Remote Britain

by Thomas, David St John

• ISBN13: 9780711230545
• ISBN10: 0711230544
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2010-07-29
• Publisher: Frances Lincoln

Summary

Remote Britain relishes the ever-changing landscapes of our island and the people who grow out of them. And the constant surprises. Who, for example, would guess that some of England's remotest hilly walks are to be found in the Lincolnshire Wolds, how sharp are the contrasts to be found within the Isles of Scilly, how remote it is possible to feel in Essex, or how extraordinary is 'Yorkshire's teardrop', Spurn Point, way out in the Humber estuary?There is an abandoned railway even to that spot. As in his acclaimed Journey Through Britain, Mr Thomas finds remains of railways and even active steam trains in the most unlikely of places, stays in hotels to fall in love with or to hate, and is never short of people to express their own views, as he does colourfully himself in chapters such as 'In the Footsteps of the Queen Mother'. This thinking traveller's tour of some of Britain's most out-of-the-way places throws up many common themes. Populations are small but contented. The sea was the historic highway, opening up trade and bringing Christianity well before it reached most inland areas. The armed forces still command many areas of great scenery yet reductions in personnel have lessened employment, prospects in some particularly remote areas suh as the northern extremity of Britain, Unst with its unique history and way of life.In the National Parks and along the great cliffs of Upland Britain, the marshy areas and crumbling coastlines of the lowland east, and the surprising cut-off places in more central areas, Mr Thomas is fascinated by exotic historical touches and the ways people live and work. Here is a book to dip into, savour and refer to many times.

Excerpts

INTRODUCTION

The Land of Common Sense

Remote Britain is a delight, and my passion for it will soon be obvious. It includes some of the world's best cliff scenery, and most of Britain's mountains. In contrast with harsh earlier times, it is home to an unusually happy though still thin population with, I believe, a better value system than in the country as a whole. For one thing it is still the land of common sense, though full of paradoxes.

The first paradox is that almost everywhere in remote areas people are happier and better off when communications improve. Easier access is responsible for many populations rebuilding. Only in a few places is it now declining. But, welcome though they generally are, might the stream of incomers so increase that it destroys the very values that attract them? New building is evident even on most islands, and some roads which one used to almost guarantee having to oneself are now busy and serve strings of new homes.

The second is that in many areas the landscape has suffered with the decline of the aristocracy. The first lines of the now unacceptable and unsung verse of 'All things bright and beautiful' rang particularly true in Scotland: 'The rich man in his castle, The poor man at his gate.' Today there is a very noticeable difference in what is happening between coastal areas and in upland areas and the Glens. Incomers, or 'white settlers', are more attracted by islands and seaside areas, than the very remote island ones where the aristocracy have also loosened their grip.

Sporting estates have been hit by the egalitarian movement that most of us accept as desirable though not liking some of the consequences. It has only been the nouveau riche created by the property and investment boom, spanning the end of the last millennium and start of this, that has prevented decline devastating more of what we have come to see as the natural, though in fact highly artificial, upland and glen sporting environments. This is a subject I go into in the chapter 'Through the Glens'.

Another paradox is that, while in the past farmers were subsidised for over-production, economics then forced so much livestock off the land that huge tracts began to be overgrown by bracken and other coarse vegetation - added to which currently the chief subsidy paid to farmers is for set-aside, fields where weeds grow rampant. Very recently, and after most of this book had been written, have many farm crops (though not milk) again become more profitable.

Nothing more demonstrates the violent pendulums of 'policy' than what has happened to sheep even during the period this book has taken shape. When we made our first journey, sheep were almost as much treasured as in the cruel days of the Highland Clearances, when humans were displaced to make way for the more profitable four-legged beasts. Soon, however farmers were complaining about poor prices and, starting with small crofters who had kept only a handful, sheep steadily disappeared. Now you can travel many miles in any part of Remote Britain without seeing a single flock… and yet, at the time of writing, there is an outcry about the high price of food.

Who will take care of the countryside if farming massively retreats? It is a question inevitably raised on my journeying. Cause and effect are rarely fully understood let alone foreseen. What city dwellers, finding it harder to camp beside rivers, because the grass has grown longer, and complaining about the price of meat, would connect both to sheep? Look forward to coming across more such paradoxes in later chapters. It should however be stressed this is not a political or preaching book. My aim is to share my love of Remote Britain, which means getting into the minds of its people, their hopes and fears. Remote Britain has much to teach us.

What is 'Remote?'

What, anyway, does one mean by remote. The word certainly conveys different things to different people. If it were not for the fact that it is the gateway to hundreds of square miles of much greater remoteness, the holiday town of Pitlochry, with its theatre now 'winterised' for all-year productions, might be seen as isolated. However, when some companies charge extra delivery charge because of the postcode, locals huff and puff. Remote? Ridiculous. Compared with many places, it's dead central.

In our home town, the little resort of Nairn, on the Moray Firth sixteen miles east of Inverness, we count ourselves lucky to be near an airport and mainline railway, and to live in an oasis of civilisation with much wilder, less populated lands north, south, east and west. However, when friends tell us they'll pop in to see us while visiting Edinburgh, they are horrified to hear that it takes us longer to reach the Scottish capital than it does to get to London from Torquay. 'Why on earth do you live there?' I've been asked accusingly. A company specialising in herringbone brick-laid drives advertised it undertakes surveys without obligation anywhere on the mainland, but my enquiry was answered with: 'We don't do Islands.' Perhaps they thought the sea began at Perth. Much the same things happen in parts of Cornwall, West Wales and Lincolnshire.

At the other extreme, there are those who say that virtually nowhere in Britain is remote in the way that the Falklands or Antarctica are. Others assume that my title implies I cover only outliers such as the Isles of Scilly and the Shetlands. Then, again, to some remoteness simply implies being off the beaten track, or perhaps a long way from a road. In America it was once claimed that on that basis, somewhere in the middle of a huge freight marshalling yard near Chicago was the remotest. It was certainly the hardest point for any ordinary person to reach by car or on foot.