Grandpa Robertson

Glasgow has a Medieval District. It's where you find the Glasgow Cathedral, part of which was built in the 13th century. I was told that when they were doing refurbishing in the last century, the only part that needed to be fixed were those sections that had been reworked in the 18th and 19th century; the ancient parts were rock solid. The heavy doors that lead from the main sanctuary to the Sacristy are original, however they have bullet holes from the Reformation. The Reformation played large in Scotland.

This is also the area where you'll find Provand's Lordship which, though it has passed through many other hands, started as a 15th century home for one of the 32 Canons of the Cathedral. A new perspective on church-owned housing for clergy! It was quite amazing to walk through a place so old. It's a real visceral experience.

Nearby is the St. Mungo Museum. (St. Mungo is the patron saint of Glasgow. He founded the cathedral in the 7th century, where he is buried in the undercroft.) The museum's purpose since 1993 is to celebrate all forms of religious life and art, indicating how broad the city and country have become. Exhibits tell of Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism and Sikhism. There's a prayer rug, beautifully woven, that has a compass built into it to point the pray-er towards Mecca. And there's Britain's first (and some say only) Zen Garden, a wonderful place for meditation.

Just to the east is the Glasgow Necropolis, a huge Victorian cemetery on a hill with elaborate sepulchres, winding roads, well-established plantings and a statue of John Knox standing tall at the highest point. It was developed by the wealthy merchant class. (It's said that Edinburgh is the capital, but Glasgow HAS the capital, and lots of that is from trading cotton and tobacco from the US.) The Merchant Guild built an entrance to the cemetery, straight from the cathedral. The plaque said the entrance was built to give people "a proper entrance."

Which brings me to Grandpa Robertson.

Grandpa was born and raised at 123 John Knox Street, immediately south of the necropolis, the road that has the original entrance. His father was a Joiner-Journeyman (carpenter) and a Sanitary Inspector (plumber), and he raised 6 children in what I imagine was a typical Glasgow tenement. I wonder if the well-to-do merchants' entrance had as much to do with avoiding the tenements as with easier access. Grandpa's house isn't there any longer. With the other tenements, it was demolished to be replaced with an upscale high rise. That's probably the story of most ordinary folks: their homes and their way of living aren't preserved for posterity. That's nothing new. But I felt it in my gut, because Grandpa, with his brogue and his stories and quick smile, was someone I loved. I wonder if he ever had time to wander around the ancient cathedral.

Where's Jean?

My body got back to Indianapolis last Sunday at midnight, and my mind and soul have pretty much caught up. Five days of sluggishness for five hours difference in time is normal, I hear. I don't know how world travelers handle this!

I haven't been blogging from Scotland as I had expected. My days were wonderfully full of touching and smelling and seeing, and I didn't want to stop to write. And I've had very limited access to the internet. My home base, after leaving Glasgow, was the Aigas Field Centre in Beauly, near Inverness, and there was no access there. (That's ehre the picture was taken, with me in my Robertson tartan in the dining room of the home of Lady Lucie Lister-Kaye, a MacIntosh.)

When I went to Orkney, I figured there wouldn't be easy access in a place so remote, and didn't take my mini-computer. Alas, I figured wrong.

Now I'm home sitting with my new desktop, getting used the strange keyboard and the latest Microsoft Word, emailing myself pictures I had uploaded to the mini-computer, and discovering that I can't "paste" to the blog from Word, or even check spelling. (Patience!) I'll be turning on some good Scottish music to help me go back to Barra and Glasgow and Beauly and Orkney. The music isn't just bagpipes; it's fiddles and whistles and flutes and the bodhran (drums), too! Good sound for my heart.

I'll be reminiscing here shortly. Meanwhile, PEACE!

Airports I Have Known

There's nothing I can tell you about traveling through airports these days. I was taken with the sign I saw in London, though. It's the first photo, and I think it says that body needs come before spirit needs.

I can tell you about the neatest/sweetest airport I've ever been in. It's the Barra Airport, of course. I flew in from Glasgow last week on Flybe, Europe's new inexpensive airline. The plane was a Twin Otter; the copilot was also our flight attendant. She reminded me of Dianne Fogelsong--trim, bright, attentive and very competent.

The plane held a few of us, in very small seats. Thanks to the good weather, I could see islands pass under me, and then the water of The Minch, then the Barra Head Isles (small, uninhabited islands used only for grazing sheep) and then the landing strip of Barra. Planes land on Traigh Mhor, Gaelic for Large Beach, and the beach is huge and covered with cockleshells. The arrivals and departures of planes depend on the tides. We left our prints in the wet sand, then crunched shells as we made our way to the airport proper, most of which is really a cafe/tearoom. A single room for coming, going, eating, chatting, ticketing, security checks--think of that! There is one fast rule, though. One must stay off of the beach when the wind sock is up.

I took off from that airport on Monday. I had to fly to another island, Benbecula, to catch a flight back to Glasgow. Being up in the air, I was astonished at how many islands there are--how many dots there are that make up one Benbecula and one Barra. And, of course, how many dots it takes to make up my own life! When I am on an island, it's the biggest dot I know. When I get up in the Twin Otter, I see the distinctiveness of each dot. Were I to be a plane flying very high above, the demarcations would be too small for the eye to see, and it would all look like one. Hummmm

St. Barr's Church

The morning before I left Barra, I deposited my luggage at the airport where the waitress at the cafe said she'd keep an eye on them. (Don't try THAT at home!) I walked to the enclave of Eoligharry, just north of the dunes that separate the the Atlantic side (weird having the Atlantic on the west coast!) from the eastern side, which is called The Minch. There are homes in Eoligharry, each with a view of the turquoise water, the Isle of Eriksay and the many uninhabited islands.

This area's claim to fame is St. Barr's Church, named for St. Finnbarr of Cork (A.D.550-623). There are only ruins there now. The chapel itself has only crumbled and crumbling walls, one with a hole/window (photo).

What seemed most alive was the graveyard that surrounded the ruins. There were many Celtic crosses from the 20th century in various states: some shiny new, some lichen-covered, some fallen. Other monuments surprised me, and maybe you will be surprised, too, by the Pooh bear and the honey pot.

All the stones faced properly East, not every which way that they do at the Glasgow Necropolis where the hill and the current aesthetic takes precedence over ancient Christian tradition. Among the epitaphs I appreciated are these:

"Be Thine own hand on the rudder,

Thine own hand, King of the Elements."

"Lord of the calm and of the storm,

Whatever seas I sail upon

Be Thou my helm,

my compass and my port."

Blogging from Barra?

Blog from Barra? What was I thinking?

Internet cafes do not exist on this wee isle. Of course, I could have waited in line at the library for access on Saturday morning, but I opted for a long walk. Wise choice, don’t you think?

How, you might ask, did I choose to go to Barra? Well, I read about it in a book that gave me a few salient facts:

It is called “the Garden of the Outer Herbrides” having such a wide variety of wildflowers.

It has the greatest percentage of Gaelic speakers of any of the islands or Highlands.

It was so remote that John Knox’s ideas of proper lifestyle and reformed Christianity never made it this far south; the vast majority of inhabitants are Roman Catholic and haven't forgotten how to have fun.

The hospitality, humor and polite reserve of these people is impressive. The Gaelic I have heard is as soft as the moss and heather that cover the rocks, and gentle as the grasses blowing on the machair. (You’ll have to Google that one!) Signs in Gaelic, music in Gaelic… I came to the right place to find modern Celts.

I met a local crofter, a Mrs. McKinnon. She was in Castlebay to do her grocery shopping and boarded the same bus as I did. (Barra has a very efficient mini-bus system that makes the loop around the island frequently on the one paved road. This road is a single lane--not one each direction, but one lane. Period. There are “Passing Places” where traffic defers to whoever got there first.) Mrs. McKinnon lives in a small croft on Vatersay, an island that was recently connected with Barra by a causeway.

I got off the bus with her, and she directed me to the ruins of an ancient broch (lookout) on a mound across from her home. I crossed heathered fields, climbed the hill and found the great number of large stones configured as two concentric circles a few thousand years ago. When Moses was leading the Hebrews out of Egypt, Neolithic communities were settled here. The space and the sense of time/perspective helped me see my small place in the great scheme of life.

Behind me was a mountain--make that a ben--and decided to climb it as far as I could. The views were spectacular: lonely crofts near the shoreline, cattle grazing near the pristine white beach on the Atlantic, a rainbow between two mountains of Barra (but no pot of gold), wildflowers and heather that grew much like the sage of Wyoming, and old, old stone walls now overgrown with grasses. The walls are soft now,too.

And there were brooks. I heard them before I could see them, the grasses and flowers being so dense and deep. It was as though water sprang out of the ground, spilling on rock and soil alike. Some water collected in pools on lichened rock. Some water collected to form larger and larger trickles, though never enough in one place to call it a brook or stream. I have a new appreciation of how it is that the Druids and early Christians found the springs and wells magical.

The light in these isles, I had heard, is unique. I think I found out what that means. There are no trees on most of the 470 islands of the Hebrides; the earth is low and covered with even green vegetation. The light, when it comes in the morning or evening casts, no shadows. The surrounding water absorbs the light, except for the sparkling reflections from waves. The result is that the light rises up from the ground. The land is amazingly luminous.

The climb up was quite steep, and I chose to descend, not by the switchbacks that got me there, but by sitting and sliding straight down, six feet now, five feet later. Heather is good cushioning. The wind was a constant companion, bringing in clouds, then mist, then sunshine, then soft rain from the ocean.

I walked back to Castlebay, having missed the last bus. I gathered stray wool stuck on bracken, and later gathered handfuls from what was left at a shearing pen. I saw an agile, white-haired bearded man use a stainless steel crozier to pick up the lamb he wanted to hear. (I wonder if Bishop Cate would like the modern variety!)

Back at the Castlebay Hotel, I prepared for dinner. My meals have been spectacular, including venison, hare, and Barra lamb (that had an idyllic if short life). Breakfasts have included grilled smoked haddock, authentic Scottish porridge, and grilled black pudding. (If you ask, I’ll tell you what is in black pudding, but you might not want to know.)

I am posting this from a bus in Glasgow, the Glasgow Flyer, that gives its customers internet action on the way from the airport to Buchanan Station. We have arrived at the bus station. Now it's on to the Underground, lovingly called Clockwork Orange thanks to its color and speed. So I'm off!