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Strath Tummel
Strath Tummel maps
Historic maps of Strath Tummel and the local area, hand-drawn by Ordnance Survey and Samuel Lewis. View all Strath Tummel maps
Strath Tummel photos
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Loch Tummel| Blair Atholl| Killiecrankie
Strath Tummel area books
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Memories of Strath Tummel
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Perthshire memories
The Birks Cinema
I can't believe nobody has posted a memory from Aberfeldy. I'm over in Victoria, BC now but who can forget during the war, the stern Mrs. Walker and her husband "policing," the Birks Cinema on a Saturday night when all we "country folk," invaded Aberfeldy. I can still see her at the interval with an ice cream tray strapped around her waist standing under the screen. She was one tough lady, and ran the theater with a firm hand. I see online they are trying to revive the old picture house. I wish them well.
Oh one more memory: we were evacuated to Loch Tayside during the war from Glasgow and my younger brother Iain was born at the Cottage Hospital there. I nearly forgot, when I was five, I attended Breadalbane Academy and remember falling madly in love with a blonde wee lassie, Fiona Gowens, whose parents owned the Palace Hotel. She and I were five and played the Triangle together in music... Read more
Where my Old Folks Settled
My people were tinkers of the road. Power, Riley, Macarthur, O'Connor, Macallister and a few I have no knowledge of. Generations had mended tin, woven baskets, bunched broom and heather, one to sweep the floor the other to scour pots. In 1847 some left Ireland during the famine, with a vast knowledge of forestry and horses. They met and married with Perthshire and Argyllshire tinkers. Black Spout woods (Edradour) in Pitlochry offered everything they needed to winter settle - a steady supply of fresh water from the burn, firewood for cooking and warmth but most important this place was no man's land. There were no neighbours. The sanctified earth of this wooded area was a blessed Pictish burial ground. Tinkers all over Ireland and Scotland returned annually from their summer wandering to places like this; Weem near Aberfeldy, Fortingall, Dull, Fearnam, Comrie, Muthill and Crieff were a few spots where no hand to touch them. So it was no surprise that my lineage gathered at the Black Spout which... Read more
Evacuation
I was 6 years old in 1941 and a native of Glasgow. During the worst of the German bombing at that time, my mother, brother and I moved to Auchnahyle Farm, which was farmed by my father's uncle and aunts, Bob, Mag and Jess Jamieson. My father remained in Glasgow as he was in a reserved occupation.
I went to Pitlochry Primary School and made friends. We wandered the Black Spout woods together and fished the burns for trout. We clambered over the ruins of the Black Castle. At that time they were much more substantial than they are now.
After some months we returned to Glasgow. I missed the country life. Despite being a city boy my love was for the countryside. I have now lived in south Perthshire for more than 30 years, so the dreams of that six year old boy have come to pass.
Rob
How Sweet it Was
“I’ll have a very large J&B on the rocks,” the distinguished gentleman gave me his order. “And easy on the rocks,” he added. I hurried off to the bar and returned with the glass of Scotch. Dana Andrews looked up and smiled. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Alastair,” I replied.
“Do I detect a Scottish accent?”
“You do sir,” I replied. “I’m from Perthshire.”
He sprang to his feet, pulled the tweed jacket from his shoulders and extended the inverted collar across the table toward me. “Look at this” he said, “I bought it 24 years ago and it’s as good as new.” In the flickering candlelight of the restaurant, I peered at the label. It read: “Fraser’s of Perth” and instantly I felt that glow of patriotic pride, familiar to exiled Scots. It’s a long road from the purple mountains of Scotland to California, but in 1966, that’s where I found myself — alone and feeling a wee... Read more
It Was Night...and Time Stood Still
Alastair Reid Barnett © 2010 All rights reserved.
I believe the following story provides some of the most convincing evidence that ghosts and other phantoms of the nether world exist.
Unlike a fictional tale, where a haunting or other paranormal experience will be structured with a beginning, middle and an end, this story refuses to be that orderly. The events recorded here – sometimes fragmented but in sequence as I remember them — remain a mystery today and as inexplicable as when they took place. This is not intended to be a scary ghost story, it’s simply an account of an adolescent’s encounter with the supernatural or at least, the unfathomable through the eyes of a sixteen-year-old.
It was 1953, the year of the coronation. Fortingall Hotel, in the Perthshire Highlands was booked to capacity. An air of gaiety filled the famous little village hotel as the world anticipated the crowning of the Queen. The mid-April days were sunny and warm. SPB Mais took... Read more
Viewfield Acharn
My mother who was called Betty Scott lived in Viewfield at Acharn looking after a gentleman called Robbie Campbell around 1937. She sadly has dementia now at 91. She lives in Newcastle upon Tyne. Mum was a nurse in Grangemouth and that was where she met and married my father Charles Randalls. Mum talks fondly about Robbie Campbell and Viewfield, Acharn. Robbie was a great character. Robbie was a cousin I believe of Christine Hunter Mckay who lived at Ochtertyre where she was a Foster Mother to Betty Scott. Robbie is buried at the cemetery at Kenmore - as is Auntie but there was no space for her name on the headstone. She died in 1941. Mum always wanted to work at the Breadalbane Hotel (Kenmore Hotel) but happily married well and eventually stayed there as a guest!! Joyce Rawlings
WW2: Fearnan...a Refuge in The Storm
A hush lies over Fearnan now except for the songbirds. No cockerels greet the morning. The once abundant fields are barren; many of the cottages are used only for vacations and are shuttered in winter. The 100 year-old Stewart family dynasty at Tigh-an-Loan hotel has ended and the village shop, no longer profitable, is closing its doors. The school and playground lie deserted, and the children’s laughter —and tears— has faded into the mists of time.
Although my physical relationship with Fearnan ended long ago, the close spiritual bond has lasted a lifetime. This historic highland village not only provided a refuge during those stormy years, it invoked a sense of mystery, and yielded a kaleidoscope of vivid memories: Even today it is not difficult to visualize the village life as it was then, and when I close my eyes, just for a moment I believe I can see the white- capped waves on the loch and hear the children’s voices carried on the wind as... Read more
