No Robert Burns statues were injured in the making of this blog
by - 13:46 on 21 January 2009
To Aberfeldy on a winter Saturday with snow in the air. We’re walking in the footsteps of our famous poet Robert Burns, who was here just over 221 years ago, on one of his Highland tours. He got around Scotland quite a bit, for a penniless but talented farmer. His visit here is made more dramatic when you come upon his life-size statue, sitting now in eternal contemplation of the rippling waters and overhanging branches. On a dark winter’s day it’s faintly spooky, but in a nice way.
How often do you find a statue you can sit next to? Especially one of our own RB in the 250th anniversary of his birth. And with all this media attention, the Burns image is getting a makeover. So we thought we should make our contribution. (Besides, there was nobody around.) In fact, why don’t we start this pilgrimage thing and visit the spot to photograph him with other props this year, as a comment on 21st-century Scotland? OK, it was only a suggestion….I’ll be fine after I’ve had my coffee.
Burns’ comment on that schmaltzy maudlin dirge ‘Caledonia’. He just can’t bear to hear it again.
Burns on Health and Safety preoccupations. He has to wear this in case a birk pokes him in the eye.
Burns listen to his downloads. Note it’s on his mobile phone. He never had enough money to afford an IPod.
Anyway, though all we got was a few photos in deep winter, inspired by the lush late summer leaves, Burns got a song out of his visit here – the Birks o Aberfeldy. The tune is older than the words and was originally called the Birks o Abergeldie. Presumably this is a reference to Abergeldie Castle, near Balmoral Castle, queenie’s holiday home in Aberdeenshire. The name Abergeldie turns up in plenty of other places, including a greasy spoon café in Manchester, England, and an upmarket spa somewhere in Australia. (Isn’t Google useful?)
Birks are of course birch trees and there are still plenty to see here. Personally, I don’t think it was his very best setting of words to music– there’s an awkward interval – a fifth that leaps upwards at the end of the word ‘aberfel-deeeee’ (Stop me if I get too technical.) But, sure enough, there are quotations from the song displayed on a board overlooking the falls. And that’s a nice touch. Note to photographers: there’s also a continuous spray rising from them that will fog up your lenses on a cold day.
This is one of these places that haven’t changed much since our poet passed this way. You can still see the rocky hollow further upstream, in which he sat an enjoyed the ambience of the wild waters in the wooded gorge. It’s altogether an attractive and yet curious spot, still haunted by the spirit of the poet. Note to self: must go back in summer.
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Keep up the good work.