Day Thirty Seven

Tuesday 20 July – Lockerbie to Moffat.

The memorial garden for victims of the Lockerbie disaster lies about a mile out of town, in the Dryfesdale cemetery. Three blocks of stone form a general memorial, with a polished panel behind them carrying the names of everyone who died - local people, passengers and aircrew. Throughout the garden, plaques have been placed honouring individual victims. A plaque for the Secretary General of the Socialist International is placed between those for a twenty year old and a twenty two year old woman. Two men (perhaps just boys) have placed plaques for their father, their mother, and their sister.

The memorials face West, across the cemetery, across farmland, towards the Southern Uplands. The condition of the garden and its contents is immaculate. A vole ran along the path, hopped over a kerbstone, and disappeared into some greenery. I left to start my day’s walk.

I mentioned that yesterday’s road walking was a means to an end, The end was to find the Annandale Way which would, I hoped, provide me with an interesting walk to Moffat. The Annandale Way is a 55-mile route between Annan, on the Solway, and Moffat, at the head of Annandale. It has been developed by an agency called Sulwath (ie Solway) Connections, in cooperation with local councils and landowners. There is a branch, which I hooked up with, from Lockerbie.

In fact I was on the Way within yards of leaving the cemetery. A short woodland walk led to a very quiet lane heading generally North to North West. Although I thought there was too much tarmac to begin with, the traffic levels on the lanes was very low, and there was lots of off-road walking to come.

Yesterday’s rain had been fairly typical for this area for the last week, while the rest of the country cooked in cloudless sunshine. The upside was that the fields here were very lush. Sheep and cows munched enthusiastically. Much of the land around here is owned by the Crown Estate, and they provided the first stretch of off-road walking, through Callaberry Plantation. Even beneath the trees it was warm enough for shirt sleeves. The grey skies of yesterday had given way to sunshine and lighter cloud, and constant sunshine later on.

Leaving the plantation, I followed more lanes until I reached the splendidly named Corncockle Plantation. What looked like a new path had been driven between a mixture of older and fresh planting. Spedlin’s Tower, built by the Jardine family in the 15th Century, lay off to my right. Legend has it that a local miller with the wonderful name of Dunty Porteas was imprisoned in the tower by one of the Jardines, who then went off to Edinburgh with the keys in his pocket, leaving poor old Dunty to consume the flesh from his own hands and arms before he finally perished. Not unreasonably, Dunty’s ghost made the Jardines’ lives miserable. Apparently, if you poke a stick into the tower’s dungeon, it will come back chewed. I didn’t try it with my trusty stick.

After another mile of trafficless lane, I turned on to a track which had probably been built to serve the small disused quarries shown on the map. I then had a choice between the main route and an alternative “avoiding the dairy farm”. I chose the farm route, but almost regretted it when I had to do a bit of stick-twirling to curb the enthusiasm of some inquisitive cows.

Showers had been forecast. I didn’t catch one, but the grass was wet enough to suggest that it had rained recently. The high spot (probably literally and certainly spiritually) came next – a long and attractive walk on forestry tracks. This was clearly a serious commercial operation, always more interesting than the inactive sort of woodland. The track deteriorated once I left the managed plantation, often generously sharing its course with overflow streams.

A stately home called Raehills could be glimpsed through the trees. Built of red sandstone, Raehills is the ancestral home of the earls of Annadale, or Hopetoun, or both – I got confused. Nowadays, Lord and Lady Johnstone will rent you the place to get married or to shoot animals and birds.

I drew closer to the house as my path plunged steeply, crossed the A701(T), and entered more woodland. Soon I was walking another forestry track, but not through trees. A large area had been felled, long enough ago for the initial scruffiness to be somewhat softened by grass and other new growth. After another deserted lane, I took a footpath into a field, stopped for a quick collapse, and met the Southern Upland Way as I approached Moffat.

The Ways together took me down the Crooked Lane (it was), over the railway and under the motorway at Beattock. Leaving the SUW to continue Eastwards, the AW headed over fields North towards Moffat. A notice by a gate asked us to report sightings of grey squirrels. Reds apparently still survive here, but are of course under threat. I idly wondered exactly what would be done with any greys which were caught – probably not just a pat on the head and advice to head South. Within minutes I was hearing on the TV news of a man who had been fined £1500 for drowning a grey squirrel.

Moffat High Street is a sort of dual carriageway – in fact two two-way roads separated by the inevitable car park. Without the cars, it would look very handsome. I was staying opposite the police station. To be fair, I saw no crime during my stay. But you never know…