Stranger than Fiction!

Stranger than Fiction!

 

Okay, so I’m not trendy.  I admit it: I didn’t watch one single episode of Game of Thrones.  When it comes to escapism, I don’t fancy fantasy!  I much prefer a good detective film, trying to figure out ‘whodunnit’.  And in any case, I find everyday life so great a mystery that I’m far too busy trying to figure out the significance of the latest amazing coincidence to need any far-fetched fiction!

And despite seeing my grandchildren’s excitement about going to London to see Hamilton: an American Musical, I haven’t rushed to buy a ticket (though I dare say I’d enjoy it).  Perhaps the reason is that I have my own Hamilton story – which I’d now like to share with you.

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“C’est le quatorze juillet” I heard in my head as I gradually woke up.  “No, today is not the fourteenth of July, it’s the twelfth of April,” I thought crossly.  But again I heard the insistent “C’est le quatorze juillet.”

Goaded into action, I jumped out of bed, announcing to Bob that it was time to get up and get ready to go downstairs for breakfast.  We were in a small B&B in Berwick, just over the Scottish-English border, as part of a precious little Easter holiday of only three days away from home, in Edinburgh, Berwick and Peebles.  Life had been particularly challenging recently, with a divisive teachers’ strike, Bob’s cancer treatment, his mother’s increasing frailty, in addition to all our usual responsibilities at home and at work.  Desperately in need of a change of scene, we had decided to visit the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, just off the coast of Northumberland.  There we wanted to see the famous Lindisfarne Gospels, an illuminated manuscript dating back to the 8^th century.

 To allow ourselves to travel at a leisurely pace, we had agreed to go via quiet country roads to Edinburgh, where we would spend the night.  Our route took us through the little village of Drumclog.  There we stopped to look at the monument put up in memory of the battle fought in 1679 between the Covenanters and Government troops.

 We read the list of the “Christian Heroes who on Sabbath the 1^st of June 1679 nobly fought in defence of Civil and Religious Liberty”.  Four of the eight surnames are Hamilton – which was my maiden name.  My father had told me that one of them was an ancestor of ours, but he didn’t know which one.  Because I am all in favour of ‘Religious Liberty’, I am pleased to be a descendant of …Andrew or Gavin or Robert or William…?

We spent a comfortable night in Edinburgh, at the Halcyon Hotel.  ‘Halcyon’ is the Greek word for ‘kingfisher’, and I had specifically chosen that hotel because I remembered the large painting of a kingfisher in the dining room!  For me, the kingfisher is symbolic, being a creature which waits patiently to spot a fish, then suddenly swoops down on its food – just as I do when I spot another coincidence,  then carry off this spiritual ‘food’ to preserve in my current notebook!  Bob took a photograph of me at the breakfast table, with the kingfisher above. 

After crossing the causeway to Lindisfarne at low tide, we explored the island, then studied the wonderful facsimile of the monk Eadfrith’s richly decorated manuscript of the four New Testament Gospels, in Latin.  Each begins with an illustration of its author sitting on a rectangular piece of furniture, writing his testament about the Good News brought by Jesus.  Above each writer is an image of a symbolic winged creature.  Matthew has a winged man (‘imago hominis’), Mark has a lion (‘imago leonis’), Luke, a calf (‘imago vituli’) and John, an eagle (imago aequilae’).  I bought a souvenir card showing Mark and his winged lion.

The next morning, the 12^th of April, we set off for Peebles. I was still puzzled by the ‘announcement’ I had heard as I woke up: ‘C’est le quatorze juillet’.  Meanwhile Bob told me that he was feeling exhausted and somewhat unwell.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll manage a big meal tonight, and I’ll just have to collapse into bed whenever we get to a B&B”, he said apologetically.

At Kelso we stopped at a newsagent’s to buy that day’s newspaper.  While Bob was at the counter, I looked at a bookstand for a paperback to read that evening when he would be resting.  Immediately I caught sight of one by Catherine Cookson which seemed exactly appropriate – because of its title: Hamilton!

On the back cover I discovered that ‘Hamilton’ was the name given by a young woman called Maisie to a symbolic horse which would sometimes appear to her in a vision, inspiring her to write about spiritual matters. ‘Hamilton … is proof of a deep spirituality’. I noticed that the picture of Maisie on the front cover seemed to be based on the Lindisfarne illustrations of the Gospel writers – the same symbolic creature placed above her.  “There really ought to be the words ‘imago equi’ (image of a horse) beside Hamilton!” I thought as I bought the book.

It was late afternoon when we arrived in Peebles.  We had intended to treat ourselves to the luxury of dinner, bed and breakfast at the Peebles Hydro, but now that circumstances had changed, we decided to try to find a less expensive place for the night.  At the tourist office I apologised for asking for B&B accommodation so near closing time. 

“Oh, that’s all right”, said the lady.  “I’ll fix you up with Mrs Hamilton.”

‘Hamilton’ again!  Once more I had the strong feeling that this was no”mere coincidence” and that, at this anxious time, we had an invisible source of help and guidance.

Mrs Hamilton gave us a warm welcome.  On hearing that Bob needed to go straight to bed, she invited me to join her and her husband in the sitting-room.  On top of the television set there was an ornament in the shape of a horse’s head – another imago equi! – and beside it a photograph of a smiling old lady holding a 90^th birthday card.

“That’s my mother”, Mrs Hamilton told me.  “She was 90 last summer.  My husband and I had been in France for my nephew’s wedding.  We hurried back for her birthday, and took that photo of her looking so happy.  But the next day we got a terrible shock.  We got the news that she had died in her sleep in the early hours of the morning. It was the fourteenth of July.”