Seymour Travels Small Group Tours

  The drive was a pleasant one…. We passed Kirkwall and followed the main road to the Ness of Brodgar and pass the Ring of Brodgar. Driving up over the hill to the North we were mid way between Skara Brae and the Stones of Stenness, and the view across the ancient pastures and meadows was beautiful. Dotted with a handful of small farms, the setting was tranquil and atmospheric. We headed NE … A low range of hills was traversed before we drove down to the pristine beach of the Bught of Lindy. The road followed the white sand but it had become a track. A sharp right angle… a kink in the road saw us safely navigate around a marshy area, and as we did so the local farmer pulled his tractor over into the layby to enable us to pass. He waved…… we cheerily waved back. The sun was out and the sky was blue without a cloud in sight….. I knew that we were only seconds from our destination…. No one else did. I smiled inwardly. The gravelled parking area ‘crunched’ as I brought our minibus to a hal

  “It rained again last night! I am heading towards the great abbey in Tavistock. My friends…. Other Templars… will be awaiting my return. Two months ago we had word that the king of France had sent out orders to hunt us all down. Many have been captured by his constables and men-at-arms already, and I have no doubt that many of them will perish. The King has a vendetta against us…. It is thought that his reasoning is based on the fact that he owes our ‘order’ huge sums of money, and that he fears our strength. My mission has been to find out the real causes for this injustice against us, and to find out what, if anything we can do. My news is not good and my brothers will be dismayed. My travel has been arduous, and trekking across France and England has been perilous. Spies are everywhere! I am fearful. Many of our friends on continental Europe are fleeing…I am told that they flee to the mountains, East and West. We ourselves, should hide in our Northern mountains. Sanctuary will be

  Climbing out of our tour bus, I invite everyone to ‘walk this way’….. I navigate my way to a ‘rubble field’ on the moor…. One of many such piles of stones that stretch away into the distance. I stand between two stones…. A doorway…. And I invite them into my home. Nine intrepid explorers and myself step back in time as we cross the ancient threshold and into a home that was last lived in four thousand years ago. I ask everyone to take a seat on one of the stones that make a crude circle amongst the marsh grasses and peat bogs of Dartmoor. We all sit. There is a mist hanging in the air and a couple of Dartmoor ponies graze peacefully on the tor ( a volcanic plug made of granite), in the distance…..it’s peaceful. As everyone breaths, our breath turns into steam and is taken away on the soft moorland breeze, that in turn makes us wrap our jackets around our bodies for warmth. I start to tell everyone about the lives of the folk who once lived in this house…. How they lived, what they at