Edinburgh in July (3): St Giles Cathedral and the National Museum

Before I went to Edinburgh in July 2017, I contacted Fiona, a friend from my church back in Wellington. Fiona had been back in Scotland for nearly a year caring for her elderly mother who lives down in the border country. We arranged to meet up in Edinburgh and attend a concert at St Giles Cathedral (Fiona is a fine flautist; and she and I have both sung in choirs).  St Giles has an excellent café, and so we ate lunch there first. Fiona chose a baked potato stuffed generously with tuna, and accompanied by salad; and I had soup of the day – mushroom, creamy and delicious – served from a crockpot.

St Giles has a full programme of free lunchtime concerts, but in July the cathedral is crazy busy, swarming with tourists who can buy “permission to take photographs” passes for £2. Perhaps this is why they indulge in some extraordinary behaviour. During the performance by the sweet-voiced Portland Symphonic Girlchoir, a thirty-something woman sauntered back and forth between audience and choir, waving her Smartphone, holding it high above her head, and videoing the choir. Fiona and I both felt frustrated, and I mentally rehearsed a comment I would have liked to have made to the woman but didn't.

Fiona said she could not warm to St Giles, as the interior is very ornate for a Church of Scotland church, and she also wondered why St Giles is termed “Cathedral”, as that is not usual Church of Scotland nomenclature. I said it was the same reason Glasgow has a cathedral – the building was Roman Catholic in its beginnings. (Charles I of Scotland created the diocese of Edinburgh in 1633 with St Giles as its Cathedral. St Giles is one of several Scottish cathedrals retaining the title in recognition of their long heritage of Christian worship). I know what Fiona meant about not being able to warm to St Giles. I couldn’t either, although I like Glasgow Cathedral so much that I used it as the setting for one of the chapters in my novel Deserter.

Afterwards, we visited the Scottish National Museum. This was formed in 2006 with the merger of the Museum of Scotland, which is housed in a modern building, and the Royal Museum, which is in a Victorian building with a magnificent grand central hall of cast iron. The configuration of the newer building is like a castle keep, and this provides ample opportunity to get lost. 

Fiona suggested that we look first at the Lewis chessmen, the group of 12th-century chess pieces, carved in walrus ivory, that were found in a sand bank at Uig, on the Isle of Lewis, in 1831 – it is thought they were probably buried in a sand chamber to protect them. Eleven of the chess pieces are held by the Scottish National Museum, and the rest are at the British Museum. Fiona and I have an equally bad sense of direction, and despite being given clear instructions, we wandered right past the room where the chess pieces were displayed and had to retrace our footsteps and start all over again. 

During our wanderings we paused at the wooden carving of St Andrew, Scotland’s patron saint – St Andrew is carrying his saltire-shaped cross in his left hand and a book in a pouch in his right hand.  

Carving of St Andrew, National Museum of Scotland  Photo: Ann Barrie

We eventually found the Lewis chessmen – they are displayed quite discreetly: 

Lewis Chessmen, National Museum of Scotland   Photo: Ann Barrie

Fiona had recently done an Egyptian archaeology course, and so we visited the temporary exhibition “The tomb”, which is the story of one tomb carved into the desert cliffs near Thebes in around 1290 BC. The tomb was intended as the final resting place of the Chief of Police and his wife, but it was looted and re-used several times over the years. It was excavated in 1857, and was lost again when a village grew up over it. Fiona and I both found the exhibition satisfying: it explored learnings from objects found in this tomb; presented relevant background on religious beliefs; and prompted us to have a conversation about what sustains us spiritually.

We refreshed and sustained ourselves physically in the museum café. 

Fiona McDougal & Ann Barrie at the National Museum of Scotland cafe July 2017

I enjoyed the cake of the day so much that I asked the waitress for the name and ingredients. I have lost the name, but the cake has raspberry jam baked into the top layer, and a fragrant tea flavour in the top layer -- a modern take on Scottish cooking at its best.

Cake of the Day at Naitonal Museum of Scotland cafe  Photo: Ann Barrie

I returned to the National Museum the following day, this time concentrating on Kingdom of the Scots, on the first level, and Scotland a Changing Nation up on the 6th. I retain snippets of what I saw – it's odd what jumps out at you – reinforced by photos I took on my smartphone. For instance, William Buchan, son of John Buchan, 1st Baron Tweedsmuir, author, politician and Governor-General of Canada, said of his father: “In my minds eye I still see him setting off along on one of his great walks … The day is sunny, the spring woods are green … But there is nothing in the day brighter than his eye, nor greener than the hope which, untarnished, has sustained him …” These words made me think of the theologian Lloyd Geering, who is a member of my church.

I couldn't resist visiting the museum café again – the cake of the day this time was poppy seed and lemon:

Cake of the Day, National Museum of Scotland cafe  Photo: Ann Barrie

Blog by Ann Barrie