Bute Medley

It's been a long-held dream of mine to visit the Scottish islands, as many of them as I can fit into my lifetime. Our move to Scotland last year has made this ambition more of a possibility. In June we began our adventure with a visit to Bute, a small island with a population a similar size to the village where we live. It also seems to be a lesser known islands, dwarfed by the popularity of Skye and other islands that seem to be overrun by tourists in the summer. Our week was a quiet one towards the end of the school term and still a long way off the height of the tourist season.

It was just an hour's drive to Wemyss Bay and a thirty minute ferry crossing to Rothesay. Our holiday let for the week was on the seafront, where we could look across to the mainland and watch the ferry coming and going all day long, and a distant lighthouse flashing at nightfall.

It was a place where everything seemed very close to hand. We could drive around the island at a leisurely pace in just a couple of hours, which is something we did towards the end of our stay. We spent the early days skimming stones, paddling in the warm sea and digging in the sand, breathing in the calming sea air and absorbing the ambience of this small but idyllic place.

We visited Rothesay Castle, which at the time was overpopulated with nesting gulls and their young. We braved the battlements and thankfully weren't perceived to be a threat by the mothers, who can be notoriously defensive when they want to be. I should know, as I was once dive-bombed in my garden by a seagull who thought I presented a risk to her young, two storeys up on the roof!

I was completely struck by the shape of other islands in the distance, especially the dramatic and mountainous terrain of Arran, which though six miles away seemed incredibly close when seen from parts of Bute. Looking out to sea and seeing other islands rising in the distance, always filled me with the same sense of wonder and desire to explore these uncharted territories.

I think we chose the best week in the year for weather. It rained but once during our stay, soon after our arrival, and so lightly that we weren't even aware of it until afterwards when we noticed the ground was slightly wet. The sea was a beautiful azure in the sunshine and it was such a delight to take in the landscape from viewpoints, such as the one above Scalpsie Bay, which we visited on more than one occasion.

We also visited one of several lochs on the island, Loch Fad. It was a very quiet and peaceful place, almost completely deserted apart from a couple of horses, grazing in a field nearby. Even from here we could see the mountains of Arran rising in the distance beyond the loch.

One of Rothesay's top tourist attractions are the Victorian toilets on the seafront. We paid forty pence to take a look, and they certainly proved to be an interesting and novel diversion. 

We enjoyed our walks along the seafront at Rothesay, looking out across the water to the Kyles of Bute, and watching the ferry arrive. Moth was incredibly excitable during the ferry journey, and looked forward to the return journey so much that I feel this was his highlight of the week.

As our holiday drew to a close, we scoured the points where seal sightings were most common, but always in vain. It was only by chance that we spotted one on our last day, basking on a rock near Rothesay. 

 

The day of our departure arrived and we boarded the ferry again and watched as Bute shrank gradually into the distance. We drove a little way down the coast from Wemyss Bay, and stopped at Largs where we watched the ferry arriving from Great Cumbrae. We looked across to the island and Little Cumbrae beside it, and still we could see Bute a little way beyond.

We enjoyed our first Scottish island adventure. Bute certainly whet our appetite for further exploration of the Western isles. But on this occasion we were glad of the short drive home, aware also that the close proximity will allow us to return to Bute someday, even if only for a day trip.

Being on the Other Side

It's a strange state of being, when you've been anticipating something for a long time, and you finally emerge on the other side. I am overcome by a sense of euphoria and also disbelief. For many months I have tried to envisage aspects of our new life here. Waking up in our home. Village life. The first day in my new work place. 

It still hasn't quite sunk in, even a month on. I almost expect to open my eyes and find myself back in the midst of transition, with half-packed boxes and chaos strewn across the room. It's been like this with any big change in my life. I remember my pregnancy with each of my children, nine months of wondering who I was carrying inside me, what they'd be like, and afterwards, not quite believing they were really here. And meeting Sewel for the first time after a year of talking online. That didn't seem real either.

One day reality will catch up with me, and I won't think about it any more. But for now, strange as it feels, it's also pretty wonderful to be here at last. On the other side.

The Hardest Part

It wasn't the decision to put everything in motion, or the lengths we went to in preparing our house to go on the market. Although I remember well the challenge of condensing down our belongings, and the long, late nights spent, towards the end, filling cracks, painting, rearranging rooms to bring out their best. 

Nor was it the long weeks on the market. The offers that were made just four days in, only to come to nothing. The positive viewings, and the time we spent hoping in vain for a genuine offer. The barren weeks that followed Easter, where the viewings themselves seemed to become a rarity.

Even the packing and the move itself did not quite compare, although the last few days were frantic and adrenaline-driven. Working to tight deadlines. Little sleep to be had. A long journey northwards, following a full day of physical labour. We drove into the night, knowing the end was near.

The hardest part, although not by a long shot, was saying goodbye. Not so much to the place that's been our home for the last five years, but to the friendships forged there. Work colleagues. Families we've known through baby classes and toddler groups. And, most painfully, a church where we've found so much love and acceptance. Whenever anyone said how much they would miss us I felt such a surge of guilt, humility and poignancy. It was immense.

Although not especially sad to move on, I found myself leaving a piece of myself behind. A piece I can live without, but a small part of me nevertheless. It belongs now to the people who cared about us, the people who will stay in touch and hold on to the memories we've shared together. It will be with them for as long as they remember. Just as the piece I hold of them will stay with me until I forget.

Soon

It came to me as a whisper, one morning at work while I was praying silently. A single word, but one that brought so much calm and comfort, quietening the tumult of emotion that had threatening to overwhelm me. 

This came shortly after the flawless rainbow that arched over us one evening as we were driving home. The rainbow of God's promise. 

For so long we had been pursuing a dream, but following a long period of activity, we had reached a stage of transition and waiting, a time of hope and disappointment in quick succession. Waiting has never been a strong point of mine, especially in situations that lie beyond my control. 

I went about my daily activities and tried not to dream too much. I didn't dare to envisage a new life ahead, because I knew it could so easily be someone else's life and not mine. I refrained from furnishing our desired home in my head because tomorrow it could have been claimed by someone else. 

Instead, I pictured it as it was last September, when we saw it, those empty rooms I so long to fill with our life, our life that is currently decanted into boxes shared between a shipping container and the discreet little nooks in our current place. The place I've never quite thought of as home. 

That morning I was given a time-scale of sorts. Though non-specific, I knew that the days of waiting, hoping, praying were numbered, and that an outcome would shortly be fulfilled. 

You may note that I write this in the past tense.  

The wisest words are whispered.