Walks near Edinburgh

In Short

This book is a collection of six topographical essays mapping the history, folklore, and architecture found within the immediate surroundings of Edinburgh. Moving through rural estates, ruined castles, and ancient bridges, the author blends practical directions with the rich, often melancholic oral traditions passed down through generations of landed families. It functions as a guidebook not just for the feet, but for the memory, preserving the legends of Covenanters, Jacobites, and local eccentrics before the rapid encroachment of nineteenth-century urbanization and railway development could sweep them away.

The Story

The journey begins with an invitation to "haud fast by the past." The author organizes the landscape into six distinct walks, each starting from the city’s edge and pushing outward into the surrounding countryside. As she traverses the Boroughmuir or the slopes of Blackford Hill, the physical geography serves as a tether for narrative. She does not merely describe the stone and mortar of the houses; she recounts the lives of those who occupied them, often drawing on personal family lore to illuminate the silent structures.

The narrative arc is one of steady transition from the grandeur of royal history to the intimacy of private tragedy. At the Bore-stone, she recalls the mobilization of King James IV’s army for the disastrous Battle of Flodden. Yet, moments later, she pivots to the domestic gloom of the Wryteshouses, where a servant’s terror of a headless lady serves as a chilling counterpoint to the weight of national history. This pattern repeats throughout: the public history of the Preston family at Craigmillar Castle is balanced by the singular, bizarre life of the seedsman William Miller, whose classic, tomb-like monument stands today in a lonely field, his true identity and fortune still shrouded in the mystery he took to his grave.

As the walks progress toward the sea and the villages of Cramond and Corstorphine, the tone deepens. The author touches upon the "Somerville tragedy," an accidental fratricide by pistol, and explores the darker folkloric roots of the region through ballads like "The Water o' Wearie's Well," where a sinister suitor meets a cunning end at the hands of a king's daughter. The story of the landscape is revealed to be a layering of events—the Jacobite loyalty of the Niddrie family, the brutal Covenanter history at Rullion Green, and the physical manifestations of grief, such as the grave of the plague-stricken crew at Caroline Park, which was uncovered and then carelessly lost to the march of the railway.

By the end of the final walk, the argument is clear: the history of the land is fragile. The author chronicles the disappearance of old lime avenues, the conversion of historic seats into asylums, and the removal of ironwork gates to suburban lodges. The ending is neither triumphal nor purely nostalgic, but a quiet act of preservation. By recording these tales—the "empty tale" of the plague grave or the silver ewer presented to royalty—the author ensures that while the physical landmarks may crumble or be paved over, the stories remain anchored in the printed page.

How It Unfolds

The setting of the stage The author establishes the biblical nomenclature of the local landscape, noting how names like "Canaan Lane" and the "Jordan Burn" reflect the Covenanter mindset. She immediately links the physical walk to the literary and historical ghosts that haunt the path.

The intersection of myth and memory Moving through the Braid Burn and Blackford Hill, the narrative shifts between the legendary sites of Allan Ramsay’s poetry and the personal memories of Miss Menie Trotter. The walk is presented as a dialogue between the observer and the spirits of those who walked the same ground centuries earlier.

The weight of noble and common tragedy The focus turns to the grander, often violent, histories of the Somerville and Preston families. The narrative details the legal battles, blood feuds, and accidental deaths that define the ancestral homes, grounding these broad events in specific, tangible locations.

The final reclamation Concluding near the coast, the author details the loss of historical sites to modern infrastructure like railways and suburban expansion. The final steps serve as a testament to the disappearing remnants of the past, offering the reader a curated map of what remains.

The People

The cast is dominated by the figures who shaped the land and those who kept its secrets. Miss Menie Trotter, an elderly neighbor and quintessential "old Scotch lady," represents a vanishing breed of eccentric, independent gentlewomen who lived with a fierce vitality into their nineties. She acts as a bridge to the past, embodying the hospitality and plain-spoken character of her forebears.

Lord Somerville and his family represent the volatility of the landed gentry, caught in a cycle of lawsuits and sudden, violent misfortune. The story of the accidental shooting of his brother highlights the fragility of noble life, while his later cleverness in bribing a regent to settle a property dispute reveals the pragmatic, often ruthless, nature of the era’s political dealings.

The "young Laird of Niddrie" appears as a child-hero of the Jacobite cause, his innocence shielding him as he smuggles funds to Prince Charles. He serves as a symbol of the divided loyalties that tore through Scottish families during the 1745 uprising.

Finally, William Miller, the enigmatic antiquarian, stands as the most mysterious figure. His life—defined by a late marriage, a suspiciously "suppositious" heir, and a demand to be buried forty feet deep—stands in stark contrast to the more open, recordable lives of the lairds. He is the personification of the secrets the author seeks to protect from oblivion.

In Its Own Voice

'Twas at the silent, solemn hour When night and morning meet, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet.

The author uses this stanza from a famous ballad to illustrate how even the common folk of the region infused the landscape with tales of the supernatural and the sorrowful.

Upon the earth thrives villainy and woe, But happiness and I do dwell below; My hands hew'd out this rock into a cell, Wherein, from din of life, I safely dwell.

This verse by the poet Pennycuick is cited to describe the hermit-like existence of a blacksmith who spent five years carving his own home into a sandstone cliff.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the tension between the permanence of the Scottish landscape and the transience of human endeavor. The author is preoccupied with how time and "progress"—specifically the mid-nineteenth-century industrialization—threaten to erase the cultural memory of the region. She argues that the value of a place is not found merely in its scenic beauty or its physical architecture, but in the layers of human drama that have occurred there. By documenting the "empty tales" of graves and the forgotten ironwork of gates, she poses a question about the nature of heritage: when the last physical relic is replaced by a railway or a house, how do we keep the history of a people from becoming completely intangible?

Why Read It Today

Readers who find joy in the "deep map"—the practice of layering history, folklore, and personal anecdote over a physical location—will find this a deeply rewarding companion. It is written with a calm, observant warmth that suggests a long, slow walk on a crisp day. There is no urgency here, only a deliberate, steady engagement with the past.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the author’s period attitudes. Her perspective is firmly rooted in the world of the landed gentry and the aristocratic traditions of the late nineteenth century. She views the world through the lens of family lineage and class-based loyalty, which may feel distant or even alien to contemporary sensibilities. Furthermore, the text frequently references obscure local families and historical lawsuits that require patience to untangle. The language is elegant but occasionally dense with the archaic, and the lack of a modern, mapped itinerary means the reader must be content to travel through these places primarily in the imagination. If you are willing to embrace the pace of a Victorian rambler, you will find a lingering sense of melancholy that stays with you—an awareness that every hill you climb and every gate you pass is a tombstone for a story that would otherwise be lost entirely.