The Turning Tide (It's a book title, okay?)

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I promise you this was not planned. The fabulous and iconic Catriona McPherson and I chose this date for her post long ago, and I had no idea what her next book was titled. (Some reporter I am.)

But here you have it. And, since I am typing this introduction at 7:50 pm on Thursday, and I don't know whether it will be prescient or ironic, I will say no more.

Except...it's a good day for a voyage.


THE TURNING TIDE

by Catriona McPherson

No one’s going anywhere much at the moment, right? At least not for pleasure. So it seems like the perfect time for a bit of armchair travel. Plane, train, or automobile though? Well, it just so happens that my new book THE TURNING TIDE has a ferryboat at its heart, so I thought my top five favourite ferry-rides would be a nice idea.

The first thing to say is that even though I lived for many years on an island off the north coast of Europe, I’ve never been to France on a ferry. I used to fly, and then they opened the Chunnel, after which I don’t understand why anyone ever got on a ferry again. You drive your car onto a train – already a thrill – have a cup of coffee, and drive off in Normandy! It’s a miracle akin to the London Underground (my favourite way to travel), where you go downstairs at, say, Regent’s Park, leaving the traffic jam behind, sit and read your book for ten minutes, and come back upstairs at Piccadilly Circus. Wow.

So my favourite ferries are not the least bit Poseidon Adventure-y. They’re pretty tame, to be honest. But here goes anyway:



The Skye Boat (40 mins)

There’s a bridge to Skye now, of course. But one ferry still runs and I’m very glad of it, because when there’s a famous song about a ferry it would be a shame if we had to change the lyrics to “Speed bonny hire car, like a bird on the wing, over the toll-bridge tae Skye”.







Windermere Ferry (10 mins)

This was the first short ferry I fell in love with. It goes - on chains - from Bowness-on-Windermere to Far Sawrey, in the Lake District, in the north of England. When I was a wee girl, we’d wait in the car – stuffed with the accoutrements for a camping holiday – as the queue inched forward down the hill. It took a lot longer to wait for the ferry than to cross by it.

Later, when we were students, Neil and I would take the train and schlep our rucksacks down to the lakeside, passing all the cars and strolling onboard, insufferably I’m sure. At the other side, there was still a fair walk, but it goes right past Beatrix Potter’s cottage. That always helps, doesn’t it?






King Harry Ferry (5 mins)

This little chain ferry might be my favourite of all (I choose not to believe that it got its name when it carried Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn to their honeymoon, because . . . eek.)

It crosses the Fal, in Cornwall, connecting the Roseland peninsula to the bit where Truro is. There’s often a massive wait and it only saves 27 miles of driving but that’s by the by. Because no ferry that describes itself as “joining the parish of Philleigh to the parish of Feock” is making a serious bid for that Staten Island vibe. I know it as a way to visit Trelissick National Trust Gardens and be forced to stop at a fantastic little country pub for sustenance. Happy days.








Threave Castle Ferry (3 mins)

Speaking of happy days, before Neil and I made the great westward migration to California, we lived in Galloway, where some of the best weekends were when we stole babysat for my sister’s six little boys. (Well, usually five because we started before the youngest one was born and the oldest one graduated into coolness, and out of aunties, while we were there.) Whatever else we did on these weekends – while my sister walked around quiet, tidy rooms in wonderment, by the way – we always went to Threave Castle. They sold plastic swords and shields at the giftshop and it was usually quiet enough so no one minded the boys (and uncle) re-enacting various battles on the old stones.

Fab as that was, though, hands down the best thing about Threave Castle is that you get there, across the moat, by pulling a bell rope and waiting for a man in a wee boat to chug over and pick you up. Can you imagine the horse-trading that went on about who got to ring that bell?








Ed. note: (Hank here) Oh, I am swooning..

Cramond Ferry (2 mins on a bad day)

Which brings me to the ferryboat across the mouth of the Almond River between Queensferry (where I was born) and the village of Cramond. It’s long gone, although my dad remembers it. These days once you’ve tramped through the estate of Lord Rosebery – who’s kind enough to let you – all the way to the river’s edge, you can see the café on the other side, and smell the hot soup and fresh rolls, but it’s two miles up to the bridge and back down again with your stomach rumbling before you get there.

In THE TURNING TIDE, it’s 1937 and the ferry is still running. But the ferrywoman, Vesper Kemp, is causing trouble. She won’t get in her boat when the sun shines, only when it’s cloudy or raining. That’s as inconvenient as it’s puzzling and so Dandy Gilver and Alec Osborne are on the case.

Nostalgia for a lost ferry ride of two minutes might not seem like a legitimate springboard for a serious novel but I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. And I might not be done with that sort of thing, because will you look at this tiny harbour I found on my last trip home? Thinking, thinking . . .

(ed note: See below for the little harbor. No matter what I did, this software would not let me put it here. So scroll down, then come back.)

And now, what have I missed? What are your favourite ferry trips? Or most miraculous-feeling transit methods? And have you ever seen a smaller harbour? If so, let me know.

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Miraculous-feeling transit methods? Again, it’s 7:50 on Thursday, and we all may have more to say about that today. (But is that the BEST cover, or what?)


I did take a ferry from Copenhagen to ahh...where in Sweden would it have been? (It was incredible, totally, except for all the herring they served.) And the tiny tiny ferry-like thing from St. Kitts to Nevis, which is magical and time-travel.

How about you Reds and readers?

And here is the darling little harbor. Harbour.

Catriona McPherson was born in Scotland and lived there until immigrating to the US in 2010. She writes the multi-award-winning Dandy Gilver series, set in the old country in the 1930s, as well as a strand of multi-award-winning psychological thrillers. Very different awards. 

After eight years in the new country, she kicked off the humorous Last Ditch Motel series, which takes a wry look at California life. These are not multi-award-winning, but the first two won the same award in consecutive years, which still isn’t too shabby.

 Catriona is a proud lifetime member and former national president of Sisters in Crime.