Quiet spot: atop the ruined fort is the bench seat with its in memoriam and words of reflection
At times the chill in the air bites. These days of January have felt constantly cooler and more unsettled than usual.
Today the sun shone, but was tempered by a northerly wind. I found a sun trap to rest and enjoy a coffee and let my thoughts wander. I was on a small island, Ferry Fort Island, at the western edge of Ferry Reach, in Bermuda.
In the lee of a limestone fort that had been built 200 years ago, protected from the wind I enjoyed the winter sun.
I wondered about the history of the silent ruins wrapped around me. This place had once been maintained for its historical interest, but now was fully neglected with wild plants encroaching and occupying the abandoned space.
Who were the people who built this fort two centuries ago, and what were their lives like? A gleaming white executive jet took off from the airport a mile away and flew above. What would the builders of this 19th century fort have made of such a sight?
On the journey to this little island I had passed a property called Northwinds. It made me think of today's north wind, and of a haunting ballad called Northwinds from 37 years ago by music group The Stranglers. A year after its release, and two-thirds of a lifetime ago, I'd seen them perform the song. Had time marched on so far and so fast?
Atop the fort ruins is a bench seat that commands a view of the nearby ocean. The seat is inscribed in memoriam to a lady called Donna DeSiliva [1962-2012], including a few words of wisdom and reflection.
I love discovering these unexpected fragments of thoughts in remote peaceful settings, which invite a moment to stop and consider.
Upon the bench are the words: "The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye, but found by the heart."
All that remains: only the chimney wall side of the old railway building stands after the three other sides and roof collapsed.
For 86 years it stood at a windswept spot on one of the largest tracts of undeveloped land in Bermuda. It was the old engine shed for a small, private railway that allowed its wealthy owner to travel from his sprawling home across a stretch of wilderness to disembark at his halt and from there transfer onto the short-lived Bermuda Railway system.
Now the depot building has succumb to the ravages of time, its roof collapsed along with three walls. Exactly when the building gave way I am not sure, though I suspect this year's hurricane season, which included a direct hit from Hurricane Paulette in September, is a plausible answer.
The small structure was an evocative sight to come upon while walking the quiet, undeveloped expanse of Ferry Reach Park on the eastern side of the island. The stone building had long ago fallen into obsolesce. The last time the private 24-inch gauge train had operated on the single-track line was 1971, when it had briefly been brought back into working order by a new owner.
Evocative sight: the building as seen on December 23, 2006 as the sun set on Ferry Reach Park, Bermuda
After that, the building became a relic in the corner of the wilderness. I came across it in 2006, and was struck by its lonely location and the way it seemed to symbolise as era that had passed. Two days before Christmas that year I took a photograph of the setting sun, capturing also the building and its wild setting.
Vincent Astor was the man who in 1934 created the private railway and the depot building. He was a member of America's wealthy Astor family, and the son of John Jacob Astor IV, a businessman, inventor and one of the richest men in the world, who was among those onboard when the Titanic sank in 1912.
Mr Astor came to Bermuda and owned a sprawling home called Ferry Reach House on the far side of Ferry Reach. He had the small gauge railway built, linking a boat jetty and his home to what was named Ferry Reach Junction, the terminus of his short railway line (less than a mile) and the meeting place with the Bermuda Railway which ran across the island on a single route from 1931 until 1948.
Mr Astor's private train was a scaled down replica of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad's 2-6-2 Mainliner locomotive, specially built by the company of which Mr Astor was chairman. Near to the depot building is a small stone shelter which would have been used as the waiting spot to board the Bermuda Railway service.
The private railway, which also featured a small tunnel beneath Ferry Road, fell into disrepair after Mr Astor sold the estate.
However, in 1967 the estate was purchased by Herbert Bierman, who restored the train to full running order. He died in 1971, and that was the last year of the Ferry Reach Railway.
From then on, the building became a part of the quiet landscape, with nature encroaching and smothering all signs of the rail track. Meanwhile, the Bermuda Railway mainline had also long since vanished, and in 1984 most of the old route was designated a right of way trail for recreational use.
Collapsed: the roof beams resembled picked clean fishbones
It was while walking along the railway trail that I first encountered the old depot building, and it has remained a landmark point on subsequent strolls through the unspoilt and thinly visited, but beautiful oasis of wilderness.
So it was a shock when I saw what had happened. The timbers of the collapsed roof jutted upwards, half-covered in the remains of slates, and looking like picked clean fishbones. The last remnants of the track, fragmenting and crumbling parallel lines of iron, were visible beneath the "chimney" stack - which is destined to be the last visible sign of the structure in years to come.
If you wander this way, look for the ruins of the old engine depot building and soak-in its quirky history that belongs to a bygone era.
Lockdown uplift: The Petersens have been producing musical moments to delight a growing following on YouTube
Whatever else might be going on at YouTube, one thing's for sure - the algorithms are getting smarter and more refined. How else would I have come across a stunningly impressive family unit playing a delightful bluegrass-styled version of John Denver's Take Me Home, Country Roads.
As I have mentioned in a previous post, the popular video site is now one of the best conduits for music discovery - old or new. And so it proved again as I whittled away an evening jumping from song to song and dreaming of future days when coronavirus restrictions are done and it is possible to once more venture to live shows.
The evening was drawing to a close and I decided to listen to Denver's classic, only for YouTube to suggest I first check out The Petersens' 2020 version. The who?
I took a chance and clicked on the video - and within seconds was blown away.
The Petersens are a family band. On stage they consist of three sisters, a brother, their mother, and a close friend. They play originals and cover versions with the genres of country music and bluegrass well represented, but also a sprinkling of pop and even an Irish jig.
It is stripped-back acoustics played on a less common set of instruments The ensemble features a fiddle, double bass, mandolin, guitar, banjo and dobro. Okay, perhaps not so unusual for a group with bluegrass roots, but certainly a departure on tunes such as Fields of Gold, The Scientist, Bohemian Rhapsody and You're Still The One.
Now, back to the Take Me Home, Country Roads video. The lead vocals were handled by Katie Petersen, the eldest of the siblings. There was a pitch-perfect opening, later accompanied by backing from sister Julianne and brother Matt, and it just got better and better.
The quartet of siblings each play an instrument, and the arrangements are completed by the double bass of mother Karen, and stylish dobro from Emmett Franz.
On this song and in other videos The Petersens achieve a refreshing melodious and harmonic sound. There is youthful energy and a depth of feeling, a reminder of the joy of live music.
The band ventured onto YouTube only last year. It was a fortuitous decision as they have expanded their reach and brought joy to tens of thousands with songs, videos and live streams during this year's extensive lockdowns.
The backstory to the band is this: the Petersens moved around a lot as dad was a member of the air force. Looking for ways to keep the family bonded, they attended a bluegrass festival and saw other families playing together - the shared musical endeavour a focus and agent for solid 'togetherness'. The Petersens, who are now based in Branson, Missouri, decided to do the same.
Singing duties are shared around, with the Petersen siblings prominent. Katie, Ellen and Matt, and dobro player Emmett are strong and tuneful. Youngest sibling Julianne has a gentler style that at times features an unusual but delightful inflection in her vocal register. In fleeting moments, such as on Fields of Gold, it is reminiscent of the late Dolores O'Riordan.
The lack of electrified or amplified instrumentation adds to the sweet pleasure of the music. All six members are competent players of their chosen instruments. Above all a tight bond and a glow of happiness surrounds the band, reflected in their infectious smiles.
In these testing times The Petersens are a wonderful example of how uplifting music can be for the spirit. The Petersens have a website at https://www.petersenband.com/
Video of The Petersens performing Take Me Home, Country Roads:
Childhood memoir: W.A.M MacKenzie's Where's Home? will brighten the winter evenings
As the dark nights draw in, and the winter chill bites, now is the time when many will reach for a comforting read to soften the heart and bring some cheer. But where to find a good read?
A just-published work I recommend is William MacKenzie's memoir Where's Home? Glimpses of a boy I used to know. Itis a series of recollections from his childhood, spanning the 1940s in Sutherland, in the north Highlands of Scotland.
W.A.M. MacKenzie's vivid recollections cover everything from family life, to helping out on the farm, school days, community celebrations, and a great many boyhood adventures. Although the events are more than 70 years distant, MacKenzie said he could better recall things that had happened so many decades ago than he could what had happened yesterday.
There is a gentle touch of humour and lightheartedness in his plain English writing style.
Where's Home? is a heartwarming stroll through a period that now seems unhurried and simple, with connections and bonds greatly treasured. The book is a memoir and includes interwoven snippets of local history and a passing nod to historical moments. These all add to the colour and vividness of the world as seen and experienced by the young MacKenzie.
Perhaps there was scope to add deeper thoughts on what these distant moments now mean to MacKenzie from his latter-day perspective as an 80-year-old. Perhaps there could have been room for more autobiographical additions to trace, even if briefly, MacKenzie's life as an adult. But these are my personal pondering and should not detract from what Where's Home? is at heart. It is an abundant recollection and a delightful read that offers an escape for a few hours - or a few days - to a world now vanished.
For those wondering, as I, about MacKenzie's life beyond these childhood tales, he lived for decades in the West Midlands, in England, before returning to Sutherland. He once owned the former Cathedral Cafe in Dornoch, and spent his later years living further north in the village of Brora.
He became a writer in his sixties after joining the Dornoch writers' group. He authored a number of novels. The memoir Where's Home? stands out as his one work of non-fiction. He self-published it as a kindle e-book in the early 2010s. A second e-book version was released in 2015.
In the past few years, short articles clipped from stories in Where's Home? were featured in the new quarterly magazine Kyle Chronicle, which serves the communities around the Kyle of Sutherland. This in turn led to a third edition of the book being professionally edited and including maps, photos and further writing by MacKenzie, who died shortly before the new edition appeared this autumn.
The book has been published by Carn Bren Publishing, which is based in the village of Ardgay, a stone's throw from where MacKenzie's childhood adventures took place.
Where's Home? can be purchased at the Dornoch Bookshop, or through Carn Bren Publishing. It is also available from major online booksellers.
Still got the beat: The Go-Go's performed 'virtually' one of their hits from the early 1980s on The Today Show last week
They were one of the seminal US bands of the early to mid-1980s, and broke ground as an all-women group who wrote their own songs, played their own instruments and had massive commercial success.
The Go-Go's star shone bright and furious for a few years in the first half of the '80s, but the band has continued to regroup throughout the past four decades, and their early hits have remained memorable and fresh.
The full classic line-up returned two years ago when bassist Kathy Valentine resumed her role after a five-year absence.
And not even the Covid-19 pandemic has been able to keep them down. They've managed to perform songs "virtually" by hooking up online from their homes and gardens - and the results are a masterclass in rocking pop that transcends the passage of four decades.
Some would argue The Go-Go's contribution to popular music has been overlooked. It's certainly a mystery why they've not been inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame.
At their best it was always been about catchy, upbeat songs played in a rocking style. Last week, they performed a virtual version of We Got The Beat on The Today Show in the US.
How many other groups, who had their heyday almost 40 years ago, can knock out performances like this even when the band members are miles apart? You go Go-Go's.
VIDEO: The Go-Go's perform We Got The Beat virtually on The Today Show
World changed: the calendar still showed the month of March
When I returned to my apartment, just over five months had passed since I was last there. The air was stale and musty, the unmistakable odour of long-vacated places.
On the wall I found the calendar as I had left it, freshly turned to the month of March 2020.
But now it was August.
If things had gone to plan, I'd have been back from my vacation in time to turn the page to April. If things had gone to plan.
But plans are something the world has had to forgo this year. The Covid-19 pandemic brought us all to a shuddering halt; stranded in place, wherever that might have been at the time, and adjusting our lives to the changed circumstances.
So it was for me for five months, until I was able to return to Bermuda and the temporarily unoccupied apartment. It took many days to bring it back to life - to clear away the mould and dust that had taken over, and to circulate fresh air into every corner.
The mandatory four days of quarantine allowed plenty of time to scrub away at things. There were no distractions, no other places I could go, for I could merely look out from the doorway at the world outside, the places I had long grown familiar with, but where for a few more days I'd be unable to venture.
Then I got my 'day four' Covid test. I was clear and out of quarantine. A welcome release. I took out the trash, which included the empty pages of the calendar, those months away that had passed when I was elsewhere and living through these surreal times.
Now I look at the calendar and wonder if normality is returning. Is the world soon to be back on an even keel? Can things return to going as planned?
Plans - they no longer seem so solid as they once did. A lesson to carry into the new normal.
Up here nothing matters. With only time, nature and wind, things become transcendent.
On Lamentation Hill I feel a longing. The breeze carries small, floating seeds - a foreshadowing of autumn. Trees tall and proud have grown here all the time that elsewhere I have lived and grown. They are markers of time - of the years passaging through our lives.
A granite rock, embedded with delicately glistening quartz in the full glory of the sun as it breaks clear from drifting clouds, provides a resting spot.
From this warm oasis the forest, the braes and higher hills frame the horizon. A gentle wind, a mellow hum through branches of bush and tree, keeps insects at bay. A bird chirps.
I give thanks for years come and gone, that slipped by with the same almost unnoticeable movement of the world turning, or the clouds that drift west to east.
Thoughts shift to people and places I have known. Where are they now? If we were to meet again, what conversations might we share about how our lives turned out, and how far off shared times meant something always to be remembered?
The sun blinks out, obscured by a grey cloud. The warmth fades, the perfume of the heather is gone. It is time to move on.
