Wish You Were Here Grand Tours of Scotland

Mountains, lochs,

distant islands, hills and glens,

the classic landscapes of picture-postcard Scotland.

These were the landscapes that people wrote home about in Victorian times.

But the tourists who put pen to paper

usually came from a tiny social elite - the rich.

For most of the population, a holiday was just a dream.

But when working people eventually won the right to some free time,

by far the majority of them didn't rush off to the Highlands to enjoy the view.

Most postcards home were sent from the seaside.

This is the last of my six journeys

to discover how Scotland became a major tourist destination.

For inspiration, I've been following a well-thumbed copy of Black's Victorian Guidebook.

It's been in my family for generations and has always served us well.

Letting its pages guide me,

I've travelled across Scotland in the footsteps of the early tourists.

My final grand tour sees me in the southeast of the country,

tracing the rise of the seaside as a worker's playground.

Scotland has thousands of miles of coastline, and here,

on the eastern seaboard, are some of the most beautiful beaches.

I'll be travelling from the seaside town of St Andrews,

hopping across the Firth of Forth to North Berwick,

and ending up in the capital city, Edinburgh.

My journey begins here, in St Andrews,

a place of pilgrimage for almost 1,500 years.

And, in Black's day, a significant tourist destination.

My copy of Black's was written long before the age of day trips and mass tourism,

and has the middle-class Victorian traveller very much in mind.

They were a high-minded lot, the Victorians, and any leisure activity had to be improving

or educational in some way, which no doubt explains why Black's is stuffed full of historical references.

Heaven forbid you enjoy yourself on holiday!

To help educate the visitor,

the pages of Black's Guide are crammed with edifying facts,

and St Andrews provides a rich vein to mine.

Founded in the 8th century,

the town became the most important ecclesiastical centre in Scotland.

The bones of St Andrew, Scotland's patron saint, were kept in the cathedral,

and pilgrims came from across Scotland to pay their respects -

triggering a medieval style of mass tourism.

Long after the last pilgrim paid homage here,

St Andrews continues to attract devotees.

But, 500 years on, these new pilgrims are followers of another religion.

Today, St Andrews is the world-renowned home of golf.

But it's hard to believe that, in 1862, when my copy of Black's was published,

the game was an overlooked minority sport and would not have been a reason for visiting the town.

In fact "gowff", as it was called in these parts, had often been frowned upon.

In the 15th century, it was actually banned by the Scottish Parliament.

Good citizens were meant to spend their time practising archery for home defence against the English

and not wasting time on the golf course.

And even after the game was officially sanctioned,

it could not be played on Sundays, on pain of excommunication.

Some players simply couldn't help themselves, and preferred

the prospect of eternal damnation to the thought of missing a game.

One sinner, caught playing on a Sunday, responded angrily,

saying, "Farts in your teeth and prayers baith!"

It wasn't until Victorian times that golf flourished, and I'm off to meet the man who's credited with

popularising the modern game that we know today.

Which should be interesting, since he's been dead for over 100 years.

-Old Tom Morris, as I live and breathe. How are you, sir?

-Ah, good.

I recognise you from your photographs. You're wearing remarkably well.

You were a legend in your own lifetime, as well as being

a bit of a legend in death, as the father of Scottish golf.

I suppose you could say that. It's longevity more than anything else,

and being in the right place at the right time, you know.

I was born in 1821 and, you know, my demise was in 1908, so

I've witnessed all the major changes in the evolution of this great game.

It's been my life in St Andrews.

'The spirit of Old Tom Morris is still very much in evidence today

'around the Old Course, which he remodelled, and is brought to life by actor David Joy.

'And so, bizarrely, I find myself getting a lesson from a very late golfing legend.'

-Hit through the ball! Oh, fanta... Oh!

-You're going to hit somebody.

Swing back.

Aye, you see, you jabbed at it.

I'm feeling quite nervous now.

Aye, well, what you're gonna do is you're going to take the club

-back as full as you can and then just release it.

-Right. Release it.

-Head down.

-Looking at the ball the whole time?

-Aye, dinnae force it.

That's a difficult club to use, if you've not played with it before.

Oh, pathetic! Look at that!

-You lifted your head, that's all.

-Why do you think golf is so popular?

Because it has drawn in hundreds and thousands of tourists.

-It's man's instinct to just compete against each other, you know.

-Yeah.

If it was a stone and a stick, I could hit this further than you.

-I could reach that duned area in fewer swipes than you, sir.

-Right.

-And that's, in a way, how the game developed in the 14th and 15th century.

-Here in Scotland?

Oh, aye. Aye. Particularly here.

-Do you think there were other games similar to golf being played elsewhere?

-Oh, throughout the world.

As I say, it's man's instinct to hit a stone with a stick, isn't it?

But we claim it for ourselves.

Well, until you cut a hole out of the ground and you have a set of rules, which we developed

-in the late 17th century, that's why we claim it as our game.

-Right.

And then you could say that St Andrews rose as a pilgrim city again

under the banner of "the home of golf" during my lifetime.

-So that was very reassuring.

-So it's a second pilgrimage.

-Aye.

It was amazing watching that whole Victorian era

and all the gentlemen and the ladies coming in here to take the sea air,

all these courses springing up everywhere.

'The east coast was ideal golfing territory.

'With it's sandy soil and endless dunes,

'dozens of links courses sprang up across Fife and East Lothian.

'As you might have guessed, I've never been a golfer.'

Oh, now, that was a braw shot, sir!

'But I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it.'

To make the next leg of my journey,

I need to get from St Andrews to North Berwick.

In Victorian times, this journey would have been easily made by steamer.

But, sadly, in the name of progress, the steamers,

together with many of the east coast train lines, are long gone.

To make the short hop across the Forth, I've therefore had to

resort to a less than conventional mode of transport - microlight.

What better way to see the sights than a seagull's-eye view?

Down there is the Isle of May.

Back in Victorian times there was a regular steamer service

that allowed visitors to explore the ruins of a ninth-century Celtic chapel.

But the Victorians were even more fascinated by the Bass Rock.

Popular with sportsmen, who came to take pot shots at the gannets,

its remote and isolated position made it the ideal location

for Scotland's first high-security prison.

Back in the 16th century,

prisoners were sent to languish and die on this lonely rock.

Safely back on land,

I'm continuing my journey to the pretty seaside town of North Berwick,

which Black's Guidebook describes as "the most fashionable watering place on the east coast".

It may seem surprising today, but 100 years ago

North Berwick was an internationally famous holiday destination.

It was a real celebrity hotspot.

The richest of the rich came here.

World leaders and royalty all enjoyed the delights of a town known as the Biarritz of the North.

A glittering array of rich, famous and powerful people came here

to stay on the chilly shores of the Firth of Forth.

The Prince of Wales came, the Prime Minister played golf on the links,

while European royals enjoyed the bracing fresh air.

North Berwick basked in the reflected glory of its celebrity visitors,

whose presence here pushed the resort to number one in the top of the posh charts.

Part of North Berwick's popularity was down to the Victorian obsession

with the health benefits of sea water.

Very quickly, the fashionable, rich and health conscious

were making a beeline for the briny, ready to take the plunge.

Now, the original idea wasn't to go for a swim at all

but to immerse yourself completely in the sea.

This was actually quite a complicated affair

and great emphasis was placed on discretion and modesty -

lest the tiniest bit of flesh appeared on public display.

Which no doubt accounts for this less than flattering bathing costume.

Right, here goes!

Horse-drawn bathing machines were provided

for the use of those keen to dunk themselves in the deep.

These huts on wheels provided a discreet changing room,

where gentlemen and ladies could undress

and, with the help of an assistant, prepare for their invigorating ordeal.

Now, take it from me, you have to be a very hardy soul indeed

to enjoy the chilly waters of the Firth of Forth.

But there's no pain without gain.

And, as my old gym teacher used to say, if it hurts it's doing you good.

So, in full expectation of utter agony,

I'm about to take the plunge.

Whoa!

Ugh! Ugh! Ahh...

It's not that bad actually. Urgh!

I could spend all day out here.

Ugh!

Wealthy families would decant to North Berwick for the whole summer,

staying in one of the resort's many good hotels.

But, just as steamers and railways had transformed seaside towns like North Berwick,

the invention of the internal combustion engine

changed not only how people got to their destination,

but where they went and how long they stayed.

To find out more, I'm continuing my journey in a highly appropriate vehicle - a vintage Daimler.

In the passenger seat is travel historian Gemma McGrath.

And we're driving along in a very luxurious period Daimler.

Now, of course, this would have been an extremely expensive piece of kit back in the 1920s or 1930s.

What kind of people would have been driving machines like this?

Well, the very rich.

The people who first could afford cars were the upper classes.

North Berwick itself was home, in the holiday times, to the elite,

and so it was the new toy of the rich - the motorcar.

And of course they wanted to drive it round and explore other areas.

In a way, those people who were rich enough to afford a car

were the first independent tourists to go further afield without a guide.

The motorcar gave great freedom to venture beyond the resorts

and set their own agenda, which was a massive revolution.

So they could go places that no-one had been before, as tourists.

Can you imagine the excitement of saying, "Let's pack up and go for a picnic"?

It would have been quite amazing to have that freedom.

The motorcar opened up new horizons.

The era of mass tourism was dawning.

And with this new mode of transport came an all-too-familiar holiday experience.

Getting hopelessly lost.

-I seem to have lost all direction.

-Well, that's the spirit of adventure, isn't it?

Losing direction.

Think we have a hamper with sandwiches in the back, so I'm sure we'll be OK, Paul.

Eventually, I managed to get back on my route

and continue my journey from North Berwick

to a very different type of seaside resort -

Portobello, on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

If the 19th century was about wealthy Victorians exploring the Scottish landscape,

then the 20th century was about ordinary Scots discovering their own country for themselves.

You often get the impression that the history of Scottish tourism

is all about rich people and the middle classes

but when you come here to Portobello

you very quickly realise that there's a wider story to be told.

How ordinary working people - the bulk of the population - enjoyed themselves.

I'm meeting up with writer Eric Simpson

to find out how the simple pleasures of a day at the seaside

finally became something that everyone could enjoy.

That's no good. That's the pointy bit!

-Ah-ha-ha!

-Right.

When I nod my head, hit it.

It's about time we settled down to enjoy a traditional seaside picnic, Eric.

Eric, Portobello was really popular back in Victorian times.

But there would, I suppose, have been a degree of...I suppose we'd call it snobbery now,

around the kind of beach, the kind of resort that you went to.

If you were a middle-class person, you might choose to go to one resort

and if you were an ordinary person - an ordinary working person -

-you'd be lucky if you got a few hours on the beach here.

-That's right.

-They didn't... Working people didn't have much time for holidays.

-Tea?

This really only started in the middle of the 19th century,

when employers were gradually conceding, very reluctantly,

the occasional day off in the summertime, so that employees

could go on one of the excursions that were arranged by railway companies or paddle steamers.

Factories and workshops had machines which required overhauling and servicing.

They needed annual repairing. So it was convenient.

So this was really a holiday, not for the workers, but for the machines.

Yes. All unpaid of course. There was no such thing as holidays with pay,

for the majority of people, until the middle of the 20th century.

I think that's really interesting, because that was a big sacrifice,

they weren't being paid, which would have been a big deal in those days.

They must have felt it was worth it, to make that sacrifice to get

some time back for themselves, to get a life really.

Yes. They had this mass movement of people out of the cities, out of industrial towns,

down to seaside places.

Scotland's seaside resorts were increasingly packed with workers,

seeking fun and frolics away from the daily grind.

From photographs taken during its heyday,

Portobello looks like an overcrowded seal colony.

But not everyone approved of this newfound freedom for the proletariat

and there were numerous complaints

about rowdy behaviour and drunkenness.

Was there a sense amongst certain sections of society that all this free time

would lead inevitably to immorality of some kind?

It was all a little bit too free and easy.

Oh, yes, yes. Well, that's part of the reason why the better-off people

moved away from the more popular resorts like Portobello, Rothesay and Broughty Ferry

and they didn't want their children mixing with people that they considered riffraff.

Some people called them the Great Unwashed,

and the middle classes moved to other, quieter places,

or even further afield, to the Continent.

Can you paint a picture, Eric, of what this place might have been like in its heyday, about 150 years ago?

It would have been a busy beach on a fine day like this.

People from factories and shops.

And they would be wearing their best clothes, their Sunday clothes.

Just wandering back and forth.

Some of them would be paddling.

There were donkey rides for the children, seaside entertainers.

There were three picture houses. There was a dance hall.

There was... At the beginning of the 1900s, there was a zoo.

And, when they got tired of the zoo, they could move along and see the natives in the Somali village.

Somali village? With real Somalis?

Real Somalis, brought all the way from East Africa.

They were in their native costume.

The men had spears and had mock spear fights.

All very non-PC, of course.

-So it was quite a place.

-Looking across the Forth of Firth, it's really still a great place to be.

-It's a splendid beach.

-It is. I've just found my sandwich.

I'm starving.

Egg mayonnaise, perfect for a beach.

It seems to me that the freedom to enjoy yourself on the beach

symbolises a wider social change.

By the early 20th century, Scotland was becoming a place

where almost everyone could have a holiday experience of their own.

For the final part of my journey, I'm heading for the most visited

21st-century Scottish tourist destination of all -

Edinburgh.

You can tell from the guidebooks how important Edinburgh is.

Just about every single one of them starts with a chapter on this great city.

Black's Guide sets the trend,

with the claim that the view of the city is one of the finest to be had

of any capital in Europe.

"The prospect obtained is varied and extensive.

"Traced like a map,

"the landscape lies in cultured beauty, stretching wide."

Edinburgh is a truly stunning city.

Throughout its streets there's a strong sense of its rich history

and visitors come here from all over the world

to soak up its unique atmosphere.

Well, the first stop is the castle.

We don't have a lot of those in the states. Not really.

The whole town is amazing.

This is a European city and it's very different.

-It's lovely. Beautiful.

-Absolutely beautiful.

You kind of are immersed in the culture, with the people,

with the ancient buildings.

You live the history.

But as I walk along the Royal Mile,

I'm also struck by the constant bombardment of tourist kitsch.

Kilts and bagpipes abound, and the casual visitor could be forgiven

for forming a picture of Scots wearing tartan,

eating haggis and roaming in the gloaming.

Of course, this image has virtually nothing to do with everyday life in Scotland today, and the truth is

that it never actually was like this for the majority of Scots.

So, where does this national stereotype come from?

Well, there's a huge monument on Princes Street to commemorate

the man who many claimed sold his idea of Scotland to the world

and, in particular, to England.

His name is Sir Walter Scott

and he's often described as the man who invented Scotland.

I'm meeting writer Stuart Kelly, who has studied this incredibly influential figure.

Stuart, was there a political agenda

behind Scott's presentation of his country as a romantic destination for tourists?

Absolutely. Scott was a committed unionist and, in promoting Scotland

as this destination, he was really trying to cement the union.

It does seem kind of ironic that emblems of Scottishness -

tartanry and the Celtic world of myth and legend -

become associated with the union. I mean, what was the thinking there?

I think the idea was that Scotland should be Scotland and England should be England

and Scott was almost negotiating between the two -

explaining Scotland to the English but also explaining England to the Scottish.

-So, in a sense, he was trying to broker a marriage of equals?

-Yeah.

-On cultural terms.

I've always said that Scott is more like a marriage guidance counsellor than a divorce lawyer.

Scott transformed the old image of Scotland

as a place bedevilled with poverty and rebellion.

In doing so, he literally rewrote history, repackaging it for an English audience.

Scots were portrayed as noble, loyal and devoted heroes, who belonged to

a bygone age - an exotic culture in a wild and romantic landscape.

And the Victorians lapped up Scott's verse.

"O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child!

"Land of brown heath and shaggy wood Land of the mountain and the flood

"Land of my sires! What mortal hand can e'er untie the filial band

"That knits me to thy rugged strand!"

Now, did this work? I mean, was it successful?

Almost from the outset, tourists were flooding to Scotland, looking,

not for the real country, but for the image that Scott had created,

what we now think of as the Scottish stereotype identity.

And that's why we all should be wearing kilts and living in a glen?

-Indeed.

-And frolicking in the heather.

Scott's poems and novels inspired the shortbread-tin image

that has pulled in the tourists since the 19th century.

But, even as he wrote, Scotland was changing, and already had little in common with his romantic fantasy.

Scotland had become an industrial and scientific powerhouse of global significance,

but the image of a tartan-clad warrior was hardly an emblem of modernity and progress.

Some of the world's greatest thinkers and inventors had emerged during a period

that came to be known as the Scottish Enlightenment.

Adam Smith, David Hume, James Watt, to name just a few.

Yet Scotland was sold as the land of castles and couthy natives,

and still is.

Let's face it. Tourists have never come here to see the future.

They're only really interested in our past.

So, are we stuck with an image that's fundamentally backward-looking,

static and unable to evolve?

In a bid to see the capital through the eyes of a modern visitor,

I'm going to hop on a tour bus. And joining me is Peter Irvine,

author of the contemporary tourist guidebook Scotland The Best.

Peter, do you think we as a nation in Scotland depend too much on the past to attract people here?

I don't think so really.

That's why a lot of people come and we've got a lot to be proud of.

We're unique. We have something unique to offer.

-It's a really strong identity.

-It is part of what we are.

-It's part of what we are.

-Why do you think we have difficulty with it?

It is part of our identity and it is what a lot of tourists expect to see when they come to Scotland.

They expect to see at least one kilt in their five-day stay and, if they don't, they feel disappointed.

But why do we feel somehow uncomfortable with that?

Well, because we have a strong image of ourselves,

which may be slightly different to what, you know, visitors might think.

But I think the trick of course is to be both historical and contemporary

at the same time, to strike that balance.

You know, we are a creative people.

We're endlessly recreating and reinventing ourselves. That's what contemporary culture does.

This city has made a worldwide reputation as a festival city.

In fact, it's fairly true to say that we invented the arts festival 70 years ago.

So, do you think really one of our biggest assets, as a tourist destination, is our culture?

Contemporary culture mixed with the culture of the past.

Unquestionably. Culture and landscape are what we have.

And if it's draped with a little bit of tartan and there's a wee bagpipe player playing, maybe that's OK.

Edinburgh is the last stop on my journey.

I've been on the road for two months.

With my trusty Victorian guidebook,

I've followed in the footsteps of the first tourists to come to Scotland.

200 years ago, those early visitors came here in search of the romantic ideal -

in the belief that the awe-inspiring landscape

would not only help them to escape the dull routine of the modern world,

but would give them a sense of their own place in the universe.

Later tourists found the wide-open spaces of the north an ideal recreation ground -

a place where they could act out their own fantasy version of Scotland and Scottishness

- with or without the help of Sir Walter Scott and a bit of tartan.

As for me, well, being a tourist on my own grand tour of Scotland

has confirmed a prejudice I've held for a long time - that this is a glorious country.

There could be few places on Earth that combine such stunning and varied landscape

with such a compelling history.

And just when you think you've seen it all, you realise that there's still so much more to discover.

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