Portballantrae

One evening, several years ago, Catriona and I went for a walk along the strand at Portballantrae. It was dusk when, on our way back, we approached the footbridge that crosses the River Bush where it flows into the sea. Catriona, who can hear high-frequency sounds to which I am oblivious, stopped suddenly. It wasn’t long before we both saw what she had heard — a huge colony of hundreds of bats. We stood, mesmirised, while they circled overhead before disappearing as mysteriously as they had come.

I accepted there was no chance of seeing bats when I went with John to Portballantrae a few days ago. The tide was out. There was only a trickle of water in the stream that flows through grey stones and then sand; so we continued across it to the end of the beach where we found a path through mature dunes. Soon we came to the narrow guage railway that connects Bushmills to the Giant’s Causeway, and we were almost at the terminus. There is a cycle path close to the track and weaving across it. We followed it back. Unkempt ground lay beyond the fence on our left. Closer to us were harebells, the occasional burdock plant covered with burrs and snails among marram grass; but diversity disappeared when we came to the golf course. We returned to the car park, bought sandwiches and coffee at the supermarket and sat beside a circular metal table.

It was only then that I noticed nearby a building with a slanted roof that was covered with plants. There were long strands of hay-coloured grass at one edge, but most of the roof was covered with a low reddish plant, possibly a species of sedum. I have heard of green roofs, but this is the first I have seen and, unlike John, I felt excited.

He thinks I have become obsessed by Jinn. That, however, does not stop me saying that, where you find a rare green roof, there must be a guardian jinn.