tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63663715877127627502024-03-13T20:49:26.797-07:00 Waithe and wonder ...a miscellany of the strange and left behindFiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-19222146101199807832017-02-15T05:27:00.000-08:002017-02-15T10:15:43.458-08:00The Mysterious Bernera Goddess<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUMJoiIwu4NUbEb6-OGj6HX6J5fHjz8HjFuUrm8fbmjNxDH2o4XFx-SSSPR1tfAqJ53l0UKFN2rYRmzIE96BT5P1gJdba_qW9sUc8dzLs_IFkN9duGkygUepKvtRChfIRv3tagCQgD9k/s1600/The+Bernera+Goddess+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUMJoiIwu4NUbEb6-OGj6HX6J5fHjz8HjFuUrm8fbmjNxDH2o4XFx-SSSPR1tfAqJ53l0UKFN2rYRmzIE96BT5P1gJdba_qW9sUc8dzLs_IFkN9duGkygUepKvtRChfIRv3tagCQgD9k/s400/The+Bernera+Goddess+2.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bernera Goddess</td></tr>
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Her home was once the sea (she is carved from the
vertebra of a whale). Her expression is as ambiguous as the Mona Lisa’s smile.</div>
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The Bernera Goddess is an artefact so mysterious that there’s
almost nothing to say about her. Her provenance is hearsay. Even her name has
come to her as an arbitrary guess.</div>
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The gentleman who acquired her for Inverness
Museum was told only that she had been found in an unnamed burial cairn somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, and
that she was cursed. That’s her story in its entirety, with no details left out.</div>
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It’s tempting to believe the poor man was the
victim of a hoax. And yet the Bernera Goddess has a striking presence, and a
beauty that transcends the crudeness of her features. If you lean close she may
even whisper something you find you needed to know. She seems wise – or is that
a trick of the museum lighting? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmB_KKGnVgVw8wJhT51tEYHh3GBRdL0zDTsJk4RRf-3GYtc73dtlFSzdfXmg8H4iMOboMYje3M4HmcGzFaIJonUXGckDky2Owacey5TAbRo_Cx9AIyXGSP5vcEV6FpgQCG8cufBJSYik/s1600/Bernera+Goddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmB_KKGnVgVw8wJhT51tEYHh3GBRdL0zDTsJk4RRf-3GYtc73dtlFSzdfXmg8H4iMOboMYje3M4HmcGzFaIJonUXGckDky2Owacey5TAbRo_Cx9AIyXGSP5vcEV6FpgQCG8cufBJSYik/s640/Bernera+Goddess.jpg" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friend Sine in conversation with the Bernera Goddess</td></tr>
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It’s difficult to believe her capable of
harbouring a curse, this goddess with the gentle smile. She’s remarkably serene
for a cursed object. You have to suspect that the supposed curse was thrown in by
the vendor just to swing the sale. But then you never can tell….</div>
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Whose hand was it that carved her, and for what
purpose? To her maker what was her significance? Does she even have any significance
at all? It seems unlikely we’ll ever know anything more about her than we know now.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdEPT12K5_KMf7W9QWHr0jpofakdOL_0MsioPtkFn77yLlm8JS4nztIhjW8EF-jqUTIgufv_WcIVPkd-vz4kQVNt6EfBJfXHGiqB5efrsoyu_T6HGq0m1_Zf5mgYHXO93pfxJWe75S-c/s1600/The+Bernera+Goddess+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdEPT12K5_KMf7W9QWHr0jpofakdOL_0MsioPtkFn77yLlm8JS4nztIhjW8EF-jqUTIgufv_WcIVPkd-vz4kQVNt6EfBJfXHGiqB5efrsoyu_T6HGq0m1_Zf5mgYHXO93pfxJWe75S-c/s400/The+Bernera+Goddess+1.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bernera Goddess's enigmatic smile</td></tr>
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She is a beautiful enigma. The most non-specific
of deities. She asks us to believe in nothing, to buy into no mythology. She
brings us no scripture or doctrine. She just exists.</div>
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In an era of ‘alternative facts’ and fake news, when
information comes at us too fast and from all directions, it can be difficult
to know what to believe, or whether it’s possible to ever really be certain of anything
at all.</div>
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Perhaps the counsel of a vague goddess is exactly
what we need, to remind us that our hearts and minds are free. And that we do know
after all what’s right.</div>
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Just lean in and listen carefully, open your mind….<br />
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Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-17025240537430906582014-05-25T10:27:00.002-07:002014-05-25T11:35:56.186-07:00Aberlemno Sculptured Stones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvhKB9toDl44EJmRdHaDvwevJE7wD140mWrOxtWXrHzM5dUSNwkXKmmRoPE6XcJ3cvJCS-aw2ie8cZOZLXHF4OPwlHwlXoKhdltN8zwIFwydl5Cs1M9VZv_CR5W6AP8mXfg5_NBSO_eQ/s1600/Aberlemno+cross-slab+waterhorses+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvhKB9toDl44EJmRdHaDvwevJE7wD140mWrOxtWXrHzM5dUSNwkXKmmRoPE6XcJ3cvJCS-aw2ie8cZOZLXHF4OPwlHwlXoKhdltN8zwIFwydl5Cs1M9VZv_CR5W6AP8mXfg5_NBSO_eQ/s1600/Aberlemno+cross-slab+waterhorses+2.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entwined waterhorses, Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab (Aberlemno II)</td></tr>
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Situated in the village of Aberlemno in Angus, Scotland, these stones are really quite something, and well worth
seeing if you're ever within visiting distance.</div>
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The group consists of five very impressive Pictish carved standing stones. Three of the stones stand beside the B9134 Forfar to
Brechin road, within recesses in the dry stone wall. One is in the nearby Aberlemno
kirkyard. And one other is on display at the McManus Museum and Gallery, Dundee.</div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab (Aberlemno II)</span></u></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiPM31Ct4LLVfh1XFyDtshe350Buc0BLMq7pcNjryZ-ljNYs_Hk7X76-uiBAG_vr2ASnN3JD4x2VWdklV490M94lqv75gluuwYswzdiLLy6hdohWdiD4rptPlPuV4OlH2GgIuYAsn5aw/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+from+the+road.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkiPM31Ct4LLVfh1XFyDtshe350Buc0BLMq7pcNjryZ-ljNYs_Hk7X76-uiBAG_vr2ASnN3JD4x2VWdklV490M94lqv75gluuwYswzdiLLy6hdohWdiD4rptPlPuV4OlH2GgIuYAsn5aw/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+from+the+road.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab (Aberlemno II) from the road</td></tr>
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Believed to be mid-9thC in date, this is a
magnificent red sandstone cross, standing 7½ft high. It’s one of the finest of all surviving Pictish carved stones.</div>
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The cross is only just visible from the road,
which is at a lower level than the churchyard.</div>
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But up close it gets a whole lot more impressive....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFJN9dfQO2tQyz4ZBR9zRDJK4aTUc654lTzmetPZO1R3G-S03XPpRK6bdBldaKg7x_cSmODVIWQX32WV-StzxgesC8gKqEe0o7QfjZvzLIi4EA_f8_-j6DkW7HcuNAXZMdvTedEnHalw/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+front.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFJN9dfQO2tQyz4ZBR9zRDJK4aTUc654lTzmetPZO1R3G-S03XPpRK6bdBldaKg7x_cSmODVIWQX32WV-StzxgesC8gKqEe0o7QfjZvzLIi4EA_f8_-j6DkW7HcuNAXZMdvTedEnHalw/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+front.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab (Aberlemno II)</td></tr>
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The cross is elaborately ornamented and flanked
on either side by zoomorphic figures and intertwined beasts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcXfZthrQhPva47yQVxi1prTrBsm9k4ZMZ9-6j8ALZb5Utuuws4RqkX5wzArgHx75ciD0lUZfc2VKOxJiNugBUviB5gLHM-iM9SeM3y4f0KL-SfMcfrWtZIe_7VDFg9rhUAdD19vZgvs/s1600/Aberlemno+intertwined+beasts+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcXfZthrQhPva47yQVxi1prTrBsm9k4ZMZ9-6j8ALZb5Utuuws4RqkX5wzArgHx75ciD0lUZfc2VKOxJiNugBUviB5gLHM-iM9SeM3y4f0KL-SfMcfrWtZIe_7VDFg9rhUAdD19vZgvs/s1600/Aberlemno+intertwined+beasts+1.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNRr8qDzOMRmuaUaXrbEPmNA3djkmOUj9ISeAaDxATsWEg1v4-dWNHKltpq1UQNE2osCc-2_QbX0t0S3kXkfqetE2KVPvLxDZVvMaBoXk5qRUn8gCetiTPyMEZWxiTswQOw0Y08d91pA/s1600/Aberlemno+intertwined+beasts+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNRr8qDzOMRmuaUaXrbEPmNA3djkmOUj9ISeAaDxATsWEg1v4-dWNHKltpq1UQNE2osCc-2_QbX0t0S3kXkfqetE2KVPvLxDZVvMaBoXk5qRUn8gCetiTPyMEZWxiTswQOw0Y08d91pA/s1600/Aberlemno+intertwined+beasts+2.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intertwining beasts on Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab</td></tr>
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The carvings on the back of the stone appear to be a narrative account of a battle fought between an army of men with long hair (presumably Picts) and an army of men wearing helmets.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nEDqWGvGl0lCOqUN7hzux3N22Rl4HfZF5m8l-p9MOMriDsdgVqP6X0TlVhHX4FGjrvX-H3t9jwAbFii92RUlfTTqLrdbEyBWLKWPFH6SHOC9-U6RA3bicEHRhLVQ5htjQFORPvgtgZM/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_nEDqWGvGl0lCOqUN7hzux3N22Rl4HfZF5m8l-p9MOMriDsdgVqP6X0TlVhHX4FGjrvX-H3t9jwAbFii92RUlfTTqLrdbEyBWLKWPFH6SHOC9-U6RA3bicEHRhLVQ5htjQFORPvgtgZM/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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Recounted
in 4 scenes running from top to bottom (with the fourth scene being in the far right
bottom corner), it is believed to be a depiction of the battle of Nechtansmere, fought in
685AD at nearby Dunnichen. King Ecgfrith of Northumbria was killed in the course of this battle, ending the Anglian occupation of the south of Pictland. The
final scene appears to show a slain Northumbrian, possibly King Ecgfrith himself, with a
raven pecking at his face - lovely!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKIMXutzb8rLdE7VhosieDJR4q34kaa2FOr68VqsrOuBC8c2PB1tGQkMkNGgqNyyQ3EKzb2s_ZXmknn88aGykUN3V__EZ5D4EUZrMTzFXFCQmXzidQLivoZmwYuvo1BQ5B9EtRIHVc5Q/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back+detail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMKIMXutzb8rLdE7VhosieDJR4q34kaa2FOr68VqsrOuBC8c2PB1tGQkMkNGgqNyyQ3EKzb2s_ZXmknn88aGykUN3V__EZ5D4EUZrMTzFXFCQmXzidQLivoZmwYuvo1BQ5B9EtRIHVc5Q/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back+detail.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab (Aberlemno II), detail</td></tr>
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By all accounts this battle was one of the most
momentous in Scottish history, and if the Picts had lost, Scotland might
not even have existed as a nation - everything was at stake.</div>
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At the very top edge of the back of the stone you might just be able to make out two confronting
dragon-like heads.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgys8xUB5Snk08agEM7Prz025MFNxnou-R5K43zUXgwSQDRZzn2va4kCLO7IdrDvTs5xGuXPjL8nM5K7UP7jSIXPEpVKVYMKiOUAwqGI_ERdno8OCRoXLSSTwlh8i-FM7ML68BdkXhPrGc/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgys8xUB5Snk08agEM7Prz025MFNxnou-R5K43zUXgwSQDRZzn2va4kCLO7IdrDvTs5xGuXPjL8nM5K7UP7jSIXPEpVKVYMKiOUAwqGI_ERdno8OCRoXLSSTwlh8i-FM7ML68BdkXhPrGc/s1600/Aberlemno+Churchyard+Cross+Slab+back+2.JPG" height="640" width="420" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Open-mouthed dragon-like heads at the top edge of Aberlemno Churchyard Cross Slab</td></tr>
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What intrigued me most about this stone was the hole that has been bored through it. It reminded me of stones through which people once claimed to be able to see the future. I wondered whether anyone had ever tried it and if so what they had hoped to see. Disappointingly however the hole was made in relatively modern times, in order to make the stone easier to move. I still like my explanation better!</div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">Aberlemno Roadside Cross Slab (Aberlemno III)</span><o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrTIaUucm3NXTofsEOvBSyyiVIqJwja9yntZ8sRLPTSmkIWpsdBxge6JzcFCcT6QgnQTTNB0KOmsXcgwE8s3nbAMNz0cyBWHEgIg4j9IC8ZvUNLRN7YKdtcgLe46KfhOWWh1JneFgdVU/s1600/Aberlemno+III.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrTIaUucm3NXTofsEOvBSyyiVIqJwja9yntZ8sRLPTSmkIWpsdBxge6JzcFCcT6QgnQTTNB0KOmsXcgwE8s3nbAMNz0cyBWHEgIg4j9IC8ZvUNLRN7YKdtcgLe46KfhOWWh1JneFgdVU/s1600/Aberlemno+III.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberlemno Roadside Cross Slab (Aberlemno III)</td></tr>
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This stone is imposing at over 9ft high. Badly weathered but still very beautiful, it is a ringed cross, flanked by angels with bowed heads (for this reason this stone is sometimes called ‘The Mourning Angels’). There are also animal figures
at the base, too eroded to be identifiable.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif55e43xtLNwjD5DCyClqOWzt7F-9p-dBYjDKo9MkA2xiswTAymsHGZ-wXlx0TCCtC2ODZJ898atuPvKHHRdIWA4kiwX51qEXQMa9WVwm3B3_yuPG0sdyushtJoSMMUruiN3NWlfVWgUs/s1600/Aberlemno+III+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif55e43xtLNwjD5DCyClqOWzt7F-9p-dBYjDKo9MkA2xiswTAymsHGZ-wXlx0TCCtC2ODZJ898atuPvKHHRdIWA4kiwX51qEXQMa9WVwm3B3_yuPG0sdyushtJoSMMUruiN3NWlfVWgUs/s1600/Aberlemno+III+back.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of Aberlemno Roadside Cross Slab (Aberlemno III)</td></tr>
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The back is difficult to photograph because of its proximity to the dry stone wall that protects it from the field behind - I did my best! It shows a hunting scene with 4 men on
horseback, 3 stags and 3 dogs. Above this there are also beautifully carved Pictish symbols of a crescent and V-rod,
double disc and Z-rod. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5lfsscmv-UbUjPpKChk_2ZZMY7JIfObV2uribqDkdglftB4LsF5z5jE7EVWbZ9Lzlqtkhx7wGqrVeitrLT7ZkalJp2mxPrwCBYQczIXMbYBx6BvCZBhCnv6hFo3lJ16s2MaN8KszYag/s1600/Aberlemno+III+centaur.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_5lfsscmv-UbUjPpKChk_2ZZMY7JIfObV2uribqDkdglftB4LsF5z5jE7EVWbZ9Lzlqtkhx7wGqrVeitrLT7ZkalJp2mxPrwCBYQczIXMbYBx6BvCZBhCnv6hFo3lJ16s2MaN8KszYag/s1600/Aberlemno+III+centaur.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Centaur on the back of Aberlemno Roadside Cross Slab (Aberlemno III)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Separate panels at the bottom of the stone depict a centaur (very weathered - you might need to squint and use your imagination) and King
David fighting the lion.</div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">Aberlemno Southern Roadside Stone (Aberlemno V)</span><o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPooxvpnQvzHjXSQzpY1OkJvDr4ddcGomoac_ksoEb3a2KTEMLbqXh1vIwnIEsxr4YBlIrjVYv-vpVlqj7wegxTCznlNUW0oL8UORNTr0H79zyGslpo_lzBMGvifPrhq2Ejl8Z78u3q7A/s1600/Aberlemno+V+from+side.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPooxvpnQvzHjXSQzpY1OkJvDr4ddcGomoac_ksoEb3a2KTEMLbqXh1vIwnIEsxr4YBlIrjVYv-vpVlqj7wegxTCznlNUW0oL8UORNTr0H79zyGslpo_lzBMGvifPrhq2Ejl8Z78u3q7A/s1600/Aberlemno+V+from+side.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberlemno V</td></tr>
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This stone is highly eroded. It may bear traces of a curved symbol but it's difficult to make out - I didn't see it.</div>
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It was found in the field behind its current position.</div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">The Serpent Stone (Aberlemno I)</span><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TmaNzO81Aj0SmwD4choZg2baia2Yk8xv7ww3xGgbTKjenR20X4BCiQIJPL50RfRNITpvf9R58NXzPZSyqZcbsOQFHm-g-aVhbsstlJIJiu-flzMLW_S6eBN2VAf2vbaxq7t0JQuKmNE/s1600/Aberlemno+I+from+side.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TmaNzO81Aj0SmwD4choZg2baia2Yk8xv7ww3xGgbTKjenR20X4BCiQIJPL50RfRNITpvf9R58NXzPZSyqZcbsOQFHm-g-aVhbsstlJIJiu-flzMLW_S6eBN2VAf2vbaxq7t0JQuKmNE/s1600/Aberlemno+I+from+side.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Serpent Stone (Aberlemno I)</td></tr>
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This is a truly beautiful stone, also found in the
field behind its present position. It bears several Pictish symbols: serpent,
double disc and z-rod, mirror and comb.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLUnJj0XFrVyEIn2gvAzXO-4W7PsCXsp-5Bvm1hLlreQnT_Jw0M4NcdqFL5CM6T08GDVLXdYtobKVO8_ICDT5NeeTK2eeXnGsSGyB5JqLp7jAr4scERPOYARWHIiuN8r5p3M34z2ErKM/s1600/Aberlemno+I+back.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLUnJj0XFrVyEIn2gvAzXO-4W7PsCXsp-5Bvm1hLlreQnT_Jw0M4NcdqFL5CM6T08GDVLXdYtobKVO8_ICDT5NeeTK2eeXnGsSGyB5JqLp7jAr4scERPOYARWHIiuN8r5p3M34z2ErKM/s1600/Aberlemno+I+back.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of Serpent Stone (Aberlemno I) showing cup marks near base</td></tr>
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The back of this stone has prehistoric cup marks
near the base, suggesting that it was an earlier monument that the Picts reused.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiay6dPXWoMo3PLvxpfGQHJDYmkm9B8ZoxgVSJlqW1jJe4H7PW1rTYrWxu6RkG2FIjnDQIHdo3CQsdVNE365xKhN0DrLBWkVlvEvLrZ9gee4EBiBIKeK7Bi3kbB7JnihJzoxpsAM7OQZ8g/s1600/Looking+back+from+Aberlemno+I+to+V+and+III.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiay6dPXWoMo3PLvxpfGQHJDYmkm9B8ZoxgVSJlqW1jJe4H7PW1rTYrWxu6RkG2FIjnDQIHdo3CQsdVNE365xKhN0DrLBWkVlvEvLrZ9gee4EBiBIKeK7Bi3kbB7JnihJzoxpsAM7OQZ8g/s1600/Looking+back+from+Aberlemno+I+to+V+and+III.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Serpent Stone (Aberlemno I) back towards Aberlemno V and Aberlemno III</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">Aberlemno Flemington Farm Stone (Aberlemno IV)</span><o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvyUtkeIxgWXbOEqOgd_uBrLN1RVtD-IN32BzyoIktjhyphenhyphenxGOwiVjmTTYroDaOu172EVeaw8g_Hsy-69Dp2urLcwU-oghPp0nXSkQsGcwhDnUEJA4tysqqUc_nYAwrk90MaYG0rGBJT2U/s1600/768px-Ablerlemno4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvyUtkeIxgWXbOEqOgd_uBrLN1RVtD-IN32BzyoIktjhyphenhyphenxGOwiVjmTTYroDaOu172EVeaw8g_Hsy-69Dp2urLcwU-oghPp0nXSkQsGcwhDnUEJA4tysqqUc_nYAwrk90MaYG0rGBJT2U/s1600/768px-Ablerlemno4.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ablerlemno4.JPG" target="_blank">Catfish Jim and the soapdish</a></td></tr>
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One further stone is on display at the McManus Museum and Art Gallery in Dundee. It was discovered in 1961, approximately 30 yards from Aberlemno church,
and bears some damage from ploughing.</div>
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There are 2 symbols on this stone: a horseshoe
and a Pictish Beast. <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">No definitive interpretation of Pictish symbols has ever been made, and the Pictish Beast remains one of the most mysterious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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***<br />
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Altogether these are wonderful stones in a beautiful setting. I highly recommend a visit!<br />
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<u>Access:</u></div>
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<br />
Aberlemno is 6 miles NE of Forfar. The Aberlemno churchyard cross slab is easily accessible, with plenty of parking round at the side of the church. The roadside stones
are also easily accessible at the side of the B9134 Forfar-Brechin road, and there
is easy parking outside the village hall nearby, well signposted. However, to
help prevent further weather-damage, the stones are covered with
wooden boxes during the winter months (from the last working day of September
until the first working day of April)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBK4cpv3CtTUONKcgHdo9Ed_Fpwr03eI9dHPjiqhr9IBk1PGHbrQOaPCNfgMY8wZPxfPdkOUciND285mfohTXb7PLDcckqwqmv2dyt0_DYoACp2iggTAu2MH9eJlwgU14R4agvaBakIg/s1600/Aberlemno_boxed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBK4cpv3CtTUONKcgHdo9Ed_Fpwr03eI9dHPjiqhr9IBk1PGHbrQOaPCNfgMY8wZPxfPdkOUciND285mfohTXb7PLDcckqwqmv2dyt0_DYoACp2iggTAu2MH9eJlwgU14R4agvaBakIg/s1600/Aberlemno_boxed.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aberlemno covered - Photo: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aberlemno_boxed.jpg" target="_blank">Trish Steel</a></td></tr>
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<u>Note of Caution:</u></div>
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Please do take care if visiting the stones with young children or dogs, or anyone who might be unsteady on their feet. The
B9134 Forfar-Brechin road isn't very busy and has a speed limit of 30mph but there are no pavements. Also, although the verge where the stones stand is not tremendously
high, it is quite steeply sloped.<br />
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Links:</div>
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Historic Scotland: <a href="http://www.historic-scotland.gov.uk/index/places/propertyresults/propertyoverview.htm?PropID=PL_002&PropName=Aberlemno%20Sculptured%20Stones" target="_blank">Aberlemno Sculptured Stones</a></div>
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The McManus: <a href="http://www.mcmanus.co.uk/" target="_blank">Dundee Art Gallery and Museum</a><br />
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Undiscovered Scotland: <a href="http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/forfar/aberlemnostones/index.html" target="_blank">Aberlemno symbol stones</a> and <a href="http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/forfar/aberlemnokirk/" target="_blank">Aberlemno kirk and kirkyard stone</a><br />
<br />
The Last of the Druids: <a href="http://lastofthedruids.com/2013/03/27/does-the-pictish-beast-symbol-represent-the-astrology-sign-of-capricorn/" target="_blank">Does the Pictish Beast Symbol represent the astrology sign of Capricorn?</a><br />
<br /></div>
Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-90182504978718593312013-08-27T11:57:00.001-07:002013-08-27T11:57:33.093-07:00The Cannich Puma: Felicity, Alien Big Cat of the Scottish Highlands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRg8ardu9K_nAW8xZS9z-dEv6o5cuTVY4jARGqrS0Mstk5QYHToBPrN2yknB4WtjyEvTxX9VrADrjOH13haH0RL1o8D6I8N-1DV4S94Pn66q4e4RiLjfShBAeDTp0RN88DxHYeISmM9k/s1600/Felicity.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglRg8ardu9K_nAW8xZS9z-dEv6o5cuTVY4jARGqrS0Mstk5QYHToBPrN2yknB4WtjyEvTxX9VrADrjOH13haH0RL1o8D6I8N-1DV4S94Pn66q4e4RiLjfShBAeDTp0RN88DxHYeISmM9k/s640/Felicity.JPG" width="425" /></a></div>
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<br />
There’s an alien big cat in Inverness - I’ve
seen her myself and she’s a beauty. She gazes out serenely from her glass case in
Inverness Museum, a grand old lady, calmly keeping the secrets of her mysterious origins
to herself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwz6tZcEhJ0PP-fyJ3SXKFWU8p0_BLD8B8IC-TqKqzaBSbC9W34Izs3QV6NVHd8INI3MDrr8Td7VtI46LzhMH5TlCWJAGpWne8NjDKHhe3HiG1viBdFT5truIQIAQMtxuFngwjdcNVRpo/s1600/Felicity+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwz6tZcEhJ0PP-fyJ3SXKFWU8p0_BLD8B8IC-TqKqzaBSbC9W34Izs3QV6NVHd8INI3MDrr8Td7VtI46LzhMH5TlCWJAGpWne8NjDKHhe3HiG1viBdFT5truIQIAQMtxuFngwjdcNVRpo/s400/Felicity+5.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Wherever Felicity began her life, she ended it in
captivity, captured in 1980 near Cannich, 12 miles west of Loch Ness. Police
had previously searched in vain for the ‘lioness’ that farmer Ted Noble had seen stalking his ponies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9nXONHiUGDQSneySFQSdoZsckV8DqEQp28t6VN-E2obrx8NdLHuhktLFk-SpqbaQsujw4qk-qgyyfDiKpelLGa7yJdWrd6MulBp0IePsGauF6wRVUOJlGE-75k4Py-wi5z2aGsGUns4/s1600/Hands.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9nXONHiUGDQSneySFQSdoZsckV8DqEQp28t6VN-E2obrx8NdLHuhktLFk-SpqbaQsujw4qk-qgyyfDiKpelLGa7yJdWrd6MulBp0IePsGauF6wRVUOJlGE-75k4Py-wi5z2aGsGUns4/s400/Hands.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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For over 2 years he had been losing livestock, mainly sheep, finding them savaged and with their bones crushed. The mystery beast had been sighted a number of times not only by himself but by other local people. Eventually, frustrated by police reluctance to make a further search, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He erected a
purpose-built steel cage near his farm and baited it every day with fresh meat. Returning to it on October 29<sup>th</sup> 1980 he found he had caught a 5ft
female puma.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAx9kMn3Lq7TeURgfKN-yOVbkwT2-E71nveLVY44uA08XTLz5v-cFNN_wspFOetb7fQT8yTN490BNSLwPHz6TTsHJOshPaI28uQt441ZScz4wD53Iv2jqP9YHMPLDPqyb0VRkOh7j_pc/s1600/Felicity+caged+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHAx9kMn3Lq7TeURgfKN-yOVbkwT2-E71nveLVY44uA08XTLz5v-cFNN_wspFOetb7fQT8yTN490BNSLwPHz6TTsHJOshPaI28uQt441ZScz4wD53Iv2jqP9YHMPLDPqyb0VRkOh7j_pc/s640/Felicity+caged+2.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Felicity</td></tr>
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Unanswered questions remained however and there
were even suggestions that Mr Noble was the victim - or the perpetrator - of a hoax. This animal
was curiously tame, elderly and arthritic. Doubts were raised as to whether she could possibly be the same creature responsible for attacking and carrying off livestock.
Felicity, as she came to be named, even allowed experts who examined her to pet her behind her ears – she was hardly the ferocious wild beast they had expected. And, most intriguingly, the big
cat sightings and livestock losses continued even after her capture.<br />
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Nonetheless, analysis of her faeces in the
first hours of captivity showed that Felicity had recently fed on deer, rabbit and
sheep, suggesting that despite her advanced age and tameness she had indeed been
hunting and surviving independently in the wild, possibly for some time. The question is, did other big cats remain at large in the area? To this day the Highlands experience an abundance of sightings. I recently met <a href="http://www.ross-shirejournal.co.uk/News/Change-of-heart-by-big-cat-sceptic-7246561.htm" target="_blank">this lovely lady</a> who saw a big cat
near Dornoch in Sutherland in 2011 - I'm very envious!</div>
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Sightings of big cats in the UK are far too numerous to even begin to give any general account of them here, but here’s one other interesting case from 1927,
again from the Scottish Highlands. Following the finding of strange footprints
and the slaughter of a number of sheep and goats, an Inverness-shire farmer
killed ‘a large, fierce, yellow animal of unknown species’. The livestock losses
and footprints continued until a second similar animal had been shot and a
third one trapped. When a body was sent to London Zoo for identification it was
found to be that of a lynx. (Source: The Complete Books of Charles Fort, p.600,
quoting Daily Express, 14 Jan. 1927)</div>
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Anomalous big cats aren't just a modern phenomenon of course - reports are spread throughout history (and across the continents).<br />
<br />
The idea that such creatures are roaming the British Isles is often scoffed at. Sightings are dismissed as misidentified domestic or large feral cats,
hoaxes or just general silliness (and perhaps they often are). Surely if there
were big cats living, possibly even breeding, in the UK, we would know it
beyond a doubt. Where are the bodies? Where is the evidence?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9W09zt2hbBveisvKP0_oHaX3UZgo9PCqYSiZz1PGQIOLyVTNOAykymYnSiTJnpQ9ejOB-aiqMjWRk1HBCnTtuawA6Xk9NELwwTO3gJD1YGkpChOlJ-YSY23glcNNuI4E7OHwe_U0NUv0/s1600/Felicity+tail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9W09zt2hbBveisvKP0_oHaX3UZgo9PCqYSiZz1PGQIOLyVTNOAykymYnSiTJnpQ9ejOB-aiqMjWRk1HBCnTtuawA6Xk9NELwwTO3gJD1YGkpChOlJ-YSY23glcNNuI4E7OHwe_U0NUv0/s400/Felicity+tail.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Inverness Museum for a start.... There's also the <a href="http://www.bris.ac.uk/news/2013/9321.html" target="_blank">Canadian lynx</a> shot in Devon in 1903, recently rediscovered in storage and now on display at Bristol Museum. And <a href="http://www.zsl.org/about-us/media/press-releases/378,378,PR.html" target="_blank">Lara</a> ('The Beast of Barnet'), a European lynx captured in a hedge in a Golders Green garden by staff from London Zoo in 2001.</div>
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Felicity lived out the remainder of her days in
comfort at the Highland Wildlife Park, Kingussie, finally dying of old age in 1985. She
was subsequently stuffed and put on display at Inverness Museum where she continues to be one of its most
cherished exhibits. ‘You really love that cat, don’t you!’ someone commented as
I took my umpteenth photo. (He was from North America so probably not too
surprised by the idea of a puma on the loose.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TWpH_rLNmD1nx9WDBm4AZDc5WUeBepTvfUjfbaUzIIbbjtEHwMToHiTg4sWYqyC19zAJKA9zYfP55aAyme_1CE9VxPEhY-UDj0IxlL9kRHzlRkb520i5ZLOnwJHemDpBh-7zirqdc30/s1600/Felicity+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TWpH_rLNmD1nx9WDBm4AZDc5WUeBepTvfUjfbaUzIIbbjtEHwMToHiTg4sWYqyC19zAJKA9zYfP55aAyme_1CE9VxPEhY-UDj0IxlL9kRHzlRkb520i5ZLOnwJHemDpBh-7zirqdc30/s640/Felicity+4.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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I do love her. How wonderful it
would have been to see her in the wild.<br />
<br />
Although I doubt anyone would have
believed me....</div>
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<u>Links:</u></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<a href="http://www.ambaile.org.uk/en/item/item_audio.jsp?item_id=38933" target="_blank">Audio recording of Felicity growling</a> in the cage at the time of her capture - Am Baile: highland history and culture<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/sport/spl/aberdeen/ted-noble-1.314521" target="_blank">Obituary</a> of Donald Alexander 'Ted' Noble<br />
<br />
<a href="http://scottishbigcats.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Scottish Big Cats</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bigcatmonitors.co.uk/index.htm" target="_blank">Big Cat Monitors UK</a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br />
<a href="http://www.australianbigcats.com/" target="_blank">Australian Big Cats</a>: On the track of the big cat mystery in Australia, and around the world</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
<u>Suggested reading:</u></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br />
Williams, Michael and Rebecca Lang - Australian Big Cats: An Unnatural History of Panthers, Strange Nation Publishing, 2010<br />
<br />
Shuker, Karl, Cats of Magic, Mythology and Mystery, CFZ Press, 2012</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br />
Shuker, Karl, Mystery Cats of the World: From Blue Tigers to
Exmoor Beasts, Robert Hale, 1989<br />
<br />
Francis, Di, My Highland Kellas Cats, Jonathan Cape, 1993<br />
<br />
Francis, Di, The Beast of Exmoor and Other Mystery Predators of Britain, Jonathan Cape, 1993<br />
<br />
Francis, Di, Cat Country: The Quest for the British Big Cat, David and Charles, 1983<br />
<br />
McEwan, Graham J., Mystery Animals of Britain and Ireland, Robert Hale, 1986</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
Bord, Janet and Colin, Alien Animals: A Worldwide Investigation, Harper Collins,1985</div>
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<br /></div>
Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-22860706793850727292013-06-20T05:50:00.001-07:002013-06-30T05:35:48.759-07:002013 Neil Gunn Writing Competition<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
I was delighted to win Second Prize (prose) in this
year’s Neil Gunn Writing Competition for my story <a href="http://www.ambaile.org.uk/en/item/item_narrative.jsp?item_id=155768" target="_blank">'The Calf'</a>'! The award ceremony
was held in Dingwall last week, and since I'm (very) local it felt surreal for it to
suddenly be happening right on my doorstep. It was my usual gentle 5 minute
commute to get there – quite odd!</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was wonderful to meet the other winners – most of
the UK winners managed to attend, coming from as far away as the south coast of
England. (Those who were unable to be there were announced and applauded
heartily in their absence - in case they were wondering.) It was especially lovely
to watch the proud faces of the schools sections winners (and their parents) as they went up to
receive their certificates. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
By strange coincidence, both the 1st and 2nd adult prose
prizes were won this year by parents of children on the autistic spectrum. The
First Prize winning story, <a href="http://www.ambaile.org.uk/en/item/item_narrative.jsp?item_id=155767" target="_blank">'Fault'</a> by Andrew Broadfoot, is excellent – when the
hook goes in, it goes in very deep. Even
to a mind rather jaded on the subject (autism is my normal, my everyday, my
wonderful, the isolating moat around my life, my shrugged ‘so?’) his story about
a severely autistic child in hospital made a huge impact. Worth reading. I wish I’d had
longer to talk to Andrew at the award ceremony before we were interrupted by
the press photos.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In fact I wish there had been more time to talk to
everyone – it was a whirl of names and faces, without having had a chance
to read the stories yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
It was also a great delight to meet lead judge the Scottish
poet and author Jackie Kay, someone who lights up any room. Full of heart and humour, she was hugely entertaining and engaging, projecting enormous warmth and personality. With my habit of lurking in the background hoping not to
be noticed, I'll need to adopt her as my role model.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpLast">
Overall my thoughts on the day? That was fun. I’d
like to do it again. (Maybe next time I’d manage to worry less about whether I
was about to trip over my new shoes when my name was called.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpFirst">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpFirst">
And this was my favourite bit of the day – a wee
hug and photo with the lovely Jackie Kay.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlfPmm35a0weXuD1OEBvQ9LTfPibPJkb0H_uxN2mydBX_fBWnFR6BvxfOmwSLYp3kJvfZFit08kO8caNCWh56e_e7mlkTNUzFljmN5FhARhN0vRQND2c17xouWJMwLyZSChD5dQBFMQI/s1600/Neil+Gunn+Writing+Competition+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlfPmm35a0weXuD1OEBvQ9LTfPibPJkb0H_uxN2mydBX_fBWnFR6BvxfOmwSLYp3kJvfZFit08kO8caNCWh56e_e7mlkTNUzFljmN5FhARhN0vRQND2c17xouWJMwLyZSChD5dQBFMQI/s400/Neil+Gunn+Writing+Competition+2013.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
Ever backward at putting myself forward, I was the
very last in line to ask for a photo before she was whisked away back to the
airport. I’m so glad I did – it absolutely made my day! Which was already just grand.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<u><span style="font-size: large;">Links:</span></u></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<a href="http://www.ambaile.org.uk/en/search/data?type_id=5&field%2CDC_RELATION%2Csubstring%2Cstring=Neil+Gunn+Writing+Competition%2C+2013" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">Winning and commended entries</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> in the </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;">2013 Neil Gunn Writing Competition</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<a href="http://highlifehighland.com/libraries/neilgunn/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">Neil Gunn Writing Competition</a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle">
<a href="http://www.harenet.co.uk/nmg/NMGtrust/trust.html" target="_blank">Neil Gunn Trust</a></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<a href="http://www.neilgunn.org.uk/" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">Neil Gunn website</a></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-14876832596443262312013-03-28T01:10:00.000-07:002013-03-28T01:10:24.206-07:00Smoo Cave - Gateway to the Otherworld ...... unsettling, disorientating and impressively odd.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Near the village of Durness at the hauntingly beautiful far North West corner of mainland Scotland lies Smoo Cave, the largest coastal cave in Britain and also one of the most spectacular. The Rock Doves that nest in its high upper nooks and crannies must be quite used I suppose to the steady stream of visitors it attracts - around 40,000 a year - and to their echoing shrieks.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">I’m not generally one of life’s screamers, but I screamed in Smoo Cave – it was impossible not to. In the darkness, the volume of noise from the waterfall was overwhelming, and terrified screaming was the inevitable involuntary response!</span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<o:p></o:p>
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On the day I visited, the waterfall was in particularly fine, thunderous, drenching form and the water was too high for the boat trip into the third chamber.<br />
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<br />
Perhaps on another visit I’ll take
this short boat trip across the pool and under a low arch of rock that leads into the third,
otherwise inaccessible chamber.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjrt5n30Y2rrXtuQ-K1nG0eFM-QKI4PBaeXB8cO3-dhGiP6W5t7ooNeTFmtQIRclIY7D0sT-kTCNEAt7VvTq5o1NGZPkyexz-Q0w8hSqewqlX5VZko7qq-WNbIcqwcyFlm_7JTMsgkR0/s1600/6004565361_f518728a86_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjrt5n30Y2rrXtuQ-K1nG0eFM-QKI4PBaeXB8cO3-dhGiP6W5t7ooNeTFmtQIRclIY7D0sT-kTCNEAt7VvTq5o1NGZPkyexz-Q0w8hSqewqlX5VZko7qq-WNbIcqwcyFlm_7JTMsgkR0/s400/6004565361_f518728a86_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photograph by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mervtheswerve/6004565361/" target="_blank">welshmackem</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sir Walter Scott, describing his visit to Smoo Cave in 1814 and his own boat trip into the third chamber, wrote that the effects of his lamp on the dew covered stalactites were as ‘the effect of ten thousand birthday candles. The cave was covered with stalactites and stalagmites. A water kelpie or an evil spirit of aquatic propensities could not have chosen a fitter abode and to say the truth I believe at our first entrance and all our feelings were afloat at the marvelling of the scene the unexpected splashing of a seal would have routed the whole dozen of us. Impossible for description to explain the impression made by so strange a place.’<br />
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A longer, quite wonderful, account of his expedition into the cave ('Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott' by J.G. Lockhart, Diary Vol.4, 19th Aug, 1814) can be read <a href="http://www.showcaves.com/english/gb/showcaves/SmooScott.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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Legend has it that Smoo Cave is a gateway to
the Otherworld – or into the faery realm – and that it's guarded by
spirits. And indeed, quite fittingly, a pothole in the third chamber leads no
one knows where. Divers have only ever explored the first 40m of it because a fine,
peaty silt quickly reduces visibility to zero. The cave system may well extend
hundreds of metres further into the cliff.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheB-kTbkbnVtCsQY8gT-JPCqc9UO_vAoJydxQaCBier6RmwZA_b6hdcA0VPDZO3Nhkhml3H_mRwNkJBcgV8CJHnkdaaP94vZZGiYUc0y80tsWf-7RRhjrOMW232hFGknHMo-bwknt4acQ/s1600/Allt+Smoo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheB-kTbkbnVtCsQY8gT-JPCqc9UO_vAoJydxQaCBier6RmwZA_b6hdcA0VPDZO3Nhkhml3H_mRwNkJBcgV8CJHnkdaaP94vZZGiYUc0y80tsWf-7RRhjrOMW232hFGknHMo-bwknt4acQ/s640/Allt+Smoo+(4).JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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Smoo Cave is unusual in having been formed by
the action of both fresh water and the sea. The peaty waters of the Allt Smoo flow off the moors,
tranquil until they vanish into the darkness of a gaping sink hole.</div>
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The stream plunges 25m, hitting rocks as it thunders into an inky black pool in the cave below.<br />
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Steps lead down to the cave entrance - not as daunting
on the way back up as they look as they’re broad enough to allow plenty
of space to stop and catch your breath!</div>
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From here there’s a fine view of the banks of the inlet, where visitors' names have been spelled out in 'graffiti' laid out in white stones taken from the beach.<br />
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At the foot of the steps are the ruins of a stone cottage, thought to have been built by an 18thC
Orkney merchant builder. He traded out of the inlet while building nearby Smoo Lodge, and is said to have employed local women to carry sacks of meal up the cliff, paying them with oat biscuits.<br />
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Smoo Cave continues to grow deeper into the limestone cliff - the
sea laps at its back wall, though only now at times of unusually high tide.</div>
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A narrow inlet has formed as the roofs of a series of progressively deeper caves have collapsed. Eroded pillars of rock which once supported these long-vanished earlier versions of Smoo Cave still remain. The cave entrance is now 600m from the sea, and it’s impressive. At more than 15 metres high, it’s the biggest entrance of any sea cave in Britain.<br />
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A 360˚ view of the cave entrance can be viewed <a href="http://www.360cities.net/image/smoo-cave-durness#-58.94,2.45,70.0" target="_blank">HERE</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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The first chamber of the cave is more than 60m long and 40m wide. A wooden walkway leads from here into the second (scream provoking) chamber.</div>
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The second chamber is smaller, about 21m by 9m. The waterfall soaks you with spray when it's in full flow, and the darkness, dampness and deafening din create an assault on the senses that is powerfully disorientating.<br />
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Neolithic, Norse and Iron Age artefacts found in an
ancient midden in the main chamber suggest that the cave was inhabited throughout many periods of history. Anecdotally, even some proof of Mesolithic habitation
has been found, although the physical evidence has since been lost.</div>
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Smoo Cave has seen a lot of activity over the course of human history (and far more than we'll ever know), much of it
unpleasant. 16thC highwayman McMurdo is said to have murdered his victims by throwing them down the blow hole into the main chamber
of the cave. Grisly!<br />
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On the other hand, a wonderful but unlikely legend tells that a 17<sup>th</sup> C nobleman
known as Donald, the Wizard of Reay, was involved in creating
these same holes in the cave roof. Donald apparently met the Devil whilst
on a trip to Italy and accepted his invitation to study the Black Arts. It was
the Devil’s practice to claim the soul of one student from each class - always
the last student to leave the classroom at the end of term. On finding himself the
last to leave, Donald escaped by tricking the Devil into snatching only his
shadow instead. When he returned to Scotland it was observed that he indeed
cast no shadow. Furious at being tricked, the Prince of Darkness lay in wait for Donald in
Smoo Cave. Our man Donald was heading into the cave just
before dawn (why on earth, I wonder??). When his dog ran into
the darkness ahead of him and returned to him howling and hairless, he was given cause to hesitate. It was just long
enough for the sun to rise. Rendered powerless by the sun’s light, the Devil
and the 3 witches who were with him escaped by blowing holes in the cave roof
and flying away. So that's probably what happened then....</div>
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Sometime around 1720, the cave was the scene of a massacre. The Clan
Gunn from the borders of Sutherland, having made a raid on the Durness area,
were lured into the caves by local residents who pretended to seek refuge there.
It was a trap, and the marauding clan were slaughtered to the last man.</div>
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Two Inland Revenue officers were also murdered by 'accidentally' being drowned in the
waterfall as they tried to search the caves for illicit stills in the mid 18thC.
One of the bodies was never recovered, and the ghost of the lost man is said to
haunt the waterfall, appearing in the foam stirred up when the water is at its highest
and fiercest.<br />
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If anything, I’m surprised that there aren’t many, many more stories of the supernatural associated with Smoo Cave. It’s an extraordinary,
quite uncanny place and the same can be said for the surrounding landscape, which is all white sands and black peaty soil, wild flowers dancing in the wind and strange rock formations cast in every shape of faeryland. It's a place that fills your soul with sweetest peace and darkest fear in equal measure.</div>
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The ideal way to experience Smoo Cave would probably be alone at
night, by the light of an oil lamp or flaming torch, and with an overactive imagination!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">A couple of random facts:</span></u><o:p></o:p></div>
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- The name ‘Smoo’ doesn’t in fact refer to smoke or spray from the
waterfall, as might be assumed. It’s thought to derive from the Norse word ‘smjugg’ or 'sumvya',
meaning creek or cleft.<o:p></o:p></div>
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- John Lennon spent many childhood holidays between the ages of nine and
sixteen with his cousins at nearby Sangomore. I imagine he would almost
certainly have visited Smoo Cave. He always had a great love and enthusiasm for this
part of the country and it's said that this was what inspired fellow Beatle Paul McCartney to buy his farmhouse on
Mull.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-5332997096081329052012-11-21T08:14:00.000-08:002012-11-25T04:04:16.645-08:00Corrimony Chambered Cairn: Bronze Age Crematorium<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are days that are made for exploring, and this was one of them. Waking up confused,
caught in a tangle of dreams twined with long-forgotten memories, I found myself longing to escape down roads never travelled, heading to
places never seen. And on that impulse I drove, dazzled by the autumn sun, until I came to the shores of the deepest, darkest body of
water I could find – Loch Ness. And from there (after some moody staring into the whipping wind) to a place I’d been wanting to see ever since I knew it existed -
Corrimony Chambered Cairn.<br />
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Situated 8 miles from Loch Ness, this ancient burial site is a gem. Built by neolithic farmers in the 3rd millenium BC, it consists of a passage grave surrounded by a kerb of slabs and 11 standing stones - all of them wonderfully crooked, weathered and strange.</div>
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The entrance passage is aligned South West, meaning that the rays of the setting sun travel down it at the Midwinter Solstice. Similar cairns at Clava, a few miles east of Inverness, were built with the same alignment. In total there are nearly 50 cairns of this kind in the North East of Scotland. What was in the minds of the people who built them no one knows for sure, but it's possible that they had a belief in some form of journey for the spirits of their dead.</div>
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Archaeological evidence suggests that these sites were collectively used by communities for cremations, serving more as shrines to the dead than as tombs. When Corrimony Cairn was excavated in 1952, traces of just one set of remains were found - an adult, probably female, lying in a foetal position and facing down the passage towards the entrance.<br />
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The entrance passage is short and not overly restrictive, but it's eerie all the same. It echoed with an unnerving hollowness under my hands and knees as I crawled through. The cropping of the sheep in an adjacent field merged with the slow dripping of water from the cairn to become shuffling footsteps following behind.<br />
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The crows called their warnings, but inside I felt safer than I’d expected. I was protected, not trapped - the walls are intact only to head-height, the roof having long since collapsed.<br />
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Part of what is believed to be the original capstone, huge and decorated with cup marks, lies near the top of the cairn.<br />
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I wish now that I had also thought to climb up the outside of the cairn to look into the chamber from above, as it seems that other people do so. I erred on the side of good manners though. The place seemed untouchable in its magic, and worthy of more respect.<br />
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My heart was lighter on the journey home. I was singing as I drove through drifting leaves, between blood-red banks of autumn Beech.<br />
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The ghost that had been hanging just out of sight in the corner of my mind was gone. I had taken it to an appropriate place, and left it there.<br />
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Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-53396985824693451762012-09-28T04:11:00.001-07:002012-10-11T06:00:42.046-07:00Clootie Well, Black Isle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My advice if you're visiting the Clootie Well near Munlochy on the Black Isle in the Highlands of Scotland is not to go alone. Not unless you have nerves of steel. It's damn spooky.<br />
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There are other clootie wells around the UK and Ireland, but the one at Munlochy is one of the better known (it even makes an appearance in Scottish crime writer Ian Rankin's The Naming of the Dead, an Inspector Rebus book).<br />
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Of ancient Celtic origin, the main function of a clootie well lies in the performing of a healing ritual. A strip of cloth, or 'clootie' or 'cloot', is dipped into the water of a sacred spring and is then tied to the branch of a nearby tree. The cloot may first be used to wash an afflicted area of the body, there may be words spoken, or the well may be walked around a certain number of times. Offerings of coins are also sometimes placed in the well.<br />
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Since it's being used to represent an illness, the cloot may be intentionally ugly or unpleasant. Others, left simply as offerings to the fairies, are likely to be more colourful.<br />
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At the Clootie Well on the Black Isle, despite being within sight of the road you're immediately in no doubt that you've entered a place that's distinctly 'other'. There's a claustrophobic sense of stillness, and an unsettling energy. On my first visit I got half way along the path before I turned and hurried back to my car, tripping over tree roots as I went. I have half a notion that the fairies were laughing at me.<br />
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I returned on another day feeling braver. This time I had brought company!<br />
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The spring is modest - barely a trickle emerging from the hillside to collect in a small concrete basin. The child's shoe hanging in the foreground of the above photograph will show you roughly the scale.<br />
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Rags have been tied throughout a sprawling area of woodland and continue up the side of the hill to a clearing at the top. It's a deeply strange place and one with many aspects. At times it feels comforting and embracing. In its own way it's beautiful. Amongst the Rowan berries, the cloots were as festive as bunting.<br />
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Catch it from another angle though and it's terrifying. A bit like the fairies themselves I imagine!<br />
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Many of the rags are tied to branches that are not connected to the trees at all but are rather tethered, suspended in the knots of cloth. I wonder whether when the snows come the woods echo with the eerie cracking of overburdened branches, or whether people have tied in the extra branches intentionally. It's difficult to say. Nothing here comes with an explanation.<br />
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The cloots are most often handkerchiefs, but also flags, towels, t-shirts and sweatshirts, dusters, socks, shoes and even underpants. If for any reason you should ever feel the need to view a whole lot of mossy grey-green underwear this is definitely the place to visit.<br />
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Many of the items tied are synthetic materials or plastic that have little hope of degrading quickly, contrary to the original premise of the workings of the well.<br />
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Some items appear to have been left simply as decorative offerings to the fairies.<br />
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Others are baffling. Did you rub THAT on your afflicted area?<br />
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Many are modest, even minimalist.<br />
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Others, like this duvet, are bolder.<br />
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Some people use the well as a kind of memorial garden, leaving RIP messages written in marker pen on cloths strapped around tree trunks. Out of respect I didn't photograph any of these, or the mementos lodged high into the trees that hint at the most terrible of tragedies and losses.<br />
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I have no criticisms to make of anyone's use of the well, the choice of rags tied or the offerings left. In a way the Clootie Well is whatever people need it to be. However, it has to be said that the plastic, the trainers, the synthetic fabrics and the metal screws used to fix some of the cloots to tree trunks (why?) are unfortunate in their longevity.<br />
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I've occasionally heard mutterings from people who think the site should be cleaned up, and you can't really argue that the place isn't as disgusting as it is wonderful! But clearing the site would be a harsh move indeed.<br />
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Perhaps there only needs to be a quiet reminder from time to time that the offerings aren't meant to be permanent. Clootie wells are hopeful places, representing a longing for change. They're about the easing of pain and grief over time, and the possibility of healing. The cloots are meant to fade and disappear - that's where the magic lies.<br />
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My companion/heebie-jeebie buffer took our visit unexpectedly seriously and insisted that we tie rags ourselves. I didn't ask what her wish was, and similarly my own wish is best kept between myself and the fairies. But I can tell you that it's surprisingly soothing knowing that my little scrap of cloth is there now quietly disintegrating. In fact more than soothing, it's profoundly satisfying.<br />
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(My cloot appears in one of the above photographs, as anonymous as all the others.)<br />
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<br />
<a href="http://www.ambaile.org.uk/en/item/item_photograph.jsp?item_id=139596">Healing Wells and Springs in the Highlands and Islands</a> - an entry on Am Baile by Janine Donald, with a list of some of the springs, lochs and wells in the Highlands and Islands which were, and for some people still are, believed to have healing powers.<br />
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<br />Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-70819742569102297352012-07-25T06:34:00.000-07:002012-07-25T15:50:52.232-07:00The Hermit of Kinpurney Tower<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNRrtM-soFi-cc-kKb1anBgDVEImzxOO8G4Mj9S6u3A1InYxVLLaOlq0zLjcVOcFJsG-9s_ynyrB-MLdL36Jbro0rGIx1_q5eB4cIt-R6IGTgfY6nT7Oph-XIsBkps2if9m5j_E2Uims/s1600/Kinpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676809+by+Calum+McRoberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNRrtM-soFi-cc-kKb1anBgDVEImzxOO8G4Mj9S6u3A1InYxVLLaOlq0zLjcVOcFJsG-9s_ynyrB-MLdL36Jbro0rGIx1_q5eB4cIt-R6IGTgfY6nT7Oph-XIsBkps2if9m5j_E2Uims/s400/Kinpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676809+by+Calum+McRoberts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinpurney Tower in Angus, Scotland. Built as an observatory in 1774<br />
by <span style="background-color: white;">local landowner James Mackenzie. Image: </span><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AKinpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676809.jpg" style="background-color: white;">Calum McRoberts</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">According to a disturbing Scottish legend, a young poacher by the name of David Gray lost his youth, his health and
ultimately his life in a bleak and horrifying act of bravado. All for a wager of £100.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">He agreed to be locked in
Kinpurney Tower for seven years. Another version of the story states that it was for a year
and a day. Whichever it was, it was for too long.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA_8zq5VSHVRWFVSCrlFExbzUU2k7F9NbgjvR5FLVEHM8SQUgUP1nsHkBtOMMo4MNpeSCkLuBcI-3nfAtbEJWLsnJs4dPyfqPv5EG6W9DW_jIyJIr6JiDilEog9LBzSSYA5sZjqcn2G0/s1600/Kinpurney+Tower+7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA_8zq5VSHVRWFVSCrlFExbzUU2k7F9NbgjvR5FLVEHM8SQUgUP1nsHkBtOMMo4MNpeSCkLuBcI-3nfAtbEJWLsnJs4dPyfqPv5EG6W9DW_jIyJIr6JiDilEog9LBzSSYA5sZjqcn2G0/s400/Kinpurney+Tower+7.JPG" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing atop the 345-metre high summit of Kinpurney Hill,<br />
the tower is a very familiar landmark, visible for many miles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsL-NZUyQiai3h_nTgfBmwM4PoYoiq590lB40rgu7sN9SjkOKHB8AnObe6D-tDhhdse2yx1CF2bw326u8GYL-n3N8YwZQZcDj1GfLpP5WCHfuEjJTxN7JgkvIHkgiULQHwM22XbJEH32M/s1600/DSCF2322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsL-NZUyQiai3h_nTgfBmwM4PoYoiq590lB40rgu7sN9SjkOKHB8AnObe6D-tDhhdse2yx1CF2bw326u8GYL-n3N8YwZQZcDj1GfLpP5WCHfuEjJTxN7JgkvIHkgiULQHwM22XbJEH32M/s640/DSCF2322.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinpurney Hill from the nearby village of Balkeerie</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The hermit of Kinpurney Tower succeeded - he won the wager. But by the time he
was released he was in a desperately frail state. All those who came to witness his victory were shocked to see that his hair was now waist-length and grey, and his
fingernails were so long that they were like a bird's talons. He appeared to have prematurely aged and, most dreadful of all, he had lost the power of speech and
was only capable of grunting.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Though he was put in the care of doctors in
Dundee, the young man died shortly after leaving the tower.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">No one would ever know for sure what exactly had happened to him in the tower. </span><span style="background-color: white;">What secrets had Kinpurney Hill muttered to a soul in solitude? What eerie songs had the wind wailed through the long dark nights? And what phantoms had invaded his mind?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The answers would have to be left to their - and to our - imagination.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Many of the details of the story are unclear - the year it's supposed to have taken place for instance, and whether</span><span style="background-color: white;"> David Gray had contact with anyone during his incarceration. Was he free to come and
go from the tower or was he locked inside it? Why did no one try to rescue him?</span></div>
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And of course there's the most important question - did David Gray, the Hermit of Kinpurney Tower, ever exist in reality? Perhaps after all it’s
just a story.<br />
<br />
A version of the legend was printed in the Kirriemuir Free Press in 1918, and reprinted in September 1953 - it gives his stay in the tower as seven years. Another version, which says it was a year and a day, was a re-telling by Colin Gibson in the Dundee Courier of 28th March, 1970. The legend<span style="background-color: white;"> gets another very brief mention in the Readers Digest 'Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain', 1977. And it also</span><span style="background-color: white;"> appears in 'Newtyle: A Planned Manufacturing Village' by William Murdoch Duncan, published by the Forfar Historical Society in 1979. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I can't tell you what truth there is in the tale, if any - I can only present it to you as a legend. It may be a real event embellished, or it may
have been entirely invented. It feels true though, as all the best stories do. What
I can tell you for sure is that there’s something unnaccountably forlorn and
forbidding about the tower on Kinpurney Hill.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpk2vZmlffcH-ClWX3qGPWbX5xGJNvoKGhSFS1xdC6YEUYCJ0LW4-H-_H6m-XQUxT0WrgQ0hC5mcDZuMD6jQ5wOhPdyIvjcO5M_gpMrCbIJQLnesf2KhMkNIUEOq8O4jeDcMO0eyOPvDg/s1600/Inside_Kilpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676800+by+Calum+McRoberts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpk2vZmlffcH-ClWX3qGPWbX5xGJNvoKGhSFS1xdC6YEUYCJ0LW4-H-_H6m-XQUxT0WrgQ0hC5mcDZuMD6jQ5wOhPdyIvjcO5M_gpMrCbIJQLnesf2KhMkNIUEOq8O4jeDcMO0eyOPvDg/s400/Inside_Kilpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676800+by+Calum+McRoberts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of Kinpurney Tower. Image: <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AInside_Kilpurney_Hill_Tower_-_geograph.org.uk_-_676800.jpg">Calum McRoberts</a></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Just 20ft by 30ft, and 40ft tall, originally it
had a slate roof and a wooden floor, a fireplace and a small alcove cupboard.
With walls 3 feet thick it should have been a cosy enough refuge.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A family photo taken at Kinpurney Tower in 1977 - that's me in the<br />
white t-shirt. The tower had just recently been restored, in 1974.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Roofless since 1840, and for a long time derelict, Kinpurney
Tower is anything but cosy. Perhaps it’s those rows of blind windows. Or the
wind winnowing through the dark, empty doorways. Or just the unutterable sense
of desolation. Even on the sunniest of days, it's not a place in which you want to linger for long.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tower is an exhausting, very steep 2-mile hike uphill.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The surrounding landscape is beautiful - as
soft and leafy and sweet as the raspberries and strawberries that the area is
famous for. The views are panoramic - across the Strathmore valley to the Grampian hills, and to Dundee and across the river Tay to Fife. The remains of an iron age fort - once an ancient signal beacon station - ring the tower.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me again - looks like I found the hermit! (It's just my dad.)</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">One solitary larch tree grows on the summit - a descendant of another that stood on the spot before it. </span><span style="background-color: white;">All around are the whisperings of nature, in
the swaying of the grasses and the distant rippling of the barley as the wind slowly chases
itself in circles.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">On Kinpurney Hill you feel on top of the world. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">As a poacher, David Gray should have been in his element, having as he did the necessary skills to make sure he didn't starve. And yet somehow
he still withered away to a shambling wreck. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Did the life and strength ebb out of him so gradually, so insidiously, that he didn't notice that his chance to save himself was passing and being lost? </span><span style="background-color: white;">Did he die from just not knowing when to give up?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The tragedy of the story is that he must have believed that his suffering would be worth it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under a blazing sun - view from Kinpurney Tower , 1977</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">It's interesting to note that 1918 may be the first trace of the legend in print. As the nation struggled to comprehend the terrible losses of the First World War, was this exactly the kind of story to catch hold in the local consciousness? Could this, after all, be the origin of the legend - did David Gray simply represent the bitter sadness of a victory that had cost too dear? Whether the legend had previously existed or not, this horrifying story of the pointless waste of a young man's life surfaced at a time when it must have particularly resonated.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Just a fireside tale perhaps, but a haunting one.</span><br />
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<b>Note:</b> <span style="background-color: white;">Kinpurney Hill is also variously known as </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Kilpurnie, Kilpirnie, Kinpurnie, Kinpirnie and Kynprony Hill – from the Gaelic kin-faurin or ceann buerne meaning the head of the small streams. As far as I can tell, Kinpurney is the most commonly used spelling.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-6161720667949083562012-06-24T09:27:00.001-07:002012-06-27T04:45:17.978-07:00Strathpeffer – Victorian Spa Town of the Scottish Highlands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white;">There’s something highly restorative about a visit
to Strathpeffer. Here in its sheltered glen, 25 miles NW of Inverness in the Scottish Highlands, the air is pure and sweet, the pace of life gentle, the
views stunning. But
the wholesomeness of the atmosphere shouldn’t be a surprise. Strathpeffer was
once a bustling spa town of such popularity and elegance that it rivalled even
Harrogate. Between 1870 and 1939, it was one of the most popular health resorts
in Europe.</span></div>
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Among its famous visitors were Mrs
Pankhurst, Sir Ernest Shackleton, Aleister Crowley and Robert Louis Stevenson to name just a few.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">It’s a curious place. Huge stone-built villas and hotels peep coyly from behind lush curtains of shrubbery and trees. Much of the
architecture here is so odd that the town could almost be mistaken for an
alpine resort. And the veil separating the Victorian era and the present day often
seems remarkably thin.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Strathpeffer’s heyday may be long since past, but
it’s still a popular stop on the tourist trail. Some kind of spell hangs over
the town however because even its coach loads of summer visitors barely stir a
ripple in its tranquillity.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">A few seem unprepared for its quiet, quirky
charms – you’ll invariably meet someone walking back from the town square with
a bewildered look on their face. Where are the shops? The sights? The
excitement? What can you do here?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strathpeffer's main square</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Me, I think Strathpeffer's a small slice of
heaven. And most other visitors apparently think the same – they come back year
after year. It’s all here if you look - the tiny museum of childhood, the
historical exhibits at the spa pump room, the little craft and eco friendly
shops, the wee Art Deco cafe that screens silent movies on its back wall, and the
chemist’s shop with its window display of Victorian dispensary
paraphernalia.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">All this, and the Strathpeffer and District
Pipe Band performing in the square every Saturday (May-September). What more
could you ask for!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The waters of the sulphurous springs can still
be sampled - I haven’t tried them so can’t report on their palatability. But I
could hazard a guess! They’re the most sulphurous in the UK, hence their
one-time popularity. Discovered in the 1770s, they were believed beneficial for
digestive and kidney complaints, heart conditions, rheumatism and skin
disorders.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The pavilion was used as an American
naval hospital during WWI</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFavWFCwwOdgLy8T0xGJ6DRf93RwyovRaCM9jO7RTy_EM9mJtMDb54XuHuAyYTsUrt75Ua2u_Q1MHoxOg4x_ez3bzFcjvHAJl-PYb73zQ_WDapm8m-GsxQRPvLhhvWLsZAIRHNmMNVZJY/s1600/Strathpeffer+Spa+Pump+Room+Museum+by+lizsmith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFavWFCwwOdgLy8T0xGJ6DRf93RwyovRaCM9jO7RTy_EM9mJtMDb54XuHuAyYTsUrt75Ua2u_Q1MHoxOg4x_ez3bzFcjvHAJl-PYb73zQ_WDapm8m-GsxQRPvLhhvWLsZAIRHNmMNVZJY/s400/Strathpeffer+Spa+Pump+Room+Museum+by+lizsmith.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Strathpeffer Spa Pump Room Museum<br />Mrs Mitchell’s
first day at the spa – getting a peat bath<br />(gosh!) </span></td></tr>
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There are actually five mineral wells in Strathpeffer,
containing both sulphur and iron. At one time, guests would be offered water
from one tap, which was then topped up by a guide with water from another tap. As
the iron and sulphur mixed, the water would turn inky black. The same change
could be seen before and during storms. It was said that the devil himself
washed in Strathpeffer, but I assume that was meant tongue in cheek!<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">**An
interesting aside on the subject of the devil and Strathpeffer -</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">infamous occultist, magician and poet </span><span style="background-color: white;">Aleister Crowley, ‘the wickedest man in the world’ and self-styled Great Beast 666, met his wife Rose here in Strathpeffer in 1903. She was engaged to someone else – an arranged
marriage that she was eager to avoid. Instead she eloped to marry Crowley in the
neighbouring town of Dingwall, after only a short acquaintance.</span><span style="background-color: white;">**</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">Caf</span><span style="background-color: white;">é</span> tables at Strathpeffer Railway Station</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The railway arrived at nearby Dingwall in 1862.
High Society began descending on Strathpeffer for ‘the season’ and its
popularity soared, only to wane between the World Wars. The station in
Strathpeffer opened in 1885. The line was closed for good in 1946.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strathpeffer Railway Station</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBPkczRwoj79KZjimiKHBiZAOuuhSFn1VWm0HMstfZnAtFrbSmd85qAIe4PxMEK9mTbK_djHmKp7uciV8qYrV6KrNyY8D0tFe27SWFz2Y4f85DJz5xj5a_iyhitNX_sgF04CtT52TzZU/s1600/DSCF2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBPkczRwoj79KZjimiKHBiZAOuuhSFn1VWm0HMstfZnAtFrbSmd85qAIe4PxMEK9mTbK_djHmKp7uciV8qYrV6KrNyY8D0tFe27SWFz2Y4f85DJz5xj5a_iyhitNX_sgF04CtT52TzZU/s400/DSCF2020.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green Kite fair trade shop, Strathpeffer Station</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highland Museum of Childhood</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Come for a stroll with me through the pavilion grounds. I
recommend that you take your time, breathe deeply and relax. At some point if
you’re lucky there may be an eerie lull in the already sleepy traffic. An
unexpected feeling of serenity may descend upon you. And if you listen hard enough, I
swear you’ll hear the conversations of the ghosts as they stroll by. The gardens are now semi-wild and thick with moss, Strathpeffer’s
grandeur has faded, but its ghosts are still as elegant as any you could ever hope
to meet.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chairs at the bowling green</td></tr>
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NB I highly recommend visiting Strathpeffer in
the tourist season, as many of the local businesses either reduce their opening
hours or remain closed during the quieter winter months.</div>Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-16469319958995772582012-05-16T16:28:00.000-07:002012-05-20T06:49:34.646-07:00The Eagle Stone and the Brahan Seer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosYgcwIFdgj8T346dZPZNDWgglNj9vJrn9BYFUxWolhfMxNEuM2hVrseiOZCpW-gDc15KBoj9TKyVGCOMv0UOG34zWbm37gT6lyVj5Guaw6mu9MMsepX63mAFcRJTIYDd9QY0U98m51o/s1600/DSCF1755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosYgcwIFdgj8T346dZPZNDWgglNj9vJrn9BYFUxWolhfMxNEuM2hVrseiOZCpW-gDc15KBoj9TKyVGCOMv0UOG34zWbm37gT6lyVj5Guaw6mu9MMsepX63mAFcRJTIYDd9QY0U98m51o/s640/DSCF1755.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Eagle Stone, Strathpeffer, Scotland.<br />
Carved with Pictish symbols of an Eagle and an arch, of unknown meaning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<strong>‘When the Eagle Stone falls 3 times, the Strath
will be engulfed by the sea, and boats will moor to the stone.’</strong><br />
- prediction
of Coinneach Odhar (Kenneth Mackenzie), the Brahan Seer, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>16thC or 17thC<br />
<br />
The Eagle Stone at Strathpeffer, to the north of
Inverness, is discreetly but very firmly concreted into the mound on which it
stands. Since it’s believed to have fallen twice already, no one’s taking any
chances. When it fell for the second time, the Cromarty Firth rose up and
flooded the neighbouring town of Dingwall. So they say.<br />
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The Eagle Stone is a short walk from the centre
of Strathpeffer, up a leafy lane ...</div>
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... through a gate ...<br />
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... and along a muddy path at the edge of a field.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY87hQ0qk3IXPWP0FnM6GW2NDTP0_Eb237wNj4IifJNtBhSnJm8mlXVfulwWcB5X1PxY2SWpNRyENXjla-423FsVlss4nUXTz-sdtZkXldLZCqcNSFg9__yqq020iSucFUd1WQsluLurg/s1600/DSCF1749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY87hQ0qk3IXPWP0FnM6GW2NDTP0_Eb237wNj4IifJNtBhSnJm8mlXVfulwWcB5X1PxY2SWpNRyENXjla-423FsVlss4nUXTz-sdtZkXldLZCqcNSFg9__yqq020iSucFUd1WQsluLurg/s400/DSCF1749.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Eagle Stone's purpose may have been to commemorate<br />
a marriage or a battle</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRMm_no7Aab2G-AALTWhzcQZk4BtylpKlPPCcpbK1ZHeN2jmU_LFjDJKI8YgmvbW0haJhJ_bbd4Xv3SLFOjXbnJViZuKEMgBPD3sx5qvl8OJnPkTIRPNroEMZt1LLZ6y8CeebXe-v6mE/s1600/DSCF1741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpRMm_no7Aab2G-AALTWhzcQZk4BtylpKlPPCcpbK1ZHeN2jmU_LFjDJKI8YgmvbW0haJhJ_bbd4Xv3SLFOjXbnJViZuKEMgBPD3sx5qvl8OJnPkTIRPNroEMZt1LLZ6y8CeebXe-v6mE/s400/DSCF1741.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back of the stone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />A slab of blue gneiss 2ft 8in tall, the Eagle Stone was also once known as Clach an
Tiompain (the stone of the hollow sound or echo) in reference to the sound it
makes when struck. I didn’t try it – pretty sure it’s not encouraged!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvssvieDpOpQ53Y9ZeYlcW90cvGSYI-qTEfuA8vhq7IvlmomSqs8QuLB9eBOhwHH9vPfJLzpGctgeQQwq_pXZSVcYm2zbKjNylH1lsHk6PAzMxK8dSpVtXG6t4mLBAewFQDOFUNZmzWoA/s1600/DSCF1784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvssvieDpOpQ53Y9ZeYlcW90cvGSYI-qTEfuA8vhq7IvlmomSqs8QuLB9eBOhwHH9vPfJLzpGctgeQQwq_pXZSVcYm2zbKjNylH1lsHk6PAzMxK8dSpVtXG6t4mLBAewFQDOFUNZmzWoA/s400/DSCF1784.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local tour guide.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSj65KO_quH-LgVuiFIXNH7EQ-nNyu8s6tf6Daq5ESBp9R6uYjHZFLZYRgyxSDoFiwW_IdympP1DamGoP6L1VeKr_LJy7CWNy_rWmQzpfwJtn_RyMdKRSdGwfowXYei04kbVGkqGMkpHA/s1600/DSCF1760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSj65KO_quH-LgVuiFIXNH7EQ-nNyu8s6tf6Daq5ESBp9R6uYjHZFLZYRgyxSDoFiwW_IdympP1DamGoP6L1VeKr_LJy7CWNy_rWmQzpfwJtn_RyMdKRSdGwfowXYei04kbVGkqGMkpHA/s400/DSCF1760.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Eagle Stone across to the Cat's Back (Druim Chat).<br />
Brahan is on the other side of this ridge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />On the
summit of the Cat's Back is Knockfarrel, a vitrified Iron Age hill-fort.
Within the walls of the fort is a well, capped by a stone. The
Brahan Seer prophesied that should this stone ever be removed, Loch
Ussie will ooze up through the well and flood the valley below to such an
extent that ships will sail right up to Strathpeffer and attach their cables to
the Eagle Stone. This will happen when the stone has fallen three times.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXje-4AuzfUbjLxDTRKkv6mnE-tcoXjrwuuYw-3595zfmrLB8jh44w5THLe8_KTnYWNjcrOdjiTt5o9INPERepns5PZ6EuJA5WoVE7BivDTg6Uffxy7QquNNS2mfJrrCkY4o4uin_lQWo/s1600/DSCF1840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXje-4AuzfUbjLxDTRKkv6mnE-tcoXjrwuuYw-3595zfmrLB8jh44w5THLe8_KTnYWNjcrOdjiTt5o9INPERepns5PZ6EuJA5WoVE7BivDTg6Uffxy7QquNNS2mfJrrCkY4o4uin_lQWo/s640/DSCF1840.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sculpture of the Brahan Seer by local woodcarver Allister Brebner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />So, what of the man behind this sombre prediction? The
Brahan Seer is the most famous of Scotland’s seers. He made a string of
prophesies about the future of the Highlands, many of which have since come true. He predicted the Highland Clearances, the building of the Caledonian
Canal and the arrival of the railway. He also famously foretold
the downfall of the Seaforth Mackenzies, his patrons, with astonishing accuracy over a
hundred years before it happened.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKM7RjNuc_bVf2xkcAnx4ThvZ3CON-4cs_VzLeHOSYD6oovPdfnI6O0JoTFSbbIHi_ibcu_KHR1m904nIZrN9J5DJXn22T6swyzXYvD8tLouj_Od7k2R1gr45q3r76BU8lj0qKPdoGq3Q/s1600/DSCF1837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKM7RjNuc_bVf2xkcAnx4ThvZ3CON-4cs_VzLeHOSYD6oovPdfnI6O0JoTFSbbIHi_ibcu_KHR1m904nIZrN9J5DJXn22T6swyzXYvD8tLouj_Od7k2R1gr45q3r76BU8lj0qKPdoGq3Q/s640/DSCF1837.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cat under the Seer's kilt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />What little we know of the Brahan Seer was collected from the Gaelic oral tradition and first published in 1877, at least two centuries after he
had lived and died. In those intervening years, many conflicting stories had
come to be told of him. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Although the Brahan Seer may well have existed in
reality, almost everything about him has long ago melted into folklore.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJSbVWC0aOlb2YrwGXNRqV8IMkEvnz2Za4VMmJFHaJCy3n02xWBOXVa2YaYfPlRj_mnmsE0u9K5D86lkdFzdXTluwxrfXwt9Fj1RzooKMBsXmtExVuQ-3y1Bt9mfzLNIUI2yJ-1i44Z4/s1600/DSCF2076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJSbVWC0aOlb2YrwGXNRqV8IMkEvnz2Za4VMmJFHaJCy3n02xWBOXVa2YaYfPlRj_mnmsE0u9K5D86lkdFzdXTluwxrfXwt9Fj1RzooKMBsXmtExVuQ-3y1Bt9mfzLNIUI2yJ-1i44Z4/s400/DSCF2076.JPG" width="315" /></a></div>
<br />
The story goes that a young Isle of Lewis boy, Coinneach
Odhar, found a small stone with a hole in it. When he looked through it, he
was struck permanently blind in that eye but had acquired the gift of second
sight. He spoke prophesies throughout his life, later moving to
Brahan, near Inverness, where he earned his living as a wandering labourer. At some point he became known as the Brahan Seer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qwLAWHOhUSVNxdmaDHr15wyYcokBD3uWTA0u7Hh_Qitpd5NkcSDUYsWjdMOGvcFhBCIyxrp3SrRT8rxB6S4hI28GTD76CSAT10rGbWt40sYiC4jOHkmDjlp8bPQmWfG5nrh6kyR7KXk/s1600/DSCF2136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qwLAWHOhUSVNxdmaDHr15wyYcokBD3uWTA0u7Hh_Qitpd5NkcSDUYsWjdMOGvcFhBCIyxrp3SrRT8rxB6S4hI28GTD76CSAT10rGbWt40sYiC4jOHkmDjlp8bPQmWfG5nrh6kyR7KXk/s640/DSCF2136.JPG" width="424" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
An alternative story of how Coinneach came by the stone has it that his mother was tending her cattle one night at her summer sheiling overlooking the Baile-na-Cille graveyard in Uig. Close on midnight, she saw the graves opening and the spirits rising up and departing in all directions. Within the hour they returned and the graves closed. All save one. Curious to know why this one spirit hadn't returned, Coinneach’s mother barred the opening with her stick and waited. The spirit who soon tried to enter the grave was a Norwegian princess who had drowned and been washed ashore, far from home. She had returned later than the others, she said, because her journey – to Norway and back - had been longer. In return for being allowed to re-enter her grave, she revealed the location of the seeing stone.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacingCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJar-m3wIjxs3TX8Px3qsc-R3kpWY0T10azEbHv45I4PrAxFgdLFaCG7p4YUNkDV7yShu4RuOpTHuHX1Su_5oMI95NxlRSviD_Nv_11s6Py9EotdFaUtgzvSeXcEp2C1rfRHwcpLOF89g/s1600/DSCF2088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJar-m3wIjxs3TX8Px3qsc-R3kpWY0T10azEbHv45I4PrAxFgdLFaCG7p4YUNkDV7yShu4RuOpTHuHX1Su_5oMI95NxlRSviD_Nv_11s6Py9EotdFaUtgzvSeXcEp2C1rfRHwcpLOF89g/s400/DSCF2088.JPG" width="357" /></a></div>
<br />
Another account of how Coinneach came by the
stone tells that he found it in a raven’s nest.<br />
<br />Yet another story<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is that, having moved to Brahan, he fell asleep
in the sun while cutting peats. He awoke to find the stone on his chest, and by
looking through it he could see that the food brought out to him that day was
poisoned. And so the stone saved his life.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BilcO-rrCxyz32avQSWbP78Tg5L9YkATsK2PY-pIZP-9K92oaWccO5LJqYQPggjWCsIZ1njKrLlTW7vKGb7R_Ue2vbW-zqw3E4d410x2LnTv3zhEA5HLngQGp_AYETvzYxwE5rh14ug/s1600/DSCF2097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BilcO-rrCxyz32avQSWbP78Tg5L9YkATsK2PY-pIZP-9K92oaWccO5LJqYQPggjWCsIZ1njKrLlTW7vKGb7R_Ue2vbW-zqw3E4d410x2LnTv3zhEA5HLngQGp_AYETvzYxwE5rh14ug/s640/DSCF2097.JPG" width="440" /></a></div>
</div>
<br />
It’s said the gift of second sight brought
no happiness. Coinneach’s visions were rarely of anything good, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>made little sense, and often didn’t seem of much consequence.<br />
<br />He lived into extended, if troubled, old age. Or,
alternatively, he was burnt as a witch at Chanonry Point on the Black Isle, by
being forced head first into a burning barrel of tar through which stakes were
then driven. It may be that both versions of his life are true – there may have
been more than one Seer, their stories later becoming confused (belief in the gift of second sight was widespread). Two people
may have been remembered as one. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhputrPA7Lk2v9Fa-QE8swAZrWBop4QfnanEfJ1OKlVuh9LtWwciMyZBLkMUfinFkuRgIs8E9fm_CmjVh30QaeuMmVvZeNlJ0y1MtU2DSaCjM2Mhv-cq9nO3Ynig2EXXxlfOLAENJaSuOE/s1600/DSCF2089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhputrPA7Lk2v9Fa-QE8swAZrWBop4QfnanEfJ1OKlVuh9LtWwciMyZBLkMUfinFkuRgIs8E9fm_CmjVh30QaeuMmVvZeNlJ0y1MtU2DSaCjM2Mhv-cq9nO3Ynig2EXXxlfOLAENJaSuOE/s400/DSCF2089.JPG" width="345" /></a></div>
<br />
Shortly before his death, the Brahan Seer is said to have
thrown his seeing stone into a lake, claiming that many years in the future it
would be found by a ‘lame humpbacked mendicant.’ And by then his prophecies
would have come true.<br />
<br />Or in another telling of it, he threw the stone into a
cow’s hoofprint, cursing those who were about to murder him, and declaring that
a child with two navels (or in other versions 4 thumbs and 6 toes) would be
born. This child would discover the stone inside a fish and so be gifted with
prophetic sight. The hoofprint rapidly filled with water and continued to do so until it became Loch Ussie.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURZQOwIog4RBTFpv1Hj9XfmmnpYfoutP4Ych-hEsW4SeSV-E6ITRYhG-eed0PaQowGcgVQZUaZZLU6lS7CINexfMmLIln4xQgeZSb3UGLr_T-5INppKQshd0opzaVNqymzX3gPgrMaQM/s1600/DSCF2123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhURZQOwIog4RBTFpv1Hj9XfmmnpYfoutP4Ych-hEsW4SeSV-E6ITRYhG-eed0PaQowGcgVQZUaZZLU6lS7CINexfMmLIln4xQgeZSb3UGLr_T-5INppKQshd0opzaVNqymzX3gPgrMaQM/s640/DSCF2123.JPG" width="486" /></a></div>
<br />
We can’t now know the truth of Coinneach Odhar’s
life, or understand his extraordinary experience of the world. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">We can only speculate about his abilities and his
beliefs. As a writer I feel bound to say that each of the stories woven about
him is as valid as the next. Each one has its own purpose and power. In truth though
I like some of them better than others.</span><br />
<br />A young boy found a stone with a hole in it through
which he saw the future. That’s the best story of all right there.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /><strong>A small selection of the Brahan Seer’s prophecies:</strong></div>
<br />
‘I would not like to live when a black bridleless
horse shall pass through the Muir of Ord’<br />
<br />'When it becomes possible to cross the River Ness dry-shod in five places, a frightful disaster will strike the world' (Fulfilled. A fifth bridge was built in the last few days of August,1939. Hitler invaded Poland on September 1st.) <br />
<br />
‘When nine bridges cross the River Ness, there will be fire, flood and
calamity.’ (A ninth bridge was built in 1987. Many people considered the
prophecy fulfilled by the Piper Alpha disaster in 1988.)<br />
<br />
‘The day will come when long strings of carriages
without horses shall run between Dingwall and Inverness, and more wonderful
still, between Dingwall and the Isle of Skye.’ (Fulfilled by the coming of the
railway 1860-1897.)<br />
<br />'Strange as it may seem to you this day, the time will come, and it is not far off, when full-rigged ships will be seen sailing eastward and westward by the back of Tomnahurich, near Inverness.' (Fulfilled by the construction of the Caledonian Canal 1803-1822.)<br />
<br />‘The natural arch, or Clach tholl, near
Storehead in Assynt, will fall with a crash so loud as to cause the laird of
Leadmore’s cattle, twenty miles away, to break their tethers.’ (Fulfilled,
1841. The laird’s cattle had strayed near the arch, and when it fell they
stampeded in panic.)<br />
<br />‘A black hornless cow will give birth to a calf
with two heads.’ (Fulfilled)<br />
<br />‘The day will come when the Lewsmen shall go
forth with their hosts to battle, but they will be turned back by the jaw-bone
of an animal smaller than an ass.’ (Surprisingly fulfilled, 1745. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Lord Seaforth, who was dining on a sheep’s head at the
time, waved the jawbone at his men as he ordered them to return home.</span>)<br />
<br />
‘The day will come when the Mackenzies of Fairburn shall lose their entire
possessions, and that branch of the clan shall disappear almost to a man from
the face of the earth. Their castle shall become uninhabited, desolate and
forsaken, and a cow shall give birth to a calf in the uppermost chamber in
Fairburn Tower.’ (The last of the Mackenzie line died unmarried in 1850. The
castle fell into ruin, and a cow calved in the tower, 1851.)<br />
<br />
‘Sheep shall eat men, men will eat sheep, the black rain will eat all
things; in the end old men shall return from new lands.’ (A prophecy as yet
unfulfilled, and still feared.)<br />
<br />
And of the mineral wells at Strathpeffer:<br />
‘Uninviting and disagreeable as it now is, with
its thick crusted surface and unpleasant smell, the day will come when it shall
be under lock and key, and crowds of pleasure and health seekers shall be seen
thronging its portals, in their eagerness to get a draught of its waters’
(Fulfilled. Strathpeffer became an elegant Victorian spa town to rival even Harrogate.)<br />
<br />
<br />Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-70255434113340308422012-03-25T07:25:00.015-07:002012-03-25T10:59:40.532-07:00Solitary research - how safe?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN913Zg3fjDp1bGJFy4VEt0w8zxrBOBQxrOx3OnJ92EwVG9FajM6PW6CD4S0m0j4MucduLI98c1fl7tSzH5ihNcfRnzBVv7jhOYkBplb557YvQ1joEtDpAPSh25ygS0CjMvcGTf0TgEZ8/s1600/Dunkeld+Cathedral.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN913Zg3fjDp1bGJFy4VEt0w8zxrBOBQxrOx3OnJ92EwVG9FajM6PW6CD4S0m0j4MucduLI98c1fl7tSzH5ihNcfRnzBVv7jhOYkBplb557YvQ1joEtDpAPSh25ygS0CjMvcGTf0TgEZ8/s640/Dunkeld+Cathedral.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dunkeld Cathedral, Perthshire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>There are places I want to take my characters to. Saturday night pubs in unfamiliar towns, city centres in the wee small hours, late night bus stations. Remote, ruined, derelict sites, unlit back roads and dark, uneasy places. But I'm not always sure I want to venture to these locations myself - not alone.<br />
<br />
Of course that's what imagination's for, and there's always vicarious research on the internet. But there are times when I want to find out for myself what a place would feel like on a character's skin. How their footsteps would echo. How the air would taste.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKr3dzJxqAmF81bTLBnnNa5FqswmJdzprYnwvJbOETSeJfooR-zz38HjUc3UZA_IyiPL5C62eEIrRNRBlHMFttizb25iRr0dpD-ClA_K-gAdTuMPy5R-kcuin4ZdCoCN5huI54BvJAJ0/s1600/Kilchurn+Castle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHKr3dzJxqAmF81bTLBnnNa5FqswmJdzprYnwvJbOETSeJfooR-zz38HjUc3UZA_IyiPL5C62eEIrRNRBlHMFttizb25iRr0dpD-ClA_K-gAdTuMPy5R-kcuin4ZdCoCN5huI54BvJAJ0/s400/Kilchurn+Castle.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kilchurn Castle, Loch Awe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What I really need is a research companion.<br />
<br />
Researching alone in isolated locations didn't used to worry me. But I've become disappointingly cautious with age. When I was younger I often trekked out into the middle of nowhere by train or by bus or on foot - sometimes a combination of all three - happily and without a thought. Just me, my camera and a timetable. That was before I had a car, and before mobile phones. When I think about it now, I'm not at all sure it was a good idea.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpMSIrcNxzszNdBjn_zy2gTQpidFqoGYdhINlnVUQuCjCli1r45Foh_mxmu9Wsj-nb8GgORl09p1R9aMeDM4ZLB1gCeLJyCqgJQmTWa-y-KVxC8pT-Mz0TZFpkk1E1WpGNlBhCFGtY04/s1600/Cup+and+ring+marks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpMSIrcNxzszNdBjn_zy2gTQpidFqoGYdhINlnVUQuCjCli1r45Foh_mxmu9Wsj-nb8GgORl09p1R9aMeDM4ZLB1gCeLJyCqgJQmTWa-y-KVxC8pT-Mz0TZFpkk1E1WpGNlBhCFGtY04/s640/Cup+and+ring+marks.JPG" width="419" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cup and Ring marks, Achnabreck</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfnRgTqpxaY_E1tQ6hAcuBJnTpjaBp8YSKY2glwNJ9tFoEhs5TN7TDTFYxd-UmqVK_X8POttdFb7CmVqPu0vT0Enrfu7Jk2-f7NG6s0XRAycAj4mPu6b4fNqM3cEGmLVYvcFN39hb9as/s1600/Cairn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfnRgTqpxaY_E1tQ6hAcuBJnTpjaBp8YSKY2glwNJ9tFoEhs5TN7TDTFYxd-UmqVK_X8POttdFb7CmVqPu0vT0Enrfu7Jk2-f7NG6s0XRAycAj4mPu6b4fNqM3cEGmLVYvcFN39hb9as/s400/Cairn.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nether Largie South Cairn, Kilmartin Glen</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I travelled alone to all sorts of out of the way places - Roman forts in lonely woods, castle ruins, souterrains, cairns, stone circles. And it was fun. Even when I was scared. Perhaps for the very reason that I <em>was</em> scared. And I'm still convinced that the best way to get the sense of a place - to hear its ghosts whispering - is alone.<br />
<br />
There were only two occasions when I wished I had someone with me.<br />
<br />
One was a visit to Cairnpapple Hill - a prehistoric monument with a long and complex history. Used as a burial and ceremonial site from as early as 3000 BC, it features pits into which cremated human remains were placed, and a burial mound. At one time the site was surrounded by a henge of upright wooden posts. Basically there were a lot of strange goings on at Cairnpapple over a period of about 1600 years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JDD9H-Bj9A7f9TSpZuwal1ooGHC6lSNgyii9ozqk0bL8JdqZNUY57-HilKmX2vGIjjeaaczn_DyB9eeXcmOlPo9fLsAn_KSQ3iaNiuLlxauwvGnL4T2LJsjieXJid3bobemx_sCbgGE/s1600/Cairnpapple+pits.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9JDD9H-Bj9A7f9TSpZuwal1ooGHC6lSNgyii9ozqk0bL8JdqZNUY57-HilKmX2vGIjjeaaczn_DyB9eeXcmOlPo9fLsAn_KSQ3iaNiuLlxauwvGnL4T2LJsjieXJid3bobemx_sCbgGE/s400/Cairnpapple+pits.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Whether I'd taken a wrong turn that day or misread the map I can't remember now, but having got off the bus on a quiet country road, I found myself on an unexpectedly long walk. Hopelessly lost, I trudged for almost 2 hours without seeing a fellow soul, under a fierce summer sky.<br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3toi9Bs1q2cYSlgnsA0OkgN1iZtW8D8lX8iJIvZC6o2Uj2YsoQ9ciqVadcjxnvycymMHnRtyao4xQSXsSJ_lQ6NqRBgtVEprcjJQpr-bDkVNrmSEC8TK-1AKIHgypMT2aLtq13NjkByM/s1600/Cairnpapple+black.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3toi9Bs1q2cYSlgnsA0OkgN1iZtW8D8lX8iJIvZC6o2Uj2YsoQ9ciqVadcjxnvycymMHnRtyao4xQSXsSJ_lQ6NqRBgtVEprcjJQpr-bDkVNrmSEC8TK-1AKIHgypMT2aLtq13NjkByM/s400/Cairnpapple+black.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cairnpapple Hill, West Lothian</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ASgqWq-X_t0oHGqvnK-vQTVX_JeG0LUrrtMTS5idiDxOS64yrNEiCPFMNqGkzWPWMw-g_3tK6aElvG7GbZaz_WRrGDf_gaQpr7omIdjRAnrWdqx1ob18N3Ae_zYPr5kvGf4DHZJP3bM/s1600/Cairnpapple+blacker.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ASgqWq-X_t0oHGqvnK-vQTVX_JeG0LUrrtMTS5idiDxOS64yrNEiCPFMNqGkzWPWMw-g_3tK6aElvG7GbZaz_WRrGDf_gaQpr7omIdjRAnrWdqx1ob18N3Ae_zYPr5kvGf4DHZJP3bM/s400/Cairnpapple+blacker.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cairnpapple Hill sweltering in the sun</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I found my way eventually, but by then I was feeling very far from home, and my mind was clouded, vision blackening in the heat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoG_RyPUQZeMJq1fUQWOKFuKC2_sU0IrRawQ1TE520i3z7LqIqT1QFtwVTA5eFqh54v_A_gxNmD19QY0bu4K7ve4HAkArROgRLeFjJQqAYE_MSTMATcCOjcQGok4OzGwXb7dLH6y49bQ/s1600/Tumbling+wasps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoG_RyPUQZeMJq1fUQWOKFuKC2_sU0IrRawQ1TE520i3z7LqIqT1QFtwVTA5eFqh54v_A_gxNmD19QY0bu4K7ve4HAkArROgRLeFjJQqAYE_MSTMATcCOjcQGok4OzGwXb7dLH6y49bQ/s400/Tumbling+wasps.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And what a strange place was Cairnpapple Hill. It crackled with energy. The sun sweltered. Wasps tumbled in writhing balls through the grass. All in all, the atmosphere swarmed with unpleasantness.<br />
<br />
If I'd had company, perhaps I would have had a different perception of it. I might not have travelled to such a bizarre and sinister Cairnpapple Hill that day. Who knows. It might have all looked very different if I'd at least worn a hat and stayed out of the sun!<br />
<br />
The only other time I was unhappy was at Castlelaw Hill Fort. Again I got off the bus and walked. The day was unseasonably gloomy and overcast.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXcR_wrybiQjFa8WGmPp7DFkYIMh9AwwQiI6oBdv7qLH90cfqUqH0ZAmHqIFY1bLv5QtmRTutJk4IwT59sp8u6LeSnTJHPe5zwvvZU9k_ins2a4216nRIReXbvJaJ3i5W38K8tXC6s-0/s1600/Castlelaw+Iron+Age+hill+fort+and+souterrain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXcR_wrybiQjFa8WGmPp7DFkYIMh9AwwQiI6oBdv7qLH90cfqUqH0ZAmHqIFY1bLv5QtmRTutJk4IwT59sp8u6LeSnTJHPe5zwvvZU9k_ins2a4216nRIReXbvJaJ3i5W38K8tXC6s-0/s400/Castlelaw+Iron+Age+hill+fort+and+souterrain.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castlelaw Iron Age Hll Fort, Pentland Hills, Lothian</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It didn't seem so bad at first - quite pretty as you can see. But then I dared myself to go down into the souterrain. You might laugh at my horror - just remember I was alone, not a soul was in sight and I had hiked a distance from the nearest road. The hills were silent around me, sky lowering.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdRnhzchDbo64MqJOmNpF3vUnu6qHGNwbvW9bLIg2_JXqVamg8iEdtft8WPQ9n8fGkr_3NYQwjmrhGEKMJjZaHrSEfgnKL75L1dZykWAkh7DADExYk1ho-AeZIb-NuJ6g_fHXZz0elb0/s1600/Castlelaw+souterrain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdRnhzchDbo64MqJOmNpF3vUnu6qHGNwbvW9bLIg2_JXqVamg8iEdtft8WPQ9n8fGkr_3NYQwjmrhGEKMJjZaHrSEfgnKL75L1dZykWAkh7DADExYk1ho-AeZIb-NuJ6g_fHXZz0elb0/s640/Castlelaw+souterrain.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Castlelaw souterrain</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
There were two things down in that souterrain that I was ridiculously terrified by - a column of mist that was slowly spiralling at the far end of the main chamber (aaargh!) and in a second dark chamber a circle of recently discarded beer cans. I stood my ground just long enough to take a few blurry photos - it was one of the scariest places I've ever been. Sadly I don't have a photograph of the swirling mist or the beer cans - I lost my nerve and fled.<br />
<br />
On reflection, I imagine swirling mists must be commonplace in souterrains. Beer cans too. But I wasn't forewarned!<br />
<br />
Looking back I'm in two minds about my solitary wanderings. I had a lot of fun. They're happy memories. But I wouldn't want my own daughter trekking off alone without a car or a mobile phone. I wouldn't want that at all. In fact even <em>with</em> a car and a phone.<br />
<br />
So my question is how do you travel alone and so have a chance to hear the ghosts whispering - happily scaring yourself witless - whilst staying safe from earthly dangers? I find I don't have the answer. It's a judgement call.<br />
<br />
For my current research though I reckon I need a travelling companion - someone strapping to research those rowdy pubs with.<br />
<br />
Anyone for the pub then? First round's on me.Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-33974747619829883042012-02-23T08:59:00.001-08:002012-02-23T09:01:18.042-08:00Plot planningBefore I was a writer, I was a painter. And I was a painter who never sketched. Well, hardly ever. I envied people who did, but I was worried by that rush to commit an idea to the page. To throw it out there with such abandon. Why would I want to make preparatory sketches when I had the whole image sitting perfectly in my mind's eye anyway? I wanted to guard the clarity of my inner vision and save it, untouched, for the finished work. <br />
<br />
Artists, eh? In retrospect it was most likely an anxiety issue.<br />
<br />
Well as a writer I've finally had to learn how to sketch. After all, a novel is HUGE. It's so big you can't even see it all at once, however far back you stand. You can't hold it all in your head. Just not possible.<br />
<br />
When I started writing seven years ago, I muddled around giving my first novel space to grow. I couldn't have done anything else - I didn't know what I was doing. I let it find its own shape in its own time, unrushed. And then I pulled it together in the rewrites, by which time I'd learnt a lot more about the shape it needed to be. And about writing in general.<br />
<br />
Starting a second novel feels very different. I actually have an idea of what I'm doing this time. I know how to write a synopsis (ooh, that's a painful learning curve) and writing one for my new plot immediately sorted out an issue that had been tripping me up. I hadn't been able to see what the problem was, but it turned out to be as simple as a location that didn't work.<br />
<br />
Making a plot plan was even more helpful. I'd imagined that it would be a huge task, like solving a vast and fiendishly difficult sudoku. I thought it would take months of mind-bending calculations, scribbled notes and despair. Actually it turned out to be fun and very straightforward. It took me 2 weeks. And that was only because I was dawdling.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9BlURHqzwV5KKXy8NE5JTKonZOY8q4CrxGKIYSuA7DnSFKM-yyx9-eLeCiD-UNohH7DFY-NB6qH72zy-GkzNtaYV5xeSRVyi8qrNSgBChTGJLVsneHIZAdWkzK6Az04K8RdbjczdGQc/s1600/index+markers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9BlURHqzwV5KKXy8NE5JTKonZOY8q4CrxGKIYSuA7DnSFKM-yyx9-eLeCiD-UNohH7DFY-NB6qH72zy-GkzNtaYV5xeSRVyi8qrNSgBChTGJLVsneHIZAdWkzK6Az04K8RdbjczdGQc/s320/index+markers.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Everyone will have their own preferred method of making a plot plan. I decided to use sticky index markers. They're easy to reposition, and a convenient way to colour code POVs. I wrote my plot points on the markers and stuck them onto 4 A4 sheets of thin card. Where there were 3 or 4 key events in the same chapter, I placed them in a row.<br />
<br />
<br />
Here's how the plot plan looked in progress.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBJSGfv2-swu1Y8UXA1UY-G7nuU_mr73de5n6CVN8sEeg2B23nKyNIu1jVUjcRoPg3CdCG9pA-zrGDTPiSrjn7p_gIknbx-5ENpuKtxNU-XeTQmEBsqzVUkY7ybrMJSeILJOi72t-mLc/s1600/plot+plan.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBJSGfv2-swu1Y8UXA1UY-G7nuU_mr73de5n6CVN8sEeg2B23nKyNIu1jVUjcRoPg3CdCG9pA-zrGDTPiSrjn7p_gIknbx-5ENpuKtxNU-XeTQmEBsqzVUkY7ybrMJSeILJOi72t-mLc/s320/plot+plan.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
(If you're interested, I have 55 chapters and expect each to be about 2,000 words long.)<br />
<br />
It was immediately obvious that I was missing a character. There was a character-shaped hole. I'd have figured that out eventually somewhere down the line, but the plan made it visible straight away.<br />
<br />
I also wrote a plot outline. <br />
<br />
Of those three things - synopsis, plot plan and plot outline - I'd have to say that I found the plot plan by far the most useful. But each was invaluable and helped to clarify the others.<br />
<br />
Will the finished novel be very different for having been planned out? You know I'm not so sure it will be. I think it'll arrive at much the same place, just a hundred times quicker. Well okay maybe it'll be a more handsome beast and have muscles in all the right places. I hope so.<br />
<br />
You know what? Sketching's fun - it didn't hurt at all. My inner vision is intact and even enhanced. And I'm so relieved to not be trying to hold a whole novel in my head anymore.Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-17412240500917617572012-01-31T04:28:00.000-08:002012-01-31T04:28:40.951-08:00Low tide<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7GLkBXu-bcw4AcqiCS_ygkE9xrjZ8kq5SQ6SNwI76jpYm0Aq_0ag5o3dFGG2Xti8XFbY6qJQh7vg6TtHjrwJfAeRaBFU_jhtq_EsXZdFgpLBSgQwQn9v7AU_hAFcaXL_GpH7zk9Yxtw/s1600/over+the+firth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf7GLkBXu-bcw4AcqiCS_ygkE9xrjZ8kq5SQ6SNwI76jpYm0Aq_0ag5o3dFGG2Xti8XFbY6qJQh7vg6TtHjrwJfAeRaBFU_jhtq_EsXZdFgpLBSgQwQn9v7AU_hAFcaXL_GpH7zk9Yxtw/s320/over+the+firth.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
A view over the Cromarty Firth to the Black Isle this morning.Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-43779324995461132792012-01-18T07:39:00.000-08:002012-01-19T01:19:41.439-08:00Frosty morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjuSkC7eYxgnvic_hpm7zRdT5AgdkbEsDA2ZgVVtMPvqNgaHPhskF03VXJQzCqI-_26phtDFXMInennOumgC7YccPgtUjVG7cvdOVpNR1k37eYxYxDtalleZlevXvTEMn0vRLvELrymA/s1600/frosty+morning.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjuSkC7eYxgnvic_hpm7zRdT5AgdkbEsDA2ZgVVtMPvqNgaHPhskF03VXJQzCqI-_26phtDFXMInennOumgC7YccPgtUjVG7cvdOVpNR1k37eYxYxDtalleZlevXvTEMn0vRLvELrymA/s320/frosty+morning.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6366371587712762750.post-84756116364017785972011-11-24T09:37:00.000-08:002013-05-12T02:52:17.621-07:00The VisualsPromoting your writing isn't like selling your house - you're not supposed to paint it magnolia and remove your personality. I know this. We all know this. We're trying to get ourselves noticed. But what's the best way to go about it? And just how much colour and personality is the right amount?<br />
<br />
In the real world I'm a skulker in the shadows and if you haven't noticed me then I've achieved my goal. So trying to make my blog stand out is a big challenge.<br />
<br />
As a trained artist you'd think I'd have the whole visual thing sussed out. Well yes and no. The thing is I'm a painter not a graphic designer and, contrary to what people assume, artists aren't general practitioners in all fields of art. Like doctors we tend to specialise. Trying to design my blog page I've felt like a dermatologist trying to remove an appendix. In an emergency I'll give it a go. I might even have some idea of what I'm doing. But I might kill the patient.<br />
<br />
Here are a few of the things that I've learned so far:<br />
<br />
<u>1: You can't have too many photos.</u><br />
<br />
This really is true. I doubted it. Now I'm a believer. Photos are now pending!<br />
<br />
<u>2: You need a very smiley author photo.</u><br />
<br />
Smiley = confident professional.<br />
Not smiley = unappealing, pretentious, slightly creepy.<br />
Laughing = probably a genius.<br />
<br />
Even friends have shuddered at the photograph on the About Me page of my website. Oops! I thought that was my friendly face. Someone needs to tell me a very funny joke and have a camera at the ready.<br />
<br />
(Btw laughing and wearing a series of funny hats = mad as a box of frogs.)<br />
<br />
<u>3: Colour is good but not essential. More isn't always better.</u><br />
<br />
Colour is an important tool but the challenge is to be visually interesting without being dazzling. Eye-popping colour and a cheap design can make even the best writing seem unprofessional.<br />
<br />
<u>4: Having a go is more important than getting it right first time.</u><br />
<br />
Unless someone is setting your web pages up for you, you have no choice but to launch right in. There's no point in waiting until you know what you're doing, you'll have to surf that learning curve. Looking at other blogs is a great way to see what works and what doesn't. And, importantly, to see what other people writing in your genre are doing.<br />
<br />
<u>5: Paying for professional input may be worth every penny.</u><br />
<br />
We all want to believe that the quality of our work will shine through regardless of poor presentation, but it probably won't and why should it have to?Fiona Langhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08594969598457153799noreply@blogger.com2