It was an unusually bright sunny day for wandering around a graveyard. But no amount of light was going to make deciphering the writing on some of these ancient stones any easier. Luckily a previous local authority of some thirty years ago had decided it important enough to attach a layout plaque to the gate with small, embossed shapes on now blackened copper. Amidst a cluster of tiny rectangles I read the words - Tam o’ Shanter.
I was in Kirkoswald, South Ayrshire. A village that had done its best in recent years to transform itself into a ‘destination’. Pushing all of its attractions to one Main Road, a popular Inn, whisky shop, garden centre and cookery school have all done their bit to make visitors consider stopping rather than driving straight through. But the history of this piece of land is something else. Within this old kirkyard alone was the grave of Scipio Kennedy, a freed slave who returned to his master and the assumed baptismal font of Robert the Bruce, weathered, old and unprotected. But I had come in search of Burns.
I had arrived in Kirkoswald armed with the knowledge that Robert Burns had his eyes opened here. He studied here, got interested in debating, first visited a tavern, witnessed smuggled contraband and drunken orgies and first found love a real distraction in the most innocent of ways.
The obvious first stop was Souter Johnnie’s Cottage. Souter Johnnie (real name John Davidson) was one of the real life characters from arguably Burns’ most famous poem, Tam o’ Shanter. He built this cottage and lived in it up until his death.
It sits however, aptly in the shade - appearing like a poor relation to the more manicured Burns Cottage in nearby Alloway, with authentic slate signage next to a pinned free entry sign for the seasonal months it is open. In the hands of National Trust Scotland, it still nods to Davidson’s shoe making skills alongside a small art gallery and gift shop. The building itself, which wasn’t open on this day, is a rare lime washed single storey thatched cottage that I clumsily attempt to photograph from across the street between the passing cars. A local lady eyes me suspiciously on her walk. ‘It’s seen better days’ she says without raising her head. I found myself torn over whether it was a little sad or charming. Probably both.
I stopped for food at the eponomously named Souters Inn selecting the ‘locally caught haggis’ from the menu to keep me in the moment as I gazed upon paintings of our poet and his cronies hanging on stone bricked walls. I saved the kirkyard until last.
This is where the real life characters from Tam o’ Shanter lie alongside Burns old school teacher and grandparents. Finding them is half the fun. I take my time to read what I can and linger a while. Somehow the mood here is surprisingly light-hearted with an air of optimism. Perhaps it’s the sunshine. Perhaps it’s the legacy.
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