When I originally created my fictional character, Roland Axam, I used an atlas to determine his place of origin. I would flip through the pages of the book of maps with my eyes closed, plunking down my finger randomly.
It was a disastrous method of finding civilization. My finger would either find a body of water or an uninhabitable land mass. I finally decided that he would come from somewhere in the UK, and my parents' atlas had a large, full-page map of Britain, and so I sat back, closed my eyes, and dropped my finger on the page.
My finger still found water, but was very close to land. Close to the shore of the Firth of Forth was the seaside town of North Berwick, East Lothian, Scotland.
In 1988, travelling alone, I flew to Scotland in search of Roland's home town. A friend of mine, Al, was studying at the University of Glasgow, so I stayed with him for a week. We spent a day in Edinburgh but when I wanted to go to North Berwick, he was unavailable, so I went alone. I took an intercity bus from Glasgow to Edinburgh, and then a 30-minute train ride to my final destination.
I explored the town and took a bus to Tantallon Castle, on the outskirts of North Berwick, before making the trek back to Glasgow.
Twenty-two years later, on Wednesday, June 2, 2010, I made the return train ride from Edinburgh to North Berwick. But this time, I wasn't alone.
"What are your plans when we get there?" asked Stuart, as we pulled out of Waverley Station. He and I had been friends for more than 30 years and this was the first time we had travelled together in at least a dozen years. It was also the first time, in all of those years, where we were travelling with no one else. We were both experienced travellers, though, so we were both confident that we wouldn't make a wrong turn.
"I've decided that every morning, unless the weather is severe, Roland goes for a walk to the top of Berwick Law." A volcanic plug lay on the southern end of North Berwick like a lone breast upon the landscape. At the summit stood a large whale jawbone like an arch. The view would be spectacular. "I'd like to start by going up the Law. The walk to the trail head passes one of the potential houses."
My first trip to North Berwick had me simply getting to know the layout of the town. In 1988, I wasn't concerned with where Roland had lived. But with my novel, Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary, almost finished and my next book, Gyeosunim, starting to take shape, I was planning on writing about Roland's Scottish home. I needed to know where it was. I had to find it.
I had three places in mind. I had found them by using Google Maps, but I couldn't get a good look at them from the street views of the time. And like Siobhan's house, I needed to see the house in context of its neighbourhood.
It was a marvelously sunny day, with nothing to stop us from wandering the town, ascending Berwick Law, and heading out to Tantallon Castle. Everything would be new for Stuart but only one was going to be new for me.
The first house under consideration was close to the station, which was the terminus for this rail line. Our train would simply reverse direction and head straight back to Edinburgh. We walked onto Station Road and headed only a block south, to a small, cottage-like house on the corner of Old Abbey Road. A white, picket gate led into a sizeable garden, off Station Road. Around the gate, dense bush obscured the view to the white house with a terra-cotta roof and large bay windows.
"Nope," I said, after peeking through the overgrowth.
"Why 'nope'?" asked Stu.
"Too much maintenance," I said. "Roland's mother is a doctor, his dad an architect. Neither would have the time to tend, let alone enjoy a garden like this. And when Roland and Siobhan lived here, they were too young to have anything to do with gardening. It's lovely, but this isn't the house."
"Couldn't you simply write the garden out of the house?" asked Stuart.
"I want the house to be as is." I had no delusions of my novel becoming popular enough that hoards of tourists would flock to North Berwick for a chance to see where my fictional character lived, but you never know.
The other two houses were not along this route, though the third house wasn't far away. But for my plans, we wouldn't pass it until we were ready to return to the station, to head back to Edinburgh.
We continued along Station Road for only another 10 metres or so, when it ended at a fork. We turned eastward, along Marmion Road, turned southwest on St. Margaret's Road, and south on Law Road. The volcanic plug lay before us, the sun shining upon its lush green and yellow sides.
"It'll only take about 20 minutes to climb," I said, "why not do it now?"
"I think it'll take us at least an hour."
"Nah, I looked at it on Google Earth, and I think it'll take 20 minutes."
"Want to bet?" asked Stu.
"Sure."
It took 22 minutes, including a short stop about halfway up. The law looks steep and challenging, but a meandering path along the south side is a gentle slope, and on such a fine day as this is easy for anyone to ascend.
At the top, an unobstructed 360-degree view is spectacular. We could easily see the entire town to the north and across the Firth of Forth to the towns of the opposite shore. To the east, we could clearly see Tantallon Castle, Bass Rock, and out to the open, North Sea. To the south, green and yellow fields led to the gentle rolling hills, and to the west, we could clearly make out Arthur's Seat and Edinburgh.
The whale's jaw, which had sat atop Berwick Law for centuries, had only collapsed a few years earlier, but had now been replaced with a fibreglass replica that would hopefully survive for centuries more.
We stayed at the summit for about another 20 minutes or so before making our way back down and into town, following Law Road all the way. We stopped at the ruins of the Auld Kirk for photos and then decided to search for lunch.
I had two suggestions that I had researched for lunch: The Ship Inn, a seafood restaurant that has been in the town for a long time, or the Dalrymple Arms Hotel, which had more international dishes. It was here that I learned that Stuart didn't like seafood, so the choice was simple.
Before that, though, we went to the tourist office and bought tickets for a bus to Tantallon Castle. We had a schedule and this would keep us from lingering longer than we needed at lunch.
We were the first to arrive at the Dalrymple Arms dining room. The windows were opened onto the streets and we were seated at a table that allowed us to enjoy the warm spring air. Our server, Katie, welcomed us and took our order. Knowing that we were tourists, she asked us where we were from and what brought us to North Berwick.
When I explained that I had been to North Berwick 22 years ago, Katie exclaimed, "I'm 22!"
"Dad!!" cried Stu.
The food was great: the service, even better. The company, the best.
The bus to Dunbar passes Tantallon Castle, which is about three kilometres east of North Berwick. Stuart and I were let off on the side of the A198 and we walked nearly half a kilometre to the castle. Years earlier, when I had written my first Roland Axam spy trilogy, the climax of the third book took place at this 14th-century castle of William Douglas.
In my book, while on a mission in Berlin, Germany, Roland discovers that one of his colleagues is a Russian double-agent, and he flees to his family home, in North Berwick while he tries to figure out his next moves. In revisiting his old home, Roland decides to go to Tantallon Castle, where he and his childhood friends would go to play, sneaking in after the gates closed. In his early teens, Roland would also come here when he just needed to be alone. And this is the driving force that brings him here.
Unfortunately, the double-agent catches up with him and finds Roland as he's standing on the battlements, looking out to Bass Rock. The battlement ends where part of the castle has collapsed and a drop extends down the bluff to broken rocks in the North Sea. To add to the drama, the scene is set in darkness with a thunder storm blowing in from the southeast.
As the rain begins to fall in torrents, the double-agent pulls a gun and fires at Roland. At the same time, a powerful blast of wind catches the agent off-balance, and he falls over the parapet, tumbling into the sea. The bullet that was fired hits Roland in the sternum, but through sheer luck, two things save his life: first, the powder in the cartridge doesn't fully ignite, and so the bullet fires at a slow velocity; second, the bullet glances off a steel button on Roland's rain coat, further absorbing some of the force. By the time the bullet penetrates Roland's chest, it only embeds in his sternum.
I explained this part of the story as Stuart and I explored the castle. When I was there, in 1988, there were not the hand railings and safety barriers that there were in 2010. While I took Stu to where I described the place where Roland was shot, we weren't able to step out to the actual spot, at the edge of the battlement.
 |
| Where my story met its climax: these railings weren't here in 1988. |
On the corner of this intersection sits a small, two-storey stone house that faces the beach. It's a simple but pretty, understated abode. "Nope," I told Stuart. "Too close to the sea. Too vulnerable to the elements. Also, too small."
"I'll say it again," said Stu, "you can create your perfect home for him."
"I want this house to be a real place," I repeated.
We turned back and made our way to Forth Street, where another destination was on my list. In the time that the Axam family lived in North Berwick, Roland's father, Iain, had a reserved seat at the Auld Hoose, the oldest licensed pub in the town, dating back centuries. Stuart and I had to stop in for a pint.
Finally, it was time to take the train back to Edinburgh, and our route from the Auld Hoose took us past the third candidate house for Roland. I picked this house because I remembered seeing it, when I was in the town in 1988, and it was close enough to the train station, the west end of the beach, and a short walk into the heart of the town. It was also steps away from the North Berwick Golf Club, of which Iain Axam was a member.
Stuart and I walked west, on Forth Street and cut south, on Church Street, to meet up with where High Street becomes Westgate. Walking westward, we came to Abbey Road (not to be confused with Old Abbey Road, where we saw the first candidate house). It was at this intersection where we found the house.
"Shit," I said when we approached the house, "it's a duplex." Sure enough, on closer inspection, the house was split into two distinct dwellings, each half a mirror of the other. One door was black; the other, white.
"Jesus Christ," complained Stu, though not in anger, "you're a writer. Make it a single dwelling."
I really liked this house. "Maybe, you're right," I said. When I saw the house on Google Maps, I didn't see the second door. It was easy enough to remove, fictitiously. "Sold." I took a few pictures, and then Stu and I walked up Abbey Road, which climbs up toward the train station.
Back in Edinburgh, Stuart and I found a Mexican restaurant on the Royal Mile for dinner. From there, we walked down the road, away from the castle, and toward Holyroodhouse Palace, the Queen's residence in Edinburgh. We walked around the Scottish Parliament Building, and approached the northwest slope of Arthur's Seat.
Stu suggested that we seek out the Sheep Heid Inn, a pub that I came upon in the tourist book that I had brought with me to Scotland. The Sheep Heid is Scotland's oldest surviving public house, dating all the way back to 1360. We set out on a footpath that skirted just above the base of Arthur's Seat, giving us a view above the town without ascending to the top of this large extinct volcano.
The path led to Queen's Drive, and we decided to stay on the road, rather than keep to the path, which appeared to lead upward. "Why don't you consult the map in your guide book?" suggested Stu.
"I would," I said, "but it's on the desk in our hotel room."
"What the hell, Ross! We're going without a map?" In the more than 30 years that Stuart and I have been friends—now in more than 40 years—Stuart had never raised his voice in anger, but the fatigue of the day must have got to him, as his voice was raised and demonstrated frustration.
"I've studied the map countless times, prior to my arrival. It's in the village of Duddingston. It's at the southeast base of Arthur's Seat. We're heading in the right direction. If we lose our way, we'll hail a taxi."
As the sun met the western horizon, casting a silhouette of the castle and old town, my heart started to sink as well. The last thing I wanted to do was get us lost. If we were forced to catch a cab, I feared that Stuart would just want to go back to the hotel and that our opportunity to check out this centuries-old pub would be lost. I didn't want to disappoint my best friend.
As we rounded a corner, I spied a tall hedge that had a small pathway carved into it. While we couldn't see where the path led, something told me to take it. With some hesitation, Stuart followed me down this darkened, green path.
We emerged from the path and were faced with this welcome view.
The pub was packed, but Stuart fought his way to the bar, saying the first round was on him. Above the bar, a wooden-carved sheep's head held a place of honour. History says that this carving was given to the landlords of the pub by King James.
We sat in a garden patio at the back of the pub, away from the loud chatter. Soft music played from hidden speakers. Stuart raised his glass. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I shouldn't have doubted you."
"It's already forgotten," I said, though I was secretly breathing a sigh of relief that we found this place. "Thank you for following me today on my excursion. I felt that you had some reservations about climbing Berwick Law and I'm glad you made the decision to trek out here. Here's to a great day."
We clinked glasses. Stuart acknowledged his doubts but admitted that he had enjoyed the day. We drank a couple of rounds, relaxing in each other's company.
Tomorrow, Stu was going to be busy all day and would be attending a dinner with the colleagues at his conference. We would meet the next evening, which would be my last before I returned home. For me, the next day was going to be a full research day. Tomorrow, I was heading back to North Berwick.
Stay tuned...
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