Berwick-upon-Tweed

Today we left Newcastle upon Tyne only to find oursevles in anoher famous 'upon river' towns. The idea was to drive to Edinburgh, but we were ready for a coffee by the time we reached the turn-off to Berwick upon Tweed, Englnd's most northern city.

Berwick upon Tweed has passed back and forth between English and Scottish rule for centuries. A number of kings, English and Scottish, have visisted or garrisoned there, but I know it from my junior history teaching days as the place through which James 1 of Scotland, a Stuart, marched down through Berwick upon Tweed in 1603 at the death of the last Tudor, Elizabeth 1, on his way to London, there to claim the English crown for himself, start the Stuart dynasty, and to unite the two kingdoms thereafter, and becoming James VI of the United Kingdom in the process. Pretty great stuff.

This is still a walled city and has forts and garrisons still. Its streets are cobbled and noisy as car tyres go over them, and it is full of pubs and taverns, and art galleries, and cafes, and bookshops. It has three magnificent bridges across the river, all within spitting distance of each other.

One independent bookshop we went into had a queer element to it and was run by a delightful gay man, Ben, who was helpful and knoweldgeable about the books we were interested in. We both came away with purchases. Of special interest for us were Volumes I and II of Sea Stories, so Chris bought one and I bought the other.

Right now though, I am making my way through Cicero's How to Grow Old which I bought in York. Cicero had been exiled from Rome and instead of becoming a notorious wine-bibber, he threw himself into philosophy and writing. And one of the streams of thought he pursued was about growing old. This consciousness has wrought itself within me over the last few years, so I am not averse at all in seeing what Cicero made of it all.

Our trip into Edinburgh was relatively uneventful although we did not make the laundry where we had intended to drop off our washing in time. Never mind, we made alternate arrangements for tomorrow morning. The whole country here now is readying itself for the Queen's funeral on Monday. There are signs everywhere saying 'we will be closed' on Monday. Fair enough.

Last night, I wrote a piece for Independent Australia from a republican point of view at how easy it is to get spell-bound by royal pageantry. It tells of a moment I expereinced in Westminster Palace on 2 September, one week before the Queen died. It is now up on line at Independent Australia. Tomorrow, we're going to take a look at this old city, with its ubiquitous dark stone. I am looking forward to it.Leia mais