I Could Have Danced All Night

It's amazing to me just how much can happen in such a short period of time.  There are days on this trip where I feel like I've lived three or four days (or a full week, even) in just one day.  Yesterday was one of those days.  I started with a visit to Scone Palace, which is just up the road from Perth, and another Macbeth location.  For the last four hundred years, it's belonged to the Earls of Mansfield, and while a portion of the house and the grounds are open to the public, the current Earl will be moving back soon with his family of four children.  In California, many people find it surprising that I currently live in the house in which I grew up (which I bought from my father after my mother died), so it's hard to really comprehend that the same family has lived on the same property for centuries. 
 

 

 

 
One of the current exhibits focuses on Dido Elizabeth Bell, who spent a good deal of her life here under the guardianship of her great uncle, William Murray, who was the first Earl of Mansfield and the Lord Chief Justice of England and may have been influenced in an important ruling on slavery at the time due to their relationship.  Their story was dramatized in this film:
 

 

As interesting as that was, my real interest in Scone is that for centuries before it became the seat of the Earls of Mansfield, it was the site of an abbey and the place where Scottish kings came to be crowned.  That ceremony would take place on the hill in the photo below, with the king-to-be seated on the famous Stone of Destiny, whose story I'll recount in a bit. 

 

 

 

 

 



As the sign explains, Scottish kings were supposed to be crowned in the presence of all the lords on their own land, but since traveling to each lord on his land individually would have been time-consuming and dangerous, all the lords would instead gather here in central Scotland and bring some dirt from their locale in their boots, pour it out, and stand on it for the ceremony.  Quite practical, really.
 
And as the slab above shows you, Macbeth was crowned here in 1040, which Shakespeare references in the play in a conversation between Ross, an Old Man (really, that's the character's name) and Macduff when they're discussing the recent events of Duncan's murder and how Macbeth has now "gone to Scone."  Of course, Shakespeare's version of Macbeth, while much more exciting and a brilliant study on the nature of ambition and evil and their effects on an essentially noble man, is not very historical.  In reality, Macbeth had a very legitimate claim to the throne that was thwarted by the naming of Duncan as king, and far from being the epitome of gracious, nurturing kingship that he is in the play, the real Duncan was kind of a sad sack and not a very good king.  So real Macbeth (or I suppose I should say historical Macbeth) rightly fought and defeated Duncan for the throne. 
 
Photos weren't allowed in the museum, but I went rogue and snuck a couple with my phone anyway:
 

 

 

 
That last one contains a replica of the Stone of Destiny, also known as the Stone of Scone or Coronation Stone, right under the seat.  So, about that stone.  There are a number of legends/stories attached to it, all of which are kind of fabulous.  As for its origins, perhaps the most interesting of the legends is that the stone is Jacob's Pillow (Jacob of the Old Testament who dreams of the ladder to heaven), brought to this land by an Egyptian Pharaoh's daughter named "Scota" (which is awfully similar to "Scotland," no?) and eventually moved to Scone by King Kenneth I.  OR maybe it was brought by Gaels from Ireland.  What we do know for sure is that it served as the coronation seat of Scottish kings for centuries.
 
Then Edward I came along and took it as one of the spoils of war, brought it back to London, built a coronation seat like the one in the photo above, and it stayed in Westminster Abbey for the next 700 years before being returned in the 1990s to Scotland.  It now resides on display in Edinburgh Castle.  Or does it?  Some legends say that the monks at the abbey hid the real stone when they knew Edward was coming and gave him a fake.  The fact that early descriptions of the stone don't match the current stone lend some credibility to that, although it's also entirely possible that some of its distinguishing features have worn away in 700 years.  In other crazy news, some university students from Edinburgh stole the stone from Westminster in the 1950s, BROKE it (can you imagine their horror?), found a stonemason to fix it, and eventually returned it after a period of general hullaballoo around the UK.  Apparently, forensic tests were done to confirm it was the same stone, although another story has the students swapping it out with a stone from behind a toilet in a pub.
 
And now back to Scone Palace, which is situated on some really gorgeous land:

 

 

 

 
One of the resident peacocks strutting around:

 
A highland cow (I can't even begin to express how much I love that they sport boy-band bangs)

 
And some more cows on the way out--mostly mamas and their wee bairns.

 

 

 

I then set out for St. Andrews and enjoyed driving through some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen in my life.  This is not hyperbole--this is fact.  I mean, look at this:

 



 

 

 

 
Don't be alarmed by the one taken of the road ahead through my windshield.  Yes, I was driving, but I made sure no other cars were around and I was only going about 10 miles an hour.  The trip should have taken about 40 minutes but instead took an hour seeing as I had to take time to stop and gasp.  And pet the horses (or at least pet the one on the right, who was much friendlier than the one on the left):
 

 
My host in St. Andrews, Alix Nunan, welcomed me with tea and some oatcakes topped with scrumptiously delicious local honey and cheese she'd bought at the farmer's market that morning.  Alix is another Wellesley grad (class of '09) whom I met when I went out to Wellesley this past spring to interview for the fellowship (she was fellow finalist).  Having attended St. Andrews for her master's degree, she's been living here for the past few years and graciously invited me to come visit her.
 
After tea, we walked into town via this pretty forest path:
 

 

 
And she showed me some of the university:

 

 

 

 
Then we walked down to my favorite part, which was the ruins overlooking the North Sea.  I may have had to pinch myself a few times to believe it was all real and I was actually there:

 

 

 

 

 

 
Alix then whipped me up a delicious frittata and salad for dinner, finishing with a homemade berry cobbler and fresh cream--again, most of the ingredients having come from the market that morning.  We bonded over our shared love of Veronica Mars (she has the sticker on her laptop), Anne of Green Gables, and about five hundred other things.  As Anne would say, she is a kindred spirit.  She is also intelligent, talented, funny, and deeply courageous in writing about some very difficult personal experiences, all qualities you can see more of on her blog:  http://theimportanceofbeing.alixwest.com/
 
And now for the dancing.  Those of you reading this blog who know me well know that I tend to keep old lady hours, going to bed at ten-ish and getting up around seven (during the school year it's 6:00).  But this far north, when it looks like this at about 10:30 pm
 

 
you tend to stay up later.  We headed out for drinks a bit after 10:00, met up with Alix's friend Kirsty (a native Scot) and about 11:00, we headed to a restaurant that hosts ceilidhs every weekend.  This involves a live band (in this case, a bagpiper, guitar player, and flautist) and a kind of celtic square dancing.  The band leader walks you through the main steps, and then the music starts and you just go for it.  Ceilidhs are a very old Scottish (and Irish) tradition, and are typically held at events like weddings, highland games, university balls, etc.
 
I can't remember the last time I danced, and let's just say that physical coordination is not my forte, so I had a few butterflies in my stomach when we walked up to the dance floor.  And yes, I ran into people a few times, and yes, I had my feet trod on (and trod on others') more than a few times, but it was so much FUN!  Alix and Kirsty knew what they were doing, but a large majority of the rest of us, including most of my partners through the night (which mostly came from a stag party), didn't have a clue, so we were all bumbling our way through things together and cheering each other when we finally got it somewhat right.  And can I just say that skipping and whirling about is an extremely good workout?  So is laughing constantly.  It was fairly dark in there, but here are a few shots of the one dance I sat out:
 

 

 

 
The time flew by, and when the band announced the last song, I almost wailed, "Nooooooo!" Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 1:00am, but I could have easily gone for another hour.  Instead, we went home, I took a shower, and I conked out and had the best sleep I've had since I left home.
 
A somewhat dark and blurry but happy snap of Alix, Kirsty, and me just prior to hitting the floor: