Diplomacy

View from above Kinfauns castle, July 2020

I was walking in the area and came upon a man, planting trees on the edge of an estate in which is situated a well-known, fine and historic private home. We passed the time of day while our dogs played. I asked him if there was a walk around the estate that might suit my parents, 81 this year. He kindly obliged with a route then shared some of the local history and a funny, interesting story. "You're a diplomat as much as a tree-planter", I said.

I'm actually a farmer, he said.

"It's nice to meet someone friendly on the land." I replied.  Given his first story, I thought he'd appreciate dad's confrontation-defusing tactics on my recent encounter with an angry man on the land.   I've mentioned before that the country world can be a small place.  Though we were twelve miles away and on the opposite side of Perth, he knew the place and the man.  Then, to my delight, he shared another tale of his own.

Around the time that the land reform laws were enacted, Ann Gloag, of Stagecoach fame, put, without planning permission, a fence around her twenty-three acres at Kinfauns castle, near Perth, for security and privacy.  As far as I am aware there is no similar fence around the Queen's Balmoral estate.  Ms Gloag's husband claimed, rather dramatically, that it would be "madness" to live at Kinfauns without a perimeter fence.  "Unless I had a gun you wouldn't want to be there," he said.  One view at the time was that, like the queen, and with their hundreds of million of pounds of personal wealth, Ms Gloag and her husband should, similarly, have employed their own security instead of erecting a fence. Ms Gloag was challenged by Perth and Kinross council and the Ramblers who wanted a section of the fence removed.  It was the first test case of the land reform laws.  Ms Gloag won. 

On the day the case went to court a dreadlocked hippy sat himself down on the lawn of a different private home, the one on the outskirts of which estate I was recently walking.  I had seen a man drive out of this estate on my walk, later confirmed as the owner.  A woman I had just met by chance had parked, albeit tucked very discreetly into a corner of bushes, near his gatehouse.  Unperturbed, the owner gave us both a cheery wave out of his car window and a hello before driving away.  Later, as I was leaving the farmer, I passed the owner again, this time on foot.  He remarked pleasantly upon the weather.  He seemed a jovial type but on that day of the hippy sitting on the lawn of his house, he was, understandably, disconcerted.  

"What can I do?  the owner said to my interlocutor.  "There's a hippy sitting on the lawn in front of the house."

"He'll just be testing you, over the Ann Gloag court case" replied the farmer, shrewdly.  Why don't you offer to show him around?" Out the owner went.  "Good afternoon!", he said.  Isn't it a lovely day?  May I have the pleasure of showing you the grounds?" And the problem disappeared and never returned.

It reminded me of another story in The Salt Path.  Hiking the South West coastal path Moth and Ray have been caught out one day with nowhere to camp.  In desperation, they hop over a fence and camp, late, on the green of the sixteenth hole of a golf course.  When I related this story dad sucked in his breath in horror:  "On the green!". Up with the dawn the couple have packed everything away immaculately and are just brewing some tea on a bench. 

"We'd mastered wild camping, turning 'leave no trace' into a fine art."  But across the course comes a man with his dog.  

"Hello.  Beautiful spot for a sunrise, isn't it?".  Moth as usual plunged straight in with his charm offensive."

The man looked at us and grunted, two dogs running around his feet as he walked around the green, clearly checking for damage to his grass.  But there was none; we'd carefully removed any loose earth as we'd withdrawn each tent peg. 

"You'll be off when you've had your breakfast then?"

"Yes of course, just came up for the sunrise"

He grunted and walked away.

Diplomacy's a gift of temperament and intelligence, maybe not even an innate one. Perhaps at its best there is a subtle sense of humour, which as Clive James said, famously, is common sense, dancing.