Edinburgh - Our Capital City

A final instalment of our visit to Edinburgh, our capital city, simply has to have a shot of a piper in full regalia, resplendent in his bearskin helmet, the busby. Next is St Giles Cathedral – also known as the High Kirk of Edinburgh – with its Gothic architectural features. It was here in 1559 that John Knox preached the Reformation and was instrumental in spreading the Presbyterian form of Protestantism throughout Scotland. It was also the place where, in 1637, Jennie Geddes, a local street-trader, was said to have thrown her stool at the head of the minister, James Hannay, Dean of Edinburgh, for daring to introduce the use of the Anglican-style Book of Common Prayer.

                    

                     

 

                                

Here we see a statue of David Hume (1711-1776), Scotland’s greatest philosopher, who was denied a professional chair at any university because he was a devout atheist! His Treatise of Human Nature of 1739 was to change the course of European philosophy. Later he collaborated with Adam Smith, whose Wealth of Nations of 1776 laid the foundations for the science of political economy. Hume and Smith were thinkers of world stature who played significant roles in the Scottish Enlightenment of the mid-eighteenth century, a phenomenon which, in part, gave Edinburgh its title The Athens of the North.

             

                      

 

These spires seem to express man’s aspirations to pierce through the cloud-cover of darkness, doubt, uncertainty reaching out for understanding, knowledge, enlightenment.

              

 

The last Scot of note I will reference is Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94), the local author of novels such as Kidnapped, Treasure Island and the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. This is Alexander Stoddart’s sculpture in Corstorphine which holds a plaque of the author and depicts the final parting of the main characters, Alan Breck and David Balfour, from Kidnapped.

 After all this tourist stuff, I decided I really wanted us to visit the area of Stockbridge where I lived in St Stephen Street when I began my teaching career in Penicuik High School. Now by this time I had totally    walked the socks off my companions, so it was only right I should treat them to dinner there.

                   

    

 

 Quite by chance we stumbled on the Lancers’ Brasserie, a multiple-award winning Bengali and Indian restaurant in Hamilton Place. It was a welcome haven for us tired soles – our feet, you see! – friendly service, great value for money and I had the best chicken kurma, ever! We would highly recommend it.

Three Tmes A Bridesmaid and Coining a New Term for Soul-Sisters!

It was while we were at the Oban reunion that it struck me that, perhaps for the first time ever, the three ladies to whom I’d been bridesmaid were all at that same event.

Marina’s wedding came first and took place at Tarbert Parish Church, Lochfyne. A well-known local character was Billy Lang, who had Down syndrome. Billy had a wee weakness for weddings and insisted on having his photo taken. This became such a regular occurrence that having her photo taken with Billy was more of a good-luck charm for the bride than receiving the traditional horseshoe.

 Marina’s marriage to John marked a milestone for our mother: a Church of England Sassenach had been brought into the family fold!  My brother, in turn, married a south-of-the-border lass who was a Roman Catholic. I thought that being ‘three times a bridesmaid’ conferred immunity from the marital status on me. However, when the time came, I felt that in choosing a Greek Orthodox groom, I completed our mother’s geographic and spiritual education!

                                  

                        

 Margaret’s wedding, in the same church, went off without incident - that happened on our way back from Campbeltown where we had gone to buy china, the traditional bridesmaid’s gift to the couple. A Land-rover had taken a corner too wide and I don’t know what we reacted more strongly to: seeing this vehicle hurtling towards us or realising that its driver was none other than Paul McCartney whose farm, High Park was not far from there!

    

                             

                   

Jean had chosen to have a registry wedding - probably the first in the area. Her mum had a wicked sense of humour and was convinced tongues were wagging about a bride pregnancy! However, those wagging tongues were stunned into silence at the reception when the best-man took his place next to me at the top table – he was a man of colour. An awkwardness descended as guests did not know how to react. But this young man, a doctoral student at Edinburgh University, had it all under control and began his speech so:

‘You’re probably wondering why I was chosen to be Max’s best man.’   All eyes remained floor-fixed.  ‘Well’, he continued, ‘it’s obviously because in such situations if embarrassed, I don’t go red!’ Gales of laughter and applause ensued. Ice broken, all night that lad was treated to copious amounts of whisky!

Recently when down in Athens, I had the chance to meet up with two good friends: Angeliki, my co-director of The Tartan Epsilon, and Marisa, who runs the CELT Athens teacher-training centre.    Below Angeliki and I are enjoying a meal by the sea at Nea Makri, while Marisa and I pose in her beautiful new premises.                                          

                       

      

  

  

On return to Thessaloniki, I managed to squeeze in a quick lunch with Fay, Director of the Bi-lingual Program at Anatolia College. We three share the same professional area and often the same take on various issues. Each one has many professional demands made on her, and each one is coping with difficulties of people close to them: unemployment, sickness and the demon adolescence. Yet, when we meet up, albeit briefly, we support each other, stimulate each other and always have fun.

                                                      

And that got me thinking:  what do we call that kind of relationship?  ‘Best friends’ belongs to the school yard; ‘girlfriends’ has romantic overtones, as does ‘lady-friends’ with its additional coy connotations.  

                     

 

 So I have coined a new term. It expresses that special, enduring relationship shared with our soul-sisters as well as their serenity, beauty and fragrance. My sister, Marina, and I raise a glass to…. our lady-buds!

Strange Scottish Animals and ..... My Family!

So, we leave Oban and the reunion behind and are en route for Edinburgh. On the way I can’t resist taking some shots of my absolute favourite: Highland cattle.

 

A distinct breed originating in the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland, they are distinctive for their long ‘fur coat’. In fact, they have two coats: a fine undercoat and a thick, oily outer coat which helps them cope with our cold, wet and windy climate. They date back to the 6^th century AD. A herd-book was established in 1885, making them the oldest registered cattle in the world. And rather than the generic collective noun for cattle – a herd – they enjoy their very own collective noun: a fold.

 Their milk is high in butter-milk content and their meat – lower in cholesterol than other varieties of beef – is deemed of high quality. Like the Scots themselves they have migrated far and wide, mainly to Australia and Canada.

 The Island Bakery on the Isle of Mull has a great ‘wee coo’ as part of their logo. Even better are their scrumptious biscuits: their lemon melts and chocolate gingers are totally irresistible! In 1954, Queen Elizabeth II introduced a fold at Balmoral Castle, so the ‘Heilan’ coos’ really are there by royal request!

            

 

Inevitably a wee calf features in our Easing into English app and here is a sketch I made of him: Callum Beag or wee Callum.

                                                 

                                 

As we drive along in the Falkirk area, just by the roadside, we see these amazing horse-head sculptures. As part of The Helix parkland project – whose picture can be seen below right – this is known as The Kelpies. Opened to the public in April 2014, at 30 metres in height, these are the largest equine   sculptures in the world. They stand on either side of a new canal extension linking the Forth and Clyde Canal to the North Sea.

Their name comes from the mythical water spirits of Scottish lochs and pools which usually adopted the form of the horse. The horse has a long association with agricultural work, but also played an important role in industry. Here the association is strong, with tow horses being used on the canals.

The Glaswegian sculptor, Andy Scott, stands between Duke and Baron who were models for The Kelpies, seen directly behind them.  These magnificent horses, like the Highland cattle, belong to a breed of animal peculiar to Scotland: the Clydesdale horse.  A heavy horse, with strong legs, it was ideally built for dragging farm implements and canal barges.                        

         

 

We arrive in Edinburgh where we are staying at the Corstorphine Lodge Hotel. Very comfortable, it is near the zoo and well served by local buses to avoid our driving in the city centre. It had a nice bar extension, so there we drifted to have a wee sundowner. Ladies first: Marina had a Bellini, while I had a Bramble, tasting deliciously of our unassuming, local fruit.

  

                                       

    Zissis felt that the table-décor foliage went nicely with the hues of his Mojito, while John got a little silly before he’d even supped on his Monkey Shoulder - a mix of three single malt Speyside whiskies : Glenfiddich, Balvenie and Kininvie,  and said to be a great, smooth drink.

   

                                    

   

                                                                               Slainte!

Graduation, anarchists, refugees and summer scenes in Greece.

 We just celebrated our niece’s graduation at Aristotle University, Thessaloniki - we were very proud of her achievement and had a great family get-together to show her our support. Congratulations, Konstantina – may your life routes always lead to desired destinations!

                

                                                                          

 

   

 We were, however, but saddened that parts of the university itself has been occupied by anarchist groups from all over Europe, apparently supporting the refugees. We saw, among others, French and German dudes wearing black t-shirts with ‘Welcome Refugees!’ emblazoned – ironic since the refugees are already here, albeit under duress on both sides, and these dudes’ own countries won’t let them cross the borders out of Greece.  So what are these guys doing here apart from causing real deliberate destruction both in the university and in the prefecture offices? And some of them presented themselves in a totally arrogant, self-righteous manner which is at one disturbing and outright annoying.

 The Greek state and people are doing whatever they can do and they do have local, national and international support. But when we have some members of NGOs playing the role of self-elected guardians who refuse to cooperate with local municipalities, then one has to ask exactly what their presence here is for and what it represents.

Locally there is an official refugee encampment – the scene below shows the warehouses being prepared prior to their arrival. 

We local residents were admittedly very apprehensive but I must say that the 1,500 refugees that are based not a ten-minute walk from us have been exemplary. They stay quietly in what really are not adequate premises and make the best of things.

My only contact has been travelling with them on the local buses. From what I’ve seen the parents are assiduous in keeping their children quiet and well-behaved; the men very polite, greeting fellow-travellers in Greek and giving up their seats to local ladies. The kids were delightful: someone had given them bananas and there was great excitement. Some little ones were squashing them, squeezing them and then licking the flesh as you would ice-cream. That happy little scene gets played back from time to time and always conjures up a smile.

Here we continue to enjoy summer. This scene I shot in our garden of tomatoes on the vine, Angeliki used as a post for our Easing Into English social media. Check it out on  www.easingintoenglish.com  to see the joke she added!

                                        

           

The picture below epitomises one of my summer dilemmas: which one should I dive into first? Life is hard.