Last day in Mull

Thursday, our last full day on Mull, was splendid. Bright and sunny, light breezes, if still quite cool by our standards. Mary expressed a desire to visit the local pottery, on top of the hill, just outside of town so after lunch off she went in the Hyundai. This left me to do whatever I wanted, within obvious limitations: no car, no boat, etc.

Having spotted, a couple of days ago, a leaflet advertising a FREE archeological expedition in the local area, I decided to pursue this possibility. The very first thing I found was that the meeting place for the expeditioners was the carpark of the pottery, where our car was already parked, by Mary. OK, so I felt like a walk anyway and, unsure of exactly how much time the journey to the rendezvous would need, pushed on with best speed up the steep hill leading from Tobermory’s harbour. I made the distance with ten minutes to spare and found several friendly members of the local Museum society as a welcome party.

Right on time, we set off in bright sunshine, three men, a dog, and about seven ladies, uphill along a well defined, ancient path bordered by moss covered rock walls. Olive, the chairman (sic) of the Museum Society, was in charge but Andrew, a fit 69 year old wearing Wellington boots, led the way.

Our first port of call was a site where two stones stood and a third, toppled at some unknown time in the past, lay between them.

I couldn’t help but recall that at the time these stones were being erected, many much more impressive monuments were already standing elsewhere, mainly outside Britain. Possibly the local economy at the time on Mull just couldn’t sustain anything more. It's likely that life in those days would have been harsh, with the weather and climate alone conspiring against an easy existence for the local human population.

Several other interesting sites nearby were visited as part of the expedition. But the main theme which emerged during discussions at the sites was that almost nothing is known of the people who lived here prior to a couple of hundred years ago.

We returned, with mud-covered boots, to the carpark meeting place after an enjoyable couple of hours in good company. Andrew and I, especially, hit it off really well and finished off with a couple of beers in the Mishnish before domestic administration matters intervened for both of us.

Friday, our morning of departure from Mull, was grey, gloomy and chilly. Noting that Duart castle, as yet unvisited by us, was near the ferry terminal, Mary and I opted to leave our cosy flat early enough to fit in a visit before leaving the island.

In good time we were in the line for boarding the “Isle of Mull” and had a great view as the ship came in and lifted its bow to expose the ramp and car deck.

And so we returned to Oban, which we’d left a week ago. We were quickly off the vessel and turned north for Glen Coe, infamous for the massacre of its population in the 18th century under the orders of King William.