Edinburgh in July (2) – discombobulated at the Balmoral

During my eleven weeks travelling in Europe in 2017, I occasionally felt melancholic, or, as my late husband would have termed it, ‘discombobbled’. That’s how it was my first afternoon in Edinburgh in mid July. The weather was overcast; the city was swarming with tourists; the contrast with the peaceful Isle of Lewis, from whence I’d just flown, was overwhelming. I felt rushed because the afternoon was already well advanced, and I also felt a little unsure of what I wanted to do – the array of riches on offer, many of which I had experienced before, was overwhelming.

I had in mind that I would enjoy afternoon tea at the Balmoral, formerly the North British Hotel, in the heart of Edinburgh. The North British was built for the North British Railway Company adjacent to their Waverley Station, and it opened in 1902. My late husband, Bill, was a teenaged commis chef here for three years, from 1946 to 1948. He told me and our two children many tales about life in the kitchen of this great hotel.

I took some photos as I approached the hotel.  The clock tower was catching the late afternoon sun, and so I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was as Bill saw it. (In retrospect, perhaps the saltire would not have been flying, but rather the Union Jack – it was so soon after the war, and the Great in Britain needed to be emphasised.)

Balmoral Hotel, Edinburgh, clock tower   Photo: Ann Barrie

Balmoral Hotel, Edinburgh, front entrance   Photo: Ann Barrie

Balmoral Hotel, Edinburgh, view from North Bridge   Ann Barrie

The two kilted concierges at the entrance to the Balmoral were preoccupied with explaining to a group of Asian tourists that the Number One restaurant was not open at this moment, but they would be welcome to return at the dinner hour. A young man, smiling and friendly, perhaps a concierge in training, approached me and, when I asked about afternoon tea, explained that I was perhaps too late, but I could enquire at the hotel’s Palm Court restaurant, which was through the swing doors ahead.

The Palm Court was almost deserted; it was clearly the end of the afternoon service. A waiter glided up to me – I think he was Italian – and explained that it was too late for a full afternoon tea, but he would be happy to arrange tea and scones for me upstairs. I told him my husband had worked at this hotel as a commis chef when it was the North British. The waiter did not understand the significance of this – why should he? – but he smiled most charmingly and said there was a different name now, but it was the same hotel. I asked how much the full afternoon tea cost, and he said, 'Thirty-seven pound fifty.' He must have thought I looked alarmed, because he added, 'But it is like a meal in itself.' 

The Palm Court is clearly somewhere to celebrate a special occasion – in the company of another – and one day I will return. But that day, although longing for a cup of tea, and a little lightheaded with hunger, I decided against going upstairs for a solitary snack. Instead, I walked the short distance to Patisserie Valerie, on North Bridge. The cakes in the window were too sweet and fancy for my taste, but inside there was plainer fare available. The waiting staff, who were attentive and courteous, served me a good pot of Darjeeling tea, together with two scones, clotted cream and raspberry jam, for £6.50. I wondered as I paid whether I should have left a tip. The situation varies from country to country. In the United States it is important to leave a tip, because it is built into the wage structure; in France, by contrast, I might round up the bill, leave the small change.

Feeling fortified, I walked to the buildings of the Scottish Parliament Building, which I knew remained open for visitors even during the summer recess. Thwarted at 5.00 pm! The building had just closed for the day, an hour earlier than it would have, had Parliament been in session.

Weary and grumpy, I popped in to the National Gallery of Scotland. What an insult to a magnificent gallery of art! Such places need to be given time, attention and respect. Far better to remember the joyful day I spent at this gallery eight years ago. I decided not to ruin any more experiences, but instead to return to my hotel and have an early night so that my second day in Edinburgh was not spoilt by travel fatigue.              

Bill, Charles and Sarah Barrie in Edinburgh, July 1997  Photo: Ann Barrie

Blog by Ann Barrie