TRAVELS IN A VOLVO ESTATE part 1

My sister Mary did a whole lot of driving on Saturday 20th June. After coming off the ferry at Aberdeen harbour, just after 7am, negotiating the streets and roundabouts of the city and filling the tank at a fuel retailers off Great Northern Road, she took the A947, as we had planned, near Bucksburn. She drove to Banff, stopping at Turriff for a cup of tea and a bacon roll, largely because we were running ahead of our schedule. We had the work of delivering my exhibition to Duff House, and locating our accommodation, done by 10.30, and we set off on a sightseeing tour, heading first in an easterly direction. I took a few photographs around Macduff harbour, then we visited the now-derelict open-air swimming pool at Tarlair. We were last here on a family holiday in 1958, when Mary was just 6 and I was 10, scarcely able to appreciate the beauty of the spot, which, at that time, was crowded with people. Now it's sadly in need of repair, and I understand that there are plans afoot to develop the resort as something else entirely. I hope they don't alter the essence of it too much. It is a spectacular place, situated in a steep-sided cove, access to which is gained by precipitous roads and hairpin bends, as is the case with most places on this stretch of coast.

We next came to a place I have always wanted to visit - Gamrie. This magnificent little town seems to be built into the face of a cliff, and boasts a substantial harbour below it. Many of the larger fishing vessels, which called at Lerwick over the years, had Gamrie ownership, and, judging by the houses there, it has enjoyed a degree of prosperity over the years. We stopped at the harbour, and were greeted by a retired fisherman who was interested to hear that we hailed from Shetland, as he had been there many times in the course of fishing operations. He was glad to impart knowledge, humour and lore from the area, and we enjoyed listening to him. The menfolk of a wedding party were having their photographs taken, in their kilted regalia, on the pier, and I got out my trusty Pentax to take some snaps of the view of the town from the harbour, which was full of yachts, shellfish workboats and other small craft. I can say that Gamrie lived up to all my expectations.

At the eastern end of Gamrie Bay, and separated from Gardenstown by a cliff headland, is the village of Crovie, which gives the appearance of clinging to the shore by its fingernails. It consists largely of a single row of houses nestled under the foot of cliffs, and separated from the sea by a single stone-built walkway, into which, at intervals, poles have been inserted. The purpose of these eluded me, until I realised they were for clothes-lines to be strung from. I took what turned out to be one of the best photographs of my life there, of Mary leaning against one of the poles, with the houses in a curved receding line behind her.

We came nest to the village of Pennan, famous for a film and a more recent landslide, evidence of either of which was hard to spot by us strangers. It is larger, with more apparent room to breathe, than Crovie, and has a substantial harbour, as well as a few commercial premises, most of which seem to be for sale, a sign of the times, perhaps. A road runs between the houses, some of which are quite substantial dwellings, and the shore. I took a few photographs spanning the village, from the harbour area at the east end of the place.

The final step in our eastward coastal tour was Rosehearty. This little town has a beautifully-designed harbour and, unlike the previously visited resorts, is built on a comparatively flat piece of land. There seemed to be an air of gloom around the place, with hardly anyone out and about, even though it was after midday on a Saturday. I went for a walk round the harbour with my camera, but came back to the car without having pressed the shutter button.

At this point our stomachs were feeling the need for something in them. We debated whether to carry on towards Fraserburgh for our lunch but, in the end, we decided in favour of a return to Macduff, where we had some excellent soup and a roll in a place called the Cornerstone Cafe.