Thursday, May 6, 1920

To-day we left Scotland and had a long R.R. ride to London. Passed through York, New Castle, etc. The East Coast seemed to be a fine, farming country.

Wednesday, May 5, 1920

We leave Edinburgh at an early hour for Ayr, the home of Burns. The morning was dark and gloomy with leaden skies. With our usual umbrella we rush about and take tram for Glasgow, change here, and off again for a 40 mile ride to the South-west to the little town of Ayr with its 25000 inhabitants. The country is not so picturesque as some sections, but we are thinking only of Burns.

“He seized his country’s lyre

With ardent grasp and strong

And made his soul of fire

Dissolve itself in song.”

Burns is to Ayr, what Shakespeare is to Stratford. His spirit seems to watch over the town and the atmosphere is full of Burns. The town looks just like the pictures, and we think of the poet’s description -

“Auld Ayr, wham neer a toon surpasses

For honest men and bonnie lasses.”

Just outside the station is the monument to Burns and all the shops are showing pictures, cards etc. and everything seems named for him or some of his characters.

Oh, how it rained and rained! But we just would not allow the weather to spoil our day. We visited the Tam O’Shanter Inn, with its dingy sign hanging above, which is claimed to be the identical place immortalized by the poet, in the story he tells of Tam’s merry night spent there. The we drove to Alloway Kirk - a half ruin, with ivy clinging to it, quiet, dignified and picturesque, and we tried to imagine the windows all ablaze and witches dancing inside, as the tipsy brain of Tam saw it on that midnight ride, through a terrible thunder storm, when he stopped his gray mare to look. Alloway Kirk is only a short distance from the “Banks and braes of Bonny Doon,” and the “auld brig” across the Doon over which Tam O’Shanter made his wild flight on the gray mare Maggie, is the center of interest, and only a little further on. The center of the stream is where the gray mare lost her tail so closely were they pursued by the witches. As witches are not supposed to be able to cross water, they had a tail for a trophy.

The real story of “Tam O’Shanter” is an interesting one and shows the power of Burns’s pen and imagination. “Tam O’Shanter was a Scotchman named Douglas Graham who was in the habit of coming home late on market days, tipsy, and receiving a sound scolding from his wife, who sat up “nursing her wrath to keep it warm.” On the night of this story, he expected to receive a double portion of wrath for he had lost all his money that day. Fortunately for him, his wife was superstitious and believed in witches etc. and it occurred to “Tam” to manufacture this story and tell her. She believed it and “Tam” was sent to bed without the scolding. And Burns has been able to make the whole world believe it ever since. We are told that he wrote the entire poem in one day. And the “Twa Brigs”! who has not heard of them or read the poem? How we wished it would not rain and that we could sit down in a shady nook on the banks of “Bonny Doon” and read some of the Burns poems, perhaps the one in the world-famous song, when he tells of his love disappointment.

“Ye flowery banks O’Bonny Doon

How can you bloom sae fair?

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu’ O’care?”

The old home is a low stone house, with thatched roof, stone floor, few little windows, open fireplace, a bed built in a little recess, old clock, dishes, chairs etc. and a stable for cows all under one roof. The grounds are beautiful. The Museum contains many pictures, early manuscripts, post cards and interesting relics.

At the early age of 37, Burns life went out, from too much drink - leaving a wife and five children, the sixth being born after his death. In the Museum was a local newspaper giving this account of his death and calling upon the public for funds to help care for the wife and orphaned children.

When we returned to Ayr we strolled through the streets and noted many quaint things. Went into a bake-shop to investigate some peculiar looking cakes I saw and they proved to be cold pancakes there for sale! Nearly all the shops were closed for it was a half holiday. Showers with an occasional burst of sunshine, continued through all the afternoon. We had a long wait in Ayr for dinner.

On our return to Edinburgh we met a very agreeable man in our compartment - a University Professor, who kindly told us much that we wanted to know about Scotland, customs etc., etc. He said they made brooms of the heather and sheep and goats do not care to eat it.

Tuesday, May 4, 1920

Am not equal to writing up this day. It has meant more to me than any day of our tour. We left Edinburgh by tram at 8-31, crossed Firth of Forth bridge, to Stirling, changed cars here for Callendar, arriving at 10-38. Charabancs were waiting which took us to the Trossach’s Hotel situated upon the estate belonging to Drummond Castle. Here we were upon historic ground, indeed, that had to do with our own family history, for the Clan Drummond had their part in the old heroic days of Scotland. Stirling was the birthplace and early home of that remarkable personality - Henry Drummond who, through the influence of Dwight L. Moody, became such a power with young people. He is best remembered by the address he delivered to the students at Northfield, Mass “Love, the Greatest Thing in the World.” We had scarcely time to do justice to the lunch served us so rushed were we to reach the Steamer on schedule time and enjoy the famous trip through the Trossachs.

We found the steamer, Sir Walter Scott, waiting to carry us across Loch Katrine. It was such a beautiful ride. We were the first tourists that had come through this pass in six years and the Captain smiled his hearty welcome, as he pointed out to us the pass of the McGregors, Ellen’s Isle, the Silver Strand and other places mentioned in Scott’s Lady of the Lake. Rob Roy and his wife Helen and many things we have read about this section always seemed so mythical, but now they seem very real.

Reaching Stronachlacher, we coach to Inversnaid and I enjoyed a seat by they liveried driver, who smiled at our accent when the party attempted to sing Scotch airs, but he was a good talker and told us many things of interest.

The ride on the Prince Edward down Loch Lomond to Ballach Pier was equally interesting. The day was beautiful, scenery fine, and the background historical. We visit, promenade, take pictures and sing. We enjoyed the splendid dinner served on boat.

We will always carry with us the memory of the Highlands, the glens, Stately Ben Lomond, and the entire romantic and beautiful region made doubly so by Scott. It is no longer traditional geography, but very, very real, and we call to mind the fierce struggles of old border warfare in which England and Scotland shivered lances for long years.

Our great disappointment was, that it was too early to see the heather in bloom - only now and then could we catch a glimpse of the famous blossoms.

From Ballach Pier we took train for Glasgow. We were interested in seeing the funny black-faced sheep with their long tails, the Highland cows with their furry coats, the hillsides covered with heather, the strange birds, the blooming cowslips and primroses and always the snow-capped mountains in sight. Wild deer and goats live in the mountains and the goats are never killed. There is a story that once Robert Bruce and his men were caught in the mountains in a heavy snow storm and the goats driven down to the valley laid down beside the men and kept them warm. Then the edict went forth that they must never be killed.

We had a fall of 400 ft., in descending from the mountain to the boat landing. We had one hour’s wait in Glasgow, before our train was due to take us back to Edinburgh - Glasgow is a commercial city and unlike Edinburgh, London or other cities. I can hardly describe the difference. The Scots are also a nation of workers and the national energy is in the blood, and they give you the impression that they are terribly in earnest.

We are interested in Glasgow, for families of the Drummonds live there.

“A city dull and somewhat plain of face

Yet some there are, who with a lover’s eye

Are quick to mark an unexpected grace

Where strangers would indifferent, pass by.

May it be yours for a brief spell to share

Old Glasgow’s smiles - to pierce the veil of day

That screens her charms from hurried eyes - to bear

The best of her in memory away!”

Images (these go with the past few entries)

Monday, May 3, 1920

Cold and windy and a beating rain. We are learning that in Scotland too, one must wear a smile that does not wash off. At 9-15 we had a charabanc ride over the city. Had an interesting ride to the Firth of Forth to see the great bridge which is a splendid feat of engineering work. Then to Holyrood Palace, the official home of the King when in Scotland and so closely associated with Mary, Queen of Scots.

We took up a collection and bought a wreath for Lincoln’s monument and several went up and had a service. In the afternoon we shopped and enjoyed the stores. Bought Scotch pencils (covered with the plaid) enough for all the Y.P.B. officers and Supts. to take them as Souvenirs. We were happy to find the Drummond post cards, which made us feel we were on the natural heath of our forefathers.

Edinburgh is a beautiful city called the Athens of Scotland. Princess Street is considered one of the finest in the world. Such a contrast here with the streets of London! London has no color, is somber and dignified and the Scotch love their plaids and bright color - There is a buoyancy and brightness with them that you do not find with the English.

We are still wishing for fire. If we could return to our hotel here and find a warm room and be able to throw off our weariness with a hot bath we would be happy. It is worse here even than in England, for only a doctor’s prescription can secure a fire here, on account of the scarcity of fuel.

Sunday, May 2, 1920

A rainy morning but up early to go out sight seeing and get some impressions of Edinburgh before church time. Our party broke up into little groups, and one could scarcely go any direction very far without meeting some of our party coming or going. For service we went to St. Giles Church (John Knox church, Presbyterian) saw his statue and a memorial to Robert Louis Stevenson. Saw John Knox’s grave which is in the street. From there we walked to what is known as the Grey friars church or church of the Covenanters and in the yard saw the stone where the Covenanters opened a blood vessel in their wrists and signed a covenant in their own blood, rather than give up their faith and become a part of the Church of England.

After lunch the sun was shining and we walked up to the Castle, which towers above the city and adds much to its charm. Many soldiers are stationed here and we watched them marching about, some on guard duty, others strolling about, but all handsome and dignified looking in their plaids and tartans. We entered into conversation with some of them and found them very willing to answer questions. We were invited to come again on Tuesday when we would be permitted to see the Crown jewels. As we watched them, could easily see why the Germans during the late war, called them the “Ladies from Hell”.

In the evening we went to hear the story of the Pilgrim Fathers shown by slides and pictures. The pictures were good but the speaker poor.

Saturday, May 1, 1920

Up early, wandered through the grounds for an hour before breakfast and wrote two letters before leaving. The view and the place is so entrancing that we feel like Gray one time when he was leaving Keswick, when he said he “had almost a mind to have gone back again.” Our first stop, after boarding tram, was at Penrith, the early home and first school of Wordsworth. There is also an old castle ruin here. We found a very comfortable waiting room at the station with a fire - think of it!, the first we have seen. At Carlisle Eng. we enjoyed lunch at the station. We seem to be always hungry and almost anything tastes good. Passed through Melrose on to Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott. Any lover of Scott will have his enthusiasm increased ten fold by a pilgrimage through this section that he has immortalized in song, romance, and history. Abbotsford contains 1500 acres and cost Scott his life in sacrifice and hard work to pay for the castle he had built. His publishers, who held much of his funds, failed, and Scott felt honor bound to make good the loss. The library contains 20000 volumes. A great grand-daughter (who died six weeks ago) owned the place and her son now comes in as heir. Abbotsford faces the river Tweed. Probably there is as fine a collection of antiques and curies as can be found anywhere at Abbotsford, the most of them gathered by Scott himself in his wide travels. Perhaps in the way of curies, nothing interested me so much as the beautifully carved, old antique chest of Ginevra, which we had read about in our school-days. When the guide was showing us this chest and telling the story, under my breath I repeated the poem which came to me as fresh as if only yesterday I had read it at school.

“If ever you should come to Modena, stop at the palace near the Regio gate, dwelt in of old by one of the Donati - Enter the house and look upon a picture there.

She was an only child, her name Ginevra.

The joy, the pride of an indulgent father,

And in her fifteenth year became a bride,

Marrying an only son, Francesco Dona,

Her playmate from her birth and her first love.

There then had she found a grave:

Within that chest had she concealed herself,

Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy

When a Spring lock, that lay in ambush there,

Fastened her down forever.”

There were hundreds of historical and interesting relics. Rob Roy’s purse, Napoleon’s blotter and cloak clasps, the Mother of Pearl cross, which Mary Queen of Scotts carried on her way to execution, etc. The walls and cases of the library are of Sandal wood and handsome chairs and desk presented by King George IV are here. I sat in the chair at the desk lost in thought, while the guide talked on. The place seemed so sacred - too much so for speech.

From Abbotsford we went back to Melrose to visit the Abbey. It needs a more versatile pen than mine to describe Melrose Abbey, now in ruins. We had a very good guide who quoted much from Scott’s “Lay of the last Minstrel” and told what many selections were taken from or had reference to, - some of the quotations seemed strangely familiar, for example - “Breathes there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, “This is my own, my native land!” And the heart of Bruce lies buried here We remembered that it was the wish of Bruce that his heart might be taken to Palestine and the story of the attempt to take it there.

Scott tells us “Those who would view fair Melrose aright, must visit it by the pale moonlight.” This was not our privilege but we could imagine the soft evening lights though the rose window and were filled with thoughts we cannot express.

Scotland looks different from England. The houses are low with fewer flowers and there are no stone fences. Sheep and baby lambs are on every hillside. The Scotch have fine, sturdy faces. Everything Scotch appeals to me. We have steps to get in and out of the charabanc, which are a great convenience. Now we are trying to remember Scotch history and Scotch ballads. Of the latter, - one of the first to come to mind is Annie Laurie, and the days of “Auld Lang Syne.” To many of us, Annie Laurie had meant nothing but an ideal, but we are told that she is real and that in old Maxwelton House on the river Cairn in Dumfrieshire, near where we passed to-day, hangs the portrait of the woman, whose charm the world has been singing for nearly a century. Perhaps to every “swain” who has hummed the melody so familiar, has come a separate vision of loveliness. Not far from Maxwelton was the estate of the Douglasses of Fingland. Wm. Douglass and Annie Laurie as children, romped over the banks of the Cairn. As they grew older, William wooed his childhood playmate and when Annie was a lass of 17 they plighted their troth on the braes of Maxwelton. The stories differ as to why Annie broke the engagement, to marry a certain Alexander Fergueson of Draigdarrach. I have already met enough Scotch people to know that even with the aid of phonetic spelling, I cannot indicate the Scotch pronunciations, much less speak them.

It has been said that Lowland Scotland as a distinct nationality, came in with two warriors (William Wallace and Robert Bruce) and went out with two Bards (Robert Burns and Walter Scott)- We are looking forward with intense pleasure to a closer knowledge of this interesting little country. Our train speeded on to Edinburgh which we reached at 7, & a good supper.