Perambulations
Thomas and Catherine Carmichael (Number 25) enjoyed walking in Edinburgh’s environs but a letter to The Scotsman from Thomas, published in 1896 under the heading Rights of Way in the Pentlands, indicates that there could be barriers to such a simple pleasure: ‘This afternoon my wife and I were enjoying a walk on the Pentlands. We entered the hills by the gate behind Bonaly Tower, and were wending our way up the hill by the path which leads over towards Glencorse, when our attention was attracted by some young men, who appeared to be acting as amateur policemen or gamekeepers. We observed them stop various pedestrians and break up some little picnic parties in a high-handed and bullying fashion, the reason apparently being that they had strayed from the path across the hill. When we were returning, our attention was attracted by a party of about a dozen young women who were picnicking on the banks of the Bonaly Burn; and we noticed a young man armed with a gun reconnoitring the group. At this stage my wife and I walked a few steps into the heather to look closer and was accosted by the man who, in a most insolent and bullying manner, demanded my name, and threatened to convey me in force to Bonaly Farm. I discovered later he was one of the sons of the farmer. After indulging in some abusive language, the young man made off and we resumed our journey. We were perfectly innocent of any trespass. We were doing no harm to anything. I believe that the public should know what treatment they may expect when they visit that beautiful and most accessible part of the Pentlands.’
Another advocate fond of a good walk was James Veitch (Number 53). He thought nothing of walking on foot in one day the fifty or so miles from Edinburgh to the family estate at Elliock, Dumfries-shire to enjoy a day’s shooting, and stride back to Albany Street on the third day. (An Extensive View of Elliock, Dumfriesshire by John Watson Gordon - collection National Trust of Scotland). Like his grandfather, Lord Elliock, Veitch was ‘a tall man, but of slender and wiry figure.’ His grandfather’s stature so impressed Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, when they met in Germany that the King urged Elliock to join his regiment of gigantic men. Elliock declined, but on leaving the Prussian Court the King presented him with a gold snuff-box as a token of his regard, and the two kept up a correspondence for many years. However, for the majority of those residing in Albany Street and the neighbouring streets what was wanted was somewhere local to walk for relaxation. The future of the open area and the North Loch below the castle had been under discussion for many years and the idea of pleasure gardens mooted. A small committee of city worthies was formed to take forward plans to drain the loch and develop gardens on the site, and Alexander Douglas (Number 40) was appointed as the committee’s clerk and treasurer. Although Douglas had a reputation as a first-rate lawyer of ‘strong and upright character’ his unkempt, shabby appearance brought him the nickname of ‘Dirty Douglas’. Douglas steered a successful path through the divergent views on what the area might be used for, negotiated the many ownerships and secured the money to pay for the garden’s creation. In 1828 Walter Scott wrote in his journal: ‘Wherefore should I walk along the broiling and stifling streets when I have a little key in my bosom which can open any lock in Princes Street Walks, and thus be on the Castle banks, rocks and trees in a few minutes? I made use of my key accordingly and walked through a scene of grandeur and beauty perhaps unequalled.’
At the same time as ideas for the Princes Street gardens were taking shape, some began to consider what might become of three open spaces that lay between Queen Street and Abercromby Place and Heriot Row. The space opposite Abercromby Place was the only one that had been designated under the feu agreement to be solely used as a garden and Baron Ord, a keen horticulturalist who lived at Number 8 Queen Street, purchased the bulk of it for his use, including building a tunnel under Queen Street to provide access to his garden from his house. He later sold it and for a time the garden area was rented as a nursery. The enterprising owner advertised evening events at which ‘Ladies and Gentlemen may eat fruits through the season’, and added musical evenings for which one shilling was charged.
In 1812, the opportunity arose to purchase the garden to create a pleasure ground for residents. A circular seeking subscriptions towards the purchase price was distributed to nearby residents, pointing out the lack of any open space: ‘for the purpose of public walks so much wanted in Edinburgh, and for the safety and amusement of children, such a space is nowhere to be found.’ Once the money had been raised the garden was duly bought and landscaped, with each subscriber receiving their own key to the garden. Later, the two other open areas opposite Heriot Row were purchased by residents and developed as private gardens. Sadly, a proposal for tunnels to connect the three spaces was never taken forward. Strict rules applied to ensure that only the proprietors of the houses, and their guests, could use the Gardens. ‘Access to the Garden shall not be given to any inmate of any hotel or other lodging-house, or to the members of any club’ and ‘No servant shall upon any account be allowed to enter the Garden, except female servants having the charge of, and bringing with them, the children of the people entitled to have access.’ The map from 1814 above shows the first residents' private garden - Queen Street Gardens East - with the other two garden areas yet to be created.
Yet for many it was the pleasure of walking through Scotland’s wilder landscape that brought the greatest contentment. John Brown (Number 51) wrote: ‘Then to Lochearnhead, where we put up our horse and took a walk for 3 miles up Glen Ogle, a most savagely beautiful pass. I left Mrs. Brown sitting on the banks of the Ogle, with Duchy [their dog] to guard and comfort her, and wandered up among the rocks till I got quite terrified. Fancy myriads of huge rocks, cubical in shape, and many of them as big as an Albany Street house, lying about on the hillside in all conceivable ways, and I a miserable Doctor wandering among them, and in perpetual fear of falling into some hole finally and for ever, and thinking I saw them slowly moving down upon me.’