It was a rather complex set of influences which led to my experiences abroad, on the first time that I have traveled overseas. Having been severely limited in my social and experiential life by the developmental disability Asperger Syndrome, I had never considered that I might be able to travel to the places I dreamed of seeing since I was a child. In the spring of 2012 I changed my program at UNCW to a double-major in Creative Writing and English, and learned about the Wentworth Fellowship, which enabled English majors and minors to travel abroad on a research trip. Suddenly, I felt that it was time to confront my limitations and see if I could overcome them once again, as I have done many times already; simply by starting college, finishing two two-year degrees, transferring to UNCW, and achieving academic success beyond anything I had imagined myself capable of, I had proved that I could do just about anything I set my mind to.
I applied for the Wentworth Fellowship, and was thrilled
when my plan to go to Scotland to research the locales in which so many famous
writers had lived, traveled, and been influenced by was approved for funding by
the Wentworth Committee. I was still quite nervous about traveling so far
alone, despite extensive planning. So when I discovered that there was an
anthropology course on Ancient Britain and Ireland being offered for the spring
semester—which would complete another requirement towards my degree—I knew that
it would be the perfect complement to my Wentworth journey. The two-week
anthropology class trip would take me to the UK with my class, allowing me to
become used to traveling in a strange place while in the company of people I
was familiar with. Then I would continue on to Scotland alone, but with the
experience of two airplane flights, three airports, several hotels, and being
driven around England and Ireland on the wrong side of the road while observing
and learning the rules of the road in the UK.
All of my
planning really worked well. If any difficulties were encountered during the
first two weeks of the trip I had the advice and input of the others in my
group to see me through. Everything seemed quite easy when there were tour
guides and drivers to make the arrangements and see us to where we needed to
be. It did feel a little constrained during this first stage of my journey,
having to function as a group and not having the freedom to do things at my own
pace, but it all went quite easily overall. For the most part, however, this
early stage of the trip prepared me for what was to come, and by the time I
reached Scotland, I was ready and eager to strike out on my own.
Rather than selecting one author,
school, or movement to focus on during my exploration of Scotland from a
literary perspective, I choose to look at the influences which affected so many
writers throughout Scotland’s history. Many authors, poets, and literati have
written about and been influenced by the culture, people, and landscapes of
Scotland through the centuries. From ancient Romans to Renaissance Britons to
modern Scotsmen and women, there is an extensive history of literary efforts
relating to Scotland. Children’s author JM Barrie was renowned for his Peter
Pan books; Robert Burns is one of the most famous and prolific of Scots poets;
the mainstream fiction of Iain Banks and the science fiction of his alter ego
Iain M. Banks were in the news recently following the author’s death. Samuel
Johnson, William Wordsworth, Anne Bannerman, Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis
Stevenson, Anne Grant, Constance Gordon-Cumming, Kenneth Grahame, Nigel
Tranter, Dorothy Dunnett, George MacDonald, James Herriot, Grace Elliott, Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle, and many others were native Scots writers, or traveled in
Scotland and were inspired by her landscape, history, and people.
Robert
Louis Stevenson wrote his adventure fiction about characters typical of his
time and place. The young Scots boy who was swept up in the activities of
seafarers and pirates, whose mother remained behind in a waterfront town
inspired by those common in the Scotland of Stevenson’s time, could have been
any boy raised in that country, with his yearning for something exciting in his
life, for a way out of poverty, for a life which would allow him to care for
his widowed mother; all of these influences would have been common to any
number of Scottish boys in the 1700s.
Robert
Burns, hardworking farmer and poet, wrote about the people and things which he
saw around him:
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me, in decency and order, O,
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne’er a farthing,
O,
For without an honest, manly heart no man was worth
regarding, O…
From “My Father Was a Farmer” 1782
Renowned for using the vernacular of the native Lowland Scots
speaker, Burns became the mouthpiece of his people, speaking for the common
Scotsman and woman in a way which sang in their hearts. But the whole of
Scotland was fodder for his inspiration, not just the people:
Edina! Scotland’s darling seat!
All hail the palaces and tow’rs…
From marking wildly-scattered flow’rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I strayed,
And singing, lone, the ling’ring hours,
I sheltered in thy honour’d shade…
From “An Address to Edinburgh” 1786
The historic ruins of palace and tower, abbey and cairn and
stone circle, filled the landscape of Burns’ poetry with their stony strength;
the plethora of wildflowers which decorated the byways and fields throughout
the year added color to his word-paintings; the extensive and essential
waterways—rivers, burns, lochs, still pools—flowed through the places he wrote
about and lived in. One cannot separate the landscape from the people, or the
poet from the landscape.
Dorothy
Dunnett is one of many authors who drew upon the history and historical figures
of Scotland to write their novels. In Dunnett’s case these novels are
classified as Fiction; among those by other authors, Scottish by birth and
otherwise, are novels classified as Historical Fiction, Romance, Young Adult,
Speculative, and many more. Dunnett’s The
Game of Kings, from the Lymond Chronicles series, combines true history (if
such a thing exists) with fictionalized characters, telling a tale of intrigue,
invasion, and the fight for freedom in 1547 Lowland and mid-Highlands Scotland:
In the Castle of Midculter, close to the River Clyde in the
southwest lowlands of Scotland, the Dowager Lady Culter had reared three
children of whom the youngest, Eloise, died at school in her teens. The two
boys remaining were brought up variously in France and Scotland: she had taught
them Latin, French, philosophy and rhetoric, hunting, hawking, riding and
archery, and the art of killing neatly with the sword. When her husband died,
violently, in the field the elder boy Richard became third Baron Culter, and
Francis his brother received the heir’s title of Master of Culter as well as
taking name from his own lands of Lymond.
While not exclusively an Scottish author’s prerogative to
adapt, adopt, and make use of true historical facts and figures to create works
of fiction, it seems especially poignant to read such works knowing that the
authors have walked on the land, breathed the air, and felt the Highland rain
on their faces, as I myself have now done. There is an unbreakable connection
between the history, heritage, landscape, and environment of the country, and
the writers it has produced throughout the centuries.
To have
walked upon the land, touched the stones of ruined towers, dipped my hand into
the cold clear flow of the rivers, and to be able to connect these things with
writers who have gone before me, was an amazing gift.
My trip
through Scotland began on the west coast, in Ayrshire. In keeping with my plan
for getting the most out of this trip, covering all of my areas of interest,
staying as long as I possibly could, and seeing everything possible because I
didn’t know if I would ever get back there again, I had prepared an extensive itinerary.
I planned to stay no more than two days in any one area, so as to see as much
as I could of the country I had always felt an affinity for. I had three major
areas of concentration as far as what I wanted to see: sites with a literary
connection, where an author had lived, written, or travelled; archaeological
sites from the Neolithic, Stone Age, and Bronze Age; and sites with a
genealogical connection, where an ancestor had been born, died, visited, or
lived. In addition to these three, I also wanted to see native wildlife
wherever possible.
From
Ayrshire on the west coast, my itinerary took me through the Inner Hebrides
Islands of Arran, the Kintyre Peninsula, Islay, and back to the mainland at
Oban; then on to the Isle of Mull, Coll, and then to the Ardnamurchan
Peninsula. Into the Lower Highlands for the first time I drove from Kilchoan to
Mallaig, and on to the Isle of Skye. From Skye I continued on to the Outer
Hebrides—or the Western Isles—of North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist, Berneray,
Harris, and Lewis, and back to northwest Scotland at Ullapool. From there my
journey took me through the Highlands of Easter Ross, Wester Ross, past
Inverness, and through the Cairngorms National Park. I spent a day exploring
the east coast from Dundee in the south to Aberdeen in the north, then headed
west again to Loch Tay, Loch Lomond, Argyll and Bute, before flying home from
Glasgow.
There were many sites of archaeological
significance which I visited during my time in Scotland. Stone circles abound
throughout the islands and mainland; although smaller in scale than
Stonehenge—which I visited with my class in England—they were very impressive
when considering the enormous physical effort it took to construct them as well
as the depth of spiritual belief which the builders must have possessed.
Machrie Moor stone circle was the first one I visited, on the Isle of Arran,
and as a part of an extensive ritual landscape which comprised multiple stone
circles, avenues, and burial cairns, it was quite impressive. Knowing that my
ancestors had come from the islands, and may well have been among those who
built or visited the landscape, it brought tears to my eyes when I was able to
place my hands on the sunwarmed face of the very stones which my forebears may
have put in place 5000 years ago.
On the Isle of Lewis I crossed the moor
to walk among the stone circles of Callanish III and Callanish II, then drove
to the visitor center at Callanish I. While C. III and C. II were impressive,
C. I was stunning its complexity and the extent of its construction; I’m glad
that I saw it last, so that it didn’t subtract from the impact of C. III and C.
II. Callanish I was even more impressive than Stonehenge in my eyes, with
dolmen-lined double avenues leading away from the central circle in the four
directions of the compass, and an exposed burial cairn within the center circle.
Also on the Isle of Lewis I went to Dun
Carloway Broch, a round tower-like structure of dry-stone construction, one of
the best-preserved brochs in lower Scotland. While portions of the walls had
fallen over the last 2000 years, enough remains that I could climb the stairs
between the walls a fair distance, duck inside the small storage rooms, and
envision what life must have been like for the ancient inhabitants.
There were many other sites along my
path; while many were on my itinerary I also found many signposted as I was
driving which were welcome surprises. Pictographic stones which bore extensive
carvings, burial cairns, ancient roundhouses, Pictish carved stones, a Viking
mill reconstruction, a Blackhouse village, and many other sites from the Stone
Age, Neolithic, Bronze Age, Iron Age, and up through the first millennium all
lay along my route and it was thrilling to be able to be a part of the
landscape which my ancestors lived in. It is very impressive to realize that in
Scotland the past lives alongside the present, is cherished, recognized, and
taught as a valued part of the history and environment.
Animals are
everywhere in Scotland, whether pets, domesticated farm animals, or wildlife. I
fell in love with the shaggy Highland cows, and saw many of them throughout the
islands.
Throughout
Scotland there are many animal and bird reserves and rescues, where one can
visit and see seals, otters, deer, birds, and many other animals. One of the experiences
which I had really looked forward to—and enjoyed the most—was taking a
seal-boat tour of the loch from Armadale Castle. I was the only one in the
boat, and the boatman took me around the rocky outcroppings to see the seals
from quite close, about twenty feet away, while taking pictures of them by the
hundreds. Unfortunately, my visit was just before birthing-season—three weeks
in June each year when the pups are born—but it was clear to see that many of
the females were quite pregnant and would whelp any day.
I saw the
pheasant above while driving away from a castle ruin; I turned around and went
back to park beside the road and jump out with camera in hand. I got as close
as I thought I could without frightening it away, and it proceeded to walk
right up and past about two feet away from where I was standing on the side of
the road. It was one of many gifts which my time in Scotland brought me, and
one which I will always cherish.
There was
also a peacock who I fed bits of oatcake to at Edzell Castle, a herd of Sika
deer who grabbed the paper bag of feed from my hands at the Scottish Deer
Centre near Dundee, a black-and-white seabird called an Oystercatcher who
talked to me for hours where I camped for the night on the shore of the Kintyre
Peninsula at Skipness, and the curly-horned sheep which my landlady in Dufftown
took me to see on the way to a Thursday-evening ceilidh in Dufftown.
And the
sheep! Yes, there were sheep—everywhere! Sometimes they were fenced in pastures,
but as often as not they roamed freely along the roads, across the grounds of
ruined castles, around archaeological sites, throughout the villages—truly
free-range sheep! Driving could be difficult when there were sheep and their
lambs darting across the road with little warning, but I never saw one that had
been struck by a car. When camping at night in several different places I had
sheep milling around my car. And it was necessary to watch carefully each
footstep lest one landed in a big puddle of fresh manure.
I had grown
up knowing that my paternal grandmother’s family had come from Greenock,
Scotland to Ontario, Canada in the 1800s; while doing further genealogical
research on an online site I discovered that more of my father’s family had
come from England, while my mother’s family—which I thought were English—had
come from Scotland and Ireland. While planning my journey I found the castles
and ruins in each place I planned to visit, and checked the families who
inhabited them against the genealogy website to see if I had a relation among
those who lived in a particular castle or manor. In this way I discovered that
my mother’s father’s family had extensive branches weaving throughout the noble
and royal houses of Scotland, and was able to plan my sightseeing to take in
many of the places where they had lived and died.
It was an
amazing experience to be able to walk in the footsteps of my forebears,
great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, great-aunts and great-uncles, and
distant cousins many times removed. I visited the ruins of a castle on a tiny
island in the middle of loch where the Lords of the Isles held court centuries
ago, where my many-times-great-grandparents had lived and died, given birth and
raised their children, picked flowers to decorate their halls and practiced
swordplay and eaten meals prepared from the produce of their lands. I visited
castle ruins where my third cousin sixteen times removed, Mary I, Queen of
Scots, had visited on her royal progresses around the countryside. And I took a
very long walk over the side of Tigh Righ Beag mountain one day on the Isle of
Arran to find the King’s Cave, where Robert the Bruce, my 18th great-grandfather, had hidden while waiting
to return to the fight for Scotland’s throne. I touched a rock where Robert the
Bruce may very well have sat in the dampness of the cave, and walked across the
stony floor of the cave where he would have lain wrapped in his woolen plaid as
he slept through the long nights.
An enormous
challenge for me has always been interacting with strangers, but it was one I
was determined to overcome on this trip. I was going to a new place, where no
one knew who I was or what had defined my life to this point, and I decided to
act like the person I wanted to be. This proved to be easier than I expected,
as everyone I met was so friendly and kind.
I was often
amazed by how accepting people were of this stranger in their midst, and of how
ignorant she was of things which were second nature to the Scottish people. I
was always welcomed warmly into any situation and found it quite easy to speak
with people, which is highly unusual for me. Alternatively, if I didn’t feel
like interacting directly with anyone, I never felt pressured and was free to
be by myself and undisturbed. And I was never at a loss for a topic of
conversation, as everyone I spoke with was interested in my reasons for being
in Scotland, and in what I was seeing, doing, and planned to do.
My journey
through England, Ireland, and Scotland, my journey through college and the
University of North Carolina, and my journey through my life, have been amazing
gifts which I never would have envisioned as being given to me—or, indeed, have
envisioned my being worthy of them. Yet some cosmic accident decided that I
should have these gifts, with the help and support of the Wentworth Fellowship and
the amazing people who have touched my life. . My sincere thanks go to Mr. Green,
who finances this excellent program, as well as all of the amazing professors
in the English Department who guide students on their explorations of the
world. Not only have I accumulated knowledge, experiences, and memories to
cherish, I have also discovered an enormous well of inspiration for my own
writing projects, a well into which I will dip my bucket many times throughout
the years to come.
I was looking for Study Immigration Consultants in Chandigarh and now I am here. Although it is less relevant, but I really enjoyed reading about this natural and beautiful place.
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