beautiful Beauly

Beauty of decay, stillness of remembrance,  solitude amongst headstones, what is it people seek on graveyards? It had become popular with the Victorians to drink in the beauty of old graveyards: mist shrouding the past, breathtaking light on ancient stone, the remoteness of hidden places. It was all part of the sublime and the beautiful.... Continue Reading →

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the mourning girl’s grave

The last Laird of Foyers was born in 1760. The estate still belonged to the family then because his grandfather had bequeathed it to his son, the last Laird's father, before he joined the Jacobite Rising in 1745. It was therefore safe, most of the other rebel properties in Scotland had been confiscated by the crown.... Continue Reading →

The Highland’s sacred bard

    The path to Little Leny, the Buchanan burial enclosure starts here, in the floodplains of Callander Meadows in the Trossachs. To access the site you cross the former railway line. This field is the second step on the way to the ancient and picturesque graveyard. And thy skull is a sort Of garrison... Continue Reading →

a final moan from the grave

Alexander Grant (Alasdair Mac Iain Bhain) was a poet and a soldier. He grew up near Invermoriston in the small and remote village of Achnaconeran (Achadh nan Conbhairean) to the west of Loch Ness, to be a gifted man of sensitivity and strength, a man of thought as well as action, a bard and a... Continue Reading →

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date

Shakespeare’s sonnet Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? is all-encompassing, expressing love and evanescence, life and death. A more than apt poem for a beautiful graveyard on sunny Scottish summer’s day: Dervaig burial ground.       And summer’s lease hath all too short a date The temptation of monochrome is easily desisted... Continue Reading →

dying with a song

Nae Day Sae Dark Nae day sae dark; nae wüd sae bare; Nae grund sae stour wi' stane; But licht comes through; a sang is there; A glint o' grass is green.   Wha hasna thol'd his thorter'd hours And kent, whan they were by, The tenderness o' life that fleurs Rock-fast in misery? William... Continue Reading →

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