The Witchcraig Day

[smokingboot]

Had we but known, we would have arranged things very differently, but the forecasts had promised a 60% chance of rain, so in order to guarantee that 150 French students all had the possibility of shelter in a downpour, we decided to eschew the ancient cairn of nearby Cairnpapple, dividing the group up into 3 groups of around 50 and moving them between three sites; the visitors centre at Beecraigs for the nature/geology/maybe going up some hills/ looking out over the Forth talk, Torphichen Preceptory for the sanctuary stone and William Wallace's Parliament, the Korean War Memorial for legends of the area. Peeps from our litte charity would stay at each point and give each group a 20 minute talk. Mine was the memorial.

My lecture plan was somewhat tenuous; starting with why there's a Korean memorial here at all, moving on to the mysterious Knights Templars who may have left a cross of Lorraine (ref back to free France in WWII) carved into the refuge stone at the top of the hill, the eponymous haunters of the hill itself, i.e why it's called Witchcraig, the woman in Bonny Prince Charlie's retinue who was murdered and became a very active White Lady type spectre, and from that to the area's most famous apparation, the Silver Man, moving it quickly round to the modern circle close to the Knock, and the little temple of Persephone created there. Inveterate pieces of textbook history sneaked in included the Korean war, Free France, the Holy Grail, the dissolution of the Templars, Culloden, and of course, King James I/VI and his terror of witches. It was chunky enough not to need filler, loose enough to easily cut down to fit the time and needs of the students.

The first group needed nothing changed. They were rapt, eyes meeting mine, getting in close, full of thoughts and ideas, several of them coming up to me afterwards to express real interest and thanks. The second were more troublesome, because they wouldn't get back onto their coach and go on to the next place, to my mind the most important of the lot; the site of William Wallace's parliament. No, they paid plenty of attention which was great, but then they were all for searching for signs of hauntings and Templars, or just sitting there in the sun, and their teachers decided that after a day which had included going to the local primary schools to meet the children in the morning and a two hour theatre stint in the afternoon, they couldn't force the kids to go anywhere for a bit. They gave them 15 minutes which turned into longer, and by the time coach 3 turned up, they were still a-wander, their teachers too knackered themselves to do any real herding which meant that my final group had their talk occasionally interrupted by giggles and shouts from up the hill. It irritated me slightly, but the talk still went well enough; I cut it down considerably, feeling the day creep up on us all. I was also tired myself. I'd judge it a 70% rather than the 90% I'd give the first iteration.

Having said that, Group 3 did me a solid favour. One of my favoured lines went; 'strange things happen in these hills.' Strange indeed. One of the last group found a key on the ground and handed it to their teacher who gave it to me. It was my front door key. They found it right up on the mound instead of in my handbag which had been placed on the ground next to me. I hadn't been anywhere near that part of the park.

The last coach took me back to the school where they were having a bbq, and I could find the other speakers. It had all gone well, but I was too tired to stay for the ceilidh and Scottish food tasting, I made my way home, because everyday stuff has suddenly turned annoying, plumbers and cat sitters letting me down through no fault of their own. The result means I have irritating stuff to do today. And I am sitting here with my second cup of tea, too tired to face any of it.