The Royal Scotsman with lashings of Pol Roger

Expensive train journeys like the Royal Scotsman come with high expectations such as the best of everything and maybe a touch of romance as well. I mean, taking to the rails inspired Agatha Christie and gave James Bond some tales to tell his grandchildren.

Then you worry about being trapped. Thirty-six passengers is a small group, and supposing the woman plunked next to you at dinner is less Tatiana the Soviet spy and more Shirley the suburban housewife.

As it turned out, everyone got along famously from the moment we stepped aboard at Edinburgh’s Waverley station, undoubtedly helped by the delightful surroundings of the Royal Scotsman and lashings of Pol Roger, Winston Churchill’s favourite Champagne.

The first part of our journey, over the muscular Forth and Tay bridges and through the pastoral Kingdom of Fife, then by the stunning coastline, concluded at Keith, where in a tasting room of the Chivas Regal distillery a former Royal Navy commander gave us a sip of Scottish country dancing.

Amazingly, it worked. In no time, Brits and Belgians, Americans and Germans, Canadians and Dutch, were kicking up their heels to the Dashing White Sergeant and the Gay Gordons.

Then, after the first of four splendid, candlelit dinners, we slept soundly (one could say tight) in the lee of the distillery.

Morning came with a hearty breakfast as the Royal Scotsman rolled towards Elgin for a visit to the Grant whisky distillery in Speyside and shopping at a cashmere mill. Lunch was served to the accompaniment of some of the best scenery in Scotland as we went west through the Highlands, stopping for a private visit to the 16th-century Ballindalloch Castle, where our tour was conducted by the laird herself, then carried on to Plockton, a picture-postcard village in a perfect sea and mountain setting.

Plockton even has its own castle, Duncraig, whose storied past has included a spell as a girls’ school. In the village pub one local recalled how good weather brought the girls down to the beach, a sight that propelled an armada of boats from the other side. “Aye,” said a fisherman, pulling on his pipe, “some days there were more boats on that beach than they had at D-Day.”

The end of the line was not far away, the open platform of the observation car almost hanging over the sea and giving an amazing view of the fabled island of Skye. Travel doesn’t get much better than this.

This evening we dressed for dinner, and almost everyone made an effort, even a German with a stroke who struggled, presumably, into full Highland dress. Once again the Pol Roger was flourished, although a good selection of malt whiskies was not without temptation. Conversations blossomed, with a Florida computer tycoon trying to interest a Belgian in the 12-year-old Balvenie. “Sorry, we don’t drink alcohol – only wine,” said the smiling Belgian.

They were a happy couple because the Royal Scotsman’s wines included two very good Bordeaux. What also impressed me was that the chef served delicious, fresh langoustines he had bought that day at the Kyle of Lochalsh, an area also famous for its oyster and scallop beds. This in contrast to the frustration on some Alaska cruises, where passengers are fed salmon that has been caught where they are docked, but salmon that has been chilled if not frozen, shipped to Los Angeles, put in containers and loaded on to cruise ships which then sail to Alaska where it is cooked and served.

There was entertainment on board, and nicely done, with a fiddler and a Highlander who told tales of old. More drams were drunk, and when we stepped outside on to the observation platform to see the Skye’s majestic Cuillins framed against the night sky, we breathed the same air as Bonnie Prince Charlie when he escaped to Skye after the Battle of Culloden.

We awoke to the motion of the train, and the clickety-clack of the old line, a sound almost as rare as the scratch of a gramophone needle. It recalled the opening of the Aberdeen to Inverness line in 1855, when an observer wrote, “the train went very slowly, as vast crowds assembled at the sides of the line (then) the train gathered speed and travelled at about 30 mph, to the intense excitement, and in some cases, no little fear of the passengers, many of whom had never travelled at this rate before.”

Once again the scenery was breathtaking, and never dull, for Scotland is a small country and after a spell we went from rugged Highland glens to lush Perthshire countryside, with a stop at Boat of Garten. Here the Royal Scotsman offered a visit to a wildlife park, fishing in the Spey, or golf. As the Boat of Garten course, designed by James Braid, is one of Scotland’s gems, I seized the opportunity and had an enjoyable round with our guide.

Back to the train for lunch, down to Stirling, bus to Glamis Castle, childhood home of the late Queen Mother. It sounds a lot, but we were never rushed. Invariably there was an opportunity for a siesta after lunch, and here I should say the suites are exceedingly comfortable, coming also with a well designed bathroom with shower.

The last night brought yet another fine meal from Dan the chef and his talented brigade, while an obliging head waiter produced a St Julien just ready to drink. Then we lined up for a final assault on the two shelves of malt whiskies.

As for the Belgians, they stuck to the wine. No alcohol, you understand.