Knoydart: Arrival
Well, we’re here. Knoydart. 404 miles from where we were. Two days travel including a half hour hold up on the M6 due to a car fire and a rainstorm that Noah would have been proud of, on day two.
We’re staying with our son Ben and his wife Jenny (remember their names they will be appearing regularly in these journals and I shall not be reminding you!) until Friday, completion day. The owner of the house we are buying, another David, did offer that we could stay at the house but we felt that might be tempting fate and our solicitor might discover some hidden defect in the title that would make purchase impossible just to spite us.
On the subject of names there will be three of the handful of houses at Airor occupied by a David, so Ben has suggested it be renamed Davidsville. Coincidentally there are an inordinate number of ‘Bens’ in Inverie, the main village on the peninsula. Itouts. seems the Ruddle’s forenames are popular hereabouts.
Which reminds me of a most peculiar coincidence.
The Knoydart peninsula, before being purchased by the local community (which I should add was done with the aid of lots of government money) was owned by a certain Lord Brocket and there is a stone memorial erected in his memory just outside Inverie.
Lord Brocket was a Nazi sympathiser and during the second world war his houses and land were sequestered by the government for public use. One of those houses was Brocket Hall in Hertfordshire and it was turned into a maternity home for the duration.
One of those born in Brocket Hall was yours truly. So I began my life on his property and more than likely…
Anyway back to the move.
We are shattered. Leaving The Hodma’dod, our narrowboat and home for the last six years was emotional. We’d felt it when we left Overwater Marina for the last time, but locking up the boat and handing the keys to the broker, who is selling it on our behalf, had a finality to it that made us both well up.
Having the need for two cars meant we both had to drive the whole way but with frequent breaks we managed and arrived at Mallaig in good time for the ferry.
The weather had abated as we drove north and we unloaded what we needed from the cars to take over on the ferry in the dry. Praise be.
The rest will remain in the cars with one coming over fully laden and the other we will empty bit by bit as and when we return to Mallaig.
TUESDAY
A day of recovery and rest. The adrenaline had stopped flowing so our energy levels were fairly low (understatement), and as it was raining I spent time doing some paperwork — not least organising the house insurance.
Has anyone done that recently? Quotes for seemingly the same cover varied from just over £200pa to over £1500pa. As to whether there is any difference will of course not be apparent until we make a claim when the excuses will flow — ‘Well, you didn’t say that door didn’t have a four hour fire resistance so how can you expect us to pay out for the damage the mice have done to your roof.’ Or something similar.
Then there’s the car insurance. We are still insured through a broker in Suffolk and explaining to them that one car would be left on the mainland unattended for weeks on end parked on the street was not a risk they need worry about and that the other car would be parked on the side of a hill on a piece of moorland which at a pinch they could describe as private to get past the AI controlling their computer, was an entertaining way to pass an half an hour.
WEDNESDAY
This morning we visited Camusblathan. Completion is scheduled for Friday but David, the vendor, is going away for a few days tomorrow and we had a few things we wanted to clear.
With all the stress of the move the thought goes through one’s mind as to whether what we were doing was sensible. Then we saw the house again. And the view. Doubts disappeared.
We can’t wait until Friday now, when hopefully our car will arrive on the peninsula care of Spanish John and we can take up residence.
