Scottish holiday- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2014

Scottish holiday- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2014

Ireland has lost much of that old potency for nostalgia; the sheer wilderness, an island that once consisted of two-thirds of the land mass in mighty deciduous oak forests, mountain ash and yew filled with wolves and Golden eagles and even brown bears- long, long ago. Ireland was at times a land of hopeless rebellion, noble struggle, at times a call for romantic identity in both the epoch of the story and the saga for political struggle. It was indeed the land of saints and scholars and once a remote outpost from the Roman conquerors of Europe.

I have found such a romanticism to be much more openly potent and alive in the lands, legends and the more well preserved fauna that inhabit the Scottish landscapes- both highland and lowland alike. However I have heard that the once numerous and well loved Caledonian Pines are but an eighth of what they once were in number all over the Highlands of Scotland.

Me and my family travelled from Edinburgh up through Stirling and onto the A9 into Perthshire, where on either side one can view the landscapes in summer filled with wheat and golden barley fields fringed by rugged and pot-marked mountains in the distance. Upon the old road to Comrie I was hit by the immensity of the scene...it is an unspoiled Eden filled with the heather that makes the mountain purple, with huge sloping mountains and our car meandered through the narrow mouth of the giants pass, where I was filled with sheer adulation at the sight of a Red Kite -a reintroduced species of the Perthshire region of Scotland- with its brown and stripped plumage, its curved beak and fan shaped tail it was and is unmistakeable to see in proper view.

The drive to be honest through the area, has been one of my favorite short journeys for the sheer surprise that it struck in me...it reminds me of Connemara in its best light...but even so it is more ancient, mythical, more awe-inspiring for the long dormant child to start his knocking on your chest, once he starts he has to be let out or else something will be lost and the dull witted adult will end up getting his own way again! Such scenery deserves imagination, exultation, music, memory, delight and association, poetry to be canonised in verse, celebrated, like a life is celebrated and shared with on special and momentous occasions.

 The small town of Comrie is a postcard perfect place for quiet, for quaint pubs and old shops, filled with nostalgia, tidy- as it has indeed won the tidy towns competition- but many of the houses are decorated with floral exhibits at each window, with a handsome bridge that separates each section of the village, with a beautiful church on the far side that reminds me of  Swiss Presbyterian Kirk at the base of the mountains.
We later went to Lough Earn for tea for a walk and a look for an Osprey nest that was located near the hills beside the Lake- Just past the village of St.Fillians- but unfortunately the weather gave us reason to retreat to a local tea room for rest and refreshment.

The further sight of a Peregrine falcon hovering and swooping and a pair of Buzzards around the roads of Comrie only added to my sheer delight when each family member went walking around the perimeters of the town on the afternoon we arrived. I must admit I was impressed at how wild the area was, so peaceful so scenic with the Perthshire mountains to our flank rising out unto a distant monument to Ben Lawers.

The green forests were big and brass and marked by fences with big Highland cows, the wheat fields were big and bountiful like something out of a Van Gogh painting. The tall grass exposed a hairy black caterpillar to us that gripped tightly, moving up and down my finger. I could not help at times but laugh at local men who were drunk so early in the day, they reminded me of characters that I had once conjured up from my own imagination -when I had set pieces in Irish pubs- the regulars were very regular shall we say and who were very punctual about getting their booze. One man had nearly capsized coming out of the gents toilet while another robbed the entire jug of water given our table for my father's whiskey and made a drunken grunt as he went for the bar counter. I laughed for twenty solid minutes in secrecy -but with no bad intentions- as I nearly laughed myself into a stupor!

My family- with my Scottish uncle Hugh and his kind partner Betty- were directed up the M9 on the road to Dunkeld, where we passed through the town of Crieff to turn off for Dunkeld. Crieff like many other Scottish towns is fortified with big bulging limestone and sandstone houses and shops, with brickwork that seems to jump out at the passing eye -or tourist- granting delightful feelings. These buildings -like they're fantastic counterparts in Edinburgh- have an historical and uniquely cultural appeal, with their Georgian and Victorian stonework, fancy roofs, with gables and oriel windows at the front and rear of many houses. Dunkeld is most famously known for being the home and chief inspiration to Beatrix Potter and her saga of Peter Rabbit's adventures for children.

At the Hermitage forest of Dunkeld one may be impressed at the height of the Douglas Fir trees that were imported from northern California they stand like skyscrapers to the naked eye amidst the cascading waterfall beside Ossian's Hall-where the mythical poems of Ossian were supposed to have been set but later exposed to be the forgery of the poet James McPherson. Beautiful green matches the glowing light that touches the rocks and the cascade itself met my gaze. The soil is bright brown and the forest stretches beyond the full encompassing eye of its beholder. From the carpets of ferns bellow to the high-rised canopy of the Fir trees, this is a pleasant wilderness Forests surround the motorway to Pithlochry and the road to Inverness as this is indeed the front gate to the Scottish Highlands.

Stirling poses on its hill like a monolith above the winding roads and houses that rise to a beautiful compound of buildings and structures, making it come alive. From the top the view is a very special delight to partake in, as one gazes out to the Wallace monument in the direction of the river Forth, surrounded by green fields and on my particular gaze and moment the landscapes were painted with a dozen different tones and hues of green, it was beautiful, even after the rain had most certainly fallen upon the landscape. Yet again I see the bricks are big and bold, there are gables and wonderful arching old houses, in such towns and cities and with Stirling its a mixture, its the best of a British heritage, a culture of Celtic modes with innovative building from the craftsmen of James V. The exterior unfortunately is more impressive than the interior, however this castle is worth a glance, but the history of the castle is not so fascinating as say Blair Castle to the north, which  covers a broader range of historical events, touching on the Jacobite rebellions, with its whitewashed facade at the door to the Highlands.