Brechin Mechanics Institute

Brechin Mechanics institute

Home of learning and entertainment

Brechin (* see below for pronunciation) is a fascinating place.  The size of a large village, it is in fact one of Britain’s smallest cities.  It has a 13th century cathedral that’s now a parish church of the Church of Scotland.  Since it therefore has no Bishop, it isn’t technically a Cathedral any more.  (The Episcopalian Diocese of Brechin uses St Paul’s Church in Dundee as its Cathedral).  Because of this discrepancy, some people would say Brechin can no longer call itself a city.  Locals would not agree!

Brechin also boasts an 11th century Round Tower in the Irish style, one of only two in Scotland to survive.  It nearly didn’t make it through the 1960s, as local councillors considered it irrelevant and planned to demolish it.

The closure of the nearby US Air Force base some 20 years ago hit the city badly, but it’s finally getting back on its feet.  Many buildings date back to the 17th and 18th centuries, and some have recently been restored to their full glory.  Others are still very run-down and just crying out to be tidied up and put back to use…

Brechin Mechanics Institute

And it has the Brechin Mechanics Institute, a fine building that faces you as you approach the town from the Forfar road.  Historic Environment Scotland describes it as “Tudor gothic”, a designation I hadn’t come across before.   As it dates from 1838, the year of Queen Victoria’s coronation, I’d have though “Victorian gothic” would be more apt.  But I’m not an architectural historian.

John Henderson of Edinburgh designed the Mechanics Institute building.  He was the son of a gardener at Brechin Castle, just along the road.  The Earl of Dalhousie, owner of the Castle and, presumably, Henderson’s patron, gave it to the city.  Faced in fine ashlar stone, the building soars elegantly heavenwards, suggesting perhaps that the source of learning lies above.

The Mechanics Institutes movement dates from the Age of Enlightenment, that period in the early 19th century when philosophy, physics, chemistry and natural history, as we now know them, were born.  The first Mechanics Institute was founded in Edinburgh in 1823.  However, the idea goes back to George Birkbeck (for whom Birkbeck College is named) who started a group in Glasgow in the 1790s.  Another Mechanics Institute of the period is now better known as UMIST.

The Brechin Mechanics Institute occupies the site of an earlier school building.  It provided a night-school for “mechanics” (workers), and anyone else who wanted to improve their employability, on the upper floor.  The lower floor housed the High, Parochial and Burgh schools for youngsters.  It must have been a busy place in its heyday.

What happened next

The Institute didn’t just provide education: all sorts of groups met there.  The Guildry of Brechin used the building for meetings and still makes an annual donation towards its upkeep.  A Guildry was a group of Guilds of various trades;  Brechin’s dates from 1629.  Although it’s lost its original purpose, it’s still active in the civic and social life of the city.  Many of those civic and social events take place in the Mechanics Institute.

When the Managers and Patrons of the building felt unable to maintain it by themselves in 1950, ownership of the building was “vested in the City Council for the Common Good of the Burgh”.  It subsequently passed to the District Council who, in the 1970s, had the same difficulties and closed the building as an act of economy.

Events and artworks

Finally, after many years of negotiations, Brechin Mechanics Trust was founded to manage and maintain the building, though Angus Council still own it.  The Trust has refurbished and  updated the facilities.  There’s now provision for disabled access, for example, so the whole community can use the building.  The Institute once again hosts events of all kinds, from formal dinners, art shows and musical events to pop-up oriental rug and knitwear shops.

As a place of education, the Institute displayed paintings such as Phillip’s “Robert the Bruce on the Eve of Bannockburn”, to bring history to life.  There are several portraits of local citizens, to give students models to follow, including a QC, a Doctor of Divinity and the poet Alexander Laing.  There’s also the rather unpleasant-looking local landowner Lord Erskine, ancestor of the writer Violet Jacob.  They both lived at House of Dun, between Brechin and Montrose which is now a National Trust for Scotland property.  You can see the pictures, in the upper hall, whenever the Institute is open.

What else to see

When you’ve finished at the Brechin Mechanics Institute, there’s an excellent Town House Museum on the cobbled, steeply-sloping High Street.  The Cathedral and Round Tower should also definitely be on your itinerary.  Brechin still has lots of interesting shops, too, including one of the very few greengrocers to survive the onslaught of the supermarkets.  While you wander, keep your eyes open for the many architectural joys in this tiny gem of a city.  You never know what you might spot.

Find out more

* In case you’re wondering how to pronounce it, Brechin has a “ch” as in “loch” or the German “ach”, not as in “church”, and the “e” is long: “Breechhin” is the nearest I can get to writing it!

Brechin Mechanics Institute listing at Historic Environment Scotland: http://portal.historicenvironment.scot/designation/LB22459

Round Tower: https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/brechin-cathedral-round-tower/

Brechin Cathedral: https://brechincathedral.org.uk/about/

 

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The Silver Darlings

 

Nairn Fishwife with silver darlings
The Nairn Fishwife with her speldings

The east coast herring bonanza

In Nairn Harbour stands the statue of a Nairn Fishwife holding a handful of what look like kippers.  They’re Nairn speldings, one of the many ways the silver darlings (herring) were cured.

Unlike kippers, which are smoked, Nairn speldings were split open and dried in the sun.  The name comes from the Scots verb “speld”, meaning to spread out.  Most herrings weren’t turned into speldings, they were salt-cured and packed into barrels for transport to markets far from where they were caught.

Herring fishing  was a huge industry all down the east coast of Scotland, from the early 19th century until the First World War.  The west coast got in on the act later in the 19th century.  Their season was later too.  Boats from the east coast would make the difficult journey through the Pentland Firth to take part when their own season had ended.

At its height, the industry employed thousands of men at sea and women on land. The boats got bigger and the herrings dwindled.  By the 1970s, catching them was banned and stocks are only now recovering.

The fishwives

The women worked in teams of three, two gutting and one salting and packing.  They also kept house, looked after the children and the aged, found bait and attached it to the hooks and helped mend nets.

Around Arbroath, and possibly elsewhere, they also piggy-backed the men out to the boats so they wouldn’t have to spend the whole trip soaked.  I’m not sure how effective that would have been; my experience of small boats is that you get soaked anyway.

The women also sold fish locally, walking miles inland with their creels on their backs to hawk the fish from house to house. The word “fishwife” now has a rather derogatory feel to it, but these women played a very important part in the local economy.  The one in the statue stands tall and strong, sure of her worth.

The statue is interesting in another way.  The sculptor seems to have clothed his clay model in real clothes before casting it.  You can feel the texture of her cardigan and see the weave in her skirt.

The ice-house

Across the Moray Firth from Nairn, at Cromarty, we found an old turf-roofed ice-house built to supply the fishing industry.  Freezing the catch helped preserve it longer and extended the selling season, as well as providing unsalted fish for those who preferred it.

Cromarty ice house
Cromarty ice house

Half built into the bank, the building would have been filled with ice harvested from fresh-water lochs through the winter.  The semi-dungeon construction would have kept the ice cool enough to last until the herring season in May and June.

The Silver Darlings

If you want to get an idea of what the herring fishery meant to the north-east of Scotland, I strongly recommend Neil M Gunn’s book The Silver Darlings.  Published in 1941 and made into a film in 1947 by Clarence Elder, it gives an only-slightly-romanticised view of life in the early years of the industry.

The main characters were victims of the Clearances; fishing became a life-line for many such people, displaced in favour of sheep.  These were tough folk fighting a hard land and a capricious sea to make a living; they earned every penny the hard way.

Find out more

The Silver Darlings by Neil M. Gunn (ISBN: 9780571090419)

http://www.historyshelf.org/secf/silver/coull.php

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Cromarty’s Good Samaritan

James Thomson plaque, Cromarty
James Thomson’s blue plaque, Cromarty

James Thomson MD, hero of the Crimea

Embedded in the weathered sandstone wall of the antique shop at the corner of High Street and Church Street in Cromarty is a blue plaque.  It says “Birthplace of James Thomson MD, 1823-1854.  A Good Samaritan to wounded enemy Russians at the Battle of Alma in the Crimean War”.  Who was this medic who died, aged just 31, saving wounded soldiers on a battlefield?

James Thomson was born and brought up in the house now occupied by the antique shop.  He must have been a bright child and either came from a well-off family or was supported by one, because he trained as a doctor and joined the Army Medical Department.

Malta

He must have joined up almost as soon as he qualified, as by February 1848 he was Assistant Surgeon to the 7th Dragoons.  In 1850 he moved to the 44th (East Essex) Regiment of Foot and was posted to Malta, where a cholera epidemic was raging.

Cholera, a vicious diarrheal killer, was common in places where people were crowded together with poor sanitation.  Military hospitals were no exception.  The epidemic wiped out all the other medics working there but Thomson survived.

The website Regimental Surgeons of the Malta Garrison quotes the Roll of Commissioned Officers in the Medical Service of the British Army.  “The skill, fortitude, and humanity, displayed by him in arresting the progress of that disease, gained for him the praises of the Commander-in-Chief”.

From Malta he went to Gibraltar for three years, then in April 1854 he left for Turkey on the way to the Crimea.

Crimea

The Crimean War arose because Britain and France were trying to prevent Russia gaining territory and influence in Turkey as the Ottoman Empire crumbled.  The allies wanted control of the Russian Black Sea port of Sebastopol, in the Crimean region of the Ukraine.  Crimea has recently in the news again, of course: it’s still strategically important to Russia.

The Battle of Alma, the first major battle of the Crimean War, was a British and French victory.  When the allied armies left the battlefield, Thomson volunteered to stay behind.  With just his batman to help, he looked after 700 desperately wounded Russians.  Despite the dangers of marauding Cossack soldiers nearby and lack of food , within days he’d managed to save some 400 of them and ensure they embarked for Odessa and home.

He moved on to the military hospital at Balaclava, where Florence Nightingale also worked.  Either because of a lack of available doctors or becauseThomson was considered immune after his experiences in Malta, he was assigned to work on the cholera ward.

Sadly, he wasn’t immune.  After just 34 hours on the ward he caught the infection and nine hours later he died, 15 days after the Battle of Alma.  His batman buried him on the shores of the Black Sea.

Thomson was acclaimed in Parliament for his bravery and his work was celebrated by William Russell, The Times’ war correspondent, who also made Florence Nightingale’s reputation.

And back to Cromarty

The blue plaque is not Thomson’s only memorial.  In true philanthropic Victorian style, a bursary was set up in his name to help children educated and living in Cromarty.

And Thomson’s friend Sir James MacGrigor, Director General of the Army Medical Department, erected an obelisk to him at Forres.  He had wanted to erect it in Thomson’s birthplace but the local landowner didn’t approve the chosen site.  So he built it across the Moray Firth instead, where people can see it from Cromarty.

The obelisk makes no mention of the cholera, stating that Thomson died “from the effects of excessive hardship and privation” – which may indeed have contributed by lowering his resistance to infection.

It describes him as an officer “whose life was useful and whose death was glorious”.  That’s a good epitaph for a young man – or, indeed, anyone.

Find out more:

https://www.maltaramc.com/regsurg/t/thomsonj.html

http://www.forres-gazette.co.uk/News/Letters/Forres-fascinating-Crimea-connection-25032014.htm

http://www.cromartyhistory.scot/index.asp?pageid=511913

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Moray, Beauly, Cromarty and Ness

Hugh Miller's cottage, Cromarty
Hugh Miller’s cottage, Cromarty

Three Firths and a Loch

Moray, Beauly, Cromarty and Ness sound like an old-fashioned firm of lawyers, don’t they?  And the Black Isle adds a touch of intrigue to the proceedings…  The reality is slightly less dramatic.

The Moray, Beauly and Cromarty firths almost completely encircle the Black Isle (we’ll come to Ness later). The delta of the River Conon does its best to finish the circuit to the north east, and the Beauly River does the same to the south west, but the Black Isle isn’t actually an island at all.  It’s what the French call a presqu’isle, a nearly-island: a peninsula.

The Black Isle

It’s an unexpectedly beautiful peninsula.  The “black” name (it’s the same in Gaelic: an t-Eilean Dubh) comes from the fact that, since it’s rather flat land and almost surrounded by water, snow doesn’t lie there in winter.  So it looks dark compared to the white hills ranged behind it.  No skulduggery involved.

In the soft rain of March it looked not black but very green across the Moray Firth.

Heading north from Inverness, it was a case of “Beauly to left of them, Moray to right, over the Kessock Bridge the car thundered” (to misquote Tennyson).  Shortly afterwards we thankfully left the busy A9 and headed east, across the top of Munlochy Bay.

Passing through Fortrose, a handsome, largely Victorian town with a ruined 13th century cathedral, we turned left at Rosemarkie.  Both places looked as though they’d repay a closer look – another trip for another day.

We were headed for Cromarty, the historic town at the north-eastern tip of the Isle.  It’s beautifully preserved, without having been set in aspic.  In fact, it’s very much alive, with all sorts of cultural happenings and events throughout the year.

Cromarty

We had hardly entered the town when the welcome sign “Tea, coffee and books” brought us up all standing.  A good cup of coffee surrounded by second-hand books?  It would have been churlish to drive on.

Later, abandoning our purchases in the car, we pottered down to the shoreline and found a couple of craft shops to spend more money in.  Walking along the green near the water’s edge we came across what must be one of the smallest wooden cabin boats ever built, and the old lighthouse, now a Field Studies Centre for Aberdeen University.

We also passed an intriguing grass-thatched building which bore a tiny plaque explaining that it was a 19th century ice-house – an important installation during the boom years of the “silver darlings”, the herring fisheries that briefly made these shores rich.

Sadly, one of the reasons for visiting Cromarty was closed: Hugh Miller’s cottage.  Miller was an early geologist and fossil-studier and his tiny thatched childhood home sits almost next door to the old Court House (also a museum; also closed).  Ah well, another reason to come back; next time in summer.

Arts, crafts and dolphins

We rather fell for Cromarty – as have all sorts of artists and crafters, drawn to the quality of the light, the (formerly) cheap property prices and the sense of community.  Perhaps also to the opportunities for dolphin watching.  We didn’t see any – just oil and gas rigs – but “you should have been here this morning” when they’d been cavorting in the bay.  Ain’t it always the way?

Following the coast round to the north west, we crossed the Cromarty Firth via the rather odd Cromarty Bridge: it’s about three miles long and flat as a pancake.  Most bridges rise a bit in the middle; crossing this one feels more like driving over a causeway.  Obviously they’re not expecting any ships to pass underneath.

Reaching the other side, we did consider heading north to Wick and Thurso, but we had to be back for dinner…  Instead we turned the car towards Dingwall, Beauly and Loch Ness, hoping to visit Urquhart Castle.

Loch Ness

It was not our day for visitor attractions.  Rush hour in Beauly (five minutes) delayed us enough that we arrived as they were cashing up – though they kindly allowed us downstairs in the visitor centre to use the loos.  So all we saw was the view over the stone wall from the car park.

It’s a good view and you can see why the Urquharts built their castle where they did.  In a fine defensive position on a small promontory, it has commanding views of both the loch and the road along the edge of it.  Probably very windy and damp, mind you; great views have their drawbacks.

Returning towards Inverness, we passed the first section of the Caledonian Canal, one of Thomas Telford’s great engineering feats.  By connecting Lochs Ness, Oich, Lochy and Linnhe through the Great Glen, he created a route for ships that avoided the long and dangerous passage through the Pentland Firth and around Cape Wrath.

It took longer than expected to build and cost over twice its original budget (of course) but it’s saved incalculable time, money and lives, especially during the two World Wars.  Not only has it survived to become a scheduled ancient monument but it’s never stopped carrying working boats, unlike most British canals.  One of these days I’ll take a boat along it.

“Another time”, “another reason to come back”, “one of these days” – I definitely haven’t finished with Messrs. Moray, Beauly, Cromarty and Ness.

Find out more at

http://www.black-isle.info/

https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/urquhart-castle/

https://www.scottishcanals.co.uk/canals/caledonian-canal/

 

 

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Glamis Castle, Angus

Glamis Castle
Glamis Castle (photo by Helen MacGregor)

What is it about Glamis?

I’ve been trying to analyse why Glamis Castle is my favourite (non-ruined) castle…

Is it the fairy-tale turrets of pink sandstone rising up against a background of hills and the warm ruggedness of the whole as you approach down the long drive?

Or the treasures of furniture, paintings and porcelain it houses, and the extraordinary engineering achievement of its wheel stair (as described by Fred Dibnah in one of his inimitable programmes)?

The stories, history and ghosts?

Or perhaps it’s just that I know it so well.  I worked there for 11 years, as a guide and occasionally in the office.  I made good friends there and loved (mostly!) the groups of tourists we took round and their sometimes astonishing questions.

Family history

But I think it’s the family history that grabs me most.  For example, the shrewd 3rd Earl who designed Glamis Castle as we see it today, having brought the family fortunes back from the brink of bankruptcy.  He kept a Book of Record (diary) in which he recorded his thoughts on life, philosophy, family – and builders.  It seems these last haven’t changed much since the 16th Century!

The 4th Earl, his oldest son, with a strong eye to posterity and proving hs position in the world, had enough portraits and busts of himself made to stock a gallery.

The 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th Earls, all brothers, prove the necessity of having a good number of sons to ensure the succession.  The 8th, incidentally, though he lived longest, seems to be the only Earl who never got around to having his portrait painted (though it is possible that one of the miniatures in the family’s possession is of him).

The 9th Earl, a handsome man described as a “good bottle companion” married the fabulously rich, intelligent and highly-educated Mary Eleanor Bowes.  She had a horrible life after the Earl died (young, probably of tuberculosis), and ended up divorcing her second husband – almost unheard of in those days and the object of much discussion in the newspapers.  She won the case, with public opinion on her side, which was equally unusual for a woman in such a case.

Politics, gossip, intrigue – like all noble families, the Bowes Lyons of Glamis have had their share.  And much of it happened at Glamis Castle.

Family home

But above all, Glamis has been a family home.  Dozens of children, including the late Queen Mother, grew up here.  There are graves of family pets in the garden and plenty of trees crying out to be climbed by adventurous young sons.  They had a curling pond and a cricket pitch in the grounds.  The old cricket pavilion has been moved down to the back of the Castle; for several years it was the Castle office and it’s now used for children’s entertainments, but it still looks like a cricket pavilion, with a separate small room for the scorers so they wouldn’t be distracted by chit-chat.

Not everything you see on the castle tour is grand.  A lot of it’s big, but it’s all on a human scale, especially when you consider how large families were.  A dining table that can seat 28 doesn’t seem that huge when you have a family of 10 children, plus the spouses of the older members, to fit in.

Visitors

Glamis is a house built for entertaining and it’s seen some famous visitors, Mary Queen of Scots, King George VI, Sir Walter Scott and William Ewart Gladstone among them.  It’s still welcoming visitors today – thousands of them every year – and entertaining them, albeit on a less grandiose scale.  (And these days they don’t stay in bedrooms complete with a private ghost but no plumbing!)

You can’t wander around the house on your own: all visits are by guided tour, and I think that’s a good thing (well I would say that, wouldn’t I?).  The guides are an interesting and knowledgeable bunch – and not just about the Castle – and you’ll discover far more about the place than you would on your own.

If you can, take a full day to see the Castle and grounds at your leisure, especially if the weather’s fine.  Don’t make the mistake so many coach tours do and try to cram it into a couple of hours; there’s too much to see.  I used to take groups of Italians round; Glamis was often their third castle of the day and they were “castled out”.

It’s a waste.  Take your time, enjoy your visit and maybe you’ll be able to answer the question “What is it about Glamis?” for yourself.

More information about Glamis Castle

… can be found on their website, www.glamis-castle.co.uk or by phone on +44(0)1307 840393.  The Castle is closed through the week November-March (for exact dates see the website).  The Christmas Fair in December is worth an expedition all on its own, as are the various theatrical events throughout the year.

 

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David Douglas Memorial, Scone

David Douglas memorial
David Douglas Memorial in Scone churchyard

Remarkable plant collector

In spring, roadside verges, hedges and gardens are bright with the myriad pinks of flowering currant, a plant so widespread that I’d always thought it was native.  That’s until I took a short detour to the churchyard on the outskirts of Scone, just outside Perth, following a brown sign to the David Douglas Memorial.

It turns out it was Douglas who introduced flowering currant to Britain.  Not just Ribes sanguineus, either.  Douglas fir (yup, he’s that Douglas), Sitka spruce, Monterey pine, California poppy and a couple of hundred other plants are all “his” too.

The plants he discovered became fashionable with wealthy garden owners who wanted exotic novelties to show off, and spread from there.  Nowadays Sitka spruce in particular, and to a lesser extent Douglas fir, are hugely important in the UK timber industry.

David Douglas started his working life aged 11 in the gardens of Scone Palace, just up the road.  He went on his first plant hunting expedition to North America in 1823, still only 24.  A short 10 years later he was dead, gored by a wild bull after falling into a pig-trap in Hawaii.  What a way to go!  How many other plants would he have introduced had he lived longer?

Memorial to David Douglas

The Memorial was built in 1841 by Douglas’s admirers to recognise his great contribution to horticulture and forestry.  It stands at the top of the churchyard, not huge but imposing.

The churchyard gates are wired together, but don’t let that put you off: the wire’s just there to stop the gates being blown around, because the latch doesn’t work.  Go round to the right, past what looks like a lodge [the first time I’ve ever seen one in a churchyard.  Was it the gardener’s cottage?  Sadly, there was no-one to ask so I’m none the wiser] and up the slope.  This is one of the rare times when “you can’t miss it” is true.

The churchyard is open all year, oddly enough!  The carefully-mown grass is slippy if there’s been a lot of rain recently.  There’s a large car park next to the church with plenty of shade from mature trees.

If you want to go for a walk, a footpath along the stream starts at the car park gate and heads into a small patch of woodland; it makes a good 20 minute stroll.

Alternatively, Kinnoull Hill, a mixed woodland with miles of trails on the outskirts of Perth, is also a great place to walk.  Just follow the signs up to the left as you come into Perth from the Scone direction.   You need to be fit enough for a steepish climb.  Right at the top of the hill there’s a cliff-top folly, built by a Victorian with a sense of the picturesque.  It’s a bit nervousness-inducing if you don’t like heights but the view across the Tay is fabulous.  Worth the climb.

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Balmerino Abbey, Fife

Balmerino Abbey chestnut tree
Balmerino Abbey chestnut tree

A small patch of Paradise in Fife

Cross the Tay Road Bridge from Dundee to Newport and turn right and you’ll find a small patch of Paradise on the edge of the River Tay: the ruined Balmerino Abbey.

It was founded in 1229 as a daughter-house of Melrose Abbey, a working Cistercian Abbey until the Reformation, and converted to a private house in around 1660.

Today there’s not much left.  One and a bit walls of the church remain and humps mark where pillars used to support the roof.

Parts of the Chapter House and living accommodation can also be seen but this is now all fenced off, as it’s unsafe to enter and is undergoing stabilisation.  You can still see some fine carving around the arches, though, which gives an idea of how lovely the building must once have been.

A separate building, half under-ground, was either the infirmary or the Abbott’s house, according to the NTS sign.  I thought it might have been an ice-house.   The Undiscovered Scotland site reckons it was the cellar of the Abbott’s house; I prefer that idea to the thought of sick monks lying in dripping gloom.

The Abbey was never large – probably no more than 20 monks lived here at any one time.  It was damaged first by the English in 1547 and again by Scottish Protestants in 1559, and went into decline.  By 1606 it was a secular lordship for James Elphinstone, 1st Lord Balmerino.

Visiting Balmerino Abbey

We visited on a hot day but the mown grass was damp and very pleasant on bare feet.  There’s a short nature trail through the trees and one ancient, fabulously contorted Spanish chestnut tree, with huge metal props supporting its sagging limbs.  It’s worth coming just to see the tree, which legend says dates from 1229!

A visit to Balmerino Abbey won’t take long but it’s a beautiful, peaceful spot to while away half an hour or so.  You could have your picnic at one of the tables under the trees before walking along the Tay (see below).  It’s definitely worth the trip if you’re interested in history or just want a quiet spot to relax in.

Balmerino is reached from the Wormit-Newburgh road on the south side of the Tay, then down a narrow lane (sign-posted).  The Abbey’s on the right before you reach the village of Balmerino.  It’s a National Trust for Scotland property, so if you’re not a member please put some money in the honesty box.  The cash will be used to help preserve the ruins.

You can park on the verge outside the gate or, if that’s full, there’s room for 2-3 cars a bit further down the lane.  When you’ve finished enjoying the Abbey, walk down the lane to this second parking area, turn left past a cottage and you come to the shingly beach of the Tay.  It’s another great place for a picnic, especially at low tide.  Keep going along the bank and there are paths up into the woods where you can get a good hour’s walk.

Find out more at http://www.nts.org.uk/Property/Balmerino-Abbey/

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