Along the Shore at Leith

Wander along the Shore at Leith and you are spoilt for choice when it comes to eating out or just enjoying a quiet drink away from the hustle and bustle of Edinburgh city centre. But this is very much a place where old meets new, where the past surrounds the present, creating an atmosphere of maritime history and life in a working harbour. Stroll along the water's edge, admire buildings holding stories of life on the seas within their very brickwork. Modern constructions encroach on these buildings, creeping around them, touching their past, adding traits of the present, yet retaining their character for the future.
The original harbour dates back to the 14th century, the arrival point for a host of important visitors to the Scottish shore. Perhaps the most memorable of these visitors came in 1822, alighting at a spot marked today by the King's Landing. George IV embarked on one of the most famous royal visits to Scotland. Greeted by a huge crowd and a guard of honour which included the Glengarry Highlanders and the Royal Company of Archers, George IV was the first reigning British monarch to set foot in Scotland since 1650. Stage-managed by Sir Walter Scott himself, this event set in motion another landmark. Turning up in full tartan regalia, the king ended a long-standing ban on the wearing of tartan due to its association with the Jacobite rebellions. Quickly overturned to save embarrassment, this prompted the quaintly named fashion craze "tartan frenzy."
The former Sailor's Home has now been converted into a hotel but still retains some of its original character. Built in 1883 it provided accommodation for 9 officers, 56 seamen and 50 shipwrecked seamen, the latter housed in dormitories in the attics. With many workers of the time living in overcrowded slums, this was a real innovation in social care. Sailors whose ships were in port could enjoy comfortable rooms, a canteen, low cost clothing shop, reading rooms, recreation rooms and a chapel. An angel, the emblem for the seamen's mission, can still be seen in the brickwork above the door.     
One of the oldest buildings in Leith is the Signal Tower, built in 1685/86. Originally a large windmill, one of three in Leith, it was crowned by a domed roof and billowing sails. It was in all probability used for milling rape seed for its oil. The battlements were an 1805 addition and it then served as a signal tower until 1820, displaying flags advising incoming ships of the depth of water in the harbour. The tower has now been incorporated into a Georgian tenement constructed on its south side.
There is so much to say about this part of Leith. For hundreds of years one of its most important industries was whaling. In 1616 James VI granted a 35 year patent to two Leith skippers to hunt for whales and the flood gates were opened. The Edinburgh Whaling Company was established in 1750, and vessels from all over Scotland would converge on Leith Roads in the Firth of Forth before heading in convoy to the whaling grounds. Safety in numbers, so to speak. Whales were also known to be seen in local waters, the last recorded catch noted in 1836. Leith slowly spread its tentacles farther afield when, in 1908, Christian Salvesen sent whaling ships into the South Atlantic where a base proudly called Leith Harbour was created on South Georgia. 1911 saw Salvesen owner of the largest whaling fleet in the world. The eventual demise of the whaling industry, led by international pressure from
conservationists and the production of synthetic substitutes for whale oil, saw the last whaling boat leave Leith in 1963. A poignant reminder of these whaling days is the harpoon mounted on the Shore.
Interesting stories are always very much an integral part of maritime history. In 1818 a stowaway was discovered aboard the "Thomas and Ann." John Sakeouse was a young eskimo boy who claimed he wanted to learn English and become a missionary! He became somewhat of a local celebrity, sat in his kayak, harpoon in hand, eventually acting as an interpreter and guide on a mission to find the northwest passage. In fact so much of a star was he that leading artist Alexander Nasymth painted his portrait, now in the safe ownership of the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. And the gentleman sitting on a bench enjoying a relaxing view of the water? Sandy Irvine Robertson OBE, one of Edinburgh's most celebrated wine merchants of the 20th century. In medieval times, trade with Bordeaux made the port famous for its wines, and this illustrious gentleman continued the trend. Commissioned by his friends and sculpted by Lucy Poett, you can sit beside him and chat. He may not answer, but who knows ....... he may well be listening.
I could go on and on about the Shore ...... seems I already have. The specially built yard used to create the Mulberry Harbours, 16 pontoons and 13 pier heads to act as temporary landing points for Allied troops, heavy artillery and vehicles used in the D-Day landings ....... The Prince of  Wales Dock with its hydraulic pumping station ...... the Royal Yacht Britannia ...... traditional dockyard activity ....... old and new reflected together in the water, waters that have flowed down through the centuries sending boats on their way, bringing boats home, spilling into the Firth of Forth and onwards to the ocean. The old Victoria Swing Bridge, stretching across these waters, built in 1874 and in its time the largest swing bridge in the United Kingdom. Train tracks long removed, traffic no longer crossing from one side to the other, only pedestrians treading the boards each side, it no longer swings, condemned to a life of motionless inactivity. New bridges, new roads, running alongside the old ....... and so life goes on ........ so the waters go on ... and so time leads us into the future.

The Splendour of the Glasshouses

It's a grey, dismal afternoon, the kind of day when heavy drizzle seems to permeate every inch of your body, and the leaden skies are in danger of creating a mood to match their depression. So where do you go for some colour, some warmth, a trip through lands far across the seas, a journey that takes you from rain-sodden clouds to the other side of the rainbow? That's easy - or it is for those "in the know."
The Royal Botanic Garden in the heart of Edinburgh houses over twenty five glasshouses, some for display and others for research, quarantine and propagation. Are you aware that over 80% of the world's flora occurs in warm, temperate and tropical regions. These glasshouses offer environments suited to these plants, an amazing diversity of plant life, a collection of over 2,400 species that many of us will never see in their natural habitat. The pre-Victorian elegance of the Tropical Palm house, built in 1834, the magnificent Temperate Palm House, opened in 1858 and at twenty three metres high one of the tallest traditional palm houses in the world, and the more modern, simplistic Main Range constructed in 1967 all lead you from country to country as you soak up both the heat and the beauty of the natural world.
So where will your journey take you, a journey protected from the chill of the outside world by countless glass panes, a widow from one civilisation to another. The Amazonian rainforest, the cloud forests of Australia, sun-baked Arabian deserts, Indonesian mountainsides, a global extravaganza of the bizarre and the beautiful, towering palms and delicate flowers, the pointed and the prickly, plucked from one world and planted in another.
The gentle splendour of the orchid, fragrant blossoms, ferns draped along the walkways, cacti daring you to touch, giant lilypads tempting you to step aboard and float across the pond ......  Exotic fruits exude beads of sweat, palms stretch out high above the heads of the glasshouse explorers, such awesome beauty from environments we are in danger of losing forever. So many species that need protecting before it is too late - that is why work carried out in places such as these is so important, and becoming increasingly more urgent as each day passes.
Of equal interest are the wonderful borders surrounding the glasshouses. Trees, shrubs, climbers and many herbaceous plants adorn their sides, a microclimate created by warmth from the lagged heating ducts suiting many of these plants. A Chilean Terrace boasts many wild plants collected during several botanical expeditions. The south-facing and free-draining Ramp has been devoted to plants from South Africa, whilst the Yurt is surrounded by species that can all be used by man and have ethnobotanical (the use of plants in folklore, religion etc - I think) importance. And the Fossil Courtyard, often home to interesting and thought-provoking exhibitions, houses a centrally placed fossil tree.
So when you need your grey skies turning blue, you know where to go. Take a trip to warmer climes in the amazing glasshouses of the Botanics. 

Lanterns of Terracotta Warriors

How do you lift your spirits on a day when the rain is pelting down, your umbrella has given up all hope and succumbed to the wind and your so-called waterproof boots allow every puddle you walk through to turn your socks into a soggy mass? You defy the elements, stick on a smile and go find something to lighten your life.
The Chinese New Year saw Edinburgh host the Lanterns of Terracotta Warriors exhibition held in the magnificent surroundings of the University of Edinburgh's historic Quad. Created by the talented Chinese artist Xia Nan for the Beijing Olympic Games in 2008, this is the first time this incredible display has been seen in Scotland. Xia Nan gained inspiration for his work from the army of terracotta warriors discovered in 1974 when the tomb of the 3rd century BC Chinese emperor Qin Shi Huang was unearthed in the country's Xi'an province. An underground vault of some 12,000 square metres was found to house a staggering 8,000 terracotta sculptures, an incredible scene depicting warriors and their horses arranged in battle formation. Many believe they were created to defend the emperor's immortal soul. Some undertaking!! I hope his soul was worth it.  
Xia Nan used traditional Chinese lantern designs to accurately represent these terracotta soldiers, but also included in his work women and children arranged in groups. He chose to humanise this mind-blowing historic discovery by adding these touches, and 90 brightly coloured figures, some 2.5metres tall, arrived to populate the Old College quadrangle for the Chinese New Year. Every evening this striking display, lit from within, burst forth against the darkening night skies. The visual impact of this lantern army must be seen, so breath-taking is its impact. The rain may be bouncing of the rooftops, the wind whistling through every nook and cranny, but this exhibition brings a ray of sunshine into the depths of a miserable winter. You can walk amongst them, see close up the amount of work that has gone into bringing them to life. What a beautifully artistic way to welcome the Chinese New Year. One can only imagine the amount of work that went into creating these figures and bringing them to life. Tender moments, the expectant mother with her family, mingling with the might of the army, the warriors, the horse ...... every figure a work of art, every work of art created with love and dedication. Thank you Edinburgh and the Confucius Institute for Scotland for bringing this here for our enjoyment.

New Year ....... new beginnings?

Only two months in, and already celebrations to herald in 2014 seem but a distant memory. As the sounds of Big Ben echoed across the land and fireworks peppered the sky with the promise of new beginnings, how many of us looked forward to a year that could bring so much - and how many spent a moment, maybe only a fleeting one, turning our heads and looking back on all that had passed in twelve months of both good and bad luck touching each and every one of us in so many different ways. The last chime of midnight, that final chime that leads us onwards into another year, evokes for so many people images of those no longer with us, those we can no longer join hands with, hold in a warm embrace and share our hopes and dreams for a future none of us dare to see with overwhelming feelings of anticipation. Memories are so precious. They are yours to lock deep in your heart. They cannot be changed, they cannot be taken from you, they surround you with a warmth that can be both comforting and yet upsetting, creating a smile whilst wiping a tear from your eye. Memories can creep up on you unexpectedly, a place, a song, a look opening the pages of the book upon which these memories are written. The starting of a new year is one such occasion. Wishes for the future torn apart by the loss of family and friends, plans cast aside, a link in our own special chain broken by events over which we had no control.
Life goes on, however, a saying we hear so often yet rarely find comforting when feelings are so raw, a loss so devastating. But we do go on, we move forward, maybe slowly to begin with, the first few tentative steps gradually increasing until we walk, head held high, into the future. Life begins again as winter melts into spring. The snowdrop bursts forth from the frozen ground, delicate yet strong, promising so much. The buds on the trees give birth to leaves that grow as we grow, seeking the sun, embracing the rain. And so we blossom, emerging from darkness into the light. We have to hold on to our dreams, focus on our hopes, walk with our memories. Sometimes life plants obstacles in our path, we may not always avoid all that life can throw at us when we least expect it. But obstacles can be surmounted, climbed over, walked around, and we become adept at ducking when misfortune aims what it hopes will be a direct hit. Still look backwards, but with a smile. Look in the mirror with confidence and say to yourself: "I survived last year and I shall do the same again."   

Christmas is here ........

Christmas is here once again ....... peace on earth, goodwill to all men - plus a great deal of hard work and credit card bashing allowing us to eat drink and be merry for a couple of days. But there is much going on to help relieve the stress of buying presents for friends and family and sending cards to people we never see or speak to from one year to the next. No longer is it just carol singers in shopping centres or visits to Santa in his grotto, giant Christmas trees festooned with hundreds of lights towering above shoppers bustling from store to store, or shop assistants topped with Santa hats and reindeer antlers sellotaping smiles to their faces as they deal with festive queues and turkey tussles. Oh no, Christmas is now much, much more.
German markets, wooden huts laden with Christmas cheer, seem to pop in town and city centres across the country. Packed with all you need for your seasonal celebrations, many are a wonderland of Santas, snowmen, angels and robins nestling beneath shining stars, sparkling snow and flickering candles. Gingerbread houses fight for attention with chocolate fountains, roast chestnuts and spicy fruits. Fancy a quick tipple? Mulled wine, wine that isn't, mulled cider, cider without the mull, mysterious drinks topped with a mountain of cream and marshmallows, German lager, German beer, it's all there, sending out nose-tickling aromas to reel you in. Buy scarves, gloves, hats portraying every animal known to mankind, wooden toys, toys that are not wooden, jewellery, ornaments, stocking fillers, stockings to go around your stocking fillers, everything you need, everything you think you need but don't really, and everything you definitely have no need of at all, yes it's all there. Eat your fill of burgers, pulled pork rolls, hot dogs, crepes, freshly cooked bread ....... then suitably refreshed fight your way through the crowds yet again.
All the fun of the fair appears at Christmas. Visit Edinburgh and see the city from the top of the big wheel - weather permitting - or pick up a few seasonal bumps and bruises on the outdoor ice rink. Carousels across the land are filled with the laughter of children mingling with every Christmas song ever recorded. Ride a train, bounce yourself silly, master a Christmas tree maze, hurtle down a helter skelter, let the big kid in you join your little ones, smile away your worries just for an hour or two ..... This is a time for children, a time for adults who think they are children, a time for families, spending time together, giving, sharing, looking forward to the New Year.
Sometimes I wonder how many of us remember the real reason for Christmas, the story behind the celebrations. The nativity is still played out, although maybe not as prominently as it once was. The first Christmas is still created within our churches, stables can be found in towns sheltering their precious guests. But do we walk past the church doors, or venture in to sing our hearts out or partake of midnight mass? This may be the only occasion we step inside, apart from weddings and funerals, the one time religion may briefly touch our souls. I love Christmas and all it stands for. I love watching the children and grandchildren open their presents, love to see their faces ......... but it is so different to when I was young. The shops were still decorated, the streets adorned with lights, yet somehow it all seemed so much more simplistic, less emphasis on the materialistic and more on families coming together to enjoy the day. And one of my favourite Christmas memories? Walking along the high street with my mum on Christmas Eve - something I will never be fortunate enough to do again - and pausing awhile to listen to the strains of the Salvation Army playing Christmas songs as only they can. A frosty day, a few snowflakes fluttering down from a wintry sky, holding tight to my mum with one mittened hand whilst holding on to my dad's present with the other. Yes, that was truly Christmas .........   

Jelly Babies Rule Ok!!

Dusk falls over the Botanic Gardens, the gates are closed and a late autumn chill takes hold as darkness begins to creep across the lawns and envelop the trees. The squirrels are long gone, the birds have returned to their nests and the quacking of the ducks is silenced as a misty moon begins its journey across the skies. It is into this twilight world that mysterious visitors emerge from the shadows, visitors who appear when all others are gone, when they are safe from prying eyes and mischievous fingers. Only when the world lies silent do the Jelly Babies creep out from their hiding places and take over the Gardens. Not many know of these Jelly Babies, of the adventures they have when freed from the confines of their yellow bags. This is a secret known to only a few, so read, enjoy and then forget .........
Red, yellow, green, black, orange, they are all there, climbing, exploring, running across the grass, swinging from the branches of the trees. Jelly jockeys ride the fir cones as their spiny branches sway in the evening breeze. Jelly ladies gaze at their reflections in the pond as the same breeze ripples its surface, holding their faces until sending them shimmering into the reeds that hem the edges of the water. Giggling Jelly juniors play hide and seek amongst the leaves and dangle from the heads of flowers desperately trying to close their petals for the night. Picnicking on the dew-laden grass, sparkling beneath the first moonbeams of the evening, the Jelly Babies feast on jelly beans, jelly tots and jelly sandwiches. Oh yes, the Jelly Babies love their time in the Botanics when the world is their own, no-one to trample on them, chase them or eat them! Chattering with the scarecrows, splashing in the waterfall's dancing spray, indulging in a berry fight or two, what a wonderful way to spend an evening. And not one piece of clothing in sight so no dirty washing!
No-one has seen the Jelly Babies, not man nor beast, alive or dead. Until now, that is. I have a very dear friend in the Gardens, a certain Sammy the Squirrel. And he has watched from on high, shielded by the treetops, as the Jelly Babies laugh and play in their secret land. During one of our many chats, sat on a bench watching the seasons change and the landscape shift from green to brown and gold to wintry grey, he revealed this lovely tale, promising to bounce pine cones off my head if his secret was ever passed on. So you see you can enjoy the tale of the Jelly Babies, smile at their antics ...... and then forget. Enjoy a glass of wine, walk the dog, relax in a long. hot, bubbly bath, get out your x-box, your i-pad or your kindle, do whatever it is that floats your boat ..... but please forget. Look into my eyes ..... you are feeling very sleepy ........ count to three and when I snap my fingers all thoughts of Jelly Babies will be erased from your mind forever. Or will they? If I pass by the Botanics after closing time and I see folk climbing the gates, tunnelling under the walls, vaulting the fences, then I know I have failed.  But just pause for a moment and imagine a world without Jelly Babies, a world where these loveable little creatures are no more. Look at these pictures. Do they not tug at your heart-strings, bring a tear to your eye, have you sobbing into your hankie at the thought of these sweet little people -  for people they are - joining the ranks of the extinct and the defunct? Then leave them to enjoy their moments of freedom, leave them to play in peace .... and save my head from the inevitable onslaught of deadly cones if this story gets out!!!

We shall remember them ........

"When you go home tell them of us and say: for your tomorrow we gave our today." The Kohima Epitaph, so few words yet words that say so much. At eleven o'clock as the chimes of Big Ben ring out across the land, the world falls silent. On this day we remember, as one, the sacrifice made by so many, a sacrifice that continues to this very day and will continue well into the future. Young men full of hopes and dreams, their journey through life just beginning, only to be tragically cut short fighting for their country, for freedom and for the right to live life without torture, without imprisonment and without oppression. As we stand, heads bowed in silence, all around is still. For a brief moment the traffic pauses, conversation lies resting upon the lips, the hustle and bustle of everyday life ceases. The only sounds to be heard are birds singing in the trees, the gentle cry of a baby too young to understand, the barking of a dog in some distant garden. Each year we give two minutes of our time to remember, two minutes from our lives to remember those who no longer have two minutes to give. Pain is etched on the faces of the veterans, a pain we cannot understand nor begin to feel. Tears trickle from eyes that have witnessed the horror of war, a horror no man should have to behold, a horror no man, or indeed woman, should have to live through. So many friends lost, so many families torn apart, and yet it continues. The blood of our young people is shed on foreign soil, the grief goes on, the list of the fallen grows ever longer. And every year wreaths of poppies will adorn our memorials, standards will be lowered, prayers will be offered up ... and the list of conflicts will increase. Memories stay with us, however sad, however hard to bear, hearts will be broken time and again as they have since time began. A letter, a photo, a medal are all that remain to keep these memories alive ...... but keep them we must. The past paves the way for the future, but this path may not always be easy to follow.
Every November, in towns, villages and cities across the country, we remember in our own way. We gather at war memorials, in churches, in Gardens of Remembrance, each one of us touched in some way by the sacrifice of so many men and women. Look upon the Field of Remembrance in the heart of Edinburgh, cast your eyes upon the simple crosses, each with a poppy in its centre, laid out in row after row. There are around 11,000 symbols of remembrance here, dedicated by members of the public in honour of past and present members of the Armed Forces. Such an unique display of both individual and community remembrance, every cross bears a personal hand-written message, a regiment, maybe a photo. So many crosses, so many poppies, yet this is just a drop in the ocean, just a handful of names in a rollcall of millions. Leaves freshly fallen from the trees lie amongst these memorials to those fallen in battle. Yet unlike the leaves lying on the ground, leaves that have lived out their natural lives to return again in spring, those named upon the crosses will never live out their natural lives, will never see another spring.
Why, you may wonder, after two World Wars, do we continue to destroy so many lives, devastate many others and bring death to countless innocent men, women and children. Will it ever end? Will lessons never be learnt, will our leaders never listen. How many conflicts have vented their fury upon the earth since 1945? Korea, Suez, the Falkland Islands, Northern Ireland, the Middle East, Kosovo, Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan to name but a few ........ From every corner of the globe the futility of war tears the world apart. Those who died in the Great Wars died to protect our freedom, to allow us to live our lives in peace and harmony. Is it not time we began to respect their memory, respect the ultimate sacrifice they made for their country, by making war a thing of the past. It will not be easy, it will never be easy, we may never achieve peace in our lifetime, but we owe it to these brave men and women to try. Their lives should not be lost in vain, yet lives will continue to be lost, we shall continue to mourn ...... I shall leave you with some of the most poignant words to be uttered throughout these days of remembrance, words written by a gentleman called Laurence Binyon, a Red Cross medical orderly on the Western Front, taken from his poem "The Fallen."

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We shall remember them."    
     



A Berry Nice Time in the Gardens ...........

Autumn, a time when I can return to my childhood days without fear of reproach, without that look upon my mother's face which said: "I could tell you to behave but what's the point. You are going to do it anyway." And my crime? Brand new, shiny red wellies just waiting to crunch through the autumn leaves, crackling under foot, and kick them high into the sky. Then with my very best "I'm sorry but I am a little girl and this is what little girls like me do at this time of the year" I would giggle to myself as my poor mother apologised profusely to the elderly gentleman with the well-used broom who had spent the last hour sweeping up the leaves. And then of course there were the puddles. Brand new, shiny red wellies drawn to muddy puddles, splashing, jumping ....... "But mummy, this is what little girls like me do when the rain is kind enough to leave such wonderful puddles. After all, mud washes off, and you do want me to make the most of my brand new, bright shiny wellies. Feet grow so fast, you know, so I really must get plenty of use out of them while I can ....."

How beautiful are the Royal Botanic Gardens as autumn takes a firm grip. Mosaics of gold, red, green and brown pepper the lawns and adorn the flower beds as summer leaves this colourful month to momentarily delay the onset of winter. To many plants autumn is a beginning and not an end, a time for them to rear their heads and challenge the spectacular blooms of summer, to declare they too can be colourful, splashing the landscape with their own autumnal shades. Deciduous conifers add to the stunning swathes of colour, their needles shifting through the seasons as suble as the changes on an artist's palette. Larch trees hold a mellow shade of yellow until their needles give in to winter's beckoning and fall to the ground. Summer-flowering heathers defy autumn and hang on until the cold fades their blossom and they sleep, awaiting the return of the warming sun. Drowsy insects slowly flit from flower to flower, gathering the last of nature's nectar, attracted by those still holding fast in defiance of the long winter days ahead.
Berries and fruits, they are what autumn is about. Adorning the trees and bushes like decorations on a Christmas tree, clustering in groups, brightly coloured in hues of red, yellow, gold and black. Rowns, whitebeams, blackberries, tempting the birds and the animals, warning them of a harsh winter, enticing them to fill their larders while there is still time. Small, succulent, pecked by birds, picked by squirrels, nature's supermarket bursting with goodies to survive the days ahead. Falling leaves, carpets of gold and red, spectacular displays of berries in a watery sun hanging low in the sky - this is what autumn is all about. Conkers bouncing from horse chestnut trees, acorns leaving the safety of their "egg cups" to be snapped up by sqirrels seeking a meal or two, holly berries awaiting fame on the front of a Christmas card - oh yes, they are all here in the Botanics, an ever-changing landscape changing yet again. New life replaces old, colours shift like the tides of the sea, the weather weaves its magic and another corner of the Gardens holds you spellbound as you wander, hat, scarf and gloves firmly in place to discover a tree, a flower, a bush you may have missed before.
Yes, autumn is well and truly in situ at the Royal Botanic Gardens. Forgive all the pictures, but I had to share some of the beauty abundant in one of my favourite places, a wonderland to rival all others, a living exhibition of colour framed by the world around it. Where better to walk on a crisp, autumn day ........... And yes, I do still crunch through the leaves and kick them high into the air. And yes, I very definitely still jump into puddles, more effective now there is more weight behind my landing! Pure childish fun. Second childhood? No, I'm well past that. Must be my third? fourth? fifth? .........   
 



Greyfriars Bobby ........ fact or fiction

The touching story of Greyfriars Bobby, the devoted Skye terrier about whom so much has been written, has always been the subject of much speculation. A tale as loved as the little dog himself, have the years seen the imagination add fiction to fact, the odd embellishment tucked in to keep the legend going and ensure visitors still flock to the statue of Edinburgh's favourite pet and stand awhile at his grave? One thing is for certain, and that is that records show Greyfriars Bobby was a real dog who lived and died in the city. So this is his story as I understand it. Others may not agree ......
It was 1850 when gardener John Gray, together with his wife Jess and son John, arrived in Edinburgh. Unable to find work as a gardener and wishing to avoid life in the workhouse, John Gray joined the Edinburgh Police Force as a night watchman. The long, cold winter nights were lonely, so John found himself a companion to keep him company through the hours of darkness. Enter stage left a diminutive Skye terrier called Bobby. The two of them soon became a familiar sight walking the cobbled streets of the city, Bobby trotting happily beside his master. However, years on the streets, out in all weathers, took their toll on John and he eventually died of tuberculosis on 15th February 1858. Buried in Greyfriars kirkyard, it was soon evident that he would not be left alone with little more than a headstone marking his final resting place.
Faithful to the end, Bobby was lost without his best friend and master. He touched the hearts of local residents when he refused to leave his master's grave despite all the Scottish weather could throw at him. The gardener and keeper of Greyfriars kirkyard tried time and again to evict Bobby, but to no avail. The little dog had no intention of leaving. So, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Admitting defeat, he provided a shelter for Bobby by placing sacking beneath two tablestones that lay beside the grave, and there, so the story goes, the determined Skye terrier made his home. His fame soon spread across the city. Crowds would gather at the entrance to the kirkyard awaiting the sounding of the one o'clock gun echoing across Edinburgh from the Castle. This was the signal for Bobby to leave his post and follow local joiner and cabinet maker William Dow to the same coffee house he had frequented with the now dead John Gray. Suitably refreshed, he would then return to his lonely vigil, keeping watch with his head resting silently on his paws.
1867 saw a new by-law passed in Edinburgh which required all dogs to be licensed or destroyed. What would happen to Bobby now? Would he be spared? The Lord Provost of Edinburgh, a certain Sir William Chambers, knew of the little dog and decided to pay Bobby's licence himself. The Skye terrier had been spared, and was presented with a collar bearing a brass inscription: "Greyfriars Bobby from the Lord Provost, 1867, licenced." For fourteen years the faithful dog remained loyal to his master and kept constant watch over the grave. And the kind folk of the city took good care of him until he finally died in 1872. Baroness Angelia Georgina Burdett-Coutts, President of the Ladies Committee of the RSPCA, was so moved by the story of Bobby that she asked the City Council for permission to erect a granite fountain in his memory, an octagonal lower drinking basin for dogs, an upper spout for humans, and a statue of the Skye terrier sat on top. This can still be seen today, although public health concerns saw the water supply discontinued in 1957. And so the memory of Greyfriars Bobby lives on, now buried beside the grave of his beloved  master.
This story has been challenged many times by many people. The ownership of the poor little dog has been disputed. Was it John Gray night watchman, or another John Gray, a local farmer. Was Bobby no more than a cemetery or graveyard dog, a stray fed by visitors and curators to the point where he knew he was on to a good thing and made his home here. Thus people would come to believe the dog was watching over a grave and continue to feed him. There are others who believed the original Bobby died in 1867 and was thence replaced by a younger dog. Bobby had, after all, drawn people to the kirkyard and proved more than a little lucrative for businesses around Greyfriars. No dog, no more money ..... And me? There is a real need for such wonderfully heartwarming stories, tales of love and devotion, undying loyalty and genuine kindness. So I say leave it alone. The legend will continue, Bobby will attract visitors for many years to come, reliving his story from beyond the grave. What harm can a few inaccuracies - if indeed there are any - really do to a delightful snippet of Edinburgh history. Life is hard enough without destroying what little comfort we can draw from such a lovely tale as this. "Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all." These words are written on Bobby's headstone. So critics, cynics and non-believers lay off. Long live Greyfriars Bobby say I!!!  

Beadnell Limekilns ....... and more ......

Beadnell, a delightful village on the coast of Northumberland, has a stunning shoreline which at times is as wild as it can be calm and peaceful. Pounded by waves whipped up by high winds, white horses rush for the beach, riding the crests of the waves before breaking upon the rocks or hurling themselves against the sea wall. This is the sea at its magnificent best, a time to admire from afar, to fear and respect in equal measure. I love it. And when the storms abate, a tranquil, more sedate ocean laps the coast, gently touching the rocks with salty kisses before sprinkling splashes of white around dune and rock.
Beadnell, an ancient village, was in all probability established in Saxon times. Bronze Age burial chambers have been found along the shore, and the remains of an ancient chapel were discovered in 1853 on the headland of Ebb's Nook. Excavations suggested that the building erected on this spot was dedicated to St. Ebba shortly after the arrival of
Christianity in Northumberland. For a small place, Beadnell has an interesting history. During the 18th century, the popular Beadnell races took place along the sands. However, tragedy struck in 1794 when one of the riders was killed, and the races were no more. Sandstone and coal seams run out to sea, and mining took place here until early Victorian times when seemingly more lucrative activities came to the fore.
By the 19th century, Beadnell was an important fishing village. A century earlier it had the unenviable - or maybe enviable - reputation of being a first class resort for smugglers. One of their secret hideouts, a hidden vault, was disovered on the Farne Islands during the restoration of the Chapel of St. Cuthbert. A wonderful haul was seized by customs officers on a particularly eventful September day in 1762 - though not for the unfortunate Scottish smugglers involved - when they stumbled upon 2,700 gallons of brandy, 400 gallons of rum, 23 hogsheads of wine and some tea, presumably for the hangover!!
You want more fascinating facts? Of course you do. Beadnell has the only west-facing port on the east coast of England. Cool eh ..... Limestone is also present around the village, and to exploit this profitable commodity, the first kilns were built here in 1747. Next problem? Exporting this commodity. To facilitate this, the harbour was built. Limekilns needed coal to operate. Hey presto, coal seams were also present in Beadnell. And so it grew in importance, this quiet little village. Fishing was also rapidly expanding, the exporting of fish and lime as well as salt made a better harbour a neccessity, and by 1798 the pier had been built and a gentleman by the name of Richard Pringle found this an ideal spot on which to construct his limekiln. However, herring fishing was set to overtake lime in importance and Beadnell fast became the main herring fishing village on the north-east coast. In fact, so the story goes, one thousand fishermen entered the harbour one evening in 1828 to shelter from a storm. 1822 had seen the decline of the poor old limekilns, by this time used to cure herring. Today they have been rescued and restored by the National Trust and are used as stores by the local fishermen.
I love it here in Beadnell, stormy skies, angry waves, howling winds, Mother Nature showing just why she is in charge of our world and not ourselves as we would often like to believe. Wander among the sand dunes, stretching as far south as the eye can see, wonder at the power of the sea, feel the wind in your hair, taste the saltiness of the water clinging to your lips. Then pop along to the Craster Arms for a lovely meal and well-deserved drink. This friendly inn was once Beadnell Tower, a three-storeyed pele-tower built in the 16th century. And much of the original building still survives - the vaulted basement now used as a beer cellar, the remains of the newel staircase which led to the next floor, an old fireplace on the ground floor, and the walls which in places are eight feet thick. When you are suitably refreshed take a turn around the village. Discover the Beadnell Tower Hotel - a former granary - the chapel on the green originally built in 1740 and rebuilt in 1860 ..... go see it all for yourself. My fingers need a rest, they are not as nimble as they once were, so it is over to you .........        

Halloween ..........

 Halloween .... a hauntingly crazy evening full of spooky fun and ghostly goings-on is fast approaching. But what are the origins of this festival, an occasion which has grown in popularity over the years and which is celebrated across the globe, not solely in Christian countries as many seem to think. Halloween is indeed a time not just of celebration but of superstition, marking the closing of the door on autumn and the opening of the door to winter. Many believe it has its origins in the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, bringing the harvest to a close and heralding the onset of the dark winter months. This was seen as a time when spirits could enter our world with ease, a time when they were at their most active. It was said that souls of the dead came to revisit their earthly homes, and feasts were held at which these souls, spirits of dead family members, were invited to attend. A place would be set at the table for these ghostly beings to "partake" of the meal. Many people would dress up and light bonfires in the belief that these actions would ward off roaming ghosts. The 8th century saw Pope Gregory III designate November 1st as a holiday to honour the memory of all saints and martyrs - All Saints Day - and many of the traditions of Samhain were incorporated into this festival. The night before became known as All Hallows Eve, or Halloween, a name originating from the Scottish dialect. As the centuries passed, Halloween evolved into a secular, community-based event associated with child-friendly activities. Trick-or-treat, carving pumpkins into jack-o-lanterns, apple bobbing, creepy stories, dressing up .... all are now popular as darkness falls and the witching hour approaches.

I recently came across the legend surrounding jack-o-lanterns, an interesting little tale. Travelling home after a night of drinking, a somewhat tipsy rogue called Jack encountered the devil. This satanic inmate from the fiery depths of hell tricked Jack into climbing a tree. Why? No idea. But a quick-thinking Jack, despite his intoxication, carved the sign of the cross into the bark of the tree, thus trapping the devil. Crafty Jack then struck a deal with Satan, making him promise that he would never capture or claim his soul. Then Jack went on his way convinced he was safe for all eternity. However, after a debauched life of sin, drink and mendacity poor old Jack was refused entry into heaven, the pearly gates well and truly slammed in his face. Keeping his promise, the devil likewise refused Jack entry into hell, throwing a live coal straight from the fires of his kingdom at the hapless Jack. It was a cold night, so Jack placed the burning coal into a hollowed-out turnip to stop it going out. And from that day onwards Jack has roamed the earth with his lantern, looking for a place to rest. Impressed? Thought you would be. So keep your eyes peeled for a flickering flame drifting across the fields ......

Off you go, all you witches and wizards, ghosts, skeletons, vampires, werewolves, black cats and other assorted monsters. Bring out your bats, search out your spiders, cotton wool your cobwebs and bound along on your broomsticks. But beware the churchyard, the gravestones cold and grey in the moonlight, piercing red eyes peering out through the darkness. Oh yes, people, feel a breeze where there is no wind, a touch on the shoulder from an unseen hand, shadows falling where no person stands, whispers in the darkness, the hoot of an owl, the spine-tingling howl of a wolf lurking in the shelter of the woods. 'Tis Halloween, not for the faint-hearted, the nervous, the unbelievers ....... Bob your apples, paint your faces, carve your pumpkins, sit around the fire recounting tales to send shivers down the spine as smoke wends its way eerily into the night sky. For this is no ordinary evening. IT IS HALLOWEEN!!