Edinburgh to Westow

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

Another sunny morning which means that (other than that bit of misty moisture on Saturday night) we’ve got through Scotland without any rain. In fact, the rain jackets we bought with us have not yet been worn. Not even in Wales. Remarkable. Who would have thunk it?

It was definitely easier getting out of Edinburgh this morning than it had been coming in on Friday afternoon, and we were quickly out of the city and heading south.

Our first stop today was Melrose, a place we last visited back in November 2015. Last time we stayed a night at Fauhope House and visited Melrose Abbey, which is where Robert the Bruce’s heart is (apparently) buried. The rest of him is at Dunfermline Abbey. When I told Sarah that, she thought it made Bob the Bruce a little like (the racehorse) Pharlap – in pieces across the land. Pharlap’s heart is in Canberra, his hide is in Melbourne and his skeleton is in Wellington. I tried to explain the difference, but, well, she didn’t seem interested.

This time we’re calling in for a late breakfast stop and a wander up the high street, but it’s just as charming now as I remember it being then.

We bought Scotch pies at Alex Dalgetty & Sons, a fifth-generation family bakery and sat on a chair in the sun to eat them.

They were good pies, excellent even, so we went back and bought an Echelfechan Tart for later. (Then we spend most of the rest of the drive faffing about saying Echelfechan – and derivatives of it.) [Side note – there’s a recipe for Echelfechan Tart in my new Sue Lawrence baking book… I must make it when I get home.] In case you’re wondering, Echelfechan is a village near Dumfries and Locherbie and the tart is like a (fruit) mince tart, but instead of suet, it has butter in it. Anyways, we bought one.

Dalgetty’s also sell a Melrose tart which is iced in the colours of the Melrose rugby club – yellow with black writing. Inside it’s a closely guarded secret. From the description given to us it sounds like an iced Bakewell tart, but obviously it’s not because we’re in Melrose and not Bakewell. When I said that, I was told there’s also honey and ginger in it which would make it like a Bakewell tart in texture, but also nothing like it. (insert shrug emoji)

In the bookshop I bought Flora Shedden’s Supper, and in the deli we bought the cutest set of six cheese plates. The shop keeper seemed a tad disparaging about the baker we’d bought our pies and Echelfechan (we can’t stop saying the word) from and suggested we head to Twelve Triangles, a few shops down, to buy bread. Which we did. [Update – it’s fantastic. Seedy, sour, and perfect with lashings of Yorkshire butter and Tiptree cherry jam.]

Back on the road, we stopped at the border, as you do.

Our lunch stop was in Northumberland at Brocksbushes Farm Shop. I had a vegetable soup that was bland and thin. It came with a cheese scone which was bland and crumbly and held the barest sprinkle of cheese. Feeling generous, I rated it a five. Grant had a Sly Cake which was much better and something I should cook at home.

In Malton we picked up the usual supplies – pork pie, bacon, and Yorkshire butter from Fox’s the Butcher – as well as some supermarket staples from Sainsburys.

From here, it’s just a few miles to Westow, our home for the next four nights.

Our cottage, located behind the Blacksmith’s Arms, is disappointing when compared to Herbert Cottage (where we stayed last time) or Yew Tree Cottage (where we stayed the time before), but it is still comfortable. [In the Philly Barker novels, Chipwell Arms was inspired by Westow’s Blacksmith’s Arms and Philly’s cottage was modelled on Yew Tree Cottage.] There’s also a lovely view into next door’s beautiful garden.

We dump our things and head out for a quick walk to reacquaint ourselves with Westow. Signs of spring are everywhere.

The Blacksmith’s Arms isn’t open for meals on Tuesday night, so we head over to the Bay Horse at nearby Burythorpe only to find that they no longer do food on a Tuesday either. A man sitting at the bar suggested we try the Stone Trough Inn at Kirkham and even phoned ahead for us. When he handed me the phone to speak to the pub landlord it turns out that not only is he Australian, but his partner’s family owns the Blacksmith’s Arms and the cottage we’re staying in. Small world.

The menu at the Stone Trough Inn is very different to the last time we were here (in a very good way). We got chatting to Matt, who seemed to be running the place, and he said he’d been brought in to develop a food-forward menu and an expanded wine list.

We shared a beef carpaccio, and Grant had sea bass with potato rosti and a caper butter sauce. I had pork tenderloin with fondant potatoes and peas with kale and bacon. It was all very lovely and I suspect we’ll be back.

At home we shared a slice of Echelfechan Tart, or what Grant is now calling Fuckleberry Tart.

Oh, while I remember, Melrose (along with Lauder, a village just before it) is in the middle of an “in bloom” time. Daffodils are everywhere and shop windows are decked out for spring. A woman with a clipboard and a hi-vis vest was walking through the high street doing an audit on it all. Watch for this scene in the next Philly Barker.

The stats…

Temperature: 5-14

Miles travelled: 206

*Even though we work in kms in Australia, all signage in the UK is in miles, so that’s what I’m going with.

These posts are taken directly from my travel journal … you can find the series here.