From the dock side where the creaking bones of cranes stretch their limbs, I walk along River Street, past California street and America street.Turn right along Commerce street into Ferry street. Mechanics, joiners, pubs and pie shops. The newspaper headline – ‘Montrose headbutt nose breaker fined’. Turn right into Panmure place, past the golden dome of the Academy. Inside the keeper of things, the warm hum of the heating in the museum. Carpeted footsteps, a door opens, closes. No wind to blow the weather vane or the ships trapped in their glass bottles. Up Museum street, across Baltic street, past the public loos and up the vennel to the High street. I ponder over the thought of tea in the ‘Cup Above’ cafe but decide against it and carry on. Further on outside Boots, I meet Yvonne from the Salvation Army who sells me a ‘War Cry’, and we have a blether, reflecting that there are many twists and turns to a life. She says I have a shiny face, and gives me a hug. Turn right into John Street and left into Market street. On the corner of Orange Lane I spot some new ‘Midwinter’ crockery in the Oxfam shop and am tempted but ….. Head down Orange Lane and about halfway down turn left down the vennel where Puff the dragon lives. Down the steps brings you out onto Mill street. Walk along and then left into Queen street where, at number 12 the garden is a celebration of ornament – gnomes, and dogs and kissing children, all hand painted.Turn right into Kincardine street and left into king street. Cross the road down Reform street and left into Provost Scotts road. Keep on past the tennis courts and Curlie pond. A man in a tan leather jacket and sunglasses walks by. More Miami than Montrose. Up Broomfield Road and the model aero flying club hut and racing pigeon shed sit next to each other, the former in a restored world war 2 hut. I say hello to a man taking a miniature wind sock from the boot of his car. At the junction turn left and then a little further on right into the industrial estate. Up to ‘The Hoosie’ for a cup of tea and a bacon roll, the end of the line. On entering I am asked what brings me all the way out here -a stranger from out of town – cue Ennio Morricone…..Steve, the owner and Chris who runs a car repair shop tell me how they each came to be in Montrose. Both agreed there were worse places to live. Chris talks of a man who would leave the pub and swim across the river between Ferryden and Montrose, and that he would ride his horse through the town. A man comes in and orders a cheeseburger with tales of woe of delivering flat pack furniture up four flights in tenements. We chat about the EU and migrants, and Donald Trump…… Time to saddle up….. on Shanks’s pony, back the way I came.
I drive out of Montrose over the river to Ferryden to sit and look at the docks and write a few notes. The photograph is taken just along from the pub – ‘Diamond Lils’, and the sun illuminates the washing on the lines in the dwindling light of late afternoon. I feel a little emotional by the fragility of the clothing set against the enormity of the ships and the docklands behind.