sT. cONAN'S kIRK
(Beecham’s passing R.I.P)
The more astute and/or keenly observant of my gentle readers might note this is NOT a photo of Inveraray Castle but the Kirk at Loch Awe. In addition, for those of you out there that Scottish Gaelic is not your first language, translated it reads as LOCH AWE CHURCH and it just happens to be up the road from my best friend Tamsin’s house.
Actually, Tamsin asked me to head this with a picture of her home, the old Presbytery at Loch Awe. I told her I had already given the presbytery exposure when I headed another article with a picture of her house. I said unless her parents were going to put their house on the market, once is enough. My blog is not a property marketing machine.
I reminded her that a particular article was titled ‘Putting Rumours to Rest’ and I had titled the article with a picture of her home reading ‘Tamsin’s Home; Awe Grange Presbytery’. I cannot do more than that.
Anyways that piece of information may not be all that important if it does not concern you.
To bring you all up to date the fire drill was scheduled this morning at exactly 10am for the all of Denham Hall college students. Briggs and Nurse Mayo were to lead the permanent boarders out of the dormitories. The fire was staged to have started in the college kitchens.
Tamsin questioned, “Do fires normally start ON the hour as a rule and, if not why doesn't the college arrange to start the fire at say 22 minutes past the hour or even two minutes to the hour. You know what I mean, just to surprise us girls”.
Tamsin is in fine form this morning.
Fleetingly I thought one day when Tamsin leaves college her parents or future husband, heaven forbid, are going to have to put up with this stuff full time.
Tamsin continued saying it would have been far more realistic and exciting if the college had hired a couple of the Rickmansworth’s fire engines with the sirens blaring and had firemen actually reeling out hoses and climbing ladders and things. She is practical, I must say.
I sometimes wonder when Tamsin is being really serious or when not. She went on to say extra realism could be added by starting a small fire in a dustbin next to Nurse Mayo’s quarters outside the swing doors at the end of the Pankhurst dormitory.
She said there would be no need to use real water. The firemen only need to pretend to use real water by making water noises by going ‘Shhhhh’ pretending to hose the front of the building down. You know, like doing pretend water noises.
I explained to Tamsin this was not going to be the making of a full-length documentary but a fire drill and the girls will just be congregating at a pre-determined point where Briggs will lead them quietly out of the building.
I have some disturbing news for Mr and Mrs Lacey, Tamsin’s parents, she won't change.
But I do have some good news for my gentle readers, the drill went off without a hitch and all the girls were evacuated safely from the building and were all accounted for at a roll call in the quadrangle.
The drill also took care of an hour of ancient history.
Now, where was I? It was Saturday and I was back at home at Inveraray Castle. Tamsin my best friend had gone home to the presbytery and we were meeting again the next day. On Monday morning we would be driven by Andrew to Oban to catch an executive jet courtesy of father, and ferried back to Stansted aerodrome in time for lessons at Denham Hall on Monday morning. This was the typical routine of my weekends.
You may remember I mentioned earlier the comedy of mother and Mrs Dalrymple’s efforts to do an online hypnotist course which did not work out too well for either of them. I did warn them of what could happen. I explained all this in a previous article.
I thought that was the end of the matter until Mrs Pasta, the Italian kitchen lady told me that tourists arriving this week could avail themselves of a lecture ‘Banishment of Ghosts and Wraiths’, a one-off session, informing them of the castle’s resident ghosts.
Personally, I could not see the point as Inveraray Castle, at the last score, has at least 6 in-house permanent ghosts which is a great draw-card for tourists anyway. Not that the wraiths and ghosts appears on cue but banishing them would be self-defeating, in that it would see a huge drop in tourist numbers.
I did not hesitate to alert the castle manageress lady, hoping she would speak to father and inform him what is going on and to advise Mrs Pasta, Mrs Dalrymple and his wife Lady Delilah, that’s mother, to put an immediate halt to this trio’s adventures.
The intervention of father made no difference. Lady Delilah makes the rules in this castle thank you very much. Nevertheless putting father’s concern at rest I explained to him it probably did not matter as they had made no headway with their online hypnotist course either. Father was placated.
It was Sunday morning and I was at Tamsin Lacey’s home at the Old Presbytery at Loch Awe. When we entered the study her father was busily cataloging his cigarette card collection. Mrs Lacey inquired if we would like a glass of lemonade and a muffin.
It was in the afternoon, we heard the sad news Beecham, the family retainer at home, had died. He had been with us since like forever, as had his father before him. He was ‘family’ also. He was my special friend when I was growing up; to me he was Uncle Beecham. They used to live in the gate-house until the stairs got too difficult to navigate.
His death did not come as a surprise. He had been ill for a short time. His wife Symphony told mother he had died peacefully in his sleep. Funeral arrangements had already commenced. Father said Symphony can continue to live in the grace and favour residence permanently.
I wonder if the ‘bagpiper’ had been heard playing when he passed away.
Tamsin’s home, the Awe Presbytery was within walking distance of Saint Conan’s Kirk which was just up the road from the Corrie Bank bed and breakfast so we decided to walk to St Conan’s and take photos for our Facebook pages. I don’t think they do brass rubbings or stuff like that.
Passing the sign reading ‘St. Conan’s Kirk, Historic Building’ I wondered if the gatehouse would ever come up on the market besides thinking what a lovely place to live, right on the loch. Oops, it’s now a tea room. Missed my chance there.
Briefly, the church was built by a local wealthy laird. They say he was an amateur architect by the name of Campbell who built it for his mother to save her walking too far to church; what a lovely thought. As I see it he built it to a design in his head as to how he thought a Kirk should look like. I would give him nine out of ten.
There were no opportunities for brass rubbings of King Robert the Bruce effigy, nor had there ever had been. So it was back to the presbytery and a continuation of Tamsin’s piano lessons.
