John Elkington

Jedburgh Abbey 1 Jedburgh Abbey 2 Jedburgh Abbey 3 Jedburgh Abbey 4 Jedburgh Abbey 5 (walrus ivory comb aligning with Abbey tower) William Wallace Memorial {art of the William Wallace memorial obscures part of Trimontium Trimontium from Scott’s View Dryburgh Abbey (detail)

Early part of day spent visiting Jedburgh and Dryburgh Abbeys. At the latter, a wedding was taking place, so we hovered on the edges. Then we drove up to the William Wallace Memorial and to Scott’s View. Truly strange to find Earl Haig‘s grave in Dryburgh Abbey. Sent a deep chill through me in the midst of all the nuptial keening of the pipes. The same, though to a much lesser degree, with the William Wallace memorial: poor, brave man.

Tim on the right Spitfire 1 Spitfire 2 Spitfire 3 Bottom up: Hurricane, Spitfire and Provost Bottom up: Hurricane and Spitfire

Elaine and driver of Cumbrian Classic Coach En route Marquee Promised Land

My having characteristically misread one of two invitations, we arrived marginally late this afternoon for Clare Kerr’s wedding to Nick Hurd at Monteviot House, so Elaine and I accepted a lift once we had parked our rental car in a field. This was from the driver of a delightful Cumbrian Classic Coach – nervously aware, even though the trip took about two minutes, that its age and our solitary splendour was probably blowing our carbon budget for the next year or two.

Finding ourselves squeezed in on the groom’s side, rather than the bride’s, I was delighted to find myself sitting alongside William Kendall, who I first met when he was studying at INSEAD – before his later adventures with companies like The Covent Garden Soup Company and Green & Black’s.

This was the first wedding I have been to whose order of service started with a quote from Sir Hugh Walpole (‘The Most Wonderful Of All Things In Life’) and ended with an Apache Blessing. Met a number of people we knew – and others we didn’t – during the subsequent drinks overlooking the River Teviot and dinner in a marquee, in which we were seated at a table labeled ‘Promised Land’ with the likes of Christopher and Nonie Ward (he was a previous Chairman of WWF) and Jules Peck, and his wife Vicky.

Then out onto a balcony overlooking the Teviot for probably the most spectacular firework display I have ever seen at close quarters. As the extraordinary sound system in the valley delivered the opening chords of Satisfaction, and the fireworks flowered overhead like a scene from Hans Solo’s piloting of the Millennium Falcon through star-fields, I thought I had achieved some higher form of satisfaction – whatever nearby fish, badgers and owls may have made of the WWI-style goings-on above their heads. People who live locally told us later that the display could be seen from miles away. These images don’t do justice to the spectacle, but they are what I captured as the heavens erupted overhead.

Fireworks 1 Fireworks 2 Fireworks 3 Fireworks 4 Fireworks 5 Fireworks 6 Fireworks 7 Fireworks 8 Fireworks 9

Airbus, Spitfire and Hurricane over White Cliffs (source: PA)

Today, my youngest sister, Tessa, accompanied my father, Tim, on a fly-past of the White Cliffs, with 13 Battle of Britain pilots (Tim included) borne aloft in an Airbus, accompanied for part of the journey by a Hurricane and a Spitfire.  

Apparently, getting through Heathrow was a bit of a nightmare for Tim, who now has a pacemaker. (I was also offered one a few years back, but thought I’d wait a bit.)  The security people wouldn’t take his word for it, so they sent him off for his own X-ray. Several other pilots had the same treatment, probably because of artificial hips or knees, or simply their body burdens of shrapnel!

The oldest Battle survivor was apparently 97, the youngest (Tim among them) 89. No doubt they all felt an array of emotions once airborne, but it was interesting to hear how a photographer set Tim up for a photograph that then appeared in the Daily Mail‘s online coverage. Various photographers were leaning across Tim to take pictures of the escorting aircraft, with sunlight pouring in through the window and an occasional flash going off. Then a photographer indicated that Tim should wipe his eye and he, trustingly assuming that there was something to be mopped up or dislodged, pulled out a handkerchief – and the photographer got his shot. Tim not at all amused.

Two Foxes were on board, the actor Edward Fox and Defence Secretary Liam Fox, who thanked the veterans, but the highlight for Tessa and Tim, at least, came when the Airbus was allowed to fly low during its flight back up the Thames over London, and they got a very close look at the city which helped save the RAF during the dangerous days of 1940 – when Goering made the mistake of bombing Britain’s capital in retaliation for an RAF raid on Berlin, thus allowing the RAF to catch its breath and rebuild its airfields.

For me, one of the great tragedies of the whole WWII aftermath is the way that the aircrew of Bomber Command have been overlooked in favour of the more romantic Fighter Command ‘Boys’. And yet the bravery of the bomber crew was at least as great as that of the fighter pilots – and, given the casualty rates, arguably greater.

Lessudden View 1 Tweed 1 Tweed 2 View 2 Mirrored 2 Gloaming Pig Entrance Dragon

Arrived at Lessudden House, on the outskirts of St Boswell, this afternoon. Lessudden was badly damaged in 1544 by the invading armies of Henry VIII, in what was called the “rough wooing”, when he tried – unsuccessfully – to force the Scots to allow their Queen Mary to marry the then Price of Wales. Elaine had stumbled upon Lessudden through the good offices of Alastair Sawday. Our hosts, Alasdair and Angela Douglas-Hamilton, made us feel very much at home – and her cooking is exquisite. 

Lessudden, at least for Elaine and I, was spookily reminiscent of Gogar Castle, on the outskirts of Edinburgh, which used to be owned by my godfather, Sir James Steel-Maitland. He shared it with  my two maternal great-aunts, Brenda and Dorothy, with whom he had a somewhat complicated, alternating history. Gogar is where my mother, who was living there at the time, first met my father, who then commanded RAF Turnhouse, now part of Edinburgh Airport.

Uncle Jimmy is one of the people I wish I could resurrect. Although his gifts to me as a child – an elephant-tusk-and-silver christening mug and twin hairbrushes made from ivory and whalebone bristle – would scarcely have stood muster in the 1960s, let alone today, I see his thinking on nature and building conservation as precursors of mine. Among other things, he collected animals for Edinburgh and London Zoos.

On arrival, Elaine and I walked down through the woods – where the horse chestnuts mercifully still show no signs of the devastating blight that is hitting their southern counterparts – and moseyed along the River Tweed, which runs alongside a golf course. The sun was setting, the fish were rising and all was well with the world.