Kirk Yetholm to Newtown St Boswells (and back again)

1 June

I took a rest day in Kirk Yetholm, which is hardly worth mentioning except that I spent the afternoon playing ukulele outside the pub. Suddenly a car pulled up and a man hopped out to ask if I'd be around the next night for the music session - I was a bit gutted to decline, but didn't really feel I could waste another day just sitting around. That evening however, I was chatting to an older gentleman about my plans to walk through Kelso tomorrow, and on hearing this the musician who'd approached me earlier offered to pick me up from wherever I got to, as he would be passing through Kelso anyway.

Plans sorted, phone numbers exchanged I set off the next morning. With no footpaths to Kelso I walked along the main road for a while (hardly any cars anyway) and then detoured through the back country lanes, making good time to Kelso. I had arranged to meet Ian, the older gentleman from the pub yesterday, at the Queen's Head hotel at noon, so had time to explore the site of the Kelso Abbey first. This beautiful ruin dates to 1100s and was once the major religious centre of the Borders, boasting coronations and political turbulence. Only the West Tower and transept remain of what was once a mighty building - plans found in the Vatican indicate it had a double cruciform design which was relatively rare.
I spent a pleasant hour with Ian and his friend, both are well travelled and had spent time in New Zealand. Both were rather amused that I only wanted to drink Coke, not beer (this is to become a recurring theme). I have found on this trip that if I drink in my lunch break, walking in the afternoon is horrible, and makes me feel a bit sick. Having been bought lunch as well I then headed out of Kelso, past the walls of Floors Castle, with hardly a glimpse of the building itself, and then along the River Tweed on the Borders Abbeys Way. In the end I put 34km underfoot that day, making it to Dryburgh an hour before my pickup, and so walked on to Newtown St Boswells.

I was picked up by Paz, the muso, and his friend Ian (a different Ian), and hopped into a car smelling of grass, motor oil, and... grass. Falling into the banter was easy, and by the time we reached Yetholm I'd been offered the spare room for the night. Paz let me drive his car down to the Border Hotel from his house, as I had mentioned I hadn't driven manual in a while. Turns out it's like riding a bike. We set up at a corner table, ordered drinks (on the house), and were soon joined by a few others. John plays banjo and guitar, and introduced me to the timing of a slip jig. Chris let me look at his bass ukulele - tuned like a standard bass, but looks like a large ukulele, with thick rubbery nylon strings - it needs an amp but has a beautiful soft sound. Paz has a guitar there but mostly does percussion, playing a handheld drum (bodhrán I think), egg shakers, or tambourine. Ron plays guitar beautifully and sings. Soon I am bold enough to throw out a few songs of my own, voice feeling tight with nerves and the need to project over the pub crowd. I pick up a tambourine and sing along when the others play. Two other women, one a traveller, one a new local, join us and add their own songs. The encouragement I get from these experienced musicians is heartening.
The crowd things out, my voice mellows into itself. With all the practice I've been doing it has become a lot smoother, and I sing a few songs acapalla - Amazing Grace, Touch the Sky (from Brave, but I doubt anytime knew that), a man asks me to sing again. Loch Lomond has the crowd all singing along, far after midnight. It's pure magic.