For the past ten years or so, it has become a tradition for the other half and I to take a long weekend off in March and to head north into the Highlands. We find a nice place to stay – sometimes self-catered, sometimes a hotel – and spend a few days in lovely scenery, hiking and walking and finding a good place for an evening meal and a few pints. This year was no different, and I was determined to find us a new walk in the Ballachulish area that was both scenic but not too challenging. The Brecklet Trail was a perfect option: a loop just under two miles in length, with plenty of up and down, and some stunning views.
Side note, I learned of the trail by consulting the trusty website Walkhighlands, which allows you to search by area, and also by difficulty, and includes a good summary of each walk as well as step-by-step instructions. While at times these are a touch vague, very seldom have we been completely lost by them.
The day we chose this hike had started off cool, with the surrounding peaks covered in snow or heavy frost. By the time we had our delicious hotel breakfast and got started, it was warming up perfectly for a walk – still cool, but pleasant once your blood is moving a bit.
Access to the Brecklet trail is incredibly straight-forward; there is good parking at the Ballachulish visitor centre, which itself offers a great little café and souvenir shop. There is also a clean toilet.
Passing by the visitor centre, one needs only to cross the street and enter the old quarry grounds, which are very evident in the towering cliffs of slate still surrounding three sides.
There are a number of plaques and several walks, but the sign for Brecklet Trail leads off very clearly to the right. Almost from the first, the path climbs steadily through young forest of birch, rhododendron, heather and some gorse.
Through the growth to the left can be glimpsed the pond in the middle of the quarry, perfectly flat on the day we visited and reflecting the sky and cliffs.
The trail winds up around the ledge and eventually curves off towards the right; while consistently an uphill climb it is not hugely steep, and the hike is a pleasant one. In time the trees thin out and open to a kind of scrabbly heath, with low scrub and heather on either side. We discovered a detour off to the right which led along a ridge to a pine tree, beyond which was a positively spectacular view over the village, the loch, and the nearest mountain.
This was the view we had read about and were climbing for, and it really did not disappoint, particularly on such a stunning clear day. It was something I had particularly noted earlier in the morning: whether due to the frosty start or some quirk of nature, the air was crystal clear. This was even more evident that night, when our star-viewing was marred by the full moon, and the following day when the distant mountains were hazy.
After enjoying our fill of the view, we headed back to the main trail, which presently passed through a gate and pointed us up a hill, through a stand of what I think were larch, coated in a beautiful seafoam-coloured draping lichen.
We continued up, the view on the left blocked somewhat by the treeline, and in time turned right into a stand of tall pines. There was another viewpoint off through the trees, over the loch, but we did not linger and instead followed the winding trail into the forest.
I should mention that the trail was very well-kept, even and relatively dry.
Whenever we hike on a trail such as this, the other half gets a bit irked when I ask him about certain flora, but that is mainly because my father had drilled the plants and trees of New England into my mind. I suppose I assumed his father did the same – but of course that may just be one of our family quirks!
The climb continued for a while longer, and eventually levelled off slightly though not for long at all before beginning a slow – or sometimes not so slow – descent. This was also the part of the trail where there were several alternative routes through the trees that had doubtless been bivouacked by hikers at some point. As with many Scottish trails, it is usually safest to try your best to stay on the main trail, as tempting as it may be to deviate along some other explorer’s route.
I was particularly taken by the tree-lined paths, which in many ways reminded me of cross-country ski trails we had taken when I was young, in the White Mountains. The trees there are generally bushier with considerably more needles, but the lined path was reminiscent.
We also came across several out-of-use stone walls that cut through the forest. The stones were coated in moss and there was periodic damage, but the sun shining through the trees off the stones made for a nice break in the view.
Presently the descent grew a touch more steep, and we came across the ruins of several houses and in fact a small settlement of cottages, now well overgrown with moss and fern.
The historian in me wished this was an old Highland village, but as the other half pointed out, at least one house included an electric box and some wires, so they must not have been abandoned too long ago.
Beyond the village, the descent through the trees is steady, with the trail passing over small rivulets and mini-waterfalls, and finally eventually meeting a road.
Here, the trail turns to the right and follows a woodland track down to the edge of the village, which appears gradually after a gate and the official woodland marker for the trail.
Gradually, well-kept houses appear at the side of road. We passed two churches, one Church of Scotland and one Catholic, each with a very similar name – St Munda’s and St Mun’s, respectively. Beyond the houses to the left is just visible – and at times audible – a small river, the River Laroch. A bit further into the village, the road crosses the river and there is an old bridge plus a viewpoint where you can get a bit closer to the water.
The River Laroch and the star pictures taken in the evening – that bright light on the hillside is in fact moonlight.
Eventually, the walk circles back towards the visitor centre, past the village green and playing fields, which also boast stunning views back towards the mountain that overlooks the village of Ballachulish, Sgòrr Dhearg.
The main street passes by several small shops including a delicious-looking bakery and the Laroch, a pub we were thinking of eating in that evening. The whole loop is just under two miles, though the climb up and down makes it feel a bit longer. We decided to head back into the quarry to explore a bit and discovered that there are two ponds, the smaller of which offered a beautiful view up to the mountain. It was a warm spring day in feel by this point and there were clouds of midges rising from the sun-warmed ground, so we did not linger too long.
In all the hike took us about 90 minutes, and was one I would highly recommend. While it is far from flat and some energy is needed for the climb up, the views are stunning. Another win for my researched walks!
Finally, a message I feel is very true from a carved rock along the trail:
Or more exactly, Tayport Shanwell Road to Newport High Street roundabout. I had calculated the route ahead of time and expected it to be about four miles. As appears to be my habit recently, I was underestimating a touch.
This portion of the coastal path is easily accessible by public transport. I took the 42A bus (picked up in either St Andrews or Dundee) right to the Shanwell Road turning circle, location of the Foodmek manufacturing plant and one entrance to Tentsmuir Forest nature reserve. The bus from St Andrews is about 25 minutes as it winds through several villages, from Dundee closer to 10 minutes.
Very quiet bus trip
My official starting point was the bridge over a small burn; there are several displays here telling walkers about the wildlife – primarily birds – that they can enjoy if heading into Tentsmuir. In the other direction, the one I was taking, the path is well-marked and winds around between the beach and a park.
As you may have learned in my Broughty Ferry post, we lived in Tayport for just over a year, including during the first six months of the pandemic in 2020. Those of you living in the UK at that time will remember when we were permitted 30 minutes of outdoor exercise daily. For us, loops walking through Tayport were that exercise. I therefore have many pictures of the Tayport area, some significantly better than I was able to take while on this walk, as the day was overcast and windy. I’ve decided that as long as they are part of this route, it makes sense to substitute the lovely sunny views for the overcast ones.
One of the first things I noted before getting started was the significant difference visible in the treeline of Tentsmuir forest. As I noted the weekend before, there has been a significant amount of tree loss due to recent storms, and it is really evident in these two pictures. The intensity of the last storm which swept through Scotland in February actually caused a red warning for large portions of the country, with winds reaching hurricane force.
Five minutes or so after leaving the bridge, the path approaches a caravan park, and I was not certain if the coastal path route was meant to lead through the park proper, or along the edge of the seawall. For those in the US who may not be aware, caravan parks in the UK are very common holiday destinations, often located on the edge of popular towns and cities, allowing families a self-catered option for accommodation. Some caravans are permanently owned, and some are rented by the week. The Tayport park is very well-kept and beautifully manicured, and the caravans themselves almost all include a wrap-around porch for outdoor seating, as well as views over the Tay estuary. Crocus were just starting to bloom with daffodils a promised week or so behind.
I opted on this occasion to cross the small concrete bridge over the burn and follow the path along the edge of the beach, where there is a carefully-maintained sea wall and warnings not to play on the rocks or muddy sand flats below (at low tide, anyway). The view, as seen on the sunny day, is across towards Broughty Ferry and leading up the coast towards Buddon Ness and Carnoustie. This is an often busy stretch of water, with pleasure boats sometimes overshadowed by tankers or transport ships headed to Dundee. Occasionally, you can see dolphins and seals as well.
Upon emerging out the other side of the caravan park, I discovered that officially the coastal path does opt for the road, but oh well – the distance was the same either way. Ahead is a grassy park and a long seawall protecting the road from surf and curving along towards the houses of Tayport proper, ahead. The park is a popular spot for dog-walkers, but also for children as there is a pond in the middle, surrounded by reeds and acting as the home for numerous ducks and swans. During the pandemic the local school children painted stones with messages of hope and displayed them on the seawall for the community to enjoy.
From here, a walker has two options, though in fairness one is only sensible at low tide. There is a path along the wall between the houses and the ocean, though several times at high tide I found my feet damp from the waves when I chose this route. The proper route is to follow the road up and turn right along Harbour Road, through a residential area. The gardens in this stretch of town are well-kept, with lots of heather, lavender and daffodils, and looking up to the left affords a view of the way houses stack up the hill, with narrow roads between. Some of the bungalows along the waterfront are really beautiful, with gardens that face the ocean, but the seaside-dweller in me is a bit reluctant to trust being quite that close to the surf.
In a short time, one approaches Tayport Harbour, which was the site of one end of the ferry that carried rail cars across the Tay before the bridge was built. As one sees in Broughty Ferry, there is a wide ramp leading into the harbour which is still busy with fishing boats, pleasure sailing vessels, and of course ducks, swans, and the occasional seal. I loved lying in our house and listening to the halyards slapping against the masts in summer, a throw-back to my childhood sailing.
As I walked past the harbour on this occasion, I was pleased to see that the Harbour Café was still open, and I detoured up to the Main Street temporarily to pick up some lunch for later. One of my favourite things about Tayport was just how comprehensive the tiny neighbourhood Scotmid was. In a pinch you could find meat, veg, and anything you needed to make a quick meal; the variation in things you could buy always surprised me, from yogurt to fruit and veg, meat, pasta, snacks, beer, ice cream, sweets, and of course Scottish bakery items like pies, donuts and fresh rolls. It’s a perfect place to pause if you do need a bit of refreshment, and down by the harbour is a public toilet (you can pay by card or coin) that is mostly clean.
If you need a short detour, skirt along past the toilet block to walk out the grass knoll that juts into the water here, surrounded by a stone seawall. I spent many evenings here watching the water traffic, sunset, approaching storms, and moonrise.
Across the water is Broughty Ferry and the castle, and you can often hear the train whistle drifting across the estuary on a still day.
Continuing on the path leads you through a neighbourhood of obviously older houses, built in a style reminiscent of the fishing villages of New England, though of different material. Shortly, the path cuts up to the left between some houses, and leads through a set of bushes up to the road. One of my favourite views is just a bit further up on the right, standing at the edge of the steep cliffs and looking back at Tayport village and the view out to sea.
Following the signs for the coastal path takes walkers down a short decline, and here the path splits into – to paraphrase – the high road and low road.
The low road stretches out another half mile or so along the coast, through some woods and past several groupings of houses, some of which we watched being built through the pandemic. There are also two old lighthouses, one grey and one white, which I frequently photographed from the rocky beach below. In fact, this was a good loop for us as there is a path where the lower road ends, that cuts up to the main route. But I’m getting distracted.
The higher route is the proper coastal path and runs through a wooded area. It is well-paved here and worth remembering that it is also a cycle path that is very well-used; while in my opinion it would be ideal always for cyclists to alert you to their presence by use of a bell, but far too many seem to assume you will hear them and just speed past.
On my walk I was pleasantly surprised to find the hills liberally covered with snowdrops, standing out from the grey-brown winter brush. Gradually the road rises above the coastal path, which quiets and becomes very peaceful.
A little aside here about Tayport, which I have massive affection for. The town is an odd mix of beautifully kept older houses and also a number of newer, less affluent neighbourhoods. The closer you get to the harbour, the less affluent the housing becomes, while walking up to the top of the hill allows you to pass by some almost mansion-like houses clearly built by rich families from Dundee during its more prosperous era. There is some really lovely architecture and gardening, and houses from a number of different eras.
As the coastal path leaves Tayport, it crosses several wooden-edged bridges, and as the houses vanish into fields, you start to get a view down towards the water, and a pasture on the left where miniature horses live. Shortly beyond the horses, the wall of the town cemetery rises up from the hill, and you can see Dundee and the Tay Road bridge in the distance.
If you are planning a Tayport loop this is another place where you can cut up through the cemetery to the main road, or here you are about one mile from the bridge. The trees disappear into open fields, and the wind will hit a bit harder and make it colder than when the path was protected by woodland. You will be able to catch sight of the tall Scots pines of the Scotscraig estate on the top of the hill – I had always wanted to walk through the estate but it was closed during the pandemic; it looks open again now.
Presently the coastal path moves up closer to the road, though there is still a solid stone wall between walkers and traffic – a relief as the cars to tend to zip along this stretch quickly. It’s a bit less peaceful with the road noise, though many of course choose to walk with headphones in, I generally prefer not to.
There are a few small groupings of houses on the upper side of the road, and in a short time the path approaches the Tay bridge; this is an excellent place to park or pick up the bus.
At the top car park, there is a public toilet and a stand that sells snacks and drinks, always smelling delectably of Scottish square sausage and bacon. My walk took me straight along the path however, and as you pass under the bridge, you get an excellent view of the structure and pylons. This is also where the town of Newport begins; immediately there is a stark change in architecture.
Stone steps leading from Newport to the bridge car park
The main road of Newport, along which the coastal path leads, is a lovely mix of beautiful old stately houses and more modern homes designed to fit in with the coastal surroundings. Gardens are well-tended, and the traffic slows well down as the road narrows to just allow two vehicles to pass.
It is hard not to enjoy this part of the walk, about half a mile of enviable residences with a myriad of architectural quirks.
In about five minutes, the houses on the coast side disappear and there is a narrow park with steep stairs allowing access to the rocky coastline, and views westward to the rail bridge and the coast of Fife.
For my walk, I decided that my stopping point was the War Memorial, just short of the main roundabout in the village. This part of Newport is the High Street and boasts some lovely independent shops and bakeries; I chose to sit on a bench looking over the view and enjoy the lunch I had picked up back in Tayport – the Scottish invention I still marvel has not crossed the Atlantic: a macaroni pie.
God’s food, the macaroni pie (yes, macaroni cheese in a portable pastry shell)
I really enjoyed this portion of the coastal path, and it was a good distance for a Saturday morning. Once I had walked back to the bridge to wait for my bus home I was getting closer to 5 miles total walked, so I decided I had well earned my carby, cheesy lunch. It’s a relatively flat walk – except for a hill in Tayport – and includes some lovely views, neighbourhoods, and some quiet woodland.
Work and life have gotten in the way of my making any more progress on the coastal path in the last week or two, but that was partly due to a trip to the Highlands which I will regale you with soon!
Oh…and my new walking/hiking boots were excellent! First time on and not a blister to be had. Well done Mountain Warehouse!
As I have doubtless mentioned before, we lived in Tayport, Fife during the first six months of the Covid pandemic in 2020, and for about a year before that. One of the main reasons I loved our flat there was that the view was spectacular – right out over the Firth of Tay, where I could watch the busy boat traffic and the currents changing. Sometimes there were dolphins, but more often it was just the view I loved – the changing weather and light as I looked across to Broughty Ferry and its castle.
For years I saw the castle only through the zoom lens of my camera, but was determined to eventually see it up close. Finally, as part of a work event that included a bit of regional exploration, I have been able to do so!
Location and History
Broughty Castle is located at a prominent point on the northern edge of the Firth of Tay, about 5 miles east of the centre of Dundee, with a sandy beach on one side and sheltered harbour on the other. It is easily accessed by public transport, with busses running regularly and trains taking only 5 minutes from Dundee. From the Victorian-era train station, the walk to the waterfront is less than 10 minutes.
Broughty Ferry rail station
Broughty Ferry itself is a charming coastal town with plenty of unique shops, cafés, restaurants and pubs; it is easy to see why students and staff from Dundee might wish to live here or visit on weekends. Formerly a prosperous fishing village, in the nineteenth century the town became a key location for the wealthy jute barons of Dundee to build their villas and estates.
Even before this, Broughty Ferry was important as one end of the ferry that carried rail cars across the Tay on the line running from Aberdeen to Edinburgh. The other side was of course in Tayport, which previously was known as Ferryport-on-Tay (and in fact a sign bearing this name still exists at the edge of town). The enormous ramps leading into the water, wide enough for the rail cars, are both still visible today; the construction of the first Tay Rail Bridge in the 1870s rendered this ferry moot, though there is a reconstruction of it in the castle museum.
Relatively ‘new’ for Scotland, Broughty Castle was constructed in the 1490s; the strategic location is clear as you have an almost 360°view of the estuary, coastline and ocean beyond. There had been fortifications here for several decades, and a number of English ships were captured off the coast in the late fifteenth century.
The castle did go through a period of decline in the eighteenth century, but it was purchased in 1846 by the Edinburgh and Northern Railway, which built the harbour for the rail ferry. Ownership was passed to the War Office in 1855, and so it came back into military use.
The castle would remain in use as a defensive structure through the Second World War, when a defence post and lookout platform were placed in the main tower.
My visit
The castle is located at the end of a promenade along the coastline, where at low tide a touch of beach is visible. This portion of coast is very popular with walkers and cyclists, and in theory I think you could walk here from Dundee though I’m not familiar with the state of the path.
The shape of the tower is very familiar to anyone who likes Scottish castles; you will see the similar square(ish) tower at Castle Campbell, Balvaird, Doune, Hill of Tarvit, and many more. Perhaps less usually, the medieval tower is surrounded by much more modern fortifications reminiscent of the era of regular cannon (there are several lovely cannon specimens within the grounds). Earthen banks with concrete walls surround the castle on three sides, with the approach only still through a medieval gate.
Excitingly for us on the day we visited, the castle is free to enter; hours are seasonal, so it is worth checking ahead of time. Once through the gate, one is met immediately with a courtyard, where visitors can either enter the castle proper or explore the ramparts. We chose the second option to start, climbing up concrete steps to viewpoints where the shadows of large WWII guns are still evident, in rings indicating bolted-down machinery. The view really is fantastic, looking up the Tay towards Dundee (and the Tay Road and Rail Bridges), across to Tentsmuir, out to sea or up the coast towards Carnoustie.
I particularly, for some reason, enjoyed the view back out the main gate, where the town of Broughty Ferry was visible in the near distance. Also enjoyable were the lovely old gate mechanisms, with enormous metal weights ready to hold the doors open or keep them closed.
While I could – and did – have stood for a long time watching the water and the Tay traffic, it was time eventually to explore the interior of the castle.
Now, if visitors are looking for ornately-decorated living quarters with medieval panelling, as you can find at some castles, they will be disappointed. Instead, this tower is still very much in modern use with each layer dedicated to a different part of the museum.
Access to the tower and upper floors of the museum is by a series of narrow stone steps, so some strength of joints is required – the stairs are certainly authentic, with dips in the stone where many feet have travelled, though nothing as dramatic as one often finds in old church towers. Nevertheless, the stairwells are narrow and winding.
The first floor – up a short flight of stairs – is the museum shop and some displays including the one on the rail ferry. There are very helpful print-outs on the history of the castle and some gifts, postcards, and memorabilia. One floor up from that is the gallery, with some local artist impressions of the castle, Broughty Ferry, and some of the inhabitants.
Above this floor is one aimed mostly at children with some dress-up and more learning-based exhibits. I have to admit that when there is a tower like this I am always anxious and eager to get to the top, choosing to explore as I work my way down, and this visit was no different. Continuing upwards, I came across the castle’s collection of medieval and early modern weaponry, including some armour, beautifully-decorated early firearms, flintlock rifles (very ‘Last of the Mohicans’ in feel) and more. Any weapon enthusiast will, I am sure, find it fascinating – one rifle even came from Japan and showed more typically eastern attention to fine decoration detail.
Finally, just off the display room was a few extra steps up to what is now an observation deck for wildlife such as birds, seals and dolphins. There is some information there about what you might see, and also the view before you. Unfortunately, the more aggressive avian visitors have forced the castle to put up a net around the deck, so pictures from this height are a bit difficult.
While not a castle that you may plan to spend a whole day visiting, Broughty Castle is positively crammed with historical information about the many eras in which this coastal defence was used. There are displays about the Tay lifeboat crews, about submarine miners in the late 1800s, the ‘Rough Wooing’ of Henry VIII, and more. Definitely a good option for families and those visiting Broughty Ferry for the day, the castle is educational and provides excellent views (I suppose a caveat here for family visitors – there is no fence around the edge of the ramparts, so youngsters will need to be watched!).
Plus, there are more than a few excellent spots nearby to stop for coffee, ice cream and cake. Our choice for the day was the Braw Tea Café, a not for profit enterprise providing on-the-job training and personal development to support disadvantaged women. While not open every day, when it is the café has excellent cakes and an outdoor seating area perfect for a sunny afternoon.
So if you are thinking about a visit to this lovely town, definitely do not miss out the castle!
I woke up on Saturday morning and was welcomed the bright sunlight I could see peeking in around the edges of the curtains. I leapt out of bed and immediately set to work enacting my planned walk for the weekend: picking up from last weekend, I intended to walk from Earls Hall Castle to Kinshaldy Beach, a walk – I estimated – of a bit over 4 miles. It was more than I had done in one go in a while (hence fitness goals) but I thought I could manage.
So, I started off at St Athernase in the centre of Leuchars and walked the five or so minutes along the road to the castle grounds.
The day was sunny but with generous puffy clouds, and cool enough that the warmth from the sun was appreciated, as was the Vitamin D. It is worth reminding anyone that when walking along the type of narrow road this stretch requires, it is important to be on the correct side – walking against the traffic – so that you can see it approaching. I’d also caution that it’s a good time to keep your music either off or quiet enough that you can hear vehicles at a distance, as when the road is winding, they can come upon you suddenly.
Starting at the entrance to the castle estate, the Fife Coastal Path leads along the road almost due east, and the wall is just short enough that even I was able to to catch glimpses of the castle and out-buildings. As with so many Scottish estates, the wall is lined with large rhododendrons bushes that at correct time of year are, I imagine, stunning.
Not far beyond the main entrance – blocked by a massive gate house – is another exit to the estate, where you can just see hints of the wall and gardens. A short distance later, through the bushes on the other side of the road, comes into a view a beautiful old barn with several horses in the field/ The accompanying farm house is a bit less grand, but the presence of several rows of now decaying farm crofts indicate that this may have been a thriving community at one time.
On the right, it becomes increasingly clear that you are hugging the edge of Leuchars Air base; there are no pictures due to the very large, regularly repeated and threatening ‘no photos’ signs, as well as ‘no drones’ and soon, guard dog warnings.
The path skirts past a large radio tower and I started to wonder if I was lost when finally the sign appeared on a gate, directing off of the road and onto a wide farm track. This track curves several times through a beautiful stand of silver birch, passing fields of horses on the left, before going through another gate and entering the stands of tall pines.
This is about when I started to catch hints of revving from the nearby motocross track, an irritating sound when one is enjoying a nature walk, but eventually it faded into the distance. As the trees closes in around the track it became muddier – I was very happy to have my proper boots – and the revving disappeared into the increased rustling of trees from the wind. It was a bit concerning to look behind me and see dark clouds coming my way, but one of the best things about a windy day in Scotland is that dark clouds tend to be quickly blown past.
The path is straight here, with fields on one side and tall pines with underbrush of gorse along the other. I can see the appeal of doing this walk at a time of year when bugs are minimal as there are some pools of standing water and animals in the fields. I am quite allergic to gorse so was relieved to see it only just starting to flower – granted earlier in the year than I might have expected. I was making good time here, and I think it was at least partly due to my racing against the approaching rain.
About a mile or so from the castle, the path swings away from the trees and into the fields, approaching what should be a sharp left then right jog of the coastal path. However, this is here my plan ran into a hitch. Not due to impending rain, which somehow continued north and missed me completely, but because the quiet season evidently inspired the Fife Coast and Countryside Trust to do a bit of maintenance on the path.
So, as you can see, there was a detour, with a well-marked path leading in the opposite direction. But, I was stubborn and ready for an adventure, and at first glance at the picture, it did not seem as though I would be walking terribly much further than originally planned, and probably in quite similar surroundings. The purist in me will insist upon re-doing this section, but for now it was the best I could do.
Muttering slightly to myself, I set out along the farm road indicated, with fields on one side and the base on the other. It became clear that the road followed the edge of the MOD property which was appropriately signposted with threats. On both sides of the fence there was damage to trees from recent storms, but generally was a pleasant, quiet trail on which I passed only a few cyclists and one horseback rider. The aggressive signs slowly became overgrown by gorse – arguably a more effective barrier than metal fences – and on the left high grass gave way to another stand of tall, straight pines. In about 3/4 of a mile, the path heads straight into the trees and it became a really pleasant stroll through the woods. Finally, I figured, we were heading towards the coast.
Eventually.
Storm damage became more and more evident as I walked, though I also noted that this would be a stunning walk at a time of year when the heather was blooming, as it carpeted the edge of the tree line and the forest floor. This stretch through the trees was a bit longer than I expected, and then just as I wondered if I was stuck forever in the forest tunnel, I realised that behind the distant trees was the blue of the open sky. Patches of sand interrupted the dirt trail, and many more fallen trees were stacked in piles – all signs of the approaching open coastline.
About 1.5 miles from where the path should have branched off, I finally reached the beach. The view across the Eden Estuary towards St Andrews was spectacular, the sun came out just at the right time, and even the giant blocks of concrete half buried in the sand were beautiful. These blocks can be found all along this stretch of beach, constructed during World War II in the hopes that they would prevent the Germans from landing on the wide sand and rolling tanks into the farmland.
At the access point to the Estuary, there are signs informing you as to the wildlife living here, and reminding walkers to be considerate of what they find. There is also a detour sign, on this occasion, and I found myself stopping temporarily to work out how much longer I had to walk – I soon wished I had not bothered.
From this point, the path led along the edge of the trees, with dunes on the right – a pleasant view for sure.
In retrospect it may have been sensible to stop here and rest for a short while, or to stay on the beach, but I did neither of those things, instead heading onwards along the coast. It is a lovely path. The trees fall away after a while, and the path winds away from the beach into the fields; it was here I came across a small flock of sheep who were mostly unbothered and watched me as if to say, ‘what in the world are you doing here?’
I did start to wonder that, myself.
Now, I am not a completely inexperienced hiker. I know perfectly well that I should have water and even snacks for a long hike, but that was not what I intended this to be. So I bought neither, figuring I had managed 3.5 miles last weekend, I could do 4 this weekend. I will never make that daft mistake again.
Away from the beach, the trail is considerably less even away from the beach, rising up and down over small dunes and hillocks of tall grass. To the left are fields stretching to distant trees, and to the right more grass, small trees and a patch of marshland separating the trail from the beach.
Eventually the grass fades into stands of small trees, then gradually larger ones, and I was relieved to once again joined the more familiar route with pines on the left and dunes and beach on the right. I hoped, and believed, that I was getting steadily closer to the car park where my other half had promised to meet me. I wished several times that I had brought headphones, as I felt like music might have kept me going a bit better, and my old hiking boots were feeling increasingly heavy and more of a drag on my energy than helpful.
Side note, these boots are almost 20 years old and have served me very well, but they are heavy and are probably more designed for climbing hills than walking. Certainly my sore hip flexors over the next few days were an indication that it was time to be rid of them. So, this was their last hike and I have since purchased some new walking boots from Mountain Warehouse – I will be sure to report upon their success.
Back to the walk. Gradually, the number of people on the trail grew and I sensed I was getting close. Light reflecting off of unnatural surfaces glistened through the trees – cars!
I was there.
In all, I walked almost 5.5 miles, a bit longer than my intended 4. I made more than a few mistakes along the way, not the least of which was thinking I could push myself in a way I could in my 20s.
It was an enjoyable walk – until the last mile or so – and I look forward to trying it again in the summer when the boardwalk is open. It allowed me to push my limits and remember why I was doing this in the first place – to walk more, and to remind myself just how unprepared I am for a longer trek. But I’ll get there.
And I’ll bring snacks.
This weekend’s walk total (considering that only a portion of this walk was actually on the official Coastal Path):
It was another cold grey windy weekend, but I was determined not to let that stop me from checking off even a small segment of my walk.
So, I took to the maps and planned a loop that started at the north end of Guardbridge at the more northerly of the two bridges – the first if you are coming from Dundee, the second if from St Andrews.
Conveniently there is a bus stop right there, allowing for easy access from either direction (it’s on the Stagecoach bus 99 route which runs frequently, even on a Sunday).
This chunk of the coastal path begins crossing the old rail bridge, which is now pedestrianised, being too narrow for two lanes of road traffic. It is one of my favourite places to stop to see the view, watch the water fowl, and see the moon rise.
Crossing the bridge, the path then leads up a gentle hill and between a playing field and play park on one side, and a relatively new collection of outdoor exercise equipment on the other. Walkers should follow the pavement as it arrives at a small housing estate, with a road turning off to the left. The path skirts the edge of a grassy, treed area to the right, and then presently emerges on the far side of the estate, meeting up with the Toll Road.
Here, walkers should cross the Toll Road and continue along the Main Street (the A919). In only a few hundred meters, there is a dip in the curb that encourages crossing towards Leuchars Air base. When I first came to St Andrews many years ago, this was run by the RAF, though it has since shifted to the Army. There are still relatively regular manoeuvres practiced here, and the runway serves both the military and, occasionally, a private jet of someone visiting nearby St Andrews. Pictures are not permitted, but walkers can certainly look in through the fence at the runway – follow the signs as the path leads up another gentle hill. One caveat is that the path is narrow here and the cars on this portion of the road tend to go by quickly.
Cresting the hill, walkers can look ahead at the many houses and out-buildings of the base, with the road lined by tall fences topped with barbed wire, a touch imposing. Off to the left, across the field, you can just catch sight of Leuchars Rail Station, the primary rail station for St Andrews and the surrounding area.
The walk through the base takes around five minutes, until eventually the path reaches the main guard station and close beyond the turning circle where there is a bus shelter. Beyond this point, the town begins, evident by houses with a bit more personality than those built by the military. There is a sign for the coastal path turning right along Wessex Avenue, though before the turn, directly ahead is the unmistakable tower of St Athernase, a medieval parish church.
Wessex Avenue winds through a housing estate and eventually meets Earlshall Road, which can also be picked up directly next to the church above; taking the marked route however allows a safe walk with a sidewalk for most of the distance. At the junction of Earlshall road, there is almost immediately an option to stray off the main road and down a side-path:
This path leads to a wide playing field, and a muddy track along the side of the grassy pitches.
The incentive for using the field is evident when peeking through the hedgerow – Earlshall Road is narrow with an even narrower verge to scamper onto should a car come along. In very little time, a stone wall appears at the far side of the field, and this is the aim for this section, as on the other side of this wall is the castle estate. Though there is no obvious signage, the field’s end means there is no choice but to move back onto the road; the entrance to the estate is almost immediately after this point.
Now used primarily as a wedding and conference venue, Earls Hall Castle was originally so named due to a hunting lodge in the same location, owned by the Earls of Fife. It also makes a convenient stopping point for the loop I was walking, marking almost exactly 1.5 miles from where I started. From here, it looks as though the coastal path follows the road a bit further then heads across the fields, but I shall learn more at a later date!
This weekend, I chose to turn around and head back into Leuchars, making a right turn at the end of Wessex Avenue and aiming for St Athernase.
Granted to the canons of St Andrews in 1185, St Athernase is built in the Romanesque style, with arches and carvings that reminded me strongly of Durham Cathedral.
I was not able to get inside on this visit, but the chapel is still used for services and the graveyard itself is full of fascinating stones to explore. The higher ground offers a great view over the village in one direction, while around the back it is easy to see that you are in the oldest part of town, with lovely old Scottish crofts and farm houses lining the road.
I walked through the churchyard and out the main entrance, winding my way down to the Main Street via a set of steps past the coachhouse. Leuchars Main Street loops around past the pharmacy and the butcher before sweeping the other way towards the main roundabout, where going straight takes you towards Dundee and going left leads to the rail station and St Andrews. The roundabout boasts two drinking establishments, with Ye Olde Hotel the larger of the two, an old white building with generous parking nearby. I have been inside once many years ago, and assuming that it has not changed, it is a good example of a local drinking establishment.
Turning left at the roundabout could have been a straight shot for me along the A919 back to the bridge. Instead, though, I took a kind of short cut, walking through Leuchars Rail Station car park and along Station Road. While arguably a more pleasant walk than along the A919 – which is always busy and noisy – Station Road does not have any kind of sidewalk or pavement along the edge, rather walkers must either walk carefully at the side of the road and jump onto the verge, or just walk along the uneven grass. Busses and vehicles speed along this road quite quickly, so walkers do need to take care.
Station Road eventually meets the Toll Road, right at a lovely old rail bridge, where a left turn leads you back towards the main highway. The whole loop, after my wandering around the churchyard a bit and taking me all the way back to the bus stop, was about 3.75 miles, with the home stretch walking into an increasingly bitter wind. It was definitely a good start to give me an idea of how far I can push (I could definitely walk further, but probably would regret it), though I think better weather would have been conducive to a longer walk. I don’t look forward to one of the next chunks, which is the walk along the A91 into St Andrews; I have done it once before, and even with the incentive of a pint at the end found it a bit dire. With better weather, hopefully, will come excursions further afield!
So for this weekend, here is my updated countdown. I hope to make a bit more headway soon, and would like to see that number get down into double digits before my next work trip in April. 🤞🏻
The other morning as the other half and I batted around options for where to walk, an idea came to me. It was born partly out of curiosity, partly inspiration, and partly the drive to become more fit this year: I want to walk the Fife Coastal Path.
Not, as some do, in a few days or as some endurance feat, but broken up into manageable chunks that will grow longer as I become more fit. I want to start with small bits and move up to the longer stretches. I know weather will prevent walking every weekend, I’ll be travelling, and there are plenty of things to hold me back, but the only one I’ll really disappoint should I not manage this is myself. There are some incredibly fit and determined people I know who have run the path, or walked it in a few days, but I’m not nearly ready to attempt that; so I’ll do it the way I know how.
Here goes.
Stats:
The Fife Coastal Path runs from Kincardine around the edge of Fife to Newburgh. A while ago a purchased a fold-out map which suggests large segments of the walk, but also includes every mile count along the way.
This map is taken from the Fife Coastal Path fold-out map, and not my own.
Using this mile count, I’ve divided the nearly 117 miles into roughly 28 segments of my own, of reasonable length – some short, 2-3 miles, and some quite a bit longer. A good portion of the path passes regularly through towns – especially along the south – but as the route curves up the east coast and along the north, the path segments get a bit, or a lot, longer. So I’m not going to do this in order, but I’ll start off with the shorter bits and attempt the longer ones when I feel more prepared and the weather is better.
I’ve also got some serious logistics to plan, assuming the other half will accompany me: how to we get to various points, and if we’re walking in one direction, how do we get back to our car? I foresee that public transport will be playing a massive role, and we’re lucky that transport in Fife is pretty good. There’s also the issue that the Kincardine end of the trail is a good 60 minute journey from here by car, so I’m not certain when that will happen. But happen it shall, especially as the days are growing steadily longer and brighter, it will be easier to take day trips.
Finally, naturally, I will of course be sharing my progress and documenting it along the way. I’ve got my countdown clock running, and I’m determined to get this done by 31 January 2026.
Here we go!
Part 1 – Newburgh
It was a grey, damp weekend, typical of many at this time of year, when it’s cold but not freezing and not quite raining but still muddy. So, I decided that it was time to start this trail at the beginning (or end, depending on how you view it). So, we braved the two sets of road works to drive to Newburgh, and park at one end of the coastal path.
Newburgh is an old burgh, granted royal burgh status in 1266. It is less than two miles from the nearby Lindores Abbey, which is now in ruins next to the distillery – see later in the post. The town boasted several industries including fishing and the making of nets, linen, linoleum and oilskin fabric. It saw some growth after the Second World War, though most industries had closed down by the first part of this century. The high street offers a mix of Edwardian and Victorian structures – plus some far older – along with some newer blocks. There are a few shops and cafés; we stopped for a post-walk coffee and scone at Café de Kathy, which was quiet but made a good Americano.
The start of the Coastal Path is served by a good-sized car park and is marked (as you can see in these photos) by an arch which makes a good selfie spot. There is also a small plaque showing you the first 10 miles or so of the path – evidence of why I am not attempting much of the north-Fife portion first.
Around the arch is a lovely park with picnic benches and plenty of grass for animals and children to frolic (even in the wet there were dog-walkers a plenty). The well-kept path winds down through the park towards the distant Tay; resist any urge to turn right along the ridge, and eventually you will make your way gently down the slope and finally turn right along a play park, heading for a break in the stone wall. Beyond the wall is the village, but the Coastal Path is very well marked so easy to follow.
Go straight along the street and you will find a left-hand turn with a soon-to-be familiar arrow and coastal path logo. Once you reach the water’s edge, turn right and follow the path as it skirts the edge of the village between the houses and the River Tay. This is generally a quite easy portion of the walk – flat, well-kept, a bit muddy in places but clearly well-used. You will pass through several parks, and a number of different architecture styles including some newer post-war constructions, but many older 1800s-style Scottish dark grey stone houses that are familiar in most coastal towns. The view over the Tay can be very clear, and on the day we walked was almost as still as glass.
Small fishing boats and dinghies are tied to the small stone quays, and water fowl of various kinds swim in and out – mostly ducks and cormorants not scared away by the dogs.
In about ten minutes you start to reach the far edge of the town, passing through another park. Ahead you will start to notice boats – a few catamarans and smaller sailing vessels – stored on the right-hand side of the path, as on the left you will soon pass the Newburgh Sailing club, a building that could easily be mistaken for a Coast Guard lookout.
Soon after, you leave the town behind and find yourself with a field on one side, and tall reeds on the other, with water beyond. The path continues to be level and well-kept. Turning around, you are welcomed by a view back over the Tay towards Perth and distant hills.
After about five minutes or so, the trail curves around to the right, heading inland along a gentle burn lined with reeds. We noticed a sadly sunken sailing dinghy not far from the edge of the river. Continuing inland, you will begin to notice a group of lovely steading houses peeking over the brush, all old stone with terraced gardens.
Presently a bridge appears, but the path clearly directs you not to cross but instead to continue towards the road ahead, passing the steading and a beautifully preserved old mill building.
At this point you will meet the road, with the coastal path heading off to the left. This is about 1.4 miles from the starting arch, and here you can either continue on your way or, if you are feeling less energetic, you can turn right and head back into Newburgh to complete a loop.
The dreary weather and a few niggling pains drove us in that direction this weekend – the aptly named Abbey Road takes you past the ruins of Lindores Abbey (I must return here in better weather) and the Lindores Abbey Distillery, immediately across the street (this appears to have a very nice-looking visitor centre, but was not open).
From here it only remains to join the high street and make your way past the shops and interesting mix of houses, including a beautiful old inn (Abbey Inn).
This whole loop is about 2.5 miles, quite gentle and easy-going. It was the perfect start to my Fife Coastal Path adventure – I am excited to try again next weekend (weather permitting – so far this week is appalling).
For many people, January is the worst month of the year. In the northern hemisphere anyway it can be cold and dark, one is often short of money after the holiday season, early January means back to work (if you have been fortunate enough to have the season off) and there is a societal pressure to better or reinvent yourself.
But, I think January has some good aspects, too: you are getting back to a routine after an often hectic holiday period (hey, I like routine); days are getting longer so that by the end of the month you can really see that it is lighter; I like winter snow when it comes, but most of all, the LIGHT.
There can be some truly gorgeous light in late December and January, either on a crisp cold blue winter day or when the long shadows of the golden hour last for two or three. I have often been fortunate enough to get a chunk of time off in January, which is another perk.
This January has not been a particular exciting month and there have not been any huge adventures, but I have managed a few lovely day trips. I was pleasantly surprised, when looking through my camera, that I have managed to capture some really beautiful scenes that I wanted to share, if nothing else to cheer up this January which for many has been even harder than others.
New Years Day
We were fortunate enough to spend New Years Eve with some good friends, and on New Years Day we had a lazy, quiet day playing games. By dinner time we were all in pyjamas or slouchy clothes, and there was a comedic scramble for coats when a WhatsApp came in stating that the aurora had been seen nearby. Sure enough, the reliable aurora tracker website was high red, and so we dashed outdoors to see what we could see. We were unfortunately a touch late for the best of the colour, but I managed a few good images (this has been my dream ever since we missed the extreme colours back in May). The rumour is that there will be lots of opportunity to see the aurora this year, and I will be consistently on high alert!
House of Bruar trip
Whenever Mum visits, we must make the time to visit the House of Bruar. We managed to visit on a cold quiet day when the food hall and shops were even quieter than normal. While Mum browsed the woollens, I took a short walk around the edge of the grounds.
On our way home, I took us the back route through Blair Atholl, where we experienced a proper Scottish winter day – a dusting of snow, and beautiful blue sky.
Kilconquhar
A glorious Scottish name, this village is pronounced locally as ‘Kinucker’, with the soft ‘ch’ sound rather than a hard ‘ck’, and a short ‘u’ like in luck. It is a town I love to drive through while taking visitors on a loop down through the East Neuk of Fife, visiting Elie, St Monans, Pittenweem, Anstruther and Crail. On this trip we paused briefly to explore the lovely local parish church which sits on a hill at the edge of the village. This current church is about 200 years old, but behind it are the ruins of the medieval version.
As is often the case this close to the solstice, the moon was out during the day, highlighted against the blue sky.
Loch Leven
There are two primary routes that one can take from east Fife to Edinburgh. For whatever reason, I have always preferred to go straight west across the A91, driving through the villages of Auchtermuchty and Gateside before joining the motorway south. Many opt instead to go through Glenrothes on the larger A92, but according to Google, there is very little difference in time. And, my route is more aesthetically pleasing, taking in the Fife countryside as well as a view out over Loch Leven. After dropping Mum for her early morning flight, I found myself returning home on a very cold (-6°C) morning with a gorgeous pink sunrise. I could not help stopping alongside the loch for a picture or two, and made the other half come back with me that weekend for a frosty, foggy walk at Loch Leven’s Larder.
St Andrews morning walk
A few weeks ago I had an early morning appointment in St Andrews, and used the opportunity to take in some of my favourite haunts in that beautiful time of the morning when the sun is just up and casting a pink and later golden glow.
Back to work – Dundee
Getting back to work in January after a few weeks away inevitably brings on a touch of excitement and a touch of anxiety – what will the new year bring? What have I missed during my weeks off?
Dundee isn’t always top of the list when one is considering photography options, but as with any location, being there every day means you can capture the light – or lack of it – at just the right time and really appreciate its beauty. The sunny picture is taken just outside the Overgate mall, and the two foggy early morning shots are from the Houff, a burial ground once part of the Grey Friars Monastery destroyed during the Reformation. On this morning it reminded me more of Dickensian London and I half expected the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come to drift across the grass.
Morning walk
Back to work means back to the morning walk routine, and I was lucky enough to catch a few stunning winter sunrises. Dark mornings sometimes mean a lunch rather than pre-work walk, but the view across to St Andrews is just as stunning in the daylight.
And finally, stargazing
About two years ago when I had some time off work, I became fascinated with photographing the night sky, as previous posts have shown. Fortunately, I have been blessed with both friends and my other half, who are willing to brave cold nights and uneven ground to find the dark views. Towards the end of the month, we went out several times to try to view the planetary alignment that was all over the news – we didn’t have a great deal of luck photographing them but did get some great views of the stars from West Sands, as well as of St Andrews at night.
Another perk of January is putting plans in place for the rest of your year (if you like planning, which I of course do). While I have only gotten to about June, I have trips of both work and family nature planned in the Highlands, USA and Caribbean – an exciting mix of places to photograph and explore!
Enjoying my pictures? Why not claim one for your own project or wall space through my online shop:
I have been thinking for some time that it would be nice to share here some of the research I have done over my years as a medievalist. While I have not formally studied for some time, I am always fascinated by how new views can be found on events that took place hundreds of years ago. So in this post, I will share with you a version of a piece of work which I put together for the International Medieval Congress in 2019.
I’ve tried to make it accessible, and I hope you will find it as interesting a topic as I did. It touches on some of my favourite characters in history, and the subject upon which I focussed for so long: medieval marriage.
But really, it’s a story – a story of the people involved in the negotiations, of their personalities, their strengths and weaknesses, and their priorities.
The title of the paper was, ‘An Unexpected Proposal: the suggestion of a marriage between Joanna of Sicily and al-Adil during the Third Crusade’.
Setting the scene…
The tale begins in the midst of the Third Crusade, which was called in 1187 by Pope Gregory VIII after the fall of Jerusalem to the Muslim forces led by Salah al-Din, the sultan of Egypt (for the purposes of this paper, I will refer to him as Saladin, as do most western historians). Jerusalem had been captured by the Christian armies of the First Crusade in 1099, establishing the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem, so the loss of the city less than a century later caused most of the leaders of Europe to take notice. The Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa was the first to set off, but he drowned while crossing a river in Turkey, and his troops disbanded. This left the kings of England and France to lead the second wave of the crusade, and both Richard I of England and Philip II of France departed Europe in 1190.
Arrival in the Holy Land
In June 1191, Richard I, king of England – known in later years as the Lionheart – arrived in the Holy Land after a number of delays, to take his role as leader of the Third Crusade. He had left England some months previously but was held up first in Sicily – where his sister Joanna was the dowager queen – and then in Cyprus – where he was ‘forced’ to intervene when the Byzantine ruler, Isaac Komnenos, seized his supplies and belongings after a shipwreck. (it’s an interesting story, but not the point of this paper…)
There were plenty of other high-level nobles and kings present upon his arrival, including his now arch-enemy King Philip II of France, (they had fallen out in Sicily) and two candidates for the throne of Jerusalem: Guy de Lusignan and Conrad of Montferrat. But, almost from his arrival to dramatically lift the siege of Acre, Richard’s secured his position as the foremost warrior and hero.
The Itinerarium Peregrinorum (long title Itinerarium Peregrinorum et Gesta Regis Ricardi), a Latin prose account of the Third Crusade that is likely to have been written from first-hand experience, tells us:
Even the enemy had a view on his arrival with one chronicler stating,
“He was wise and experienced in warfare, and his coming had a dread and frightening effect on the hearts of the Muslims.”1
Richard’s first few months were very successful; Acre, the maritime foothold of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, was captured, though the surrender was marred by the controversial decision to execute the Muslim garrison, probably more than 2,600 men. The motives for this action have been debated at great length, and you can read more in Gillingham and Spencer.2
However, the incident does give us insight as to Richard’s negotiating strategy. The treaty he had made with the enemy forces upon the fall of Acre were for Saladin to hand over a fragment of the True Cross and to release 1,500 Christian prisoners in exchange for the lives of the garrison and their families.3 When the terms were not upheld by Saladin, Richard followed through on his threat, without compunction.
Negotiations
The military aspects of the crusade have been the stuff of numerous articles and discussion, and the diplomatic negotiations were also an integral part of the relationship between the Christian and Muslim armies, as well as between Richard and Saladin. These negotiations have been examined thoroughly by Thomas Asbridge,4 but this paper looks in more depth at one particular part of these negotiations: a series of exchanges that took place in Autumn 1192, during which Richard suggested that the battle for Jerusalem could be ended by a marriage between his sister Joanna, the widowed queen of Sicily, and Saladin’s brother, al-Adil, often called Saphadin by European sources of the time.
Curiously, eastern sources discuss this proposal in some depth and are our primary evidence for it, while western sources are completely silent. This silence has always intrigued me. Many historians have focussed on the likelihood that the whole thing was just a joke, if it took place at all, but I believe it to be quite clear from reliable sources close to Saladin that the proposal was indeed made and considered in seriousness, at least at first.
Here I will make an effort to come to terms with why western sources leave the incident out, and I hope to answer some of the questions surrounding the event, which has been called ‘implausible’5, ‘extraordinary’,6 ‘remarkable’7 and ‘curious’.8
The proposal was not the first step in this round of negotiations. Rather, Richard had requested personal meetings with Saladin from the time of his arrival at Acre, but Saladin always refused.
For that reason, Saladin’s trusted general and brother, al-Adil, was his stand-in, and he met Richard in person on several occasions. They developed a rapport and traded regularly both food and gifts, and shared many meals.
In autumn 1192, Richard’s first offer, an opening gambit if you will, was one Saladin could never possibly accept. Baha al-Din, one of Saladin’s most trusted personal secretaries – and the writer from whom we get the most detailed account of these events – recorded Richard’s letter.
Saladin’s response, unsurprisingly, was a much wordier version of ‘no’.
He also reminded Richard that Jerusalem was as holy for Muslims as it was for Christians, and that the land had of course been theirs originally, before the First Crusade of the 1090s.
There was another player in these negotiations who was influencing Richard’s position. This was Conrad of Montferrat, one of two rivals to the crown of Jerusalem. Conrad was attempting to make his own agreement with Saladin, wherein the Muslim leader would confirm his possession of lands in Sidon and Tyre in exchange for Conrad’s attack on Acre, now garrisoned by Richard’s men.
Fortunately for Richard, the majority of Saladin’s advisors favoured a deal with the English king over one with Conrad. So, with his opening offer refused, Richard moved on to the second. There are three accounts of this incident, and I will look at each in turn.
Three Accounts
1. Old French Continuation of William of Tyre
This is the only surviving Christian source to mention the incident, and the source is often hostile to Richard. The writer states that Saladin was the initiator – the only source to suggest this, almost certainly in error. Further, the passage supports the belief held by some historians that Saladin was afraid of his brother. Certainly strife between two brothers is a common trope, but there is no real evidence of it, rather the sultan appears to have trusted and depended upon his brother. The overall accuracy of this version is therefore questionable.
2.Les Livres de Deux Jardins, an account heavily based upon the writings of Imad al-Din al-Ishfahan, a Persian scholar who worked as a secretary to Saladin and was personally involved in many of the political machinations at court.
Clearly, this account is far more in-depth and indicates the more likely scenario that Richard initiated the proposal, directly to al-Adil, who passed the terms to Saladin. It was not a secret.
Furthermore, this account brings in a fact left out by the Continuation, that it was Joanna herself who was the spanner in the works, refusing to marry a man not of her religion. I’ll come back to this.
3. Baha al-Din, The Rare and Excellent History of Saladin. As mentioned, Baha al-Din was one of Saladin’s personal secretaries and a writer who is considered one of the most reliable for this period due to his first-hand knowledge of Saladin’s inner circle. His account is most comprehensive, covering Richard’s opening gambit, Saladin’s subsequent refusal, and Richard’s regroup to approach a second time. The delicate nature of the terms is made clear in that al-Adil required both Saladin’s trusted emissary, Baha al-Din himself, and a number of emirs to be present when they were announced.
Al-Din asserts that he himself was given the task of bringing the message to Saladin and bore witness to the reply. There were to be no secret negotiations between Richard and al-Adil, rather al-Adil was cautious, acting in self-preservation – Saladin may have not reacted well to hearing about the offer second-hand.
Echoing Imad al-Din’s account but with more detail, the story goes on. Saladin immediately approved the terms, ‘believing that the king of England would not agree to them at all and that it was intended to mock and deceive.’9
Baha al-Din also confirms Joanna’s involvement, stating that she was very displeased, ‘How could she possibly allow a Muslim to have carnal knowledge of her!’ instead asking al-Adil to convert. (remember of course that she was Catholic and this was the Middle Ages – it was entirely unheard of to marry a non-Christian). With regard to this refusal of Joanna’s, I do have my doubts about whether Richard would have allowed the prospect of peace in the Middle East to be ruined by his sister’s temper tantrum. The fact that the story is repeated by both Muslim writers makes it more likely that Richard used her as an excuse to get out of a proposal with which he never intended to follow through.
What does it all mean?
What the sources indicate, then, is a diplomatic suggestion that, joke or not, was also quite daring. Al-Adil considered it so noteworthy that, rather than continue his personal tête-à-tête with Richard, he wrote immediately to his brother. If the brothers were aware, as Baha al-Din relates, that the proposal was a joke, they certainly reacted in a serious fashion. They may also have wished to call Richard’s bluff.
So one has to ask of Richard – why? Was the proposal merely a distraction? Did he do it just to see what Saladin and al-Adil would do? It could have been a test of al-Adil, a way of assessing his loyalty to his brother – certainly Richard himself had no reason to believe in brotherly bonds and knew how precarious the relationship could be, so perhaps he hoped that al-Adil would leap on the suggestion to gain power over his brother.
Seal of Richard I
Or perhaps he hoped that Saladin would grow to view his brother as a threat. Either way, Richard would be causing dissension in the ranks, which could only be to his advantage.
One can understand the Muslim writers’ assertions that Richard never intended for the proposal to be taken seriously when one looks at the rest of the tale. When Saladin accepted the offer, Richard was forced to scramble for a reason why Joanna could not, in fact, be married: he would have to ask the pope (dowager queens in Europe could not remarry without his permission), and that could take months. Richard suggested the al-Adil could have his niece instead, of course she was in Europe so again another delay…this is not the sign of a well-constructed plan. Richard may even have fibbed, saying that his Christian colleagues objected to the idea – but if the Christians had been asked, surely one chronicle somewhere would have mentioned it?
Finally, if this was a real proposal, part of a long-term strategy to end the warfare and allow Richard to return to Europe where the king of France was chipping away at his empire with the help of his brother John, why is it not in the Itinerarium Peregrinorum?
Because this period of negotiation IS there:
I feel this section to be a bit harsh on Richard. He was more than experienced at the art of war and negotiation, and would never have allowed himself to be distracted. Rather he would have been perfectly aware that a period of negotiation did not mean cessation of hostilities – frequently the opposite. Instead this indicates that the writer, whoever he was, had no knowledge of the more delicate negotiations taking place in the background, or if he did, he left them out. Which was it?
We cannot know for certain, but the only reasonable answer for either the writer leaving the story out or for Richard keeping the proposal a secret lies in Richard’s reputation. A little later, the writer of the Itinerarium alludes to the problem:
One has to remember that just because Richard was leading the crusaders did not mean that he was supported by all of them. In fact there were French factions – and others – who were seriously adverse to Richard’s strategies, particularly what they saw as his reticence to march directly upon Jerusalem- a true strategist, Richard was hoping to establish a solid base from which to attack the city, rather than attack directly.
A French source tells us that Richard had been overruled in his wish to approach Ascalon, a strategically vital city: whoever controlled Ascalon also controlled access to Egypt, Saladin’s home base. Its significance is evident in that Saladin himself had made it a priority to re-capture Ascalon in 1187 prior to his march on Jerusalem – this tactic was one Richard hoped to emulate, but could not convince the other Christians. They remained focused, inexorably, on relieving the Holy City.
Richard would have been considered even more suspect and likely found himself in danger had the majority of the crusading host discovered that he was offering his sister to a Muslim, rather than fight the infidels courageously for Jerusalem.
And it is here, I believe, that an answer may be found.
I have no doubt that Richard made the proposal, as suggested by two reliable Muslim sources, both very close to Saladin. It is possible that Richard’s closest advisors knew of the proposal and objected, but he mostly ignored them. However, the lack of inclusion in Christian sources such as the Itinerarium, which was unlikely to have been written by someone with the level of access to Richard that Baha al-Din had to Saladin, indicates a lack of widespread knowledge of the proposal. It is quite reasonable that there would have been a lot of detailed negotiation taking place which a member of the general crusading force would not know about, but which Saladin’s personal secretary would. An every-day crusader would also be more aware of the threats to Richard’s reputation that his close relationship with al-Adil caused.
The Muslim sources go into more depth about the gifts and offer a more detailed timeline than the Christian sources, and are generally better informed about the relationship between Richard and al-Adil. Richard was a bold strategist, and his life shows numerous examples of the willingness to make extreme choices in order to get what he wanted – he took part in several rebellions against his own father, beginning in his teenage years; he alienated the king of France by refusing to marry his sister and choosing another wife; he regularly led his armies into battle even when his life was in serious danger.
So, I do not see it as uncharacteristic for him to have made a proposal, almost off-the-cuff, just to see what kind of reaction he would get. But he would have been aware of the danger involved: his strategies were often questioned, he was frequently ill while in the East, and his kingdom was in serious peril during his absence. His reputation was not so strong that it could have suffered the kind of serious outrage which would have arisen had a French crusader heard of the proposal.
Muslim sources tell us what happened, but the details in the Christian sources actually hint more clearly at why the incident was omitted, or kept secret – it had to be.
As for the incident being implausible, I personally am not surprised by anything Richard did – he was bold, intelligent, witty, arrogant, and not above extreme negotiation. This time, he was up against an equally skilled strategist who called his bluff.
But Richard had some good luck. The proposal was refused by his own sister, and the counter-proposals that al-Adil convert or wed Richard’s niece, were passed over.
So, Richard never had to face a council of European and French nobles to explain that the Crusade was over because his sister was going to marry a Muslim prince. But it is intriguing to wonder what might have happened if he had…
Thomas Asbridge, ‘Talking to the enemy: the role and purpose of negotiations between Saladin and Richard the Lionheart during the Third Crusade,’ in Journal of Medieval History. ↩︎
This year started strong with the reading, but as it crept on and work got in the way, I found it increasingly more challenging to make the time to read. And yes, of course, if it is important enough you make time, but this year was a lot.
I also found that most of my books were big and heavy, meaning it was often not possible to take them with me on my travels (I am not a Kindle person, I like the physical book – I am a medieval historian after all). Stubbornness prevailed though and as I adjusted to my new lifestyle, time for books returned. I wasn’t able to tackle some of the more serious tomes I had in the pile this year, but they are not forgotten!
1. Never, Ken Follett. The premise of this book is a modern scenario in which the world is on the brink of nuclear war, and there are elements that are frighteningly real. Follett is a master of telling a tale across multiple interwoven storylines, and this book follows that pattern.
I read Never over the winter break and found it to be fascinating and quite eerie. It’s not one of Follett’s best in terms of writing quality, as it seems evident that his editor is just letting him do what he wants. One or two of the storylines don’t seem to really matter as much as others but they are all compelling and intriguing. Certainly I was on the edge of my seat by the end, trying to work out if the world could be saved.
2. Elske, Cynthia Voigt. The fourth in the loosely-connected Kingdom series that started with Jackaroo (see last year’s reading list), Elske is a really interesting tale that is clearly designed for young adults and yet covers some violently mature topics. Elsie is an independent young woman who escaped a potentially violent end and finds herself frequently standing out from society by her unique nature of self-assurance and self-preservation. I’ve written more about Elske and the Kingdom series before.
3. The Daughter of Time, Josephine Tey. I was not really sure what to expect from this book but had been told at times that I should read it. What I found was a really fascinating and quite speedy read that is not medieval in timing but is all about the Middle Ages. The main character is an injured policeman of Scotland Yard, who in his convalescence stumbles across the story of Richard III and the fate of the Princes in the Tower. He is immediately intrigued, and through his exploration of the subject, the historical facts behind the case are slowly revealed. I found this story not only fascinating for its quite anti-establishment assertion of Richard’s innocence but also for the way in which it embodies good historical practice. It could in fact be used as a first-year historian’s guide to how to examine a story – look at the sources, assess those sources, discover their bias and their purpose, and determine their relevancy and potential accuracy. Fascinating both as a mystery and an example of how examination of history should be attempted.
4. Eve, Cat Bohannon. A fascinating read that to some extent many if not all women should read. Strike that, all people. Bohannon answered a lot of questions I have always had about why childbirth is so dangerous – seemingly a biological nonsense – and more. The sections about giving money to women are fascinating, and the matriarchal vs patriarchal societies amongst animals.
The writing style is a bit odd at times, as Bohannan seems to make an effort to shock or surprise, though possibly in an effort to familiarise or normalise certain ideas or terms.
Overall though a phenomenal read, that demonstrates above all why women and men should be studied separately in medicine and science.
5. When Christ and His Saints Slept, Sharon Penman. The civil war between Stephen and Matilda in the 12th century is far less well known than the much later English Civil War, but was no less destructive. Penman starts off with the history-altering wreck of the White Ship in 1120 and carries on through the many battles and tide changes of the war, before resolution in the accession of Henry II.
This is my comfort read, and holds a special place in my life as the book that introduced me to Sharon Penman, an author who would quickly become one of my favourites – as I have written. I also consider this book to be the pinnacle of her writing style: well researched, enthralling, and able to create sympathy for both sides of a brutal war. Even the heroes and heroines are flawed, make decisions you wish you could yell at them for, and often pay the price. Most significantly, this book introduces the characters of Henry FitzEmpress and Eleanor of Aquitaine, about whom so many of Penman’s books are written. For anyone tempted to take Penman’s books into their library, this is a good place to start.
6. Stay With Me, Ayobami Adebayo. Beautifully written and heartbreaking, this book is a testament to a mother’s love, its power and depth. It is fascinating how well she can move back and forth between viewpoints, and yet there is never any questions as to who she is writing in that particular section, her style is so clear.
The book also demonstrates how key communication and trust can be in a marriage or relationship, and the destruction that can rain down when they are missing.
I read this book as part of a concerted effort to read more black authors, and would highly recommend, though it may be triggering to some in its discussions of the struggles around conception.
7. Hearth and Eagle, Anya Seton I have loved Anya Seton ever since reading Katherine and falling in love with her style. This book is even more special as it is based in my home town and is very much a love story to Marblehead, describing in detail its evolution from a fishing village to the wealth-infused sailing mecca it is today. The story follows a young woman as she experiences love, tragedy, and the growth that comes with maturity and experience. Not necessarily a new story in terms of originality, Hesper’s tale means more to me as it takes place in Marblehead where the true love of her life is her house. In the end, she recognises the importance and value of coming home.
8. Ghost Ship and The Burning Chambers, Kate Mosse.
I’m classifying this as one as really these are two books of a series, the second of which I have started but not yet managed to finish.
Mosse is an author I can go back and forth over, but I really enjoyed The Ghost Ship and it made me want to go back and read the whole series about these women. I loved the historical take on what is often considered the more modern concept of gender fluidity, and her take on love crossing boundaries. The main character, Louise, felt very real and authentic, struggling against the gender norms of her time; there are so many powerful women in this story.
I am not sure that the publisher’s official synopsis pays enough credit to the first 200 or so pages of the book, about women finding their way in a world not meant for them to succeed on their own – but I look forward to reading more.
9. The Paleontologist, Luke Dumas Whatever I expected this book to be about, it really was not. The writing starts of a bit clunky, I’d say, but eventually settles into a better rhythm. The story is a satisfying if a bit weird mystery, and Dumas seems to be uncertain at times if he is writing a fantasy or a mystery – the main character’s descent into madness is quite abrupt. An interesting attempt to explore the morality behind the practice of palaeontology and what the field owes to its subjects.
10. Hood, Stephen Lawhead. I have always half intended to do a bit of work on the story of Robin Hood, but it is such a massive topic it can be intimidating. This book is one of many attempting to re-imagine the story, this time moving the tale from the standard Midlands Nottingham to medieval Wales. It’s an interesting take, though slow in places and at times a bit distracting – as any reimagining of a well-known story can be – as you try to work out which characters are which from the classic tale.
I did find it a powerful view into early medieval Wales and its fight to remain independent, a fight that would continue for 100s of years; certainly placing a young outlaw in this world makes as much sense as the time of Prince John.
I am not sure if I will read the rest of the trilogy at this point, but if so will most definitely report.
Honourable mention for this year goes to:
The first three books of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. The fact that I have watched the TV show has made it harder to read the later books, as I can see why large portions were shortened or cut out. The books contain a lot more detail and their pace is much slower, but the story is of course richer for that detail. There are times when I quite actively dislike Claire, and like on screen the story can be brutal. I may try to skip ahead a few books so that I can read the story before watching the final season.
The Goodwife of Bath, by Karen Brooks, which I have almost finished and am thoroughly enjoying. I look forward to writing about it.
The Mistletoe and Sword, by Anya Seton – I tried to re-read as much Seton as I could this year after really enjoying a few of her books, and this one has always been quite low on my list. It includes a relatively standard view of the Roman occupation of Britain – Romans are brutal and lack appreciation for the locals, a good parallel to most of the history of the British empire – and of the Druids as mysterious and maligned. Takes place against the background of Boudicca’s revolt.
And finally, a sneak peak into next year – here is the pile of books I received for Christmas/birthday gifts! It is a bit less intense than last year’s collection, yet equally appreciated!
(I have started reading The 1619 Project and am fascinated – I cannot wait to dive back in after the holidays)
I have endless, unrepentant, unflinching affection for Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Anyone who read last year’s post on Christmas movies will have a feel for this, but I wanted to dive deeper. I love the language, the story, and the memories that the tale evokes. It has been part of my Christmas tradition for as long as I can remember. We read the story, watched adaptations on TV, went to the play, and had a series of Christmas ornaments depicting the characters. I cannot imagine a time wherein I did not know the story, and was not able to quote at least the first two pages by heart. But I get ahead of myself.
Dickens is considered a master for a reason – the richness of his prose draws one into the scene inexorably, painting a picture so clear that there is no question as to what he is envisioning. His descriptions of Victorian London are, like in many of his works, of a city that is grimy, cruel, icy cold and full of hard people living hard lives. The poverty is palpable, in both the streets and the small house of Bob Cratchit, often with an ugliness that is different from what we see today. But amongst that hardness is beauty – the goodness of Christmas, of people caring for one another and creating joy so that we cannot entirely sink into despair. Even when brutal, his writing is beautiful – his similes and metaphors unique, concise, and often humorous.
The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slyly down at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there.
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, Stave One.
Perhaps most of all, I love his ability to forget the formality of writing and to speak to us as equals, as if we are in the room with him. He seeks confirmation from us as to the wisdom of a simile (what is there particularly dead about a doornail?), and ensures that we understand the significance of his choices. He wants us to know that he spent a great deal of time clarifying Marley’s deceased state because it is vital.
There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot – say St Paul’s churchyard for instance – literally to astonish his son’s weak mind.
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, Stave One.
Every scene that we are taken to as the ghosts draw Scrooge through memories of his life is spectacularly vivid: an abandoned run-down school room, Bob Cratchit’s small house house, his nephew’s more opulent parlor, Fezziwig’s Christmas party – one of the scenes which every adaptation insists upon including, probably due to the sheer pervasive joy.
Dickens’ style of long, almost run-on sentences works particularly well in scenes like this, where the breathless nature of the structure helps to understand the breathless excitement of the story. Who would not want to attend a party like this one, lit by candles and firelight, full of dancing and punch and the most gracious host one can imagine?
One of John Leech’s original illustrations.
Dickens chooses his words carefully, constructs them perfectly, with in depth descriptions that pull us into the world and make us feel that we are walking beside Scrooge on his journeys.
The story
It is not just the richness of the writing that I love – it is also the value of the story. It is more than just a wealthy, miserly man learning to give back; rather, it is also a tale of self-reflection. Few are as capable of harshly judging a person as that person himself or herself – throughout Stave (Chapter) One, it is evident that Scrooge knows perfectly well that people do not like him. He is happy with this, prefers it that way. It is only once he sees the impact he has had on others, the tragedies of his own life and the potential tragedies of those around him, that he can reflect back upon himself and realise he does not wish to be this way. He has made his own choices in life, he owns them, and decides to change his ways. It is a heroic and not easy thing to do. In his confrontation with the final spirit it is clear that just a desire to change may not be enough to save him, even has he beings to stammer his life-altering promise, that is also begging for another chance.
Now of course, Scrooge was faced early on with the threat of eternal damnation that Marley’s ghost revealed, but this was not enough to scare him. Not even when, in one of the more stark scenes of the story, he is forced to see other spirits desperately wishing that they could help a poor woman.
Below are two of the original illustrations that were published with the tale, by John Leech.
Instead, it is the terrifying figure of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, showing Scrooge how little the world will miss him, that really completes his repentance. He has been softened by the joy of the families he has seen, the love they show one another, by the Spirits of Christmas Past and Present. The horror of seeing his own grave is the ultimate in self-reflection. But I am not really here for an analysis of the story.
Why I love it
The quality of writing and the quality of the tale are only part of my affection for this story. It stems also, and perhaps primarily, from familiarity and memory. My father read the story to me, word for word, one stave each night, every Christmas for at least ten years. It is so ingrained in me that even when reading it silently (which I find hard to do), I can hear his voice and intonation, the way he would drop his voice half an octave when reading Scrooge’s dialogue and make the words more gravelly, or lighten the tone when reading Fred’s words (I suppose I should be relieved that he never attempted an accept). He read to me often when I was young, and would pause to explain words or phrases he thought I might not understand. In grade school, I surprised my class with my dramatic memorisation and performance of the first few pages of the tale for recitation day. I had always chosen a slightly different passage than my classmates – I preferred Lewis Carroll poems or Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses rather than something like the Gettysburg Address or Dr Seuss – and was generally shy. This piece of work which I knew so well and felt every word almost won me the class prize of reciting before the school, but not quite. I remember the moment well, decades later, and the confidence that the prose instilled in me.
Adaptations
I will fully admit that I have not watched every adaptation of A Christmas Carol, not in the least because there are just so many out there – more than 100 according to Wikipedia. Many older actors have attempted the role of Scrooge and can do the early staves well, the almost comic greed and cruelty. But the role also requires a softening, a growing humanity, which is both tragic and comic. And, I grow cross when there is no respect for the original prose – much of the dialogue can be pulled directly from the page, and I have always been a purist. I like when adaptations respect the source (perhaps I may write about my feelings on Jane Austen another time). And this source is sacrosanct.
There are two adaptations to which I return annually, as I wrote in last year’s post on Christmas movies.
The first is Mickey’s Christmas Carol. It is very short but contains all the original characters and despite the drastically fast visitation by the final spirit gives a good feel for the story. Plus, Scrooge McDuck is excellent. This is the first adaptation I ever watched, and Christmas just doesn’t feel right if I haven’t had a 20-minute window to see it. I have particular affection for the way the three Christmas spirits are portrayed, and for Donald Duck as Scrooge’s incorrigibly cheerful nephew.
The second is The Muppet Christmas Carol. The puppets work quite well somehow and the musical numbers are both hilarious and impossibly catchy. The highlight is of course Sir Michael Caine’s absolute straight-faced portrayal of Scrooge. He could have been in a film with only human actors and have played the role no differently – and so it works. He is delightful to the end, and there is careful attention to maintaining quite a bit of the original prose and dialogue.
Finally, this year I decided to widen my experience and so settled down to watch what is in fact yet another Disney production of the story – the 2009 Robert Zemeckis film ‘starring’ Jim Carrey as Scrooge and several of the spirits.
I was prepared to be annoyed and dislike it, as I tend to be less of a fan of Carrey’s more recent work (the Grinch for example). However, I was pleasantly surprised by several aspects of the film, not least how close it sticks to the book and its inclusion of several scenes that are frequently omitted, such as all the bells in the house ringing prior to Marley’s arrival, meeting Scrooge’s young sister, the gradual aging of the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the couple who owed Scrooge money but were relieved by his death.
The dialogue is generally a direct quote of the text, and it is clear that Zemeckis has true affection and respect for the story.
Likewise though, there were some parts that I did have some issue with. Firstly, I am not certain the director could make up his mind who the audience is – some scenes seemed aimed at children, but others were very adult (the twins Ignorance and Want, a concept probably beyond children and visuals quite frightening for youngsters). I found myself distracted by the animation, trying to see the original actors in the faces on screen, though the latter faded in time.
Overall I found a lack of subtlety, even in a book that does not particularly deal in subtlety. Dramatic scenes were overdone in a way that is typical of Disney shows for children – Marley was creepy, disgusting, and scary but not necessarily unsettling; the many ghosts of former misers were a bit over the top; on several occasions Scrooge is shooting through the sky, falling, or being dragged or chased through London, which seems to detract from the truth that this is all, really, in his head. The film rushed through the Fezziwig ball scene, but provided one of the most touching and accurate breakup with Belle scenes that I have watched.
Perhaps most annoyingly for me, I found the portrayal of the Ghost of Christmas present generally just…wrong. It may be that it was Carrey in yet another character – Gary Oldman, who played Cratchit, might have been a better choice – but I found his laugh to be more sinister than jolly, and I prefer the more forgetful, simple-minded versions of the Muppet and Mickey adaptations. The spirit’s death in particular was upsetting, as we watched him dissolve to a skeleton and then blow away – I am not sure what the point of this is, when in the book he just vanishes, leaving Scrooge alone in the darkness, with the final spirit approaching. That sudden, drastic change is jarring and unnerving it itself. Personally I would have been happy to cut that scene shorter and spend more time at the ball, though I realise it is less integral to the story.
I did find it intriguing that Zemeckis used the Mickey version’s idea of having Scrooge falling into a grave, where a fiery coffin waits for him, with his final speech proclaiming to keep Christmas in his heart stammered out as he clings to a root. This is certainly more dramatic, but I always miss the idea of Scrooge fighting with the spirit to have it, “dwindle down into a bedpost.”
Finally, I felt that overall, Scrooge’s giddiness upon awaking and his whole changed demeanour was well done. I was distracted by it being Jim Carrey, as he always has a touch of the Mask mania about him, but the book is followed more closely with Scrooge meeting Cratchit at the office the next day, which I enjoyed. This allowed Scrooge to go to his nephew’s house for dinner, and there is a moment of hesitation, of fear that he will not be accepted, and I think that is important to see.
Anyway. I have waffled on about this version at length partly because I had put off watching it for so long, and partly because it is so clear in my mind. I think, in fact, that it would be a very good option for children to watch to get a feel for the story (perhaps not too young though, as it is scary in places – I have a new appreciation of what is scary after terrifying my niece with Lady and the Tramp). I found the animation jarring but I understand that this style allowed Zemeckis to create the world with an authenticity that would otherwise be incredibly expensive. It is interesting to realise that all three versions were released by Disney, though in very different eras (1983, 1992, 2009) and with very different production teams. I look forward to, in time, exploring non-Disney adaptations. Above all, I really loved Gary Oldman’s Bob Cratchit, and the fact that he was able to narrate at the end, finishing of course with Tiny Tim’s observation, “God bless us, every one!”
Post script
It was suggested that I attempt to write about why A Christmas Carol is still relevant today though it was published nearly 200 years ago. I feel that Disney’s continued funding of new adaptations, and the continued popularity of plays and musicals of the story really make that suggestion moot. There is no need to analyse why it is still a popular story; it speaks for itself.
The Wandering Medievalist 