July 30 Berwick-Upon-Tweed

It is a good thing I am writing this account as a souvenir because I can hardly remember from one day to the next!  Yesterday the wi-fi would not load any images, so now, due to my being a little bit loopy, narration may not be totally reliable as events are being reconstructed from visual cues.  

Coldingham to Berwick-Upon Tweed was a demanding walk, not like the demands of St. Abbs but lots of upping and downing as coastal walks tend to be, and seventeen miles es mucho.

Here is a looking down-ing:

See the birdies?

 One birdie:

Now I have to remember the name of this harbour!  Burnmouth?  In any case it was full of vessels!

And it had a bridge (crossed) festooned with bows:

It had an olde harbour, boasted to be Scotland's first, only, well, it is olde:

Sheep in high grass!

Cliffs:

Got to Berwick-Upon-Tweed, so now Scotland is left behind, and learned that w, is, on occasion, especially having to do with place names, elided.  So, no, it is not Berwick, it is Berrick.  And tomorrow, I will not be going to Fenwick, but to Fennick.   

In Berwick was booked in a surprisingly nice B and B—you would never know from the outside—run by an extremely personable couple who let me check in early, so I could have the afternoon to explore the environs.  Although Berwick is the largest town so far visited (Glasgow and Edinburgh, being cities, don't count), it does not have a grocery store!  OK, it has an Iceland, which has a small corner where unfrozen items live, but it is not a real grocery store.  No lettuce, for example.  Carrots and potatoes, a few, and butter and cheese they did have.  To the large supermarkets you have to drive.  ¡Que pena!  

One of the attractions of the town is its wall, but that I was leaving for the morrow.  Arrival afternoon was spent going up and down Main Street, sadly lined with schlocky stores, and then visiting the museum.  Most of the museum was devoted to matters military, but there were two surprises.  One was a small Burrell collection—the main Burrell museum is in Glasgow—which had some exquisite pieces:  a couple of water colours I wanted to snatch from the walls, but what can you do?  

Best of all is that I learned some fascinating things about herring, which I pass on to you. "Herrring was a fatty fish that had to be cured as quickly as possible to prevent it rotting.  Packing the fish in salt was the only way to preserve it for transportation.  Herrings sold fresh were described as "green herrings." However, most of the herrings were purchased by firms of curriers, who "cured" the fish by salting and smoking them to make "red herrings,"or pickled them as "white herrings."

A Fisheries Officer inspected each full barrel before the lit was fitted by a cooper.  The barrel was then laid on its side, the bung removed and the barrel filled up with brine.  The fish were left to stand for several days while a chemical reaction took place between salt and juices that caused the fish to shrink.

After standing, the brine was poured off and the barrel was filled to the top with more fish. This "tiering" was carried out particularly neatly so that the produce would look good when the barrel was opened."

Don't know what happened to the photo with the other half of the herring challenge and a picture of the herrings neatly arranged!

One hopes!