The Glencoe area, deep in the Scottish Highlands, is a brilliant place to stay a while. We’ve been there several times, campervan-ing AND B+B-ing, and this is one morning – among so many – that stays with us...
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(Ballachulish - Wed 1st June 1994)

A Yorkshire family of four is with us at breakfast – great people, Mum and Dad in their mid-sixties, holidaying with their son and daughter-in-law. Mum is a bright spark but looks as though she has some bone/joint problem, and Dad is so Yorkshire you can hardly make out what he's saying. Son is ex Regular Army – tattoos, has done a couple of stints in Northern Ireland, his wife shy and pretty, a biggish country lass. Between them they take up a fair chunk of the table.
The six of us get into a decent chat over breakfast – weather, Euro politics, their holidays - but after a while we can’t ignore it any longer. It’s the elephant in the room.
We get onto cricket.
With Yorkeshiremen.
Who believe Yorkshire invented the game.
With two Yorkeshiremen in fact. Both large. One of them with tattoos.
Picture this...
- Only last summer Australia did an Ashes tour in England.
- In the One Day warmup series Australia won the 3-match series 3–zip.

- The gulf in quality between the sides was vast. No less than nine of Australia's team played all six tests. But (coming off a recent mauling on the sub-continent) England tried no less than 24 players in the series, including seven debutantes! AND Graham Gooch resigned the captaincy after the Fourth Test.
It was not a happy English summer. For most Englishmen. For ALL Yorkshiremen.
But – the subject of cricket is now on the table. I, wisely, say very little and try not to smile, but instead make soothing noises, avoiding too much eye contact, and let them graciously acknowledge that Aus “did pretty well... this time.” But Herself can’t help herself.
“But we’re SO grateful that you taught us colonials how to play cricket though.”
There’s one godalmighty pregnant pause, but they all finally have a good laugh, deeply edged in irony, and we escape with our skins intact.
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He tells us that some time just before 1800 the local bishop decided this wilderness needed something better than having the local congregation all standing around in the rain for services. Tough as these Highlanders were, you’d have to think they would’ve been pleased with that little bit of news. So they built this little stone chapel, but going by the size of it you’d have to think it was mostly as an expression of the solidness of their faith, as you'd only squeeze about dozen of the faithful in it at any one time.
But he tells us the little chapel served the people well enough, and when the new church was eventually built nearby they couldn’t abide the waste, so they still kept the old one, and – great idea – they decided to use it for any just-married young couples who didn’t have a house, to help them get started.
Then he leads us over to the cemetery, and points out a fairly new headstone, and tells us that this is the very last couple to use it as their first home, and they died only recently in their 80s, not only that, but they were both born in it, and you find yourself walking away thinking - now THAT’S continuity.
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