It’s Burns Night tonight, the 25^th of January.  The night when Scots all over the world celebrate their heritage with a haggis and a dram.  Although I’m a fifth generation New Zealander I still feel a tug to Scotland where all of my antecedents hail from.  I’ve travelled there several times and worked there twice – in a hotel in Perthshire and on an archaeological dig in Orkney.

My most recent trip was to research my book on the music firm Charles Begg & Co Ltd, specifically its founder, my great-great-grandfather Charles Begg, who left his piano manufacturing business in Aberdeen in 1861 to emigrate to New Zealand.   I travelled with my father and sister and while there I stayed in Banchory, venturing out each day to explore.

The highlight of our stay was the visit to the ruins of the Begg homestead on the Glen Tanar estate.  The following is a story I wrote about the visit.

The ruins of Walternaldie

 My favourite souvenirs

Two rocks sit on the windowsill of my study looking out-of-place on the white paint. Sometimes, as I glance out the window, I notice the rocks and my mind drifts back to that day five years ago ….

The land rover bumps and lurches over the uneven ground as we grunt up the hill. Mike the ranger turns to make sure we’re not getting too battered and bruised and in his soft Scottish burr assures us we’re almost there – he thinks – he hasn’t been to this area of the estate before. While he stops to consult his photocopy of a Victorian map we gaze around at the hills of Glen Tanar.

It’s spring in the heart of Deeside, not far from Balmoral. We’ve seen daffodils and crocuses on our trip up the glen from Banchory but there’s a nip in the air; it is the Highlands after all. “Over there” my sister, Heather, calls and we see above us the remains of a small hamlet. Pulling up we get out and wander around. The Highland air blows crisp and cool. The abandoned ruins feel sad, but there is beauty in the lichened grey stone. The stone walls around the perimeter remind us of those in Central Otago.

These are the remains of Walternaldie, the birthplace of our great great grandfather, his father and how many before him? Huddled in our thick coats we gaze over the fields, down the valley towards the river Dee. The wind whips and whistles as we feel the isolation of this place and meet the family ghosts. We imagine what life here was like 180 years ago.  We can almost smell the peat fires and the oatcakes cooking. The black faced sheep which were the livelihood of so many highlanders after the Clearances are everywhere, hardy but scrawny. They watch us as we nibble the buttery homemade shortbread and drink the flask of coffee provided by the estate’s cook.  Before we leave I ask Mike if I can take a rock from the ruins as a keepsake.  He shows no surprise and agrees.  Heather and I each pocket one.

Highland sheep

Back down the glen to Correyvrach which sits at the foot of Mt Keen on the old drovers’ route from Paisley to Aberdeen. Here our forebear and his family moved not long before he left to seek his fortune in Aberdeen and later emigrate. There are still patches of snow on Mt Keen’s slopes; it looks bleak and barren. The vegetation around the scant stone remains of Corryvrach is scrappy and windblown. Life here would have been much harder than at Walternaldie and we wonder why the family moved. Again we wander, fighting the wind and scurrying back to the land drover’s warmth after a few minutes.  Despite its exposure the Scottish palette of colours – browned heather, yellow green tussock with blue sky and grey stones – gives the area a haunting beauty.  Mike lets us take another rock.

Corryvrach

The day is late as we leave Glen Tanar, climb into our car and head back to Banchory, talking of what might have been, who we are and family we will never meet.  We feel grateful to our family ghosts. Grateful they could leave this place, their home and those they loved.  Grateful we could return and feel this closeness.  Grateful we have the rocks to remember our day and our past by.

Dee river, Glen Tanar estate