Prosen chosen as place for a picnic and to grant Doyenne’s fresh horizons wish

O housenly last week, I was saying that I’d almost given up hope of hearing a mistle thrush’s spring song when I saw one across the road from the and heard his spirited tones. Well, blow me, the Doyenne and I heard another as we parked beside Prosen Church at the head of Glen Prosen. His wild song filled the air and it took several minutes to spot him perched on a vantage point on a treetop.

I’ve written many times of my affection for Glenesk. My father was born in Kirriemuir and grew up in Forfar and as a teenager he cycled – push biked he called it, with good reason, for he rode a classic sit-up-and-beg bike with no multiple gears to ease the push and puff of pedalling up steep hills – to the Angus glens and he walked the hills of Clova and Prosen. Of the two, Prosen was probably his favourite.

Despite having them on our doorstep, it had been too long since the Doyenne and I had visited any of the glens other than Glenesk. She expressed a heartfelt wish for fresh horizons and we chose Prosen.

With a picnic, we headed out on the familiar road from Edzell along the shoulder of Strathmore to Tigerton, Fern and Memus, past romantic Cortachy Castle with its soaring pepperpot towers sitting in the haugh by the bank of the River South Esk. We carried on to Dykehead where the road splits to Clova and Prosen.

Prosen has long been associated with Antarctic explorers Captain Robert Falcon Scott and Dr Edward Wilson who planned the final details of the 1910-13 British Antarctic Expedition which ended in their deaths, in the bungalow on the right at the start of the glen.

A mile or so farther on, there’s an impressively large memorial to Scott and Wilson at a bend in the road known as Scott’s View, as it was said to be Captain Scott’s favourite view while he stayed at Burnside Lodge.

Some years ago, bowling round a corner farther up the glen, I had to brake to avoid a pheasant crossing the road. I was concentrating so much on the bird I nearly didn’t notice the wildcat sneaking back into the undergrowth on the opposite verge. So perhaps that was one lucky pheasant and one hungry wildcat swicked out of its breakfast. It was the third wildcat I’ve seen and I’ve not seen another since.

There’s been a church at Prosen village, at the head of the glen, for more than 400 years. It’s a plain, whitewashed building with a simple birdcage bellcote with its bell to call worshippers to services. The church’s douce exterior doesn’t prepare you for the interior which was redesigned

by the prolific Scottish architect Sir Robert Lorimer, and contains fine carved wood panels above the altar commissioned by him. It’s a pity that for the time being it is firmly locked.

The early ministers must have been hardy chiels. A finger post directs you to the start of the track known as the Minister’s Path which crosses the hills from Prosen to Glen Clova. One minister served the churches in both glens and twice each Sunday, come rain or shine, hail or snow, he walked the path to lead the services.

There’s been a lot of timber felling in the glen, leaving wide empty spaces where there were stands of pine, spruce and larch. They take so long to grow to maturity and we get so used to seeing them as part of the landscape that we forget that trees are a crop and, like any crop, when it is time they will be harvested.

You can drive up Prosen on one side and down on the other. Crossing Prosen Water at Spott Bridge, we headed back down the glen. Past Pearsie House we turned left to Kinwhirrie and Prosen Bridge below Cortachy Castle. I’m fond of that short stretch of road which crosses a ridge separating the foot of Glen Clova from Prosen. The views to east and west are memorable and we stopped for a moment to enjoy them again.

Then it was back the road we had come passing Cortachy Castle, Memus and Fern and Tigerton – such familiar and reassuring names. We were ready for a cup of tea and a buttered slice of Selkirk Bannock and the Doyenne declared that the day out had done her the world of good.

At this time I look out for flashes of spring colour. A walk round The Burn estate took me past patches of white and blue crocus which have self-seeded in out

of the way spots. There’s a patch of dainty blue scilla which surely came from a cultivated garden. And goodness knows where the winter aconites came from. One of my wild flower books tells me spring snowflakes are found in Cornwall, East Anglia, Cumbria and St Andrews. Well, I’ve found them at The Burn.

Perhaps that was one lucky pheasant and one hungry wildcat

HISTORIC FEATURE: Prosen Church, whose exterior hides a fabulous interior of carved wood panels. Picture by Angus Whitson.