Heroes Not Zombies

I’ve developed a habit of watching the lunchtime news on French TV. Mainly because it helps me to “get my ear in” as I try to understand all that’s being said. I’ve gone from understanding very little to understanding most of it now but I must admit it’s a rather disappointingly slow rate of progress.

Anyway, this post isn’t about my journey to become fluent in a second language. It’s been triggered by a piece on yesterday’s news about Scotland. A regular part of the weekend news is a short film about a trip somewhere. It might be somewhere in France, or, more often I think, it’s somewhere abroad. Yesterday it was “The Highlands d’Ecosse”.

They set off from Loch Ness, travelled up the east coast to Dunrobin Castle, right up to John O’Groats then along the north coast to Durness, ending the piece a bit further south in Ullapool.

The landscape sent me to my photo collection and I picked this one to share with you today.

French TV presented Scotland as a “land of mists and mystery” and that’s pretty much what all French TV programmes do. I find that if you mention to a French person that you are Scottish they soon talk about the beauty of the mountains, about mystery, castles and ghosts.

I don’t know if this impression is specific to France or if that’s how people in other countries also think of Scotland. But there’s something in that portrayal which resonates with me, a native Scot.

Some of the most beautiful photos I have in my collection are taken amongst lochs and mountains and this one with the brightly lit wispy low clouds/mists running over the side of the hills creates a feeling of mystery I think….maybe even of ghosts or spirits.

Scotland is an ancient land with many stone circles, cairns, burial chambers and standing stones presenting a continuing presence of lives lived tens of thousands of years ago.

I grew up in Stirling, one of several places in Scotland dominated by a castle. One summer night I camped out in our back garden with a friend and we were woken at dawn (about 3am at that time of year) by the sound of footsteps. Someone was walking round outside the tent. We held our breaths and listened carefully. The footsteps stopped and didn’t start again. We unzipped the tent and carefully looked outside. The grass was covered with a heavy dew and there wasn’t a single footprint.

Yep, we were spooked! But also intrigued. So later that day we set off to the Public Library (this is well before the days of the internet!) and began reading about the ghosts of Stirling, one of whom, “The Green Lady” was said to frequent the very area where we lived.

Maybe all teenagers go through a ghosts and spooks phase, but that experience of mine just seemed to fit right in with the sense that we had that we lived in a world of mystery.

I don’t think we either believed or didn’t believe in ghosts actually. I think this was just one of many early experiences which sparked both curiosity and a deep sense of mystery.

Others have written about the disenchantment of life which seems so common now and I’m absolutely sure that the world, that life, that each of us as individuals, could benefit from a bit of re-enchantment.

For me, that happens best in places like the one is this photo. In Nature. In the wild. In beauty, wonder and awe.

It’s not about ghosts after all. It’s about this one small blue planet shared by us all and the sheer gobsmacking wonder of the everyday.