Another Castle, A Hill, and A Tree

Yesterday, I said goodbye to my apartment in Edinburgh (a city I definitely plan to return to at some point) and took the bus back to the airport to pick up my rental car.  After checking my mirrors, several deep breaths, and a continuous muttered mantra of "keep to the left," I made my way through about three roundabouts and got onto the highway taking me to Stirling Castle, which, fortunately, has about forty signs pointing you to the right roads. 

 

This castle was the hotspot for a few hundred years, as Scotland and England wrestled over control of Scotland.  It's seated at the very center of Scotland and overlooks the River Forth, which was the only way to safely cross from the south part of Scotland to the north.  This is the area where William Wallace (whom we Americans know, however inaccurately, from Braveheart) and Robert the Bruce won battles against the English, even though far outnumbered.  Unfortunately for the Scots, it's also where they lost several--their own battle for independence lost until the kingdoms were united peaceably under James VI/I.

 

It's a beautiful and imposing structure, and the views from it are not only strategic (at least in the centuries where there was still conflict) but beautiful.

 

 

 

Look who else visited and was impressed (I was rather excited to find a connection):

 

While most of us tend to think of castles as looking like the photos above, historical research shows that they actually looked more like this building below, which houses the Great Hall and whose stones have been lime-washed to give it a bright peachy-gold color.

 

This hall, as the majority of the rooms in the castle, have been renovated and "recreated" to look the way they would have originally, but this painted section that runs along the top of the wall is original:

 

The King's rooms in the Royal Palace, with recreations of the famous Stirling Heads (wood carved figures) as they would have looked originally.

 

In a different area, you can see a large collection of the originals, the paint now worn away.  Apparently the English destroyed a number of them (oh, those English!) but fortunately some of them escaped destruction.

 

The Queen's chamber: 

 

Clearly, medieval and Renaissance folks loved beauty and color:

And this fun fact from the kitchens:

In this next photo, the pillar at the top of the tree-covered hill is the William Wallace Memorial, which was erected in the 1800s.  When the guide told us that, my first thought was, "Oh, so it's pretty recent."  How my frame of reference has changed in the past few weeks!

I then drove to Perth and was doing all right with the driving again until my Google navigator kept insisting (she was getting quite snippy about it, really) that my destination was a park.  Fortunately, a very nice woman who was reading in her garden directed me to the correct location.  Give me a real person over a robot voice any day. 

My room is at the very top of the house, so I'm continuing my climbing exercise program.  My breakfast this morning was enormous, though, so I shouldn't complain.

 

After said enormous breakfast, I braved the car again, made my way a little further north, and found  (surprisingly quickly) Kate & Richard Frazer's cottage at the foot of Dunsinane Hill.  I wasn't sure I'd be able to find it driving on roads like this:

 

 

 

But I arrived safe and sound and found this utterly charming place waiting for me: 

 

The back of the cottage looks out to these hills, the second one being the actual Dunsinane Hill, if I'm getting things right.  This is where Macbeth makes his final stand against Malcolm and the English forces, taking confidence in the prophecy he received from the spirits the witches raised that he would not be defeated until Birnam Wood come to "high Dunsinane Hill."  You'll have to read the play to find out how it did, in a sense, end up marching against him.

 

 

I spent a few hours at the cottage reading, working on this blog post, and enjoying some classical music on BBC radio while it drizzled rain outside and the wind blew.  It was a very enjoyable and much-needed respite.

Even though I'd been provided a very nice hand-drawn map, my unfamiliarity with the territory and my tendency to get easily turned around/disoriented meant I had a fair amount of difficulty finding the other locations Richard had marked for me.  One of them is a tree called the Bogle Tree or Bogle Bush, which is hundreds of years old and, according to local lore, is the tree the Macbeth witches would dance around and brew their potions under.  With the help of a nice lady walking her dog, I managed to confirm I was on the correct road, but as I drove up and down it, I realized there were a lot of big trees and they all looked pretty old.  The woman had told me it was the one jutting out into the road a bit, and since this was the only one sort of fitting that description, I took a picture of it.  Let's just pretend that it is, in fact, the Bogle Tree, at least until I have a chance to return someday and have someone actually lead me to the tree, point at it, and say "That's it."

Sadly, I only remembered what would have been a helpful clue after I was back in Perth.  About eighty-odd years ago, the tree started to split apart, and since it's such an important symbol to the town, the Laird of Dunsinane (I can't remember now if that was Kate's grandfather or great-grandfather) had a blacksmith form an iron band to go around it and hold it together.  So let's just pretend there's a great iron band circling under that leafy part towards the base, shall we?  In all honesty, this might be the actual Bogle Tree.  I just don't know for sure.  Here's a partial picture of it I found on the internet.  Different angle and season, but I think it's possible they are the same tree.  Although perhaps that's wishful thinking:

 

Another spot he suggested I have a look at is a cottage called Croft an Righ, which--again according to local lore--was the witches home.  After my confusing bout with the tree, I decided not to take photos of random people's cottages, especially as I probably looked dodgy enough as it was, cruising around slowly in my black sedan, peering at every house I passed.  Where I live, that would be reason to call the police. 

 

Even though it bore somewhat dubious fruit, I enjoyed my little adventure and all the beautiful surroundings I found myself in.  By now, though, my stomach was growling and it was time to head back to Perth.  I managed to park (after a few awkward stops and starts figuring out where to go) in the center of town and grabbed a bite at a pleasant corner café.  I heard quite a lot of music while I was in there and saw a crowd gathering in the rain outside.  As it turns out, this was happening:

 

You've got to admire girls who will smile and look jazzy in their spandex and glitter even when it's raining steadily on them. 

 

Now I'm back in my room with the World Cup game between Germany and France on the telly.  I'll be packing up again to head to St. Andrews tomorrow (with a stop at Scone Palace on the way) to visit another fellowship finalist from Wellesley who has kindly offered to host me for the night and take me to a traditional ceilidh (pronounced "kaylee").  The thought of dancing makes me almost as nervous as the driving--I'm not exactly the most coordinated person in the world.  But I'm also excited to have the opportunity to participate in something that is such an old tradition in this country.