Borders Notebook

The Borders could handle a wee bit more love: while no one wants the place to be like the Lake District, a-bustle with elderly couples in brightly coloured clothing, a slight increase in appreciation would be acceptable. Flown over, passed through, not much visited, the Borders (by which is meant the cross-border region comprising Berwickshire, Roxburgh, Selkirk and Peebles, and north Northumberland) is scarcely known for what it is, a land not only hooching with history and presently strong — keeping its young — but also astonishingly, ever-changingly, easy on the eye. Thanks to Mother Nature’s intricate palette (the soft colours given focus by the zinging tone of the coo-hides) and geology — that fine secrecy of rivers — and careful land management, and the sudden birds, the land looks sensational. When the interplay of mist and sun is providing theatrical effects and frost adds definition, it can stop traffic. ‘Aye,’ we say, gazing, understatement being compulsory, ‘quite nice the day.’

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More paths would help. The four greatest boasts of my corner, central Berwickshire, are Duns Scotus, David Hume, Jim Clark and Louise Aitken-Walker, two deep thinkers and two fast drivers, world champions all, and all, presumably, bearing witness in their prowess to the excellence of the roads, for zooming along, and for walking along with a head full of deep thoughts. You can still zoom but a stroll up the A6105 is hairy work. Earlston, with its expanding network of paths around the town, shows the way. As the one place in Britain apart from the Highlands where stars are properly visible, the Borders, whose vastness can only be fathomed on foot (there are 457 square miles of Berwickshire alone), should encourage the slow movers, whatever their apparel.