“ This is the border. Over it is the loneliness of the sea; the rise and fall of its hills are as the sweep of frozen billows...”.
“The heathery moors slope down to a distant valley. The sun is setting. The sky above the Lammermuirs is red and troubled. The wind drops. The autumn mists far below are creeping from wood to wood. The smoke from chimneys hangs motionless in the air. Thin veils of grey wrap themselves round the foot-hills. Feint white serpents of mist twist above the green-wood outlining the course of a stream and river. It is a study in blue. In the foreground, like a promise of the highlands, and as notable as a ship at sea, rise the tall peaks of the Eildon Hills, blue as hothouse grapes, standing with their feet among the woodlands of the Tweed”.
H.V. Morton (1892-1979) was one of the first great travel journalists, his prime writing years straddling the Second World War, but his heart lodged in a land that existed before the disappearing worlds of Empire and simplicity.
Stephen Twist (1950’s sometime - present) is one of the least known writers of all time, his prime writing years yet to be realised, but the flame in his heart rekindled by the writings of his mentor, is returning to Scotland.
And so it is. Stephen and Henry - the two of them, without Henry Morton’s bull-nosed Morris and rough tarmac, but with Stephen’s Auto-Trail Tracker camper and motorway asphalt, together will be heading for the border, and beyond.
To follow their conversation, you will have to follow this blog. It will tell you how they get on as travelling companions, of the things they love, and their pet hates; of that which has changed in the intervening years since 1928, and those things that have remained the same.
The first chapter is imminent. All the more reason to subscribe. That way, you will not miss a heart-beat of the trip, nor the long view through time, the mists of the borders, the Highlands and the west coast of Scotland.
