It’s been a week of rain and politics, and disasters nationally and domestically. Our entrenched ivy that grew thick on our back wall was overcome by the heavy rainfall and fell off most dramatically. It came off in one whole piece, and it took the saw to finally dislodge it from the roots.

The pile grew higher than Guy Fawkes’s bonfire, and made me think of that other disastrous time in Westminster. Well, John has dug away all the roots, filled the bed up with compost and manure, we shall just have to start again. I am sure the politicians are doing the same, fighting their way through their ‘manure’ and we shall see who comes up smelling of clematis and roses.

Yesterday we braved the black brooding clouds and drove to Culross. We have been doing walks around Limekilns and Charlestown, and following the Fife east coast path towards Kincardine. I had never been to this village, and was absolutely amazed.

It was so beautiful, quaint, colourful, irregular, and a true remnant of the renaissance.

We visited the Abbey and read of monks and coalmines and a truly enlightened gentleman called Sir George Bruce. He came back from Europe, full of grand engineering plans to use Egyptian style machines to raise the water from disused mines and make them workable again. He built himself the most amazing house, now called Culross Palace, full of grand rooms, and hardly changed a bit. Most of the palace and gardens were used in the filming of the series ‘Outlander’. We saw where Claire and Jamie slept, where she gathered her herbs, where the Bonny Prince sat and grizzled that the clansmen were shy of coming forward, it was all there.

We walked up through the village and came to the ancient graveyard, full of skulls and cross bones, and giant yews.

The sun came from behind a cloud and fell like a claymore, it seemed to mark a spot on the grass. I felt quite uneasy.

I looked into the tiny church itself, now overgrown and just picturesque. I tried to imagine the singing of psalms, ‘All people that on earth do dwell’.

Coming out we came across two fellows who had been metal detecting (not in the graveyard) and one had found an old coin. We passed the time of day with them and discovered one of them had found a cache of silver coins down in the Scottish borders… they are now displayed in the National Museum of Scotland.

I came home and the phone rang; it was my friend Catriona from Glenelg. She rang to tell me that the Reverend Donald Beaton had died. For the rest of the evening I felt sad, full of memories of a wonderful character. Funny I had been in the graveyard and saw the light, imagined a service and had thought of other sermons in the small church in Glenelg.

He was a climber, and the hills of Skye were his speciality. He thought nothing of conducting a marriage service on top of Sgurr nan Gillean. He was never still. He seemed to be full of energy, rushing and cycling and walking. He would roar into church on a Sunday morning, his gown flying behind him like black wings, then gaze out at us all, his bald head burnt brown and shiny.

But best of all I remember his pageants. He recreated the story of Bonny Prince Charlie using the children from the primary schools and all the local people that he could coerce into his production. Here is my son Nick, as the bonny prince.

Glynis smoked the mackerel,

the fishermen provided the boats and local ladies donned their travelling rugs and ran around the field looking the part.

The children marched and charged and died on the field. It was all quite poignant really. And through it all Mr Beaton shouted and directed wearing a grey wig and waving a stick about. We were all a bit scared he might use it on us!

After that roaring success he turned his hand to the Highland Clearances. Films and photographs of the pageant were sent to Glenelg in Canada. It was powerful, and this time more adults were involved. I can still see Calum Ian standing on the shore, leading all the people in a psalm, as they do in the Free Church, his voice strong and sonorous. Apart from his voice and the throng of the people beside him joining in, was the sploshing sound of the oars.

The houses were burnt, the actors and the children watched as the boats left the shore. Mr Beaton had tears in his eyes. We all left, it was heart breaking.

I was given a funny plastic golf ball at Christmas. It was for holding a wee dram whilst out walking. I filled it with Cherry Brandy, and marched about, waiting for a time I might need a boost. It wasn’t long before I realised it was leaking – obviously the screw top was not of the best quality.

Suddenly I met Mr Beaton at the Church corner. ‘Come in, Gael, come out of this cold. Come into the church.’ I was about to leave Glenelg for ever, and was quite sad at the time and he knew that.

We went up to the Sunday school room, and he turned on the heater. We sat across from each other at a small table.

As the room got warmer, the smell of the liqueur permeated around us, and it was as though we were in the pub. I could see him sniffing and wondering. I didn’t really know what to say.

I think I said, ‘that will be the Cherry Brandy I have in my pocket.’

He just raised his eyebrows. I let it go.

Ah well. He is gone, and so many people will be sad and have stories to tell. I can see him now, talking of his love for Gaelic poetry, for Sorley Maclean and Hallaig, about the woods at Raasay.

He was sitting on a rock looking down the Sound of Sleat and suddenly he quoted,

…I will go down to Hallaig,

to the Sabbath of the dead,

where the people are frequenting,

every single generation gone.

They are still in Hallaig,

MacLeans and MacLeods,

All who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:

The dead have been seen alive.

The men lying on the green

At the end of every house that was,

The girls a wood of birches,

Straight their backs, bent their heads….

 And so on.

Granny duties are going well. John and I have Darcey on Thursdays, and she is such fun. She has no fear of monsters or dragons, but gets quite upset at ‘chaos’. She doesn’t like to see anything spilt or any mess on her TV programmes. When she first noticed rain on the path, she was quite horrified and said in her best Scottish accent, ‘Oh Nooo!’ Bonnie and Hazel are growing fast, and I have booked to go and visit again. Can’t wait.

So with summer and gardens and Shakespeare and sewing. I am busy.

But today I am melancholy. Mr Beaton has gone. He has left a richness in my core, he was the one who persuaded me to return to study, and taught us all so much through his story telling.

So farewell for now.

… From the Burn of Fearns to the raised beach

that is clear in the mystery of the hills,

there is only the congregation of the girls

keeping up the endless walk,

 coming back to Hallaig in the evening,

in the dumb living twilight,

filling the steep slopes,

their laughter a mist in my ears …