September 20, Another Day to Remember, I
I think I might break yesterday into three sections. The day was filled with amazing events and opportunities, but each one was so different it might be easier to read, and for me to refine later, if I take them one at a time.
We are now in the village of Symington, staying with Mike Kelly and his wife Liz (Jason and me), but we are really the guests of the Prestwick RC. Prestwick has the airport, the golf course (also Troon) and the ocean. It was reassuring on Tuesday night to know that Mike’s house was made of stone, because all the wolves on Scotland were trying to blow it down. The wind was fierce all night, with sheets of rain mixed in, but we pressed on with the schedule yesterday (Wednesday, Septermber 20). At breakfast I was introduced to butterys, sort of a doughnut without the hole and not so fluffy. Had another today, and will probably continue to seek them out.
After breakfast we all drove down through the meadows and fields to Dunure, tiny village on the coast, and were treated to an enchanted hour in the dining room of Rotarian Roy Storie, a retired headmaster who has been living in Dunure for 40 years with his wife Mary. He has an extraordinarily broad and curious mind, and shared with us his research about the history of his village, the castle of which appears on one of Mercator’s maps in the 16th century. That castle is now a ruin, and has been for a long time, neglected by the family that sought to extend its reach and influence throughout the region with tactics that would be frowned upon today. In one instance, the reigning lord of the castle, frustrated by his cousin’s refusal to sign over his share of the estate, put the cousin on a spit and roasted him (perhaps the answer to the mystery meat question which sometimes arises). Cousin did not give in, and in fact survived the event and sued the lord to have the contract of conveyance voided as being executed under durress.Â
At any rate, after tea and biscuits served by Roy’s wife Irene, we went down the the harbor of the village to see the sea surging, the waves crashing, the wind blowing, and not seeing the Isle of Arran just 10-12 miles off the coast. We saw pictures at the Storie’s of what their view is like in all seasons, in clear weather and storm, at dawn and sunset. It’s an extraordinary sight, and to see it from someone’s living room while chatting with them about their lives is a great privilege.
ThornsÂ