An Eminently Satisfying Day

It was a glorious morning, warm enough to go out without a coat or sweater, really. The sun was bright, only a few big puffy clouds in the sky, and after breakfast, (where the hotel allowed one to order porridge, I was happy to note) we set out from Inverness for Culloden Battlefield, only 6 miles away.

We arrived, fortuitously, just 5 minutes before a guided tour of the Battlefield was about to begin. The guide did a good job of giving the history leading up to the battle, explaining the positions of the two armies and their situations, their front lines, the sweep of the cannon, and the horrific loss of the Jacobites. We looked but found no record that any Douglasses were among the Jacobites, most of whom were slaughtered. Likely, if Alexander Douglass, who would have been in his early 20s in 1746, did fight in this determining battle, he was fighting on the side of the English troops. There was a listing of Scottish surnames of the Jacobites who lost their lives. Not all Jacobites were Scots; some were English or French.

After the tour, we looked at exhibits inside the museum. Of particular interest was a map, at least 12 ft. x 20 ft., on the floor, lit from beneath, that portrayed the battle showing the lines drawn up and an animated rendition of the battle as it progressed, following the movement of the soldiers of both sides. That was really fascinating, especially after having walked the battlefield. The battlefield has mass graves and is treated as sacred ground. We stepped into a amphitheater that reminded me of one we were in at DisneyLand. Films of reenactment of the battle were projected on all four walls and seeing the action “up close and personal” was too much for me. I needed to leave and so we did.

Next, on to Cawdor, only a few miles away, to eat at the Cawdor Tavern. We had a wonderful mushroom soup plus a tomato-cheese tart for me and a sandwich for Jon. We topped it off by sharing a lemon cheesecake dessert with vanilla ice cream on the side. Uhm-hum. The lemon fairly exploded in one’s mouth.

A short distance down the road was Cawdor Castle. I kept looking for the turrets of the keep above the trees and did not see any. But the signs guided us to the car park and we walked a short distance. There was a castle, small compared to those in Ireland we had visited, but complete with drawbridge and completely “dressed” as Jon would say, with period furniture, wonderful tapestries on the walls, complete bedchambers, art and portraits. All areas we walked on were carpeted with a tartan rug. Surely someone had actually lived here not too long ago. We saw references to the Earl of Cawdor in 1911. There was even a dungeon, where uninvited visitors could be dropped from the entry door into this pit that had some large stones in it. It would not be a nice place to be, even if one was lucky enough to survive the fall. 

Outside we walked through lovely castle gardens. I remarked to Jon that they had more than one gardener, for sure. Everything was manicured and kept up so nicely; lots of plantings, trimmed shrubbery, even a maze of holly bushes (maze not accessible because the holly bushes would not tolerate the traffic). We found the “hidden” garden which was truly lovely, and would be a great place to spend time in meditation. There were quantities of Bluebells of Scotland. Jon took many pictures.

As we were leaving, I asked who was responsible for the upkeep of the place and I was surprised to learn that Lady Cawdor is primarily responsible and takes great interest in the maintenance. The Earl has died, but Lady Cawdor is in residence at the Castle from November to April, during which time the Castle is closed to the public. She has a summer place where she spends the other months. The revenue from the tourists during the summer helps pay for the maintenance of the Castle and the grounds and gardens. No wonder it seemed like someone lived there; someone does. 

The sky got increasingly cloudy while we were in the Gardens, and rained on the drive  back to Inverness, but by the time we got there it had cleared again and the sun was out. We saw many sheep, even some black sheep in one pasture, and large red cattle with long hair falling over their faces. Watching the sheep in the pastures, I noted that they were always spaced out, never grazing near each other and wondered if sheep are like humans who have a feeling of personal space around their bodies. In this case, the space may mean “this is my patch of grass; buzz off.”