As we climb up to Eas Mor waterfall in the south of the island of Arran, I pause to read the words carved into a fallen tree across our path: “Bow your head for you enter sacred and magical lands.” There’s a lot about Arran that is sacred and magical. Growing up in Glasgow, I went to the island several times as a child, played mini golf at Brodick and spent hours combing beaches for perfectly smooth, multicoloured stones. My husband’s family used to decamp from London for long summer holidays too: stories of three-year-olds trudging up Goatfell – the island’s tallest peak at 874 metres – are the stuff of family fable.
We have two children of our own now – Henry, eight, and Isobel, five – and we brought them back to this beautiful Firth of Clyde island in May half-term. Arran is often dubbed “Scotland in miniature”, but that is especially true and pertinent for families. You can be there in about two hours from Glasgow, and the island’s main road is a continuous 55-mile loop around its coast, taking in wild beaches, misty castles, whisky distilleries and looming granite mountains.
