Blair Castle and Pitlochry

Yesterday we woke to another miserably soggy, gloomy morning, but chose to get out and about with Glasgow University’s international students. We usually travel with the ‘family’ portion of this group, through the International Chaplaincy, but this time were included with the singles. May we just say that the pace is rather faster without children? While we like our international families and their mighty phalanx of strollers, we’ll be making a point of doing more with the childless set as well.

Our first stop was to Blair Castle … which is one of the many historic places in Scotland which won’t allow photography of any sort inside! (They claim it has to do with tapestries and light fading them but a.] how many digital cameras require the use of flash, and b.] why not then have the prohibition be solely in rooms with tapestries?!) Note the horrible horns to the left? Let’s just say that D’s finger accidentally pressed down. Just once.

Because you don’t get any idea of what the inside’s all about from looking at the outside, let us try to paint you a picture with words … or, well, with one word: HORNS! There were just miles and miles of horns and antlers – up to and including four eight foot narwhal horns, elk, deer, and springbok horns simply mounted everywhere, horns from South Africa (the current duke lives there, and ancestors fought there, but more on that later), horns made into chandeliers, made into chairs, made into eating implements, made into scrimshaw-esque plaques on the walls. Twisted, brittle, spiky, organic, bone. Horns.

In every room was at least one clock, if not two or three. This only made things worse for D, as he particularly likes to photograph clocks. There were musical instruments T. was wishing to photograph — a pump-style organ from the 1560’s, what looked like a bass viola, lutes and lyres, with intricate carvings.

Add to the horns…weapons: hundreds of swords, pikes, axes, shields, and all manner of ancient firearm (including an 11-foot long experimental musket). Most of these weapons are mounted on every wall surface on all three floors, so threading your way down a narrow back staircase means that your jacket brushes against ancient broadswords, pistols with ivory inlaid butts, and six inch daggers. The weapons are, in what must be traditional to castle maintenance crews or some bizarre royal preference, arranged in geometrical patterns on the wall. It’s insane. To every room, add a collection of paintings of previous Dukes (or their relatives). Throw in some Masai weapons, a few South African cafeteria staff, and you complete the suffocating, claustrophobic, jackbooted, death-dealing, empire-swallowing picture … and perhaps arrive, as we did, at the desire to go outside for a breath of fresh, free air.

The Duke of Atholl, title Duke of Blair Castle, still exists, still has his own standing army and owns much of Perthshire land — one hundred and forty-five thousand acres, a hundred and fifty miles of managed trails. He owns still more land — in South Africa. Enough said.

Fortunately, outside in the non-royal yard was a nice old man & young lady who were simply standing around … with birds of prey! The birds were all trained, all quite peacefully standing around (or being carried off behind a bush to be fed, where the others wouldn’t get jealous), and were a beauty to behold! We’re told that flying them at the castle is a bad idea – they go after the peacocks, which aren’t particularly nice about being attacked, and fight back quite effectively – but they bring them up there every Saturday, just to show them off. They’re not asking for money, they’re simply sharing their hobby. Compared to Castle d’Horned Doom, this was quite a bit more our speed. T. fell in love with an owl the size of a small child and was practically in tears when she was told that it is perfectly legal in the UK to own a bird of prey. Twit and Flit Boyd, the pair of finches that T. got from her Dad Sister gave her are now officially jealous.

After leaving the castle we went on to Pitlochry, to see their salmon ladder (it gets the fish around the dam), and to wander through their picturesque little village. It’s a bit “twee” — which is a fun word that describes ‘crazed man run amok with jigsaw’ and Too Cute and Touristy (there are more Moffat Woolen Mills there than there are in Moffat, and does EVERYBODY have to have a house done up with gable fretwork?), but it was a nice, gloriously sunny day (after a brief spate of rain, light snow, and some icy winds). We spent some time chatting with a couple of PhD students from Mexico City and enjoyed hearing the accent of home (California’s second home is Mexico, after all!), and we even chatted with a Pitlochry resident originally from Kentucky! All in all, it was, as T. said, one of those days so good you could eat it with a spoon.

On the way home we saw Stirling Castle from a different vantage point, saw rabbits bobbing about, lambs staggering on wee new legs, deer feeding in herds, and generally enjoyed the look of springtime scenery. One thing about us that we’ve noted before is that we’re enjoying being passengers, and yesterday was no exception. Do click through to the slideshow if you’d like more, including T. cuddling her bird of prey!

– D & T

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