Walking home

On Wednesdays I usually walk home from work. It’s about three miles. We’ve had a bit of snow and last Wednesday, while crossing the car park of the wholesale supermarket next to the college, I skidded on the ice. Though I managed not to hit the ground, I did pull a muscle in my leg. To take my mind off this, I took some photos as I limped on my way. Would you care to limp along with me?

The college isn’t built in an architecturally distinguished part of Edinburgh – in fact it’s in an industrial estate, with some council housing nearby. So I didn’t photograph any of this. However, after a bit, my walk takes me through St Margaret’s Park (above) in the old part of Corstorphine.

This is now part of Edinburgh but was once a separate village and still has an old-world, villagey appearance. I took a picture of this house in the park – the Dower House - and wondered what its history was. It looks like Scottish traditional architecture but is it genuinely old? And here the answer, from http://download.edinburgh.gov.uk/caca/CACACorstorphine.pdf - mid-seventeenth century.

The Manor of Corstorphine was acquired in 1347 by Sir Adam Forrester from William
More of Abercorn. The Forrester family built a castle on this land and were owners of
the estate until 1689.

In the 18th century, the village became popular as a fashionable summer spa resort for
visitors attracted by the beneficial medicinal qualities of the Physic Well. Its reputation
was such that in 1749 a regular stagecoach ran between Edinburgh and Corstorphine
eight or nine times a day. However, the Well lost its medicinal properties and fell into
disrepute around 1790.

The Forrester family were also responsible for the construction of the mid-17th century
Dower House, also known as Gibsone's Lodge from its late 18th century occupants,
which is set within the north east corner of St Margaret's Park. The entrance gateway to
the house is reputed to have been constructed from stone from Corstorphine Castle,
which was demolished in the 18th century. It was badly damaged by fire in 1991 but has
since been restored and is now occupied by the Corstorphine Trust, an organisation
dedicated to the stimulation of public interest in the character, history and preservation
of Corstorphine.

(I'm sorry about the poetic-looking layout of this. It didn't look like this at the draft stage.)

Then I walked through the grounds of Corstorphine Old Parish Church. Again, Google gives me information about it: a chapel was founded here in 1128 but the present building has been there only since 1429, though there have been various later additions. The sun, low in the sky, was shining on its tower as I passed.

Some of the gravestones are pretty old, the lettering worn away.

Limping on up to the main road, I admired Williamson’s flower shop, which always raises my spirits. At this point I decided to take a bus, but examining the contents of my purse I found that I had no change. A bus ticket costs £1.20 and I only had a £10 note (buses don’t give change). My leg didn’t hurt enough to warrant such extravagance so I plodded on.

The sun was beginning to set now, casting its rosy glow on these silver birches outside the Zoo.

On top of the pillars by the Zoo gateway stands this eagle

and also this - what is it? - a succulent plant of some sort. Why are they there, I wonder?

Walking eastwards, I saw Edinburgh’s city hill, Arthur’s Seat, supposedly like a crouching lion. Look at all the cars with people going out of the city, home for the evening.

Here are the Pentland Hills, snow-covered, to the south.

This is a milestone that always intrigues me: on this side it says “Glasgow 40 miles” and on the other, “Edinburgh 2 miles”. It looks pretty old – archivist Daughter 1 thinks the style of lettering is eighteenth century. It must date from when Corstorphine was a separate village because it’s definitely in Edinburgh now.

By the time I got home it was nearly dark and in our absence there had been lots of activity in the garden.

(PS - how kind of various people to wish my leg well. It's fine now, thanks - or as fine as one could expect a 58-year-old leg to be.)