Travels in Europe

A few years ago Mike and I visited Europe, traveling mostly by train. I kept a journal which I never expected to publish. It was for my own entertainment and fun. I had never heard of a blog then, but now that I have a blog I want to share my experiences--and I hope that they are fun to read. I will print them in present tense, as they appear in my journal.

Edinburgh, Scotland
October 4, 1993

No one ever really dies in Scotland. I felt that while walking through Greyfriars, an old cemetery in Edinburgh. It's centuries old with huge grave markers worn and stained by time, the weather, and smoke from coal fireplaces. Moss grows in the grooves of letters telling who is buried there.

The stones are large, some are massive, with poems and words of endearment and praise for the departed. Apparently, no one ever buried a hated relative or black sheep in this cemetery. Perhaps the undesirables were buried in the cemetery down the hill that had so much trouble with grave robbers.

"Who cares if they dig up old Uncle Clyde, the family pariah, and sell him to the medical school for students of anatomy to study? He was well preserved with alcohol long before he died, and now he finally has a chance to be of use to his fellow man."

The Scots are in love with their history, their poets, their ancient warriors and noblemen, and keep them alive in their hearts and memories. They even make a pound or two off the tourists who come seeking culture and history. They erect statues not just for men and women but for people on their horses and with their dogs. Sit Walter Scott enjoys a prominent spot on the Street of Princes--a huge statue of him and his dog.

One little dog, Greyfriar's Bobby, has his very own statue, not to mention his very own grave just inside the cemetery gates, with a headstone and well tended roses growing on it. This brave little dog followed his master's coffin to the cemetery and then slept on top of the grave for the next 14 years, until his own death. The Scots found his behavior admirable enough to suspend their rule not allowing animals to be buried on consecrated ground and made room for Bobby. Then they erected a statue to him on a pole just outside the cemetery walls.

Bobby lives, as do Sir Walter Scott and Roburt Burns.