Consequences Unforeseen

Dunnottar Castle - August 1957

Dunnottar Castle - August 1957

It was a cold day in Hell…

The crack as her head hit the rocks 20 feet below seemed uncannily loud to the boy. Even above the noise of the wind and the breaking waves, the sickening thud was all that his brain registered.

“My God she’s going to be dead” he thought. “No way she’s still breathin’ – Oh my good God whit can ah dae.?

“Uncle John, Uncle John for Christ’s sake come doon an git me fur ah’m scared and Janice is gone fur sure.”

The storm as is the North Sea’s curse had come from nowhere. A bright and sunny day had turned to near night in what seemed like a blink of an eye. It crept in as a dark and menacing whisper with black dense clouds from heaven to the sea and only at the last minute had it announced itself with the fierce downdraft and torrential drenching rain turning the granite cliffs to a surface as slick as ice.

These same 200 feet high cliffs rising sheer from the sea to the stunning Dunnottar Castle above had been climbed daily by Bill Douglas and his cousin Janice since they had arrived in Stonehaven with their Grand Uncle John. The climb was almost vertical but the cliffs did give many good hand and footholds to the experienced climber. The boy had been climbing almost since he could walk, and his Cousin Janice twice as long again. The weather until this very moment had been glorious, sunny and warm.

In mid morning they left the harbour at Stonehaven and walked the two miles South to the awesome old fortress that even in ruins had the boy’s blood racing in his veins.

In honesty, “walked” is making light of the two mile steady climb from sea level on a winding coastal road with breathtaking views over the sea and down into the picturesque harbour with its mix of wooden North Sea trawlers and the newer plastic based sailing craft of the caravaners and holiday makers.

The six year old simply loved these morning walks up to the Castle and his heart beat fast in anticipation of the first familiar but constantly inspiring glimpse of the ancient fortress.

The first time he had ever seen it the boy’s hairs had bristled down the back of his neck. It held some almost magical attraction for him and even on this first rainy day visit a year ago, the place spoke out to him (or was it just his imagination? – he was never quite sure which) in terms of its sometimes cruel but never dull history.

A year ago, his Uncle John had told him that there had been a fortress here in one form or another ever since the 12th Century

“Its been the site o’ ghastly and gory battles in aw the wars against the English for hundreds of years boy! It holds the ghosts of many brave sodjers and their loved ones on both sides of the various campaigns.

But we’re no’ here fur any a’ that my lad. We’re here tae huv ye climb the cliffs and groom ye and hone ye. We’ll start wi a gentle first summer of walks up an doon tae Stonnie an some prowls among’ the rocks and shore at the sea’s edge. That’ll dae ye fur this year, but next year we’ll back in ernest!.”

The boy would hold that thought in his head constantly during the next twelve months and the anticipation was palpable to him.

“Fur this time though ah’ll walk this castle and its building and ah’ll dream my dreams of its ghosts and battles”

As this thought had been running through his head, the sun had come out from behind a cloud, turning the walls of the castle golden in its light. He was rooted to the spot.

The steep pathway down into the deep but narrow valley beneath the Gatehouse was in darkness by contrast and it was as if the castle was floating there above the sea, suspended in the air alone.