Selkirk to Bowhill (Giants in the Forest, Chapter 1.2)

Although it has taken me the best part of the morning to reach Selkirk, I am not tired when I arrive. The short stop over in Gallashiels allowed me to take a walk through the shopping centre and pick up a few supplies, and I was ready for the walk out to the Estate. It would have taken about twenty minutes on the bike, but I balanced the distance against the potential trouble of carting my bike on and off local buses. I was optimistic that I could hitch it, anyway.

I couldn’t orientate myself in Selkirk. The bus turning point was at the top of a hill, heading towards the river but the town map didn’t point the way out to the heads. Fortunately, there was a tourist information centre around the corner, connected to the local museum.

The old man who furnished me with directions didn’t actually work in the centre: he had an enthusiasm for the area and not only pointed me to the road, but filled me in on local history. My route to the estate would take me past a battlefield, and he even mentioned a good place to stop where I could see the salmon – perhaps not at this time of year, unfortunately.

I did try and catch the battlefield – there’s an archaeological project going on just outside Selkirk. The original plan is to excavate the site of the battle (1645) but the discovery of an older habitation had stalled and expanded the process.

While I don’t feel qualified to comment in any depth, the battle of Philiphaugh was part of something called the Wars of the Three Kingdoms, which has been branded as The English Civil War. The least I can say is that this part of Scotland has a tighter connection to events usually associated with England.

I realise that wandering along the site of the battlefield might be safer (there’s a huge hedge between me and the road), it won’t help me in my hitching. I cross back onto into the traffic. I reckon it will take thirty cars before one picks me up, and begin counting them as they pass.

Thirty-two cars later – and about an hour of walking – and I arrive at the estate. I am regretting the three-piece suit. I am not regretting the stroll, however. It’s a beautiful day, and the green of the landscape – flat and fertile – is a generous companion.

The road into the Bowhill Estate is laden with promise. There is an adventure playground to the left of the road, and the gardens disappear off on both sides. The greenery is broken by flowering plants, the air smells sweet and clean, and the House itself has a majestic presence. It’s a stately home that still has the air of a castle – although perhaps the battlefield has put me in mind of drama past.