Flodden Remembered ........ Just!!

On 9th September, 1513, the most famous battle ever to be fought on Northumbrian soil took place between the Scots and the English. The Battle of Branxton Moor, or Flodden as it is more popularly known, was a disaster for Scotland, a national tragedy resulting in death and bloodshed the like of which had never before been seen between the two nations.  Henry VIII had invaded France that year, resulting in the French king, Louis XII, persuading his ally James IV of Scotland to create a diversion by in turn invading England. This proved to be a very costly undertaking for the Scots, the slaughter of thousands of brave warriors bringing the nation to its knees. In less than four hours around 14,000 lives were lost, although the actual number varies depending on the source you turn to for casualty figures. What is pretty consistent is that Scotland lost around 10,000 men including over one hundred noblemen and James IV himself. They say the fields were turned red with Scottish blood ........
A Medieval Weekend was held at the Grassmarket, Edinburgh, to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the Battle of Flodden. But despite two days of superb late September weather, the event itself fell short of the mark - or so many felt. It was a pleasant enough occasion, the sunshine did its very best to lift people's spirits, but maybe more could have been done to create more of a Medieval atmosphere, especially as it was competing with Doors Open Days. There were battle demonstrations, Medieval dance and music and costume workshops. Visitors tried their hand at archery, had the opportunity to wield a sword or try out the stocks for size. Pottery, banners, helmets, they were all there.
And gentlemen fighting for supremacy in full armour certainly drew the crowds. But you were left wanting more. Well done to those who obviously took a great deal of time and effort to put on the weekend. The Grassmarket is a wonderful performance area and should be utilised to its full potential. It is always difficult to find the correct formula to attract people and hold their attention, keep them interested. The Medieval Weekend was a lovely idea, but one with limited success. But thank you all the same for putting it on. This is the first time I have ever criticised anything to do with Scotland, but it is meant to be constructive criticism and not just a flippant dismissal of the event. Please try again, but use the area wisely and bring us more of what you offered this weekend. And I mean more .........    

Blackfriars Chapel

The ruins of Blackfriars Chapel, just a small part of the intricate history entwined within the ancient Scottish town of St. Andrews, tell a tale as interesting as their position on the high street. Lit after dark with an eerie green light, Blackfriars stands amidst archaic buildings, shops, bars and restaurants, a reminder of the past standing strong against what we often ironically deem progress.
The Chapel was built in 1525, an addition to the original 13th century friary which was at that time undergoing extensive renovations. The Blackfriars, so named because of the colour of their garments, were Dominican friars or preachers introduced to St. Andrews around 1274 by Bishop Wishart. Constructed of sandstone, the Chapel was created on the north side of the original church and consisted of a nave and transepts. Part of this new structure encroached onto the street, permission granted in 1525 for this uncommon intrusion. The friary itself was damaged by fire in 1547, and destroyed in 1559 by a Protestant raid following a sermon by the fanatic John Knox. Only the Chapel remained standing, and today all that can be seen is the north transept with its unusual semi-octagonal-apsed north end. The large west window still looks out upon the street, although its stone tracery is missing, giving some indication of the size of the original building.
So how did Blackfriars Chapel appear, almost five hundred years ago, awaiting its friars, prayers echoing around its sandstone walls? The transept almost certainly had corner buttresses, suggesting they would have been present around the entire Chapel. Only parts of them can be seen today. The transept also had a parapet, but once again only traces of this feature survive. A pointed tunnel-vault made up the internal roof, its ribs meeting at a boss carved with Crucifixion emblems. These ribs were supported at the side walls by carbels, one bearing the arms of the Hepburn family. This in all probability related to John Hepburn, once Prior of the Augustinian Convent of St. Andrews Cathedral. The east wall featured an arched aumbry, a recess for the vessels
involved in Mass. There is also a blocked doorway, inserted at some time during the 18th century, incorporating the Chapel into a house that was built against the transept.
Popular belief is that all three of the aisle windows were originally the same size. The centre one, however, was lowered in the early 19th century when its tracery was replaced by a larger version of that in the adjoining windows. Projecting stone work known as hoodmoulds were positioned above the windows, allowing water to flow freely away from the walls and windows. Rosettes were incorporated into their design.
The remains of Blackfriars Chapel may not be as awe-inspiring as those of St. Andrews Cathedral or command the amazing views surrounding the Castle. But its importance in the history of this wonderful town, the role it has played in its past, stands side-by-side with its other iconic ruins. So don't just walk past, spend a moment in reflection, wonder at all that these sandstone walls have witnessed, all that has happened within and around this modest building. And at night picture ghostly reminders of souls long dead as you bathe in its mystic light.      



Warriston Cemetery

 

Warriston Cemetery, the very first Victorian garden cemetery to be laid out in Scotland's capital city, now lies neglected and vandalised. Its ancient memorials, once standing tall and proud above the final resting places of our ancestors, are now weathered and broken, choked by tendrils of creeping ivy, buried beneath a lush canopy of green undergrowth, fallen leaves and damaged branches. Lavish monuments have become victims to the onslaught of Mother Nature, wild flowers peeping out from toppled tombstones, delicate, reaching out to touch the dead yet hiding evidence of their very existence. How tragic that over two hundred years of history should be so treated, reduced to ruins beneath our feet. So what exactly is a garden cemetery? The 19th century saw churchyards over-crowded, unpleasant and unhygienic, the dead vying for every inch of empty space in which to rest for all eternity. The Garden Cemetery Movement promoted the founding of grounds in which family members could be interred, suitable monuments erected, and families walk in pleasant surroundings amongst the graves of their ancestors. Warriston Cemetery was designed by David Cousin, with burials taking place from 3rd June 1843. Edinburgh Cemetery Company had been instigated in 1840, a "joint-stock company launched as a profit-making business concern" when the garden cemetery vogue appeared on the scene, and this was their first enterprise.

Local sculptors and stonemasons were kept busy as the people of Edinburgh put these new grounds to good use. Ornate monuments and beautifully carved tombstones marked the graves of the citizens of Scotland's first city, from ordinary folk to businessmen, doctors, scientists, artists, politicians, and other historical figures. Sir James Young Simpson, the pioneer of anaesthesia, occupies a plot here, as does John Menzies, founder of the chain of newsagents. Twenty seven Commonwealth service personnel from the Second World War joined seventy two from the First World War, along with a solitary Belgian soldier, exchanging the horrors of the battlefield for the peace and tranquility of Warriston Cemetery. And then the rot set in. The Cemetery filled, profits were no more, and left to its own devices the Cemetery fell into neglect, graves untended, stones damaged and pathways lost. In the 1990s it was acquired by Edinburgh City Council under a compulsory purchase order. The gravestones still standing were tested for stability and many lowered for safety reasons. So much history lying forgotten, so many stories hidden from view. A neo-Tudor line of catacombs still there, somewhere, although the chapel that once stood on top was removed in the 1980s. The Edinburgh and Leith railway once divided the Cemetery, running east to west through its southern half. Gothic archways once marked the entrances to the tunnel, a tunnel which linked the north and south sections. But this closed in the 1950s, and like our respect for the dead the embankments were partly removed and the line is now a public walkway.

But there is hope for Warriston, in the form of the Friends of Warriston Cemetery. They are dedicated to "tidying, stabilising and promoting this endangered historic site." And their dream? In their own words: "to bring Warriston back to a state where it can once again become a source of history and culture, a safe place for public leisure, whilst encouraging urban wildlife." Their honourable work has already begun. This is indeed a mammoth task they face, but face it they will with hard work and determination. Mother Nature may well be respecting the dead in her own way, breathing life of her own whilst obscuring the names of those who breathe no more. And I am sure she will be shown due respect as hidden treasures lost for so long are revealed. How wonderful will it be to see the charm and splendour of a Victorial Cemetery exist side by side with Mother Nature at her very best. Taming this thriving wilderness will be an unenviable task, but new life will be breathed into a place where the dead will once again be respected. It will become a place of pilgrimage once more, a place of peace and solitude, history rising like the phoenix from a carpet of green. So much life exisits here already, in an area designated an urban wildlife site. Sparrowhawks, wood pigeons, owls, foxes, bats, a plethera of min bugs and beasties have made their home here, and care will be taken to ensure their habitats are distubed as little as possible. So I wish the Friends of Warriston Cemetery every success. There is a long road ahead, but the results will be reward enough for all their endeavours. How wonderful will it be to see Warriston Cemetery restored as much as possible to its former glory.  

 



I Had Some Cake ....... And Ate It !!

Walking into Mimi's Bakehouse on the Shore at Leith is like walking into a dream, living out your wildest cake fantasies, immersing yourself into a world of home-baked decadence. And I love it! Pure luxury from floor to ceiling, beautifully decorated, the kind of place you walk in a size 10 and are in real danger of walking out a size 20, it oozes scrumptiousness from every corner. Filled with more than satisfied diners and extremely friendly staff, this is the place to while away an hour in well-deserved self-indulgence. They are all there, tempting you from behind their glass counters, daring you to walk past without a second glance. And you can't ...... you can't walk past, even if you wanted to. Mouth-watering, mind-blowing creations mixed with care and lovingly baked for your delight and delectation, longing to lie on your plate to bring you your own personal slice of heaven. And boy oh boy do you go to heaven and back with every mouthful that passes your lips. A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips? No, not here, not at Mimi's. With every smile, the calories just float away.
Victoria sponge, aero mint cake, cup cakes, yummy tray bakes, chocolate beetroot cake, chocolate brownies, scones so light they belong in the clouds,
they are all here, waiting for you to pop in and drown in naughty niceness. Eat your heart out Mary Berry. Here in Edinburgh we have Mimi!
Eating at Mimi's Bakehouse, it is easy to see why Mimi won Scottish Casual Dining Chef of the Year. And with her daughter Gemma working alongside her it is not just the cakes that are delicious. This is the place to indulge in a "fabulously filling" Scottish breakfast packed with the very best ingredients ...... or a vegetarian gourmet alternative. They make their own fishcakes, produce an every-changing array of soups served with their very own homemade bread, create their own savourt tarts and luxury stovies, and tantalise your tastebuds with a wealth of super sandwiches and heavenly hotpots. Pasta, pulled pork, healthy salad ready to appease the soul before some decidedly unhealthy cake - in the nicest sense of the word, of course - it's all waiting for your visit. Ladies, you don't need an orgasm, you need Mimi's. Can I say that? Guess I just have. So if you are in Edinburgh, or indeed not in Edinburgh, get yourselves along to Mimi's Bakehouse. Ladies, gentlemen, young and old, you will be made very welcome and partake of a dining experience you will never forget. Silly me, how could I forget the awe-inspiring afternoon teas, or the more decadent champagne alternative ...... maybe I need another trip down to Leith, just to make sure I haven't missed anything else!!

 

The Great Tapestry of Scotland

The Great Tapestry of Scotland, an amazing history of this proud country stitched in exquisite detail by its equally proud people, is currently on display in the main hall of the Scottish Parliament building. This incredible work of art has been created by over 1,000 volunteers stitching away for more than 50,000 hours. From the Shetland Isles to the Borders folk have worked tirelessly together to produce what is believed to be the world's longest embroidered tapestry, in one of the biggest community arts projects ever to be undertaken in Scotland. Over three hundred miles of wollen yarn - enough to cover the length of Scotland and down into neighbouring England - have been sewn onto embroidered cloth in a variety of different stitches, and to great effect.
A mind-boggling 470 feet in length and featuring more than 160 panels each telling its own story, nothing has been omitted from a pictorial history of this nation. From the
formation of the land to present times, it is all there in
wonderful detail. Events that have marked the passsing of the centuries - the coming of the Vikings, Bannockburn, the Jacobite Rising, two World Wars to name but a few - hang alongside the famous and the infamous, sports, technology, traditions and tales of survival and confrontation. Where else but the Great Tapestry of Scotland would you see William Wallace, Robbie Burns, Robert Louis Stevenson and Charles Rennie Mackintosh mingle with golf, football, rugby, shinty and curling? Great Scottish inventions and miracles of modern engineering pop up here and there - James Watt and the steam engine, and the Forth Rail Bridge are just two examples of northern enterprise and innovation.
So how did this all come about? The tapestry was the brainchild of popular novelist Alexander McCall Smith - a definite favourite of mine - who developed this very ambitious project in collaboration with eminent historian Alistair Moffat, talented artist Andrew Crummy and nimble-fingered stitch co-ordinator Dorie Wilkie. And the result of hour upon hour of design, planning, and sewing? A simply stunning depiction of the history of Scotland covering everything from the county's defining events to the simplicity of everyday life and the people who toiled to make Scotland all it is today. Wander around the many panels, see witches being burned at the stake, sheep being cloned, families struggling through the Depression, Archie Gemmill scoring in the 1978 World Cup, the sinking of ships and centuries of religious strife and uncertainty. This is a wonderful legacy for Scotland and its people, a tribute to the patience, perseverence and painstaking creativity of its executors, an unique record and an outstanding achievement. This is something everyone should see, whether local or visitor. All-embracing, there are phrases in Latin, Gaelic and English interwoven within the panels, and informative descriptions beneath each picture. I loved it, but perhaps the final word should go to its "father and mentor", Alexander McCall Smith.

"Now we have it - a record of our history, designed by an artist whose eye has captured the essence of Scotland, and stitched with love by hundreds of people throughout the land."

Hear, hear!!
     

Over and Out ..... 'til 2014

It's gone ... over ... finished ... no more Edinburgh Fringe until next year. The big purple cow has been deflated, the Spielgeltent folded up and put back in its box and traffic once again returned to George Street. From donuts to drambuie, chinese to crepes, burgers, hot dogs, pakora and mexican fare, the pop-up food stalls, bikes and caravans have packed up and gone home. All is calm at the Pleasance. No more search and find for empty seats, a bum numbing inch of wall or spare centimetre of grass, stair or wooden floor, a chance to sit back and enjoy a glass of wine, pint of lager and a bite to eat. The queues that snaked noisily in and out of the courtyards have long gone. Gone too are the Fringe celebrities, performing or enjoying a show, wandering around chatting to the crowds, enduring countless requests for signatures and friendly snaps - and always with a smile on their faces. My favourites? Tim Vine, master of the one-liner, a brilliant show from a wonderful comedian, and a genuinely smashing guy to boot. Sandy Toksvig, lovely lady, warm, friendly, clever and a comic genius. I could go on and on but I won't. Guess the Fringe brings out the best in people, famous or otherwise. And this year even the weather behaved, sun out, rain switched off for much of the festival.
It is difficult to believe that the Fringe was ever in town, so efficient was the clean up. No more Ed Byrne, Reginald D. Hunter, Paul Merton or Milton Jones hanging from railings, adorning bus stops or peppering every inch of naked wall. The streets of Edinburgh have returned to normal - if indeed they are ever normal. Sleeping gnomes have returned to the land of fairy tales, stunning costumes have been carefully packed away, the crazy and the insane carted off to their own particular asylum - and I mean that in the nicest sense of the word. Students, budding thespians, those who could act, those who tried to act, those who just got out there and had fun, all have returned from whence they came. Magicians have vanished, choirs moved on, comedians transported their humour to different climes.   
How I miss the street theatre, the human statues, acrobats, jugglers, fire-eaters, risk takers, audience grabbers and insane mime artists. Only eleven months to go and they will be back, filling the streets with laughter, filling the air with a multitude of oohs and aahs, cheers and applause. This is how they earn their living, travelling the world from city to city spreading their talents, sharing with everyone the universal language of street theatre. If they couldn't speak the lingo, out came a whistle. Seemed to be quite effective here. They so obviously love what they do - as does every performer at the Fringe - and their warmth and enthusiasm was incredibly infectious.
As you walk around the city now, one or two posters still remain, a little bedraggled around the edges, the last remnants of a truly remarkable festival in a truly remarkable place. People flocked to Edinburgh from across the globe to soak up the atmosphere and enjoy the fine weather. The festival season came and went, September is now with us. Just around the corner Christmas awaits, cards are creeping into the shops, festive food is slowly sneaking onto the shelves. But that's a whole new story ..........