Head over heels...

Way back in 1992, I picked up a book called Crosstitch by Diana Gabaldon, a story of time travel, love and the Scottish Highlands.  This started a long love affair with the male character, one James Fraser, and when Amazon released their adaptation of it under the Outlander name, I was in second heaven.  Coming to Scotland, we have visited many places mentioned in the books, and it gives a third dimension to the words written.

So imagine my complete and utter joy when we stumbled across a cemetery dedicated to the Fraser clan, headed up by Lord Simon Lovat, who had the rather well-suited nickname of the Old Fox.  In the books, this gentleman was the grandfather (via some shenanigans with the downstairs maid) of James Fraser, and was heavily involved in the second Jacobite uprising in 1745. It was like fact and fiction coming together in a huge crash.

Driving up the narrow lane to the Wardlaw Mausoleum, I said to the husband, 'Apparently, if we knock the door of the next door neighbour, they will give us the key to the actual mausoleum'.  

The husband, who usually proffers up one ear when listening to me blather on, said, 'Isn't one in Amsterdam and the other in Bali?  Bit of a way to come..'.  

Once I'd clocked him round the ear (the non-listening one) with my guide book, and explained to him what we were going to be doing (very slowly, just in case) we parked up, and I knocked the door.

'Erik Landberg, Chartered Architect', it said on the door, and when the gentleman answered the door, I explained that we would like to borrow the key and then return it.  'Oh no, my dear', he said.  'I'll give you a wee tour'.

He was marvellous - words fail me here for once.  For almost 45 minutes, he talked to us about the history of the Frasers of Scotland (French, originate from the word 'fraise') and the demise of this rather unlikeable gentleman.  It seems that having a foot in both camps was his speciality.  We were taken into the crypt, where we saw the lead coffins (still containing their precious cargo) and the husband and I were completely speechless.  Apparently, the British Government, having separated the Old Fox's head from his shoulders, made the family buy the body back, which they did.  It's only now, with modern technology that it has been discovered that the remains within the coffin were of a 25 year old woman of good breeding and several ne'er-do-wells from the Spitalfields mass grave.  So they had the last laugh I suppose.

I'll be honest here, I was quite taken with Erik with a K (as the husband has started calling him) and I could have listened to him all day.  His obvious love for his beautiful country was infectious, and  we both came away with a far better understanding of its past.

Of course, the husband keeps teasing me about Erik with a K and his dulcet tones.

He wants to be careful...