Saturday, January 28, 1995, Scotland: GOING HOME.
11:32 a.m. out. Another spacious train; snow and cloud obscuring the Caithness scenery. Quiet kids, read some Edwin Muir, a bit of a nap. A lovely valley opening to the inlet of Helmsdale. Tidal flats (Great Expectations) endless at Tain. Industrially blasted and refinery-ing at Invergordon. Train rides over vast spaces (physical and figurative) dramatically frames the laughable wretchedness of our environmental besmirchments, and the uglier of our dwellings. They’re so transitory, and piddly, for all the damage done.
Saturday, May 6 1995:
The workings are mostly gone, but some superb masonry remains, and some most majestic overgrowth. The best part is walking Drew along the wall over the river, where we pass a flowry meadow, and find a big iron ring in a wall. It’s the little things they like, finally. Back through town. We’re inclined to decry the rubbish, mad industrial wastelands that we see everywhere, so frequently, and so inappropriately, next to the celebrated historic sights. But the industrial ruins of the past 200 years bear their own poignant witness, and you don’t have to pay to see them.