Note: Scottish Journal entries are from my 2008-2009 novel research

18-19 September 2008  We started the day with a visit to the castle, a dramatic stone structure first built in the 1500s, converted to a summer home (yes, an austere, one!) in the early 1900s and now part of Historic England. It sits on a volcanic crag reminiscent of but much smaller than the twin peaks at Dumbarton. It struck me that if Aidan had grown up in the shadow of that crag, he would immediately make a comparison between the two. There really is no substitute for the sometimes subtle, often whiplash-inducing insights you get when you visit a place you only saw in photos and DVDs! I was also perversely delighted to see that I had almost perfectly imagined a part of the shore near the crag as being full of huge rocks. Something gruesome happens to a crazy old monk in the story and I needed them there!

After the castle, we launched our plan to circumnavigate the island. We passed Satanic-looking lime kilns set into the base of the castle rock, facing the sea. The lime was mined and refined here for a few decades in the late 19th century, when there was a great demand for lime to reduce the acidity of farming soil in other parts of England. The northern shoreline is completely unlike the sandy beach near The Pilgrim’s Way—these beaches were covered with rocks that ranged in size from potatoes to soccer balls. The cold, forbidding North Sea makes you feel pretty small.

We continued along a well-worn path in the meadows above the beach, walking by sheep that blinked indifferently at us. As we got further away from the castle, the place turned into a world of sand dunes covered by tall, sharp beach grass and stunted hawthorn trees. We detoured out to this bizarre white pyramid that I later learned was used for sea navigation. We rested there and then tried to get back to the main path. This was more difficult than it sounds because the dunes, while looking fairly level, undulate wildly in places. You wear yourself out going up and down and rarely get a good look at where you’re going. The castle and white pyramid were often the only points of reference and we sometimes couldn’t see them.

We eventually crossed a partly-sandy/partly-rocky beach. When we climbed the small cliffs that surrounded it, we could see that we were heading back toward the general vicinity of the village, although it was still a long way off. We were deep in the dunes, discovering (and cursing) the many pools of water that the locals call “slacks.” Slacks necessitate much doubling back and detouring. At last, we were on a long, puddly path to the village, close to where we started—about a mile from the castle. It was about noon. We’d spent two hours wandering in the wilderness and getting very muddy boots.

We bought tea and a couple of freshly-made raspberry scones with clotted cream at the Lindisfarne Hotel and ate them at a picnic table outside. Ezz agreed to trudge down to The Pilgrim’s Way with me yet again, as it was very low tide. She sat on a big stone marker while I walked out about a fourth of the way. I trotted a little to see what the sand was like to run on—a good runner would make great time. Then we went back to the B&B where Ezz needed to take a nap. I set out for The Lindisfarne Center and wasn’t heard nor seen for another three hours.

Other guests here at the Bungalow (if you come to Lindisfarne stay here—it’s great!) told us about the Center. From the outside, it looks like a gift shop, but there’s an interactive museum you can enter for 3 pounds. The museum only had four small rooms, but they were packed with information about the natural and human history of the island. I saw three fascinating documentaries—a BBC short on the Viking raid, one on writing illuminated manuscripts in medieval times, and one on medieval bookbinding. There was also one about recent archeological digs on the island that was so long, I could only check it out in chunks.
An interactive box lets you hear local birds and identify them. I discovered that Eider ducks were here in St. Cuthbert’s time. He was apparently so fond of them, locals started calling them Cuddy Ducks (aka Cuthbert’s Ducks). They have a very spooky cry—sort of an “ooo-wooo!” sound. We heard them last evening near The Pilgrim’s Way. Nice scary sensory detail for the story.

Writers always run the risk of blowing away some fond part of their fiction when it meets fact and there was one thing I saw in the Center that could really be problematic. Although I’m not sure what the primary source is, the relics of St. Cuthbert (stored in a wooden coffin) AND the famous Lindisfarne Gospels were supposedly displayed on the chapel’s high altar all the time. Yet we know they weren’t disturbed by the Vikings during the 793 raid, despite the fact that the coffin contained a large gold cross decorated with garnets and the Gospels’ cover was decorated with gold and jewels… In my story, there is a crucial scene where Aidan and his sidekick are trapped in the undercroft of the chapel along with the relics and gospels. After much thought, I decided to leave the relics and gospels in the crypt. It made sense to me that they had to be hidden to escape being plundered. I’ll have to make apologies to whomever said they were in full view on the high altar.

I also learned that the harbor in those days was larger than today, but that didn't change anything in the story. The most significant thing I found out that WILL require some rewriting is that there seems to have been a small village on Lindisfarne in Aidan’s time. When I researched it, there were differences of opinion. The villagers provided the monastery with supplies like vellum (calfskin) and parchment (sheep or goatskin) for writing, and probably food. In my version of the things, the monastery was the only thing on the island, but I must revisit that now.

I wandered back to the Bungalow with a new book and a full brain. Ezz was watching something on BBC and ready for a walk. We made a reservation for dinner at the Anchor and Crown, then looked at where the harbor would have been a thousand years ago. We walked back down to The Pilgrim’s Way--the water was at the very peak of high tide. The paved causeway was completely submerged and all the poles covered to at least half their height. There were small breakers and some foam called spindrift coming in. For about a half hour, we watched the tide turn and recede.

Dinner was outstanding—the Anchor and Crown is not fancy, but has a nice menu. I had Glamorgan Bangers--excellent leek-and-cheese-in-breadcrumbs “sausages.” We had elderberry wine, made on the island at St. Aidan’s winery. Wonderful!
It was nearly 8:00 when we finished dinner. We took one last walk down to The Pilgrim’s Way and saw the beginning of low tide at twilight. On the way back to the Bungalow, Ezz dubbed today The Best Day Ever. I agree wholeheartedly.

We must leave in a few hours and coordinate the trip back to Berwick-on-Tweed with the train schedule back to Edinburgh. We’re hoping to visit the winery today and buy a couple bottles—one of mead, one of that elderberry wine. Lindisfarne has not disappointed in any way. Next week I’ll spend the same amount of time on the western island where another famous monastery was—Iona, home of the “mother abbey” of Lindisfarne. It should be interesting to compare Iona, off the west coast, with Lindisfarne, off the east coast. Alas, I will travel alone then—Esme’s classes start soon. I will miss her so much. She has been the gamest, most patient companion. A finer friend and offspring never drew breath.

Your inspired, awed and happy neo-Scot, Meg.

Note: Scottish Journal entries are from my 2008-2009 novel research.

18 September 2008  Esme and I arrived around 10:00 yesterday morning. I’m finally in this place that I’ve researched and dreamed about for so long. Deeply imagined things almost always disappoint when you see them in real life, but Lindisfarne has not been like that.

One of the most interesting things about Lindisfarne is how its daily rhythms are governed by the tides and how the sea keeps it relatively isolated. The island is now a nature preserve and because it’s so unspoiled, I find myself saying, “That’s where Aidan first met Elswit,” or “That’s where they swam,” without having to mentally erase modern buildings and roads. Then follows a string of observations in favor of or against what I’ve written in the story...

When we left Edinburgh, the weather was wet and gloomy—not very promising for exploring outdoors—however the closer we got to Lindisfarne, the more the sun came out; incredible luck.

The entire island is small—only about a mile east-west and a mile and a half north-south, so it’s easy to get around on foot. An added convenience is that our bed and breakfast is literally on the road to the beach where the tidal bridge to the island has been used by people for thousands of years. We visited the crossing three times yesterday to see how it looked, sounded, smelled and felt as the tide came and went. In Aidan’s time, tall posts—think telephone poles but thinner—marked The Pilgrim's Way, which was the shortest, safest way over the mud flats between the mainland village of Beal and the monastery at Lindisfarne. The Pilgrim's Way is only passable twice a day at low tide. The original poles wouldn’t have been necessary after a paved causeway was built in the 1950s but volunteers erected new ones in 1987. You can get a sense of how rapidly the tide comes in by watching the water overtake the poles, one by one. You can also see how deep the water is by gauging how much of their height remains visible. People still make pilgrimages today for spiritual practice, and I can see exactly how historical pilgrims visited--so thanks, volunteers.

Lindisfarne was founded by Celtic monks whose spirituality was ascetic and very humble—rather like the ancient desert fathers of the early church. It gradually became wealthy and famous--rich enough to attract Vikings looking for plunder. Holy Island, as Lindisfarne was later called, was an important launching point for Christian evangelism in northern England and southern Scotland. The monastery was also considered one of the greatest preserves of learning in the Dark Ages, thanks to the efforts of scribes like Aidan.

Tomorrow I’ll visit a center that has information on the Viking raid that changed Lindisfarne forever and also forms the starting point for my story. The Vikings were fatalistic, battle-loving pagans and probably felt that if able-bodied men (the monks) didn’t defend their considerable treasure (gifts from rich pilgrims, mainly) and didn’t carry arms, they were basically asking to be robbed. The surrounding Christians, who probably thought Lindisfarne was under divine protection, felt a shock of outrage and disbelief that some have compared to the aftermath of 9-11.

The year 793 is considered the dawn of the Viking Age in Europe. That year was certainly the dawn of a much different world for the monasteries, villages and ultimately the demographics of Britain. As much for my own use as for any entertainment value they might provide to my patient correspondents (that means you can ignore this part), I’ll list some things I’ve learned here so far relative to the story…

• No one really knows where the original wooden priory stood. I’m thinking of placing it on top of a small ridge near the plain where the stone abbey ruins stand and the harbor where the Vikings would have landed. I need an undercroft in my version of the priory and putting it into this rise gives me an excuse to construct one.
  
• The Pilgrim’s Way is longer than I had imagined. Should there be a little less running over it after the raid, even by such a young, healthy and lustily-motivated couple?
  
• You really can see lights (in my case, car headlights; in Aidan’s case, firelight) on the mainland from the beach at high tide.
  
• There is a dune that looks like the place on which I have Aidan falling asleep when the prior catches him trying to run away. Yay!
  
• There are smallish rocks on it for hiding his silver…they’ll do.
  
• There was a great commotion of birds feeding just before high tide. (I had thought it would only be at low tide.)
  
• Gulls fight to land on certain of the markers in the Pilgrim's Way! There might be a dozen empty markers nearby, but they all want whatever marker some bird is perched on right now. So many people operate that way, too!
  
• The water comes in really quickly as you stand near its edge. Sometimes it’s in waves; sometimes more like a big spill seeping forward. It backed me up, step by step, in the same way I had it backing Aidan up.
  
• There really are tons of very tiny snails up on the dunes, just as I imagined.
  
• The layout of the priory ruins are quite different to the generalized early monastic layout drawings I found online and used as a guide. Again, I have quite a bit of latitude because in Aidan’s time, they would have been wooden buildings which are now lost to decay. Still, the old generally informs the new and I need to reconsider how some key rooms relate to others—especially the placement of the chapter house, guest house, dormitory and prior’s quarters. In earliest times, the monks would have lived in little daub and wattle cells or other small structures, all with thatched roofs. By Aidan’s times, the timber chapel was said to have been expanded by a prior named Finan who renamed the chapel for St. Peter and even put a lead roof on it. This is a problem for me since I have the chapel burn during the raid with the roof being the main thing blazing. Lead would melt. My hero and his sidekick have to rescue a young boy hiding in the chapel. This get more complicated if the roof is melting above your head. More thought/research needed!
  
• There is quicksand in places. Worth a creepy mention somewhere, probably during the journey of the creepy pilgrim.
  
• There may be unexploded ordinance in the dunes here from WWII. I will steer clear of that (literally when hiking and figuratively when writing—ordinance was one of the few dangers Aidan didn’t have to worry about) but it reminds you of how recently a shooting war came to England’s shores.

It’s about 7:40 AM as I write this. It will be delivered God knows when due to my internet challenges. Ezz is still sleeping in the next room. She brought Barbie, her Highland Cow puppet. She thinks she will take Barbie everywhere she goes while she’s here, similar to that garden gnome on Travelocity or whichever internet travel service that ad covers. Barbie seems delighted by this plan. At 8:30, we will consume the “breakfast” in our “bed and breakfast’ accommodations; a “full English breakfast” which Ezz cannot wait to try. I will steer clear of the bacon and sausage, not being a mammal-eater (just like the Lindisfarne monks) but I will wholeheartedly partake in everything else. Esme has lost weight during our adventures here as evidenced by her formerly tight but now baggy jeans. I may not have lost weight but I my physical condition is greatly improved, what with walking several miles a day, lugging stuff while doing it, climbing stairs and dunes… it’s all a workout like I should be doing back home. All this adventure and fun is hard work!

Today we’ll visit Lindisfarne Castle, St. Aidan’s Winery (where they make Lindisfarne Mead!) and attempt to circumnavigate as much of the island as we can. We’ll also try to walk out partway along The Pilgrims Way to get a sense of how long it takes to do that and what the terrain feels like as you get further from the beach. There are so many birds (and birders) out here—the dunes are absolutely beautiful. The village, as Ezz noted, is more relaxed and genuine-feeling than the similarly “frozen in time” village of Culross, which was a little precious by comparison. People here are very friendly and casual. Many are clearly “pensioners” like the little gaggle of older ladies who gathered on the shore yesterday afternoon to watch the tide rise. They sounded exactly like Monty Python ladies, joking and scolding each other for failing to operate the camera properly. A couple of them took off their shoes, waded in to mid-shin depth and proceeded to splash water at the others!

We’re also hoping to go to evening prayer at St. Mary’s, which stands right behind the old priory chapel, in direct architectural and sacramental alignment, meaning their altars both face east, one after the other, like train cars. Yesterday, we met Brother Damian of “A Year in the Life of an Island” documentary fame. Such a wonderful man—just like he seems in the DVD. I lit three candles before we left St. Mary’s—one for our family, one for Ezz as she remains in Britain, and one for my long-suffering story.

I spent a few hours aggressively editing the first chapter last night. Every time I am forced into a “life crisis” diversion from writing, I seem to come back to it well ahead of where I was at least in terms of the more technical aspects of writing. Put another way, I’ll look at my former efforts and say…What rubbish! (Actually I use a much stronger word, but I won’t repeat it over an unsecured network.) Still, I’d rather not have the crises and just write. I have so many stupid, but crucial things to attend to when I get back to Connecticut, but I’m trying to stay in the present. Here at Lindisfarne with its detachment, serenity and still-visible wounds from centuries of invasion, violence, greed and neglect, it’s easier to realize how little control we have in our own lives. How important it is to affirm what you really love and move on in spite of our fears. I will try to hold onto those insights. I continue to think of loved ones back home as I journey. I’m now just ten days away from my departure. Midway through this exploration, I continue to be so grateful and astonished.

Your beach-walking, spiritually moved neoScot, Meg

Note: Scottish Journal entries are from my 2008-2009 novel research.

14 September 2008  We hired a cab to transport three rolling duffle bags, a large suitcase and two pillows in plastic bags from Laura’s flat to Dalkeith Road where a little plaza called Romero Place has buildings called Fraser Court—Esme’s residence hall. We set up all that stuff and walked back to the Old Town for an international students’ welcome tea.

After that, we were anxious to finish getting Ezz’s place ready, so we went back to Poundsavers where we bought:
A small laundry basket
6 more plastic baskets of varying sizes
A drying rack
Hangers
More plates and bowls
A little mirror
A colander
Some socks (for me)

We felt quite accomplished. Laden with all this stuff, we got on a bus that was supposed to drive down Dalkeith Road. Who knew the City of Edinburgh chose this year to start laying tram tracks? We met the first snippy bus driver in our experience here… figures you would when you’re carrying half the inventory of Poundsavers. He informed Ezz that, no, the number 14 bus won't go down Dalkeith Road again until December. We got off the bus having overshot our destination and walked about a mile to get back to the dorm. On the plus side, the day was sunny so a lot of nice people were gardening and gave us directions. Ezz was lugging the laundry basket full of stuff and I was toting the drying rack and my usual pack of more-than-I-meant-to-take.

We arrived at Fraser Court and unloaded. When we were done, the room was pretty near complete, with the exception of Ezz’s internet connection which should be sorted out tomorrow. She plans to stay there tomorrow night to get to know people a little before we leave for Lindisfarne early Wednesday. The room is tiny but has a wonderful view of a lovely old sandstone house next door and that house’s trees and garden. We met her flat-mates. There’s Cathy from Hong Kong who’s also doing junior year abroad. She’s studying business and law. The other two girls are “freshers.” Abigail is from London and Jo is from Inverness.

We walked all the way back to Laura’s flat in Leith and along the way had yet another nice Italian meal even though we were hoping for Indian. We’re now watching the British version of “Antiques Road Show” on the TV and waiting for a BBC production of “Tess of the D’Urbervilles” that comes on at 9:00. Tomorrow we’re hoping to visit Craigmillar Castle which is in the direction of Ezz’s dorm but further out. We don’t want to arrive at Fraser Court much before noon since the residence halls are likely to be impaired, cranky and hungover.

After that I must find a way to amuse myself on my own until Tuesday around lunchtime… oh dear!

Diligently trying to figure out what to do without benefit of Ezz or the internet, I remain…
Your stuff-schlepping, bus-challenged neo-Scot, Meg

15 September 2008  Today was a Bank Holiday. A Large Investment Bank Collapse Day back home, but that’s another story… Bank Holidays mean weekend schedules for busses so it was a day a wonders and frustrations as we waited for busses. It all paid off in ruins and great food, however.

Craigmillar Castle was built in the 1400s and is one of the best-preserved castles in Scotland. Mary Stewart slept there; the room she might have stayed in had all the latest accoutrements, including an open-air, down-the-poop-chute-style toilet! The updraft in winter must have been fierce, but it would have kept the room… hmmm… fresh-smelling, indeed.
The place is not that easy to find, despite its huge size. You take any bus out to the New Royal Infirmary and rely on someone to know where the footpath is. Then you to hike uphill (of course!) to the castle.

It was getting close to 2:00 so we asked about local eateries. The clerk at the gift shop suggested a pub about “15 minutes down the road,” on the other side of the hill that Craigmillar stands upon. It was more like 2 or 3 miles! In the process of traversing said miles, we went from a park with a well-kept castle into a valley filled with what appeared to be Council Flats, where teenage boys managed to look menacing armed with nothing more than soccer balls.

After about 15 minutes of rushing through that neighborhood, things changed again as we approached our lunch destination—The Sheep Heid Inn on Old Church Road. This is the oldest operating pub in all of Edinburgh, founded in 1360… which we didn’t even know until we saw it on the menus. The place is a cramped, dimly-lit (light bulbs imitating candles) and crammed to the rafters with antique clocks and hunting trophies. The mid-afternoon hour meant it was pretty deserted, so we got our pick of the wing-backed chairs; all we lacked were Cuban cigars. I had some vegetable haggis (as close as I will ever get to the real thing) which was quite good. Ezz had one of the best dishes I have ever tasted. It was dilled haddock au gratin—Haddock Arbroath. My husband Coz would love the place and we decided to bring him here when we both visit our girl in mid-winter.

As I write this, it is around 8:00pm. Ezz is at her dorm room and I am back in Laura’s flat in Leith. My lovely daughter will return tomorrow after registering for classes and we will return to the city center (or “centre,” if you will) to buy our bus tickets for our stay on Lindisfarne Island. I am really excited!

Despite all our waiting-for-busses travails today, we did manage to get in our daily 5+ -mile walk, as usual. I hope Ezz has a good night in her new place. I dearly wished I had an international phone on me so I could make sure she got there safely after she and I took Number 14 busses going in opposite directions tonight. We have gotten to the point where she frets about me as much as I do about her. I felt lonesome, a bit worried for both of us, but I’m sure it will all be fine. I am absolutely exhausted, my friends, so I will leave you for the evening… good night from…

Your happy but separation-anxiety-twinged neo-Scot, Meg

16 September 2008  I spent my “loose ends” morning revising the opening of part 3 of the book (yes, again!), after which my dear daughter arrived at Laura’s flat hauling a heavy backpack. She had spent 2 hours in a long line waiting to register for her courses after asking if she could do it in advance by mail or online. The actual registration was really simple took about a minute which annoyed her further. She did get a break, though—her advisor was on hand so they quickly finished their required meeting. That had been a worry because of our impending departure for Lindisfarne early tomorrow morning.

We went to the train station to buy tickets for tomorrow and an advanced ticket for my solo trip to Iona next week. That was another incredibly long wait, but it’s all set now. Can’t believe I’ll soon bythere after years of imagining the place.

We finally ate in an Indian restaurant, which was good but a bit overpriced… well, maybe not sincewe took home our leftovers. They will make another meal when we return. Now we are watching Nigella fix—what else?—Italian food on a BBC cooking show.

That’s it, a short dispatch (all rejoice), but a writing day at last! Tomorrow we visit the place this whole idea began.

Until then, I remain your scribbling neo-Scot, Meg