Tim's Tales: In Robert Louis Stevenson's footsteps

I was with my two youngest children, Skye and Lewis, as they were accompanying me to a storytelling gig I was performing in.

Then we noticed the smell.

“Oh, that’s minging,” said my daughter, “what is it?” Both kids held their noses as I examined the bag to discover the source of the stench.

It was a crab claw Skye had discovered two days previously at the beach and which she had pleaded to keep. I’d reluctantly agreed, as long as it was put in boiling water immediately when we got home and kept in the garden. But, for various reasons, that hadn’t happened and we’d forgotten about it.

So the moment we arrived at Princes Street Gardens, we found a place, away from people and dogs, to bury the claw. Although Skye wanted a photo of it for posterity.

It was the final end to a story which had been told 48 hours beforehand in North Berwick.

The story had been part of a genuinely magic moment. We had visited the small cave at North Berwick where Robert Louis Stevenson played as a child. We were with new friends, Ukrainian teachers of English from Bucha, who knew and loved Stevenson’s writing and had never really imagined they would be standing in his childhood footsteps in Scotland.

It’s well-known Stevenson that came to North Berwick and holidayed here. His impressions of the area, as well as the tales of wreckers and smugglers he was told, inspired his writing. In later years, the images of the landscapes he’d explored as a child were the locations for many of his stories.

This small hidden cave is a perfect location for wild imagination to take hold. It’s tiny, not really a proper cave, yet big enough for children to huddle under. The rocks on either side create a miniature enclosure, making it feel secret. To be honest, it’s not easy to find and is only accessible at low tide.

When we arrived, there were a group of young people sitting in it, talking. We had interrupted their seclusion and conversation. So we walked on, over the rocks, but they politely and kindly allowed us possession of the cave. I felt a tinge of guilt about this, but appreciated their consideration and thanked them.

It was a very hot day and we had come to swim in the sea. But as I spoke about the cave to our friends, my kids explored it and then wanted to tell stories of their own. They had accompanied me on storytelling gigs during the previous week of holidays, and snippets of tales I told were woven into their own imaginations.

But I think the location was their main inspiration, with the sight, smell and sound of the sea. They told tales of unicorns, mermaids, seaweed monsters and pirates, plus a story about a giant crab, inspired by Skye’s discovery of the crab’s claw.

This was the moment of magic for me and my wife Kate, watching and listening to our kids tell stories in exactly the same place Robert Louis Stevenson had done when he was a child, and inspired by the same coastal landscape. I’ll be honest, it’s not always so idyllic, they fight as often as they play together, but in a sense that’s what made this moment of connection so special.

The storytelling continued after the swim. It was hot, even though by now it was early evening. The shade provided by the rocks was welcome. Eventually, it was time for our walk to Yellowcraig beach to view Fidra, said to be Stevenson’s inspiration for his Treasure Island. It’s visible from the cave, as are other islands, the Bass Rock, Craigleith and the Lamb. But Fidra mysteriously loomed in the distance, its intriguing shape silhouetted like a dark shadow, with the slowly setting, yet still blazing, sun behind.

The tide was out, creating a beautiful carpet of firm wet sand on which to walk. It took so much longer than I anticipated, as there was so much to discover, including some rather large, deceased, shipwrecked jellyfish. The wind was mild and warm, the sun made the sea literally sparkle; it was a breathtaking evening for this walk.

We stood by the rotten stumps of poles once used by fishermen for their salmon nets and here, as our children lagged behind playing with her daughter, our Ukrainian friend began to talk of her experiences of war before arriving here – too harrowing, and personal, to repeat here. The beauty and peace of our surroundings was in such contrast. In that moment, I felt so lucky, so privileged – being together with my wife, hearing our kids laughing, as they ran in the sand trying to catch each other’s long shadows.

We finally arrived at the beach opposite Fidra. There’s no space here now to explain its history, human or natural. But the sight of this island has always tingled my senses. On this evening, it was especially the case, perhaps because I was with someone who was experiencing it for the first time, and for whom this beautiful and magical place seemed to her like “paradise”.

She stood for some time, just taking it all in, deep in thought.

I left the beach with the determined hope I will one day visit and explore Fidra island.

“It feels as if you can almost touch the island when the tide is so far out,” I said to our friend. “I’ve always wanted to visit Fidra.”

She smiled at me: “It’s not such a difficult journey, Tim, especially if you dream it.”

We set off for home, the crab claw in the side pocket of my rucksack.