Tide in the affairs of men

Pittulie Castle.

 When Grey Granite left Scotland the castle was surrounded by fields of ripe grain, transformed  in her absence to stubble and ploughed land.

Grey Granite has been on an extraordinary, surreal expedition to London and France. This took her outside her comfort zone in many spheres; emotional, linguistic, social, geographic, climatic and cultural. So sudden and precipitous was the journey that only on her return was she able to work out just where in France she had been.(The Charante) The expedition was made bearable by the kindness of friends in London and beautiful surroundings and gracious, highly cultured hosts in France. A pictorial record will appear in due course.

On her return to the familiarity of Buchan, Grey Granite was relieved to experience bearable temperatures and to be back within sight and sound of the sea.

Walking past Pittulie Castle,she sensed that she had left Scotland in summer and returned in autumn. This seemed an apposite metaphor for the catastrophe which gave rise to this journey, 'all having been thrown into confusion and disarray.'

Harvest time - already

Barley bales at Easter Cardno

The injustice of it -summer having only just begun but the nights are perceptibly drawing in and today we saw several cut fields of barley.

Translating the British 2012

Grey Granite freely admits to having minimal interest in sport, and only a passing interest in 2012, but felt that this poem brilliantly captures what she perceives to be the spirit of  the London Olympics.  Grey Granite posts this poem in honour of Dr Anne who helped to make 2012 happen.

Translating the British, 2012

by Carol Ann Duffy

A summer of rain, then a gap in the clouds

and The Queen jumped from the sky

to the cheering crowds.

               We speak Shakespeare here,

a hundred tongues, one-voiced; the moon bronze or silver,

sun gold, from Cardiff to Edinburgh

               by way of London Town,

on the Giant's Causeway;

we say we want to be who we truly are,

now, we roar it. Welcome to us.

We've had our pockets picked,

               the soft, white hands of bankers,

bold as brass, filching our gold, our silver;

we want it back.

We are Mo Farah lifting the 10,000 metres gold.

We want new running-tracks in his name.

For Jessica Ennis, the same; for the Brownlee brothers,

Rutherford, Ohuruogu, Whitlock, Tweddle,

for every medal earned,

we want school playing-fields returned.

Enough of the soundbite abstract nouns,

austerity, policy, legacy, of tightening metaphorical belts;

we got on our real bikes,

for we are Bradley Wiggins,

               side-burned, Mod, god;

we are Sir Chris Hoy,

Laura Trott, Victoria Pendleton, Kenny, Hindes,

Clancy, Burke, Kennaugh and Geraint Thomas, 

               Olympian names.

We want more cycle lanes.

               Or we saddled our steed,

or we paddled our own canoe,

or we rowed in an eight or a four or a two;

our names, Glover and Stanning; Baillie and Stott;

Adlington, Ainslie, Wilson, Murray,

               Valegro (Dujardin's horse).

We saw what we did. We are Nicola Adams and Jade Jones,

bring on the fighting kids.

               We sense new weather.

We are on our marks. We are all in this together.

Wildgoose chase to Fetterangus

Grey Granite was mortified, having inadvertently taken her friend T on a wild goose chase of an expedition. The failure of our first objective led us to Fetterangus kirkyard to hunt what has been described as the 'angels in kilts' gravestone.

 The kirkyard, which is situated amidst fields to the west of the village, has an unusual, imposing gateway which includes the war memorial for the district

This badly weathered Pict'ish symbol stone is on the inside of the kirkyard dyke just to the left of the gate. The symbol stone is a block of whinstone just over 1m high and was unearthed in 1876. According to the RCAHMS record  the remains of a scroll, a mirror case and the triple disc with cross bar symbol were discernible in 1985. Grey Granite and T. were unable to discern them with any degree of confidence.

Ruins of the 12th century chapel just inside the kirkyard.

The rectangular chapel measures about 10m x4m and is thought to have originated as a cell frequented by St Fergus. The rubble walls are about 1m high and almost completely covered in ivy.

The chapel is now used as a burial enclosure,  the font is visible at the foot of the graveslab.

This is thought to be the chapel font, it is claimed that the water never disappears

The Kirkyard is attractively set about with yews and surrounded by a substantial dyke, stoutly buttressed on the outside. This dyke  was rebuilt by public subscription in 1877.

Looking through two of the yew trees over towards Drinnie's Wood and the Observatory

We eventually found the graveslab we were looking for nestling, partly concealed by ivy,  behind the chapel. The ivy has protected the carving which includes two angels of the resurrection, the date 1745, a pair of hour glasses and a roundel with the initials JW and AG. The date 1745 is interesting since, as will be seen below, the inscription on the stone does not appear to record a death in that year. 

The angels have very distinct features but we eventually concluded that they are wearing feathery skirts rather than kilts, thus preserving Peathill's claim to have the only kilted angels in the North East. The very feint lettering between the angels reads, 'The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised'.

Later Grey Granite checked out the full inscription in The Kirkyard of Fetterangus by J Shearer, published by Aberdeen and North East Scotland Family History Society, and found that our wild goose chase had ended appropriately. The inscription reads:

'Here lyes waiting a glorious Resurrection the corpse of Anna Gordon spous to John Wildgoos in Hythy died 23 April 1736 aged 51 John Wildgoos her husband died 12 January 1752 aged 76 Also James Mary William and Jannet Wildgoo's their children.' (Sic)

Greening The Broch

A delightful planting of annuals on the corner of Queens Road  and Alexandra Terrace brightens up a drab Fraserburgh morning.

This is one of several drifts of annuals which has sprung up in recent days, transforming otherwise dull areas of the Broch. On sunny days the plantings are alive with butterflies and other insects. Grey Granite applauds the imagination of the horticultural services department of the council.