Away with the Faeries on Doon Hill, Aberfoyle

So, as promised, a report from Aberfoyle. For me, it was the highlight of a trip which included plenty of historic and prehistoric sites: stone circles and castles, mainly. Reverting to a previous posting, we also visited Doune Castle (not far from Aberfoyle) which stood in as Castle Leoch in the Outlander series (as well as starring in Monty Python and the Holy Grail). Additionally, we visited the royal Scottish palace at Falkland, and discovered that the market place of the village was used as another scene in Outlander.

Anyway, returning to Aberfoyle, the site of the Reverend Robert Kirk’s grave is actually on the other side of the River Forth in the tiny settlement of Kirkton. The church building is ruined- shockingly, the roof was taken off by the local laird in the early nineteenth century after he’d built a new church over the river in Aberfoyle. Kirk’s grave is to be found on the far side from the road, overlooking nearby Doon Hill. As you can see, it’s pretty weathered (inevitable, given that its 350 years old) as well as being covered in coins. You can just about make out Kirk’s name and Aberfoyle towards the top; the inscription celebrates his translation of the psalms into Gaelic and there’s a shield including a thistle (for Scotland, obviously), a crook (as he was a pastor) and a dagger (perhaps indicative of his Rosicrucian links- perhaps a subtle symbolic defence against the faeries). Here’s a downloaded photo I found which shows the grave clear of coins.

Kirk’s grave tidied up

Leaving the churchyard, we made the short walk to the foot of Doon Hill. I’d read in advance about there being ‘faery doors’ on the route up and approached with some trepidation, but- as you can see- they are done rather tastefully, carved out of the stumps of dead pine trees. Several trees on the way up are ‘clootie- trees’ with strips of cloth and other tokens attached to them. Previously, I’d only seen this at the holy well on Madron, a little way north of Penzance in west Cornwall. There is, of course, no spring here, just the abiding presence of the faeries who ‘took’ Kirk in 1692.

I’d also feared we’d be walking in a dense and regimented Forestry Commission plantation, through depressingly dark and serried ranks of fir trees, but in fact the hill was covered with native (northern) British woodland- as you might just be able to make out. The tallest trees were Scots Pines, with a lower layer of birch and rowan/ mountain ash; the presence of the latter might make us reconsider the idea that it’s entirely antithetical to faery-kind(!) The ground cover was bracken and, best of all, bilberry bushes, which were covered in ripe fruit- perfect on a hot and humid day.

A single pine stands in a clearing at the top, again decorated with clooties and messages asking for help with personal and family problems. As a memento, I collected a pine cone- which, as you can see, were scattered all around- and made my own request. Whilst Aberfoyle itself was busy, with coach parties pouring into the Scottish Wool Centre and eating at the Faerie Tree pub, the hill itself was quiet. A handful of other visitors made their way up as we ascended and descended, but well spaced enough that you could enjoy the silence of the grove for yourself and take time to listen to the wind in the trees and the occasional buzzard flying over.

It was definitely worth the pilgrimage to have seen the place where The Secret Commonwealth was composed. Aberfoyle is relatively remote today; three centuries ago it would have felt very far indeed from the growing scepticism of big cities. Nature and silence still dominate in much of the Highlands.

Lastly, the accommodation where we stayed had a small library of books for guests, amongst which was an anthology of Scottish verse. I was very taken with Enchanted, by Maria Steuart. It’s a fine poem and very apt for Robert Kirk. I’ve been unable to discover much about Steuart- she seems to have been Canadian and was active as a novelist and poet in the early decades of the last century, publishing A Garland of Lyrics in 1907 and At the World’s Edge in 1911. Enchanted was included in the former collection.

ENCHANTED

A new world on my vision broke
When once I saw the Fairy-folk.
Since unto them I gave my heart
I find my joy in things apart.

My Mother chides me that I will
Not wed with any neighbour. Still
Could I, who so the Fairies love,
Content with mortal man e’er prove ?

My Father sighs out day by day,
My harp I will no longer play.
He knows not I my music find
In Fairy-voices on the wind.

My sisters with their lovers talk :
They mock me that alone I walk.
They know not when alone I see
The Fairies come to talk with me.

Me to my spinning-wheel they set :
I spin awhile then I forget
And let my wool in tangles fall,
Thinking I hear the Fairies call.

They let me to the herding go ;
I like it well because I know
I may, in these long summer days,
Learn something of my Fairies’ ways.

So is it that I have lost touch

With all the world : for over-much

The Fairies have been with me. I

With them would live, with them would die !