Edinburgh, Autumn and Football

Louise Rayner - John Knox's House, Edinburgh

A quick glance at this picture and you may think the scene has not changed much in all these years.  This picture, painted in the later 19th century, is full of life and depicts what is supposedly a normal day in the life of the great city of Edinburgh.  We see the High Street, or 'Royal Mile,' as it is known as it leads from Edinburgh Castle down to Holyrood House, has always been a bustling place.  The painting portrays the locals, with a few workers of many kinds included.  The better off by now having moved down into the 'New Town' long since, we can tell the small tenement dwellings are occupied by those standing around in the street.  None are ashamed of hanging out the window and participating in the conversation, none are ashamed of washing hanging from the windows, neither activities being seen done today.  

However, this month Edinburgh endures, sorry, welcomes, the Festival.  An orgy of high class entertainment for the paying public.  Alongside this come the 'Fringe,'  this is an orgy of artists seeking fame and fortune, alongside those from previous generations who made it here in the long forgotten past.  This comes with a plague of leaflets no-one reads, mostly scattered about the streets or pinned to any available post, also unread by passers-by

Add to this mix the Dustbin men are on strike for a week!  This means wheelie bins overflow, rubbish piles up, and none gets collected.  The tourists flooding into Edinburgh, while the locals flood out if they can, get the benefit of Brexit Britain in their face, and certainly up their nose.  An excellent idea of the Binmen to make clear what is happening in our country today, low wages, high energy bills, and Brexit failures flood the nation, and the government, in Westminster, has gone on holiday!  As I keep telling the Brexiteers, "You voted for this!"  But they refuse to accept reality.  "This is not the Brexit I voted for!" Is their cry, though there never was any other on the table.  Lies and devious politicians, backed by very rich men abroad has brought the nation to its knees.  And Brexiteers refuse to accept this.  Trains, docks, Royal Mail, and dustmen on strike, and Brexit continues to make problems.  

Boris is on holiday.

400 miles away from all this I sit watching August slowly disappear from us.  Already 22 days in and leaves are falling from the trees.  Possibly this is encouraged by the dry ground, the heat heavy upon us this year, possibly just normal Autumn approaching.  

The sun still shines, though now through much more cloud, and slowly heads towards the west.  Women take their dogs across the quite safe park, enjoying the sun while standing gossiping about their neighbours with others like minded.  The impatient dogs snuffle around the fallen leaves and sun browned grasses always finding something to keep them busy.  

The rush hour now struggles past the door, music of an awful kind emits from one, a ringing phone from another.  Rap, with a capital 'C' passes by at three miles an hour, followed by the airport bus, hydraulic brakes squealing like a crying child.  Every evening the same people, the same slow struggle towards retirement.  Others, often retired, foolishly shop at Sainsburys in time to meet the rush hour.  They have done this for several years, why?  Have they never considered an early morning or late night shop?   I suppose getting up, checking the pills, finding breakfast, walking the dog, and then it is too late for shopping.  In the evening they would not wish to miss the 'Bread & Circuses' provided for them by broadcasters dulling the brain and hindering thought.  

I avoid such TV yet find my mind is dull and thought hindered.  Having exercised, twice early last week, then twice worked in the front to clear the mess I found my self very tired and aching much from Thursday onwards.  Even today, after a trip to Tesco, my body aches.  This, I must say, has nothing to do with the money saving offer on a bottle of 'Jameson's Orange Whiskey'  that was going cheap last week in Tesco.  Irish whiskey does not just possess a wrong spelling of 'whisky,' it is also only 30%, which tempts some to drink more than they ought.  Especially when watching football.  My neighbours now know I was watching football at the weekend.  

Historic City

In another lifetime I wandered around Edinburgh looking for photographs.  Having been brought up there for around twenty or so years I discovered on the occasions I returned that there was nothing to photograph.  This is because you do not see what is all around you when you live there, it is just there!  You learn about the history at school to some degree but what is in front of the nose is more important especially when in the teen years.  The 'Castle,' the 'Royal Mile,' the 'Palace of Holyrood house' all these existed but were just there.  The same thing happened to me when spending a night in Bath, the town not the tub.  A great deal of Bath is built in similar style to Georgian Edinburgh that I did not 'see' it, it was just there!  It therefore surprised me one day to realise that Edinburgh is full of photo opportunities.  Suddenly one day I noted the architecture was different from London, the sky bluer, at least one day a month when the clouds part to let it shine,and history was and is all around!

The 'Merkat Cross' pictured at the top is historical.  In days of yore, when Scotland was as it should be independent, civic announcements were read out by the 'Herald' of the 'Lord Lyon King of Arms.' These were announcements concerning laws passed by the Scots Parliament situated on the further side of St Giles Kirk from the Merkat Cross itself.  Today Parliamentary Elections are still announced by the Herald from this Merkat Cross.  Proclamations, edicts, burnings and punishments were also carried out at the cross.  In 1565 Sir James Tarbet was tied to the cross and pelted with eggs for saying the Mass which had been banned several years before.  Murderers, rebels and outlaws were hanged, some after being broken before hand at the cross.  Life for the criminal was not very kind in those days.
This Cross is a Victorian version of the original.  That is thought to have originated in the late 1300's and stood out in the main thoroughfare, later it was moved to the side and in 1760's it was demolished.  I suspect Sir Walter Scott while not responsible for the Cross was a guide and an encourager for those who wish to keep Scotland's history alive.
The 'Lord Lyon King of Arms' still today has an important job ensuring standards regarding er, standards are kept up.  Recently several Scottish football clubs were informed that portions of their badges and crests infringed the law and were taking advice from the Lord Lyon regarding their legitimate appearance.  He is not a man to be fooled with!    
The drain seen at the side of the Close is also interesting, it would have in times past been very interesting as it would have flowed with excrement chucked out of the windows above.  As I recall the emptying of pots was done at night, the cry of 'Gardyloo' being uttered as a warning to those slushing about in the Close below.  As the closes on both sides of the High Street slope downwards the refuse would run away but not always taking everything with it.  The rich lived high above leaving the stench to those down below.  It is no wonder Scotland is more egalitarian than England and now wonder also we developed so many leading medical personnel!

It is not possible for anyone in this world not to have heard about Greyfriars Bobby, the dog who slept on his masters grave in the churchyard after he died.  So therefore I will not mention this but I can say I have been in the pub behind a couple of times, very much a student pub in the 70's, I suspect it remains so still. 

Miserable City

Aberdeen, you may not have noticed, has been awarded the 'Plook on the Plinth Carbuncle' award for the first time.  And not before time some would say.  The 'Urban Realm' magazine, no I've never heard of it either, chose Aberdeen ahead of Cumbernauld, and that says something and also East Kilbride in the west and Leven on the Fife coast.  

Aberdeen is famous for being the hub of the Scottish oil business.  The fourth of the main Scottish cities it is one of the coldest in the UK let alone Scotland.  I can assure you the cold grey mist rolling in of the sea that Sunday morning in 1968 still remains in my memory when a few young lads looked desperately for some entertainment before returning to civilisation in Edinburgh.  Aberdeen is also famous for the civic pride of Victorian days that caused them to tear down buildings, realign the main road 'Union Street' and rebuild it with Granite!  Sadly the costs were so high Aberdeen went bust!  It became the thing to joke about miserly Aberdonians, probably dating from this time.  Harry Lauder the Edinburgh singer invented a Scottish stereotype character who wore a 'tammy' on his head, carried a crooked walking stick and was incredibly miserly.  This must have been based on Aberdeen people.  

Now it is some time since I visited the place, we won by two goals to one last time I well remember, but council men are no different there than elsewhere and money talks and developers spoils even the heart of Edinburgh Scotland's magnificent capital city with modern day architecture and backhanders aplenty (allegedly!).  Aberdeen is no different.  

At least Aberdeen does produce a speciality, the 'Rowrie' a type of 'Aberdeen Roll' that is well worth buying, not that they would pay of course. 

The fans of the football club it must be said 'stand free' from the sectarian bile often found in Glasgow and follow their club with a good away support.  They remain however the most miserable outside of Glasgow however.  Never happy, always innocent, always finding fault elsewhere.  Fans of Edinburgh's glorious Heart of Midlothian would never act in such a manner, it would be unthinkable. 

Cities and towns ought to have something individualist about them but the larger shops always wish to have their own shop fronts.  When I cycled form Edinburgh to London in 1974, I was younger then, I could not help being aware that every town had the same High Street.  Often there was once some individuality but now the ground floors all looked like every other town.  Looking up we can see many differences in the buildings but on the ground cheap plastic fronts make every town a place of takeaways, opticians and newsagents, all alike, all cheapening the town.  

Side streets often reveal something original, houses from before the war show fine details, but since the financial side and the invention of plastic all has deteriorated badly.  

This town also has too many charity shops filling the High Street.  People ask what can be done but no councillor suggests lowering the rates.  I wonder why? Maybe specialist shops and the town might thrive?

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