Friday, 29 June 2012

Gilmerton Cove


 Gilmerton is a small village south of Edinburgh.  Once a mining area, it is now a suburb of Scotland's capital.
 Drum Street is a busy thoroughfare with take-aways and hairdressers, mums with buggies and folk buying filled rolls and a newspaper from the shop on the corner for their lunch break.

A simple door in an unassuming cottage attached to a bookies didn’t seem worthy of a second glance.  The door was locked and  the only information was a poster in the blank window with a phone number for the “ Gilmerton Cove".    A quick call on the mobile and a cheery voice said,
 “ I’ll just be a minute, we’re just coming up from the underground “
A minute later a smiling young woman appeared and welcomed us in.  The entrance room was small and hung with information panels  about the Cove.
Despite the fanciful interpretations and puns on covens and covenanters, it would seem that “cove” is just and old Scots word for cave.
A cave indeed as we discovered when, hard-hatted for health and safety reasons, we were led down in the depths below the pavement level.

 The Tunnels are low!

  The hard hats proved that, for once, health’n’safety rulings can be useful as the tunnels are quite low and the sandstone though soft and easily worked, is not so soft as allow head butting with impunity.
 Used by a local blacksmith, George Paterson as a store, home and illegal drinking bothy in the eighteenth century,  the Cove has been connected fancifully with Freemasonry ( there are a couple of Masonic symbols carved as graffiti), Covenanters,  witches, Robert the Bruce, he of the cave and the spider, and, of course, the Knights Templar.
The blacksmith claimed he had hewn the multi-chambered construction himself in five years which was manifestly nonsense. He may have rediscovered it and even worked some of the sandstone into which it has been cut but this is not the work of a single eighteenth century blacksmith.
 Archaeological opinion is that it is much older, the pock marked walls of the tunnels being evidence of older tools than iron chisels.


  The marks of simple tools on the walls
 Some of the features have attracted simplified explanations and names to fit with the preconceived and probably erroneous notions of the functions of the"cove". 
 The misnamed “forge” and “well” are not what they seem at first sight.  The “punchbowl” is obviously not that either.   Why bother to carve a bowl into solid stone when it is an easily portable piece of table ware and what use is a forge in a chamber with no chimney?

 The table room wth carved "punchbowl"
Despite all the romantic stories and tales of tunnels extending for miles to Craigmillar Castle and Roslin Chapel, I got the distinct impression that whatever use it had been put in the recent past, this place was much, much older.
It must have taken a great deal of social organisation and possibly coercion to dig out all this solid sandstone and to fashion  the features within the chambers.   Only  a group with a powerful grip on a community could command such obedience and effort, especially in times when providing the day to day neccessities of life was hard enough.   In return for all this effort what did the people get?  Solace, the allaying of fears, comfort in bereavement, the promise of good harvests, predictions and prophesies - all the trappings of  a religion of some kind. 
The Hypogeum in Malta is over 4000 years old dating from the time when the Chalcolithic, the copper age, was at its height and fertility  rites and Earth Mother religion seemed to have predominated among the early agriculturalist peoples.
 An oracle window?

 Though much more sophisticated and complex than Gilmerton Cove, there are many striking similarities.  Niches for cult objects, windows cut in to chambers that may have been where oracles were consulted, altars, votive pits -  all have echoes at Gilmerton. 
The mis-named forge, possibly place for a cult object
Both at the Hypogeum and at the associated megalithic temples at Tarxien,  “fat lady” statues and votive offerings  suggestive of  mother goddess have been found.  Where better to worship such a goddess then in the body of the goddess herself , under the ground.
A model of the fat lady statue from the megalithic site im Malta
 The Hypogeum is a World Heritage Site and, while Gilmerton Cove isn’t in that league, it deserves a visit, a fascinating place that hopefully will be preserved, explored and subjected to academic scrutiny in the years to come. 


Friday, 1 June 2012

Island in the sun


The Clisham without boots

A trip to the Western Isles gave LotH a chance to recharge her Gaelic batteries and me a chance to climb the Clisham, the largest peak in the long island acting as a barrier between the moors of Lewis and the hills of Harris.  At 2,621 feet, it is a wee bit short of Munro status but still a good climb.
The impertinent calls of the cuckoos and the wheet of their erstwhile foster parents, the meadow pipits, echoed up Glen Scaradale as I parked the car near the start of the old post track now designated the North Harris Walkway.  It was then I discovered that I’d left my boots back at base. Oh, the trials of age and memory!



  From Gormul Maraig

Nothing for it, having come this far, I set off up the track in a pair of slip-on driving shoes…well, the track looked fairly dry…well, sort of.

The Clisham

Skirting the wettest bits, I made my way up the old path to a stony outcrop, Gormul Maraig, and climbed up over this to the shoulder of Tomnabhal where the Clisham came into view, then came a long slog up the boulder-strewn slopes to the break in the rocky summit ridge.



 The summit approach 

 The views were great down to Harris and up to Lewis but the feet were beginning to feel the strain and there was still the descent to come.  The trek was livened up by sights of greenshanks, the sudden burst from heathery hiding places of red grouse and the wary stares of red deer. 




 View to Harris





 Glacier grooved

As I scrambled back over the large boulders with their glacier grooved surfaces, I pondered on what a pensioner with hypertension and a tin hip was doing stravaging about alone on a mountain.   At that point, a bird flew over and, clear and concise, came the call “coo-coo, coo-coo”.  All the way from Africa to voice an opinion and maybe not far wrong either.  
 It took a day or two for the muscles to recover, the shoes never will. 

 Boating for Eagles




The trip to the Flannans was off, so I settled for a trip round Loch Roag in a RIB, hoping to catch sight of a sea-eagle, it being a bit too early for basking sharks to be seen.


Approaching a sea cave

 Spectacular interiors

Exploring the natural lagoons of Pabaigh Mor and Bhacasaigh with their turquoise waters and white sands was pleasant enough and the arches Pabaigh Beag and the sea caves of Fuaighh Mor were spectacular but no sign of the erne, even as we passed below Creag- na- Iolaire – the crag of the eagle - on Fuaigh Mor.  Not a glimpse.

Venturing out into darker water was a bit stimulating, the bouncy RIB and the spray making it a bit of fun and shaking up the old bones.  The island of Fuaigh Beag is now considered as the source of the uprights for the famed Callanish stones.  Apparently at a very low tide, workings were discovered where the stones may have been cut.  It would only have been a short trip for the slabs through by Bernera where the “bridge over the Atlantic” spans the narrow strait, to their destination at Callanais.

The Bridge over the Atlantic

As we made our way back to our starting point, I glanced up into the cloudless sky and there was a circling dot.   Could it be a sea eagle?   I swept up the binoculars and found that the dot didn’t get any bigger. 
 A floater in the vitreous humour… another penalty of age.
Home, to relax and watch the wonderful sunsets.  We had been hoping to see the fabled “green flash”. Apparently, this occurs just as the sun sets below the horizon – a momentary green flash in the sky. 
 Needless to say, no green flash was seen.


So, no sea eagle, no green flash but a great day out and a wonderful end with a sunset like a Rothko painting.