Orwell archive at BBC
a...@devesons.demon.co.uk
4, so here's a link to it.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/orwell/index.shtml
I like the sentence in a letter to Heppenstall about visiting Jura:
"It's only that one has to walk the last 5 miles..."
http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/orwell/7437_1.shtml?docall=2&doc=7437
It's a nice walk, if a tough one, and you have at some point to do it
in the opposite direction.
Heppenstall had written to GO: "I am feeling so extremely fragile that
the journey itself had begun to appall [sic] me..."
http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/orwell/7439_1.shtml?docall=2&doc=7439
Pilgrimage or not, I think I now have a little bit more insight into
what GO was experiencing than I did before and a clearer sense of
respect for what a sick man achieved.
Tom
P.S.Burton
It's a very tough walk, I found. When I went in 2003 I arrived at the
far side of Islay just in time to miss the last Jura ferry of the day
- it was literally pulling in as I got to the bottom of the hill where
the harbour is (by the way - if you used the gents at islay harbour
did you see the sign that simply read "TURN OFF THE FUCKING TAPS"?).
It was heartbreaking becuase the sound is so narrow and Jura looked
close enough to touch and I'd already been travelling for 2 days. I
had to sleep in the woods. The next morning I remember putting my
tent away at about 6am to hustle down and catch the first ferry of the
day. My tent was covered in a thick layer of frost and made my hands
bright red and so cramped I really struggled to stuff it back into its
bag. The ferryman made me a cup of tea without even asking if I
wanted it, which was a nice touch. Once on Jura I didn't have enough
cash left for the bus and I was too proud to ask for a freebie so I
walked the whole way, stopping off at Jura House to wash my feet in
the stream, have a drink and change my socks.
I remember very vividly getting to the end of the road and starting
down the track to Barnhill for the last 5 miles. There's a sort of
carpark affair at the end of the paved road isn't there, and there's a
track heading west across the hills to glengarrisdale bay, where I was
planning to camp later in the week. By the time I got to this point
it was just getting dark and I had to choose between camping for the
night and reaching barnhill the next day, or pressing on. I was
feeling buggered about and very behind schedule (I had also missed a
ferry at kennacraig to get me to Islay and ended up camping on the
shore there) so I pressed on. Eventually as it was almost full dark I
spotted a white house and light in the distance, far too far away for
me to get to before nightfall. It was massively disappointing but
there it was, Barnhill or so I thought - I trudged on, only looking
for a place to camp now and suddenly, closer than I'd have though
possible there *was* Barnhill. Unmistakeable, just like the photos
and barely a quarter of a mile away. I later found out that the place
in the distance was actually kinuachdrachd. I was so pleased and
excited I can't tell you. I took a minute to savour having arrived at
last and then charged off the road heading for barnhill as the crow
flies. I must have looked like I'd escaped from a chain gang,
lurching down the hill and over fences, through bracken etc, with my
rucksack on and my fishing rod held in my hand like a staff but the
road seemed to sort of pass barnhill and loop back, and I was too
impatient for that. I arrived on the field beneath barnhill that
slopes down to the sea, crossed the little stream and pitched my tent
just before full darkness arrived. Almost immediately I was inside it
started raining hard. I was knackered, but far too keyed up to
sleep. It was tremendous. I have never enjoyed a journey more.
