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TIGHNABRUAICH
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INGLEWOOD Set on a hill overlooking the Kyles of Bute “Inglewood” stands proud amidst lush gardens and a backdrop of dense woodland. Childhood memories of summer’s spent playing and exploring, of family and friends, and a house full of laughter and warmth.
house on the
hill
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IN THE
BEGINNING
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My grandparents, James and Margaret Greenlees had been taking family holidays in Tighnabruaich with their two sons Brian (my father) and Fred, for four or five years in the late 1950s early 1960s. They rented a small flat behind Lena’s Café with was on the cusp of the main street of the village. Their love for Tighnabruaich resulted in my grandfather purchasing ‘Inglewood’ — and this would be the house that my father spent a lot of his holidays as a child, which then, in turn became my special holiday house too. You could say that Tighnabruaich and Inglewood are the reason that I am here today. It was here in this picturesque village that my parents met, and where romance blossomed.
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ENDLESS
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SUMMERS It’s strange how my memories of Tighnabruaich are
only ever summer ones. I can’t ever really remember being there in winter — although I must have been as many family photos show me as a toddler in winter clothes. Summers were fun and easy — so many places to explore, games to play and adventures to be had. Everything seemed gigantic — the house, the gardens — the scale of this place was just so different from home. There was a special calm within the house, a silence that was comforting and serene. The summers were perfect, and what seemed like endless...
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Wild, large and sprawling are some of the words that I could use to describe the garden at Inglewood. Rhododendron bushes lined the drive outside the house, untamed and prominent, claiming their place as if guarding the house. Brambles, wild flowers and a mix of trees and bushes lined the main grassy slope — it was like a jungle to me — unruly and unkempt. My grandfather, dad and uncle had a continuous battle on their hands to try and tame this grassy slope. Their victory (for a short time at least) marked by a bonfire, the ceremonial burning of the foe.
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LOOKING
OUTWARDS The view from the front sitting room was a grand one, right over the water of the Kyles of Bute. Many an afternoon and evening I would sit on one of the wicker chairs that were placed in the nook of the bay of the large windows and stare out to sea. During the day I would sit with my binoculars and watch the boats come and go — sometimes I managed to catch a glimpse of a basking shark, which made for high excitement. In the evening, even although it was completely pitch dark outside, I would still sit in the window nook and watch for the flashing light of the lighthouse across the bay.
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There was a sink to the side of the house outside —
It is strange how such a mundane and irrelevant
which I presume to once have been a garden sink. It
object like a sink can evoke such sentimentality.
sat to the side of the paved sun patio in front of the
These days on the patio, playing at the sink, were
kitchen window.
simply magical.
I don’t know what it was about that sink, but I was completely and utterly obsessed with playing in it as a child. There was also a dear old garden gnome that was put through all kinds imaginary situations in and around that sink.
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GREENLEES
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MARGARET
Margaret Greenlees (my grandmother) was the lady of the house.
She was a kind, loving and fair lady who was dignified in every action that she took and every word that she spoke. On holiday in Tighnabruaich she assumed the role of carer and teacher — and looking back now I am grateful for what she taught and passed on to me, and the influence that she had in my childhood. She was keen on poetry and gardening and
encouraged me to take an interest. She bought me a flower press and I loved preserving fragile petals and blooms. She encouraged my creativity and let me just be myself. She would call me through early in the morning to watch the deer on the back lawn from the dining room window. They would appear there occasionally to eat the grass, and then explore with me later that day to try and find out where their den could be.
The beach at Tighnabruaich is pebbles upon pebbles upon pebbles. And at certain times of the year completely covered with jellyfish. I loved going to the beach with my family, and the memory that is most prominent is being on the beach on a blustery day with my wellies on, jumping and dodging, avoiding the jellyfish. I have been on that beach countless number of times, yet, it is this one memory that is foremost in my mind. A small thing, almost insignificant at the time made a great impression on this child.
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THE
WAVERLEY
The world’s oldest paddle steamer sailed up the Kyles of Bute and docked at Tighnabruaich pier as part of it’s journey. It was always a marvel to watch this beautiful boat sail towards the pier. In great excitement someone would shout “The Waverley!” and I would rush to the window to see it. On other days I would run down to the pier watching the hoards of day-trippers disembark to enjoy the delights of Tighnabruaich village and Susy’s Tearoom before setting off again for another destination. I too had been a passenger on The Waverley — on a few occasions — but I preferred watching it as it would come and go — so quickly — and with such grandeur.
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There was something special about being at
Tighnabruaich pier. Not that it was much to look at — it was just a pier — but the view, the water, the boats all mesmerised me. I was friendly with the boys that lived in the house
down the lane. They were always fishing at the pier and out in their small wooden boat. I preferred to
spectate rather than take part in their antics. I had no inclination to catch a fish or get thrown into the cold waters, but was happy enough to watch.
FAREWELL Time ticks on, people grow older and things change.
In retirement, my grandparents moved to ‘Inglewood’ so enjoy a more relaxing pace, but sadly my grandfather passed away shortly after, leaving my grandmother alone and isolated in this once bustling and busy house. My grandmother needed care and attention, as did the house, so with a heavy heart she decided to sell up and move back through to Paisley to be closer to her immediate family. I still visit Tighnabruiach, and look up at my house on the hill. It fills me with so many emotions, both of sadness and joy. I would have loved to have been able to have given my family the chance of experiencing the wonder and adventure that this place and this house gave me. Tighnabruiach will forever be a part of me, and I can pass that onto my daughter.
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A SAD
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I would love to go back to the old house but I never will I never will I never will I never will the smiths