tills (which can be confusing) and the digital handsets that let you tally up your purchases as you go along, with only an occasional spot-check before paying.

A Pint and a Prayer

Oran Mor, formerly Kelvinside Parish Church (1862)

What do you do with a surplus church in a city whose population has dropped by 40% since World War II? In Glasgow, the answer is to turn it into a place to worship whisky (and other spirits). Òran Mór, just a few blocks from us, subtly signals its new identity with a giant blue neon halo encircling its tall spire. Inside it’s teeming with revelers quaffing Guinness and/or eating pub grub, celebrating weddings or wakes, or attending live theatre and concerts. At lunchtime they offer “A Play, A Pie, and A Pint,” where for about $20 you can see an original play (changing weekly) while sipping beer or wine and eating a meat pie with the ubiquitous brown sauce. On the other side of the West End is Cottiers, a similar bar/restaurant/theatre and event venue. Young mums gravitate here in the early afternoon, their prams filling the old sanctuary. At these and other repurposed churches around the city, sláinte mhaith (the traditional Scottish Gaelic toast meaning good health) echoes as a fervent prayer.

Cottiers and Warren Street Theatre

River Clyde Falls

New Lanark sits snugly against a magnificent stretch of the River Clyde where the rushing waterfalls provided hydropower for the textile looms. It’s a lovely walk on a sunny (or even showery) day with spring wildflowers lining the 5k trail and the chance to see the UK’s prime peregrine falcon nesting site. No wonder Wordsworth, Turner, and Sir Walter Scott all drew inspiration here.

New Lanark, A Mill Town Like None Before

Nursery school and kindergarten, medical care for workers, pensions, co-op stores, and company housing. These are all things we take for granted now, but they were the revolutionary ideas first put into practice in the late 1700s and early 1800s in the mill town of New Lanark, Scotland. Celebrated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site today, New Lanark’s white sandstone buildings and cobblestone streets attract some 400,000 visitors a year, including the Bartons. While the site boasted more than a thousand employees in 1793 (almost two-thirds of them children) now a couple hundred people run the giant textile looms producing vibrantly colored wool (which, incidentally, was used to make the “jumpers” in the Harry Potter films) and tending to the tourist trade. Some of the worker housing has been rehabbed into modern flats and condos, a hotel, and offices while other buildings house displays recognizing the Utopian ideals of David Dale and Robert Owen, who married Dale’s daughter and took over the operation. Unlike other mill owners, Owen refused to employ children under the age of 10 and reduced working time to 10 hours a day. He built nursery and primary schools and offered classes after work for the older children. He also provided free medical care, hot meals, school uniforms, music lessons, a savings fund, and a grocery store with affordable food. Owen took his reformist ideas to the U.S., founding the New Harmony community in Indiana. While he left America after only a few years, his three sons stayed on. One son became a U.S. Congressman who founded the Smithsonian Institution…a case of the apple not falling far from the tree.
 

Buildings, Like Men & Women, Used To Wear Hats

Some of Glasgow’s most charming architectural features aren’t at ground level. Looking skyward, you’re rewarded with views of classical statues, impressive towers and domes, and a fanciful metal peacock designed by the avant-garde firm, Timorous Beasties.

A House Atop a Hill

Widely regarded as Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s finest domestic design, Hill House sits atop a hill overlooking the River Clyde in Helensburgh, a half hour train ride west of Glasgow. Built for publisher Walter Blackie’s family, the house is surrounded by a collection of Arts & Crafts-inspired mansions for Glasgow’s burgeoning industrial elite. Before designing the building, CRM spent days observing the family and their daily routines. Then, along with his wife Margaret Macdonald, he designed nearly everything inside the house – furniture, lighting, wallpaper, and textiles. He even designed the gardens and gave instructions that the trees should be trimmed as he drew them. The thorough stamp of Mackintosh on every aspect of the property can be viewed as personally oppressive or a complete work of art – undoubtedly most people would prefer letting their own personality creep into their surroundings.

The House That Peter Rabbit Bought

B.P. with the real Peter Rabbit, Hilltop House, and Friends

Tucked in a tiny Lake District village, Beatrix Potter’s house is just as you’d imagine from following the adventures of Mrs. Tiggy Winkles, Tom Kitten, and Jemima Puddle-Duck. Potter bought the 17^th century cottage called Hill Top in 1905 with the proceeds from her first book, the Tale of Peter Rabbit. She bequeathed the house (along with 14 farms she purchased) to the National Trust in 1943, leading to the establishment of the Lake District as a national park. A strong-willed and astute businesswoman, Potter left very specific instructions about her estate, even down to the type of sheep to be raised on her properties, which the National Trust now leases to tenant farmers. Her homey cottage, with its rabbit-friendly kitchen garden, overflows with her personal belongings—knitting left on the sitting room table, leather gloves strewn on a chair, pens and sketching pad at the ready in a sunny spot in the upstairs library, and letters to friends dotting cabinets and desks. If it all seems vaguely familiar, that’s because each room and the views beyond have served as backdrops in her beloved books.

Land O'Lakes

Windermere (not Lake Windermere, since mere means lake)

Cumbria was once part of Scotland until the English wrested it away. Now, the area—which contains the Lake District made famous by Wordsworth, Ruskin and others—attracts throngs of visitors and is touted as Britain’s most scenic national park. We took the two-hour train ride there south from Glasgow to see what the fuss was all about and how the 950-square mile district compares to the Highlands. The scenery is indeed beautiful: 17 sparkling lakes, picture-perfect Victorian villages, 7,000 miles of dry stack stone walls to define boundaries and keep the sheep in place, and high mountain passes with sweeping views. It’s a kinder, gentler version of the Highlands, with a less barren and dramatic landscape and a lot more people and places to buy a latte. Glad to have experienced it, but we’ll stick with the wild beauty of our northern neighbor. 

Local Residents, Cumbrian Mountains and Village of Grasmere

Castlerigg Stone Circle, 4,500 years old and counting

Obsessed and Football Crazy

Like most European cities, Glasgow is obsessed with “the beautiful game”—football, or as we know it, soccer. Two major teams call the city home in a fierce rivalry: the Rangers are generally recognized  as a Protestant team with unionists ties to England, while the Celtics are the Catholic team is also beloved in Ireland. Fans are combative - it's almost impossible to eliminate the sectarian emotions the two teams generate. On a sunny Easter afternoon we took the subway to Ibrox Stadium to watch the Rangers in a match against Edinburgh’s Heart of Midlothians (not exactly a fighting name but their fans managed to come up with some fierce chants). Stepping out of the station, we were caught up in a swell of people and mounted police, pop-up sausage roll stands, football scarf vendors, and Union Jacks. Security was tight but not nearly as intimidating as the match we attended in Athens where fans were subject to metal detectors and frisking. Still, cops were stationed at the foot of every section and the opposing team’s fans were segregated from Rangers’ supporters by an empty bank of seats and two officers providing a human barricade on every row. While women were in the stands, soccer is still very much a male spectator sport with lads outnumbering women by at least 100 to 1. And, although alcohol isn’t sold in the stadium, you can be sure all the men made a beeline for the nearby pubs (and beforehand) as soon as the Rangers pulled off a 2 to 1 win.    

Victorian Winter Gardens

Glasgow's People's Palace and Kibble Palace at the Botanic Gardens

Victorian Glaswegians loved their greenhouses or so-called “winter gardens” because they combined two passions: adopting emerging technology and collecting landscape specimens (not to mention providing a place to get out of the rain). The glass and cast iron Kibble Palace in the Botanic Gardens was originally constructed on a lach outside Glasgow in the 1860s. It was moved to its present location, about a five-minute walk from our flat, in 1873 and landscaped. By the early 2000s, the building was in such a dilapidated state that it had to be totally dismantled, restored, and reconstructed. Another favorite winter garden beckons at the other end of the city on Glasgow Green, attached to the People’s Palace, a Victorian pile that houses a museum of social history of Glasgow (particularly life among the poorer folk during the early 20^th century). And one of the best parts - free admission to all. Walking through either of these soaring, fragrant gardens on a rainy day takes us to the tropics.

Glasgow's People's Palace

Spring Has Arrived....I Think

145 Buccleuch Street

Typical Glasgow tenements, four rooms on one floor are now a museum

Agnes Toward might be the ultimate packrat. The ephemera of her life has been painstakingly preserved at the Tenement House Museum, a four-room time capsule that shows what it was like to live in Glasgow for the first half of the 20th century. Agnes and her mother moved into the red sandstone Victorian tenement flat in 1911 and shared a bed in the kitchen alcove while renting out the flat’s only bedroom to a lodger. Agnes stayed on after her mother’s death, remaining in the flat for 54 years and apparently not discarding much during that time. It was a posh residence in that there was a spacious indoor bathroom. Like most Glaswegians, though, Agnes would have used the neighborhood “steamie” or public washroom on a once a week rotation. Her ration card, gas mask, and recipes using dried eggs hint at the hardships of living through two world wars. She seems to have had a full life, however, working as a typist and enjoying holidays at the seashore, regularly corresponding with friends, and attending theatre performances. What she left behind speaks to the dignity of an ordinary woman persevering through good times and bad.
   

A+DS : Design Aid for Small Towns

Architecture + Design Scotland is a unique umbrella organization that provides design assistance to communities across the country.  In getting to know more about their work, I was invited to participate in a workshop to help develop design thinking for Whitburn, a small, 250-year-old community trying to pick itself up after its coal industry collapsed nearly two decades ago. Substitute timber for coal and the town could be in Oregon – a village with a proud heritage largely at the mercy of larger economic and political forces. I spent a day with the workshop team on walking tours, working with locals and speaking with regional technocrats. Many of the processes would be familiar to US designers – an informal meeting to ask a lot of questions, get locals to mark-up maps with problem areas and potential redevelopment sites, and share ideas for the future. (I was able to help connect some of their bicycle transportation planners with Portland’s stable of experts). Nearly two generations of “makers” have largely disappeared and a number of strategies involved developing more hands-on projects to recapture some of the trade skills that were part of the town’s heritage. Oregon could use structured design teams like this. A+DS seems particularly adept at involving children in design projects. In Whitburn, one interesting activity asked schoolchildren to write postcards to their future selves and describe what they hoped their town would be like in 10 or 25 years. Most kids envisioned more sports fields, but a few went deeper and wanted fewer fast-food chains and cleaner, safer streets. As they say, through the eyes of a child…. I’ll be meeting again with the designers as their recommendations jell over the next month. 

  

Glaswegian Dialect, Part Two

Well, it’s been three months since our arrival, and we’re still amused, confused, and often stumped by the local dialect and colloquialisms – and the locals speak quickly. Over the years, Glaswegians seem to have shortened words and invented their own sayings, and made it all the more difficult for someone elsewhere in the UK (or even in Edinburgh) to understand a single word they say. One ubiquitous term is hen, used to greet a female (as in “Hiya hen, how are ye?”) Some phrases are easy to interpret, such as nae borra (no bother) or youse, normally used in the same context as a substitute for my Southern y’all. Some are easier if written, like maheidsburstin (I celebrated too well last night and have an excruciating pain in my head) or the rains stoatin aff the grun (it's raining so hard the rain is bouncing off the ground). And then some are just funny like toon (town) and bahookie (buttocks, bum, or bottom). By the time we leave, our vocabulary will be so confused.