O'er moorland and brae: Writ in cobbles

It is really disconcerting to drive such a short distance from the coast then to find ourselves so quickly in the heart of a busy city, Edinburgh. Where, luckily, the weather is again shining. Our first tourist treat was to take a Sandemann Walking Tour of the old and new sections of the city, which lasted for two and a half hours; and yes, Bec walked, and loved, every last inch of it. And it is free. As are all such Sandeman tours all over the world. All the guides ask is that if you enjoyed it you offer what you think the tour was worth at the end. Our walk was led by an acting graduate so it came embellished, a performance as well as a terrific overview of the city.

He told us that Edinburgh was often called Auld Reekie, a play on Auld Reikie, because it smelled worse than an old sewer. Some five thousand people were crammed into tiny tenements lining every lane and alleyway in the older part of the city, and around 10 o'clock at night, it became the custom to dispose of their rubbish and chamber pots by dumping them out the window rather than walking them down the steps to the street. As a warning, tenants would shout: Gardy Loo -- from the French: Guardez l'eau, meaning watch out for the water, tho' the contents would include more than just water. Towards the end of the 18th century laws were introduced to attempt to improve the situation, but those tucked away in back streets continued the practise well into the next century.

Our first stop was at the Mercat Cross, which, besides functioning as the heart of the Market, is from where the announcement of any new king or queen is made in Scotland. Historically, it took a rider three days to reach Edinburgh from the south with this news, so even today, that tradition still holds. So, if a new king is crowned that announcement will come from the Mercat Cross in the heart of Edinburgh's Old Town, three days after the actual event. Despite every one having heard about it well beforehand. Tradition will out.

The Mercat cross once had judicial uses as well. Merchants found guilty of wrongdoing on market days were nailed by the ear to the wooden door of the cross as punishment. They, then, had to endure a solid twenty-four hours of public abuse and missile hurling for their sins. Those offenders who could not stand the punishment, often tore themselves away from the lug pinning; but, then, had to carry the scars with them for the rest of their lives and were forever ear-marked as a wrong doer. Tough times.

He pointed out that much of the history of Edinburgh can be seen by looking down, not up. The site of the Old Toll Booth was where citizens were required to pay taxes. It was also the site of many public hangings. Locals took to spitting on the Toll Booth to express their contempt of the public authority that it represented. Today the Old Toll Booth has been demolished, but a heart shaped mosaic has been laid into the cobbles where it once stood, and to this day, locals can be distinguished from visitors, as those who still spit into the heart of Midlothian.

He took us further along to St Giles Cathedral where John Knox was buried. As the city grew, space had to be retrieved, and the thousands of bodies once interred here had to be removed to make way for the expanding Edinburgh. All except the grave of John Knox, the Reformer, who bought Presbyterianism to Scotland with his many fiery speeches, particularly from St Giles. Knox asked to be buried within so many paces of St Giles, and his request was honoured, and today his grave is the only one remaining. Under parking lot #23. An unassuming man, they say, so he may well have preferred this, to a monument in his honour.

On we went to Greyfriars Kirk, further up the road, which is a tourist stop in itself. Here, a group of Presbyterian dissenters, who came to be called the Covenanters, disputed the notion of the divine right of kings. They claimed that only God could be perfect, not the king. So when the king started rewriting the Bible that changed what they believed, they grew militant. They set about drawing up a National Covenant which would ensure that their Presbyterian religion survived throughout Scotland.

Persecution of the Covenanters quickly followed. In one terrible episode, in 1679, over a thousand Covenanters were locked in a small section of Greyfriars Kirkyard. In the open air. Through rain, sleet and snow. For four terrible months. They had to sleep face down without moving, had thumb screws applied for infractions, and were allowed a pitiful 4oz of bread a day, which was only fleshed out if some kind local passed them a chunk of something to share.

Many of them died right there. Some escaped and went to Northern Ireland -- where their presence later contributed to the conflicts in Ireland. Some were freed when they signed an agreement to be loyal to the crown. The remainder were put on a ship headed for the Americas. But, with an end to their torment nearly in sight, their ship went down off the Orkeys, and only 48 of them survived. There was little joy in being a Covenanter, unfortunately.

In the kirk grounds are some interesting examples of mortesafes: graves, fully barred by the family, to protect their contents from grave snatchers, looking to sell the cadavers. A lucrative practice, and we have seen so many variations on this theme throughout all of Scotland this trip.

As we were about to leave Greyfriars, Bec was attracted by an unusual headstone that happened to be for a dog called Greyfriar's Bobby. Bobby was a Skye terrier acquired by an Edinburgh policeman who needed a watchdog. Bobby lived for 16 years, but for 14 of those years he stayed beside the grave of his dead master, who died when Bobby was just two. While Bobby lived, the citizens of Edinburgh kept him fed and licensed so he could spend his days by his master. Such faithful and tenacious service was recognised by the erection of a headstone for Bobby, near his master, by the Dog Aid Society of Scotland.

And just outside the kirk, at the top of Candlemaker Row, we found a statue of Bobby carved in granite, paid for by a baroness, who was clearly another supporter.

Then, later in the day, in the Edinburgh museum, we came across Greyfriar Bobby's bowl and collar, preserved to this day. This tenacious little dog clearly touched so many hearts that Bobby sites, all over Edinburgh, have now become tourist magnets. Even Queen Victoria once visited his grave.

We visited the Grassmarket, where animals and hay were typically sold. This was another place in Edinburgh used for public executions, and, here, a small brass on the pavement marks the spot where a gibbet rose. It was by the gibbet that Maggie Dickson, a fishwife from Musselburgh, was hanged for murdering her babe; her body then placed in a coffin and returned to her home for burial. Enroute though, Maggie woke, throwing everyone around her into a puzzlement. The outcome was that under Scots Law Maggie could go free: she had served her punishment. And only later, was the condition "until dead" added to a hanging sentence. Maggie came to be known as Half-Hangit Maggie, and the Maggie Dickson Pub in the Grassmarket has been named after her, and is there to this day.

In the time we were there we explored many of the nooks and crannies of the city. We walked up and down many of the charming sets of hilly steps, explored as many little closes we could which often had lovely surprises tucked away inside. We accessed many of the wonderful museums which seem to be dotted everywhere: we even loved one called the Museum of Childhood, which brought on lots of reminiscing. We spent a morning at the Art Gallery, though it is very small and has some odd pieces, but I found four Van Gogh's there that I had never encountered previously, so was delighted.

We lunched one day at Jamie Oliver's Italian which had been recommended by a shopkeeper, and the place was hectic and the food rustic and tasty: typical Jamie fare. Done out in a traditional decor in the old Assembly rooms. Even the bathroom sinks and cisterns were old style. We loved the decor. We also called in at The Elephant House, again crawling with people, where J K Rowlings wrote many of her Harry Potter stories. Edinburgh is delightful like that: so many accessible corners.

We toured the new Parliament House, which we'd previously only seen pictures of. We had thought we might like it up close, but no: none of us did. We were not at all impressed, even though we kind of 'got' the architect's conceptualisation for it. It just doesn't come together in solid form the way it might in imagination: too many heavy slabs of concrete counterbalanced unevenly with the very fragile stick forms. So the lack of organic integrity gave it a 'no' from us.

Our visit to Edinburgh ended on a neat alignment of brasses laid into the cobbles at the point where the old Flodden Wall once stood. In the sixteenth century Edinburgh was a walled city, and the gates marked the end of the actual city. Today, brasses stand where the gates once stood, to mark the spot. Many sixteenth century folk never in their lives would walk past these gates. They shivered at the very thought. They actually believed the world ended at these gates.

And to this day, that is still what it is called: the World's End.