Britannia Rules the Waves

‘A yacht is a necessity and not a luxury for the Head of our British Commonwealth, between whose countries the sea is no barrier but the natural and indestructible highway.’

HRH Queen Elizabeth II

And yet the Royal Yacht Britannia was taken off the Queen for reasons unknown, but which probably have a lot to do with mealy-mouthed envy. But you can still look around it and admire the royal floating life, from the docks at Leith, so we did.

The admiral’s rooms (and when the Queen is on board she is piloted – or whatever you do with boats – by an admiral) aren’t so smart and are actually a wee bit shabby. The whole ship retains its 1950s chintzy décor – the Queen apparently wanted country-house comfort rather than formal grandeur and she rejected the original plans as too elaborate.
 
It is spotless, however and a junior yachtsman had to scrub the deck every day before 8am. Tasks were all carried out in silence so as not to disturb the royal family, and the crew tried to stay out of sight so that the royal family wouldn’t have to constantly acknowledge their salutes.

In some ways the yacht is actually impractical and the master of modification. ‘Modesty balconies’ prevent skirts blowing up in the wind when the royal family were posing for photographs; high-positioned windows avoid any accidental glimpses into royal apartments; the Rolls Royce or Landrover was housed in a garage – as it was difficult to manoeuvre the vehicle into this space, replacements were ordered for the destination and the erstwhile garage was used for beer storage.

The Queen’s favourite room was apparently the sun lounge with its picture windows, drinks cabinet and rum tub, where she took morning and afternoon tea (not actually in the rum tub). The Queen and the Duke had separate bedrooms (other rooms could be used by other members of the royal family, but these were reserved specifically for them) and all but one room had single beds. Prince Charles had a double bed brought on board for his honeymoon – who says he wasn’t romantic?

There are jolly japes in the wardroom antechamber where the officers met for drinks before dinner. They played tennis with a stuffed toy (meant to be a wombat but looking nothing like one) and took it in turns to hide a wooden monkey around the room. At dinner itself the youngest member had to entertain the others with an amusing anecdote, and the gin pennant indicated who was buying drinks in the officer’s bar.

In the state dining room it took three hours to set the table; there were placings for 56 (guests included Mandela, Ghandi, Churchill, Clinton, Reagan and Thatcher) and menus were given to guests (seated on Hepplewhite chairs) to take away as souvenirs. The walls are lined with gifts from locations visited – The Galapagos, Easter and Pitcairn Islands; Bangkok; Papua New Guinea; Fiji; Australia; New Zealand; Trinidad – and the room could be converted to a cinema or a dance floor.

The Queen did a lot of work on board and she had a sitting room in which to do it. The Duke had a study which is absolutely symmetrical and connected by telephone. Every detail is considered – the centre of the mirror in The Queen’s sitting room is exactly at her eye level.

Chintz sofas and deep armchairs decorate the drawing room used for relaxation and reception, which could accommodate 250 guests, and a piano on which Noel Coward played is bolted to the floor to stop it pitching in high ‘C’s (Ha!). The Queen originally wanted an open coal fire in here but that would have necessitated a sailor to be on permanent stand-by with a fire bucket, so that idea was abandoned in favour of a more prosaic (and practical) electric fire. Flowers were always displayed in this room – they were either given to royals by admirers on their voyages, or they came from the gardens of Windsor Castle and were stored in a cool room – one of the stewards had to double as the royal flower arranger.

Although the chief petty officers were allowed spirits as well as beer, it was an invitation to drink at the petty officer’s mess that was most highly sought-after. Privacy was non-existent and the sleeping quarters were very cramped, but at least it was better than the hammocks (which had been used until 1970).

Some of the men were trained as divers and dived beneath the boat every day, and into every berth before they entered, to check for terrorist devices. The Royal Marines Band played them ashore – they had to know everything from classical to ceilidh and the national anthem of every country they visited, and they played the Beat Retreat after state banquets. The band rehearsed daily (as far from the royal apartments as possible) and had up to 26 different uniforms for band special occasions – all neatly stored in their tiny lockers.

There was exercise and competition to be had – a fiercely-contested Golden Welly was presented to the winning team of six runners who ran four times round the upper deck with the other team in pursuit. A mail office and a shop onboard catered for all incidentals (including sweets which the royal children were allowed to buy, and where fudge is still made and sold).

Britannia could be converted into a hospital ship in 24hours, although she was never used as such, and the sick bay doesn’t look particularly appealing. The laundry, however, was very busy, reaching temperatures of 45°C. Uniforms were changed up to six times a day, and 600 shirts were washed an ironed daily – to preserve decorum the royal family had their laundry done on different days from the crew.

You can take tea in the tearooms, which we did (Britannia lemon drizzle cake and a pot of Darjeeling), then continued our tour with a glimpse of the gleaming engine room. Details include 12,000hp; a team of 80 engineers; a speed of 21 nautical miles and hour; the ability to recycle steam to water and back; and a back-up diesel generator known as chitty chitty bang bang.

The Queen herself chose the blue paint (rather than black) and approved the gold line painted in 24 carat gold leaf paint. She enjoyed visiting the Western Isles and loves sailing generally, as does her husband and children. Prince Philip raced Tui at Cowes, and Charles and Anne learned to sail on the 12 metre class yacht, Bloodhound.

‘Sailing on a sunny day is the nearest thing to heaven anyone will ever get on this earth.’

Princess Anne

Show me the money!

A random aside: The Royal Bank of Scotland may be part of the same financial group as Natwest, but it has no access to their accounts. I know that now after having to make a special trip to the Natwest on George Street to withdraw more money. I am handed a motley collection of twenty pound notes all from different banks in a plethora of purples.

When gangsters flip open briefcases to reveal wads of cash - millions of notes of the same denomination - you will note they never use Scottish pounds; it just wouldn't look right.

Festival Fireworks

As a finale for the festival, fireworks explode over Edinburgh Castle. I try to take photographs, which is very tricky without a tripod to hold the camera steady and not knowing exactly when they will ignite the sky with brilliance - it is pitch black a fraction of a second beforehand. I like the colours and the flashes of light.
 
I also like the way they trail off leaving streaks of flaming cordite against the night sky. We have been drinking whisky as part of our tourist activities, so perhaps I am just seeing stars anyway. Here are some examples of my work. Any tips on how to photograph fireworks would be greatly appreciated.

My newest favourite thing: Whisky

Okay, so if we’re honest – and why wouldn’t we be – whisky isn’t exactly a new favourite thing for me. Luckily it wasn’t one of those drinks of which I partook too freely when too young and can now no longer stomach (that would be tequila) so I can still appreciate a fine dram along with the best of them.
 

So we met up with our parents, my cousin and his brother and friend to explore the Scotch Whisky Experience. A little ride in an open barrel takes us through the procedure of making whisky – Dad reckons that with only three ingredients (barley, water and yeast), it should be easy enough to make. As he immediately forgets one of the three (yeast) however, I don’t much fancy his chances. It’s cute and an actor is filmed pretending to be a guiding ghost – there are a lot of those in this city apparently – but you don’t learn anything you didn’t already know (or don’t immediately forget).

We sit in a room with colour-coded sniff pots to detect which flavours we like (smoky for me) from the four main whisky producing regions of Scotland: Lowlands, Highlands, Speyside and Islay. One of them (Speyside) is alternatively described as floral (me) or soap (Cousin Rachael). We also isolate the aromas cloves and vanilla pretty quickly and then we get to sip the nectar. We choose which of the four regions we wish to taste and we get to keep the tasting glass at the end of the tour (we even manage to transport ours all the way back to New Zealand – heartily scrubbed of course).

The Diageo Claive Vidiz Scotch Whisky collection, into which we are ushered, is the largest in the world and housed behind glass. This is the highlight of the tour for many – unable to keep their mouths closed, they may be hoping to catch some of the Angel’s share: the two percent of each bottle that evaporates.

Interestingly there are blends as well as single malts in this collection. Our guide tells us that there is incredible art in blends – the whisky blender has to use exactly the same quantities of each whisky to replicate the taste that the Bells and Teachers fans quaff in their thousands. We grudgingly admit that they are probably very talented, but we would all rather stick to the malts, thank you very much.

 

We have tasting trays of the four main types of whisky brought to us and a map on the wall highlights what we’re drinking. I’ve read review comments that this tour is expensive and a bit cheesy, which it is, but we enjoyed it. For a mixed group with a variety of levels of knowledge about whisky it was fun and a good way to spend an hour or so. I can imagine it would be a good work’s do or an ice-breaker for a hen night or collection of folk who don’t know each other very well (yet).

Various members of our group drift away and a little hard core faction continue our own drinking experience in some Royal Mile pubs. The Scotch Whisky Experience is right up the top by the castle, so it really is all downhill from here!

In Defens: Edinburgh Castle

Edinburgh Castle emerges from the rock, standing proudly above the city, the flags cracking in the stiff wind. It is imposing, formidable, solid and reassuring – depending on which side you stand – but it is certainly not comfortable.

The great halls are draughty; the stairs are steep; the walls are thick; and the windows narrow. As the weather creeps in through the cracks, the views of Edinburgh are wide and expansive but no number of tapestries and rugs can exclude the chill.

The National War Museum of Scotland explores more than 400 years of Scottish military history. War has given rise to extremes of technology and innovation, and revels in pomp and ceremony. Cabinets contain examples of weaponry; guns, daggers, dirks and bayonets. Rituals involve medals and dress uniforms. Paintings and letters capture coloured versions of history – ‘Butcher Cumberland’ and Culloden are frequently mentioned as is the Battle of Dunbar in 1650 at which the English Parliamentarian forces under Oliver Cromwell defeated a Scottish army and enforced military union with England.

Agreed union came about in 1707 but that was far from the end of the skirmishes including the Jacobite rebellions and Bonnie Prince Charlie. The Victorian era romanticised the Highlands (just like the last 50 years have romanticised the Irish Boglands) and all things Celtic, such as the re-emergence of tartan and the preponderance of kilts, which were worn by the army until 1940. A further exhibition, Land Girls and Lumber Jills, shows how the women were involved in military work while remaining at home – planting and reaping harvests to feed the population and provide timber.

A voice-over recording explains that Scotland’s history is military, and that disbanding their armies has been particularly tough. ‘Famous regiments with famous names have been disbanded regardless of their achievements and long service.’ Although The Black Watch are not specifically mentioned, it is hard not to think of them, especially having seen the phenomenal National Theatre of Scotland play of the same name.
 

Pipe bands play as we roam the parapets – the mournful sound drifting down over the city and reinforcing the elegiac effect of this place on the rock. Modern munitions are represented by the crates of fireworks that will be let off later in the weekend to celebrate the end of the festival. We missed the Edinburgh Tattoo by a day. I can’t say that I’m sad about that, being slightly disturbed by the orgiastic parade of military might (I favour John Hegley’s argument here). There is definitely a pent-up feeling of barely restrained anger without an outlet around these walls.

St Margaret’s Chapel provides a quiet place for contemplation, however. The diminutive building is the oldest in Scotland, built for her by her youngest son, King David around 1130. Even this beautiful but spartan building with its stained glass windows commemorating the saint (Margaret was canonised in 1250 for her pious and charitable acts) has not always been used for worship – from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century it was a gunpowder store.
 

The Scottish National War Memorial is within the castle walls at Crown Square – built in 1927 in a somewhat austere art deco style. It was to commemorate the approximately 150,000 Scottish casualties of the First World War in the Hall of Honour. The names of the dead now extend to over 50,000 in the Second World War and the campaigns since 1945 including the Mayan Emergency, the Korean War, Northern Ireland, the Falklands War and the Gulf War. So many dead soldiers; Scotland remembers.
 

A particularly poignant cemetery is for the soldiers’ dogs, so there are gravestones for Tinker and Scamp, and other officer’s pets and regimental mascots. It has been in use since Queen Victoria’s time and is a perfect example of era’s blend of maudlin sentimentality with dignified respect.

A queue announces the whereabouts of the Scottish Crown Jewels (otherwise known as the Honours) and people shuffle through the exhibit which tells their story, anxious to get a glimpse of the crown, sceptre, orb and the seat of kings (and queens), The Stone of Destiny.

Apparently they still have a ceremonial part to play and the Queen symbolically presented them to the opening of the Scottish parliament but, the way things stand at present, no one will ever again wear the Crown of Scotland. No wonder ‘it’s in good nick’ as Him Outdoors says, ‘it’s not been used much’.

In my defens God me defend is the motto of the Royal Coat of Arms of the Kingdom of Scotland, often simply abbreviated in modern English to 'In Defence'. Nowhere is this more pronounced than the capital's castle where the sense of righteous indignation simmers palpably beneath the surface.

Two Plays in Spanish in Edinburgh

Chilean theatre performed in Spanish as part of the Edinburgh Festival – why not? It’s all about multiculturalism after all. The plays have ‘supertitles’ – screens to the side of the stage on which the English translation is projected. Sometimes this can be very distracting – especially when there is a long stream of dialogue which you can’t read fast enough to keep up and you feel you either have to miss some words (I’m sure the translators do anyway), or miss some action. I chose the former, as I figure that actions speak louder than words and with the universality of theatre, this is generally true.

The Man Who Fed Butterflies (Teatro Cinema)
Kings Theatre, Edinburgh
29 August – 4 September 2010

The multi-media production is visually arresting if not emotionally engaging. There are three interwoven stories: an old man who towards the end of his life revitalises an ancient tradition of feeding butterflies with nectar (they are the spirits of dead warriors trying to find their kingdom, apparently); a director makes an epic film about a knight and his lady love; and a woman who has been in a coma for many years after being shot during a police demonstration.

The play blends film and live action in an intriguing manner in which the actors work with each other as well as shadows and projections of themselves. Changing positions and perspectives confuse more than they clarify and the hallucinogenic sound-track enhances the hypnotic ambience. The special effects are probably crude in comparison with cinematic tricks but they form the basis of the show and Teatro Cinema are acclaimed for their innovation.

The Butterfly Effect is often mentioned in relation to Chaos Theory in which it is propounded that small actions such as the beat of a butterfly’s wing may have profound effects such as causing a tidal wave. This may all be a bit much so it’s probably best just to enjoy the illusions and let them wash over you without examining them too closely.

The Man Who Fed Butterflies asks questions about the true potential of the human mind, the nature of acting (one of the actors of the film within a play says, ‘I prefer theatre’ – I think I do too) and the importance of fantasy as an antidote to the harsh realities of life and loneliness. It is easy to admire but not to identify and, as all the characters wear masks their stories are representative rather than real. It makes me think; but it doesn’t make me feel.

Diciembre (Teatro en el Blanco)
Royal Lyceum, Edinburgh
2-4 September 2010

2014 is the new 1984 in Guilllermo Calderon’s play, Diciembre. It’s the predicted dystopia in the near future when the tensions in South America have exploded and Chile is at war with Peru and the Bolivias (which are no longer one country). In December, the season of ‘sad celebrations’, the young soldier Jorge (Jorge Becker) returns on leave to find his older twin sisters both pregnant and both with their ideas for his future.

Paula (Mariana Muñoz) hates with a passion and she rants against the imperialist enemies, desperate for Jorge to return to battle and kill them all. Trini (Trinidad González) is a pacifist who would rather hide and protect her brother; she merely wants love and affection, even if she gets it through sticking her finger into the eye socket of the eyeless army deserters. Jorge plays his sisters off against each other while wanting to know who are the fathers of their unborn babies.

Despite the strong social element the play has both a human and an absurdist feel as the sibling rivalries and political passions break free around the Christmas dinner table like an elaborate tango. Each of the actors plays another character (the drunken auntie; Father Christmas; the rejected lover) which is a heightened version of their more ‘natural’ self.

In many ways, this is a typical Christmas dinner with all the accompanying arguments, drunken relations and revelations, and enhanced festive sentiment. Due to power cuts, the tangle of coloured bulbs that illuminate the spare set of an off-centre table flicker on and off in different configurations like the end of a party that has got out of control.

Teatro en el Blanco have produced a highly charged and dramatic work of black humour. Whether engaging with the domestic dynamics or reflecting on the nature of war (Machu Picchu has been destroyed and ‘civil blood makes civil hands unclean’ indeed), this is a powerful drama even to someone who knows very little about South American politics. The fast-paced dialogue, gradual reveals, quick changes of character and rapid-fire South American Spanish all combine to heighten the challenging. I am left reeling and with feeling of sensuous exhaustion that makes me so glad that it is not Christmas every day.