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January letter from Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published Feb. 7, 2008 Jedborough Abbey lies on south facing slopes on the north bank of the Jed Water, close to the centre of Jedborough. It was founded, initially as a priory, by King David I in 1138. Beautiful and romantic, Melrose Abbey houses the heart of Robert the Bruce. These abbeys were often used as hotels, sheltering weary travelers who in turn were generous towards them. The abbeys were bright, well lighted and colorful. However, I didn’t get to visit Dryborough where Sir Walter Scott's body is buried.    After the enjoyable “busyness” of Christmas, I begin the year with some “dial down time,” expressing a New Year’s hope that “may the best of the old be the worst of the new.”     Now then, before setting out to where we are going in 2008, the Border Abbeys of Jedborough and Melrose beckon with their promise of uncomplicated peace and tangible reminders of where we came from.     Two young friends drove us down. Jess is a good driver and her fiancé, Scott, took care of the navigation. Now if you had Scott as navigator while motoring to Dallas, you just might notice you’d passed Detroit City. This tendency produced unscripted conversations in the car between the two that TV networks would kill for. Scott looks like Keanu Reeves and, with her flaming natural red hair, Jess possesses the looks and poise of a model.     The rain stopped as we arrived at Jedborough, which was helpful when you are trying to photograph. Jedborough is one of three Border Abbeys. It is quiet here now, but it was not always so.     The Borders bred a hardy kind of character called “The Riever,” who loved cattle – other peoples’ cattle. Rievers were in the livestock relocation business; they were rustlers. I had better explain what a rustler is … on second thought, perhaps not. Something tells me that y'all may be familiar with the term. Names like Fleming, Maxwell, Kennedy and Armstrong come from the Borders.     King James V of Scotland had trouble with a riever called Johnnie Armstrong, so he set up a meeting with Johnnie and his boys – gang, just in case y'all missed the point – at a place called Caerlenrig. The king went back on his word of a truce and hanged all but six of them. That was in 1530 and the Borders still sing of the incident to this day.     Yet, this same king used to go out alone to discover what people thought of him. During one such foray, James V set upon by a gang of robbers at Crammond Bridge near Edinburgh. The king was saved by a farm worker called John Howieson, who took him home and dressed his wounds. When the king revealed himself to Howieson, he asked the farm worker what he wanted as a reward.     Howieson said he had always dreamed of owning the farm, Braehead, where he worked. His wish was granted on the condition that he and his successors would come and wash the monarch’s hands at Crammond or Holyrood if requested. A title, “Washer of the King’s Hands” was set up and, to my knowledge, still exists.     It seems royalty was not big on and water in those days. Queen Elizabeth I of England, who lived roughly at the same time, was once reported as saying, “I have a bath twice a year whether I need it or not.”     I leave the rest to your imagination.     Compared to these guys, a trail hand coming off a drive from Texas to Abilene must have smelt real sweet!     Jedborough was founded in 1138 by King David I. Abbeys were brightly painted, similar to the Missions on the San Antonio Mission trail. Like the missions, abbeys were meant to be seen; they were places of prayer, where God lived. They also had the only doctor-herbalist who would tend the local sick.     However, when tramping through an area, the English Army tended to burn abbeys. The Scots did the same thing on the other side of the border. Nevertheless, after being repaired and renewed, the abbeys carried on their work. The abbot, the guy in charge, gradually took on a political position, which cost him dearly should he back the wrong side – kings in Mediaeval Scotland did not have the problem of pensions for political opponents!     After Jedborough, we continued on to Melrose Abbey, which contains the embalmed heart of King Robert the Bruce. It is actually a rather romantic place, the kind of place you walk with the person you love, where together, hand-in-hand, you dream dreams of what might be.     In a ruin of the past, you often find vision for your future. The abbeys stand romantic witnesses to the past, The wind of history blows through them, like the gentle sigh of longed for prayers.     We drove away from Melrose and as I looked back at the abbey, I am sure I heard the words, “See you soon, don't be a stranger.” What is the song that says, “A stranger’s just a friend you do not know?”     Happy New Year.

Scotland articles archived in the on-line Courier:

January letter from Scotland	Published Feb. 7, 2008
Merry Christmas from Scotland	Published Dec. 27, 2007
An October tale from Scotland	Published Oct. 25, 2007
July letter from Scotland	Published Aug. 2, 2007
June in Scotland	Published June 28, 2007
The Merry Month of Marry, i.e., May in Scotland	Published May 31, 2007
April's letter from Scotland	Published April 5, 2007
March in Scotland	Published March 15, 2007
From Scotland with love	Published March 1, 2007

Merry Christmas from Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published Dec. 27, 2007 In the shadow of the historic castle, Edinburgh's Capital Christmas makes the city the place to be. "Kriskindelmarkt," the popular German market in Edinburgh, Scotland. There are plenty of goodies to fill your Christmas stocking at the traditional Christmas Market, where 25 stalls come direct from Germany to provide an authentic continental experience. The variety of products range from beautiful hand-blown baubles to wooden toys and the very popular traditional German mulled wine, Glüwein. Last year, 15,000 mugs were sold, proving that the spicy aroma is hard to resist on a cold winter's evening. Christmas Market in Edinburgh. The striking Edinburgh Wheel, next to the city's famous Scott Monument, provides exhilarating views across the city from its 33 metre vantage point. Edinburg's beautiful Princes Street Gardens become the focus of Edinburgh's enchanting Christmas celebrations and positively sparkle with white lights and traditional festive charm. This is an example of the Christmas décor at the church in which Rev. Alan McKean serves.    At this time of the year in Scotland, nearly everything focuses on Christmas. It's like the jewel in the crown of the year. The old year goes out — giving us something to remember — and the new comes in.     In Scotland, we've only had Christmas as a holiday fairly recently. Y'all knew that, didn't you? Those of you living in Texas have had far more of a celebration than we, but we're catching up fast.     The Christmas that Charles Dickens described is very popular — dances, halls decked with holly and huge Christmas puddings and goose — since turkey was not that well known back then.     "Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, please put a penny in the old man's hat. If you haven't got a penny, a halfpenny will do. If you haven't got a halfpenny, God bless you," goes an old rhyme. Call it "Dickens with a Scottish accent."     I live near Alloa Tower, which hosts an annual Dickensian Market. The tower was built in the 15th century so it was already 300 years old before the first Dickensian character came on the scene. These are cheerful occasions and, like you, we need all the cheer we can get.     This time also features a lot of traveling to visit loved ones — bus and train stations are full. Some people even have Christmas in Florida (but, don't send me no letters!). Some folk go to the theatre.     Playing to packed houses in Edinburgh is a stage version of "Holiday Inn," known to us as "White Christmas."     The Salvation Army is especially busy this time of year in Scotland, trying to keep their hostels and halls open to give the street folk food, shelter, medical and dental treatment.     To get these things in this country, you need an address — which street folks don't have.     So, the doors are flung open and, for three days, the broken earthenware of humanity come blinking into the light of day to find something of what home used to be like.     The other popular event here is the German "Kriskindlmarkt." These markets are wonderful. I went to one in Edinburgh and it was Texas busy. At night, the market is lit up and you're greeted by the smell of pine, cinnamon, gluhwein and hot chocolate.     Then, there comes the wonderful balancing act of trying to drink hot chocolate with one hand while eating four small doughnuts with the other. Oh, come on, it's only once a year!     The festival is filled with groups of happy singing folks and languages from all parts of the world — USA, Spain and Germany, as well as talk from Texas, I am sure. In the twilight, everybody has cream on their noses from the hot chocolate or buries their faces in mugs of Gluhwein or attempts to get the mustard from a frankfurter out of their clothes.     The markets are very popular and the German produce is top-drawer.     These are also very romantic places where couples hug together to get past everybody. And, would y'all believe, when the crowds finally passed, the couples sometimes forget to unhitch their hug! You're probably shaking your heads saying, "I don't know what he is talking about — I saw some couples at the ballgame so close you couldn't have got a fire ant between them."     This month we especially think of the brave servicemen serving in the Middle East whose families will miss them for Christmas. In July, one serviceman here was greeted by his wife and child — as well as a Christmas tree, presents and holiday food. His little girl could not have "real Christmas" till her daddy came home. She waited for her presents till summer because she got the best gift of all, her daddy back. Who says love is dead?     Have a great Christmas and may the Lord bless you and give you joy with your families — if you have one. Maybe you could invite someone who is on their own round for Christmas dinner.     If you hear a sigh when you sit down at that Christmas dinner, it's not the dog. It's just me — eating Christmas dinner at home but longing for Texas, which I still miss.     PS Have a good Hogmanay, but that's for later — let's enjoy Christmas first.

An October tale from Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published Oct. 25, 2007 Lake of Menteith Church near where the boat goes over to Inchmaholme The Lake of Menteith ­ the scene of a lot of trout fishing Inchmaholme Priory on the Lake of Menteith Another view of Inchmaholme Priory on the Lake of Menteith    It's October!     Leaves of red and gold, brown and tan are on the trees. The sunflowers are out and the last things that need to be harvested are being taken in.     October is like a still beautiful grandmother, standing at the door of her house when you stay with her, with a pile of scarves, saying, "You mind and wrap up, it's getting cold out there." When you get a scarf, you also get an extra big ole hug.     People coming back from holiday queue up at the photo shop to get prints of "That night in Barcelona," or the view from the coast of some sweeping, sandy, sun-soaked stretch of paradise.     In Scotland, this is a month of peace, before the start of the run down to Christmas and Hogmanay ­ I knew y'all would remember Hogmanay as the Scottish word for New Year.     I am just about to go on my summer holidays in October. Everybody likes different places for a holiday, some with romantic names. Texas has place names that sound as romantic as anything we have. To a Scot, Lubbock, Waxahachie and Seguin all have "visit" written over them.     As for Bandera, El Paso and Laredo you can almost see the cattle, smell the woodsmoke and hear Marty Robbins singing. I learned more about being a cowboy from Marty Robbins songs than TV.     "I'm up at the crack of dawn and I throw the bacon on, seems like my work is never through." I think many cowboys could echo that. Seems like my work is never through, you think.     Sometimes you just want to go to a place where there was no famous battle, or where nobody famous lived or where no infamous deed was done. Sometimes you just want peace, someplace where it is so quiet you can hear God sigh.     Lake of Menteith (pronounced "men-teeth") is such a place, as is Inchmahome Priory. Menteith is Scotland's only lake and on it is the Priory. Inchmahome means, "The Isle of Rest." The Priory was founded in 1238, and quite a bit of the original building stands, as well as some 14th and 15th century work.     It was founded by Augustinian Friars, who, with local help, built the church, grew what they needed for food and medicine, took fish from the lake and traveled by boat to where they wanted to go. Standing in the stall of the church with eyes closed, you can almost hear them singing; looking through the row of arches onto the lake, it could be 1307 and not 2007.     Robert the Bruce visited, as did Mary Queen of Scots and Sir Walter Scott. It is a place to catch up with yourself.     Listening to the birds sing, you are sure you heard the beat of angels wings. The boat ferries you over and back for about $8.     Then take a deep breath, grab your camera and go off to places you don't normally get to see. Anything north of Hadrian's Wall, built by the Romans, was Scotland ­ though it wasn't called that back then. We were called the Picts ­ the "Painted Ones" ­ just like Braveheart in the film.     Driving to the Border Abbeys, the Clyde Coast and gardens, I am looking forward to visiting good friends I have not seen for two years. We've been friends for 25 years and I'll stay overnight with them and catch up on all the news.     When I go through the various parts of Scotland, I think of my Texas friends and think, "Yeah, this is ­ country. They like the sea, or this is ­ country, she likes the mountains." I also play music in the car that I connect with them.     So, if one day in the next three weeks you are driving along and you hear music you do not readily recognize, don't worry it's probably just me thinking about you.

July letter from Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published Aug. 2, 2007 Arbroath Abbey consists of the substantial ruins of a Tironensian monastery, founded by William the Lion in 1178 and intended as his burial place. Arbroath Abbey was the scene of the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath of 1320, which asserted Scotland's independence from England. A visitor centre provides an insight into the abbey's history, which includes an exhibition on the Declaration.    I wanted to write some wonderful facts about this area’s sunny weather and beaches – yup, we have them in Scotland.     The ideal Scottish holiday used to be going down to the coast and a sandy beach, except now the beach is in Turkey, Ibiza or Florida. Scottish boys would go to the beaches, then wonder where all these gorgeous girls hid the rest of the year.     What’s wrong, you ask? Well, go on, ask.     This year it rained and rained all over Scotland and Britain, causing some really serious flooding across the border. A number of people were killed and lots of homeowners found themselves without proper insurance. It’s tragic to see people whose homes are ruined, especially elderly people. A lot of crops have been lost, as well.     We also had a car bomb explode at Glasgow Airport and other car bombs discovered and dismantled – which brings me to this month’s commentary.     Last month, I wrote about Bannockburn, the great victory of the Scots in 1314 under King Robert the Bruce over King Edward II of England when 6,000 Scottish lads defeated 20,000 English soldiers, although others cite 8,000 to 29,000.     In 1320, from the east coast of Scotland came the famous Declaration of Arbroath, a document that addressed the precious value of freedom. The Declaration is now in Scotland’s National Archives.     The Lords of Scotland had accepted Bruce as their King but with a caveat – as demonstrated in the passage below. Although this passage from the Declaration of Arbroath refers specifically to Scotland’s English enemies, its meaning is timeless.     “Yet if he should give up what he has begun, seeking to make us or our kingdom subject to the King of England … we should exert ourselves at once to drive him out as our enemy … and make some other man who was able to defend us our King. For as long as a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any condition be subject to the lordship of the English. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom alone, which no honest man gives up but with his life.” – Arbroath Abbey, Scotland April 6, 1320.     Now in July, with terror coming to Scotland, suddenly the Declaration of Arbroath became relevant again.     We remembered when the country was in real danger of being subjugated and lost, and the figure of Sir William Wallace, standing like a giant, addressed the invader, saying, “No, no further … ” The living spirit of Wallace was put on paper in Arbroath.     A quote from Arbroath’s great-great-grandchild comes to the fore as a challenge to those who would enslave and take our freedom – a declaration which shines like the brightest star, blinding those who would enclose us with darkness.     “We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal and are endowed with the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” wrote Thomas Jefferson in 1776. The Declaration of Independence brought forth the fruit of liberty and freedom.     On July 4, I recalled the words of President John F. Kennedy, who said, “The torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans.”     Sir William Wallace would have been at home in America as would Robert the Bruce. I can easily picture Wallace on the walls of the Alamo – perhaps the handful of Scots who died there could, too.     The spirit of her people makes America great, and I offer Arbroath as an encouragement to you. Wallace and Bruce would have been proud at what their grandchildren have achieved. You are part of a great land that has helped keep the world free for many decades – now together we must fight again to keep our freedom. God bless and encourage and protect you.     We have a Magnolia tree in our garden. For months after we planted it, it looked like a walking stick stuck in the ground. People would come by and say, “What is that? Is it alive?”     When we replied, “That’s our magnolia tree,” people laughed. Then, one day a single tiny green shoot appeared, then two and now the tree is covered and small leaves are growing. Now people no longer laugh. They saw the stick; we saw the tree, and our faith was rewarded.     Hope you had a good Independence Day and enjoy many more of them.

June in Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published June 28, 2007 A view of Dunfermline Abbey and the wording of The Bruce, which refers to King Robert I of Scotland, the victor of Bannockburn. A battle axe similar to one used by Scottish King Robert the Bruce to slay Sir Henry de Bouhn at the Battle of Bannockburn An accurate depiction of Scottish King Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn Memorial Center. Scottish King Robert the Bruce shown on horseback at Bannockburn Memorial Center. Dunfermline Abbey, burial place of King Robert the Bruce of Scotland A brass memorial tablet marking the actual gravesite of Scottish King Robert the Bruce inside Dunfermline Abbey    The Pre-Raphaelite painter Frederick Leighton’s “Flaming June” depicts a beautiful girl asleep in a chair dressed in a flowing deep orange dress. The girl seems to be saying, “I am here now, look and enjoy.” To me, that painting has always symbolized June.     In June 1314 at Bannockburn near Stirling, King Robert the Bruce of Scotland prepared to fight the most important battle in his country’s history. To put things in perspective, Bruce is to Scotland what Sam Houston is to Texas. With his 6,000 men, Bruce watched the 20,000-strong English army march into view.     How did this come about?     After many defeats and small battles, King Robert, crowned in 1306, launched a guerrilla campaign. His opponent English King Edward I had won all his battles against the Scots except for Stirling Bridge in 1297, where Braveheart – Sir William Wallace – had prevailed. The old king had died and although his son Edward II was brave, he was no general. Still, the English had numbers on their side.     By 1314, only one Scottish castle remained under English control, Stirling. Although besieged by Edward Bruce, the king’s brother, the castle could not be taken. The English governor of the castle, Sir Thomas Mowbray, called a truce, saying if the English had not relieved the castle by midsummer – June 24 – he would hand it over to the Scots.     Edward Bruce thought he had gotten a result, but his brother thought otherwise for now he was being forced into a battle that pitted his 6,000 troops against 20,000 of the English – an occurrence he had hoped to avoid.     The English had two main weapons, the first, being heavily armored knights equipped with lances. The knights assembled in a long line and charged stirrup to stirrup, knocking down anything in front of them. The earth thundered with the noise of their charge.     The English also had bowmen armed with three-foot long arrows. These bowmen could release six arrows a minute that would shower down on their enemy.     The Scots’ main weapon was “schiltrums” of men armed with long spears. To envision a schiltrum, conjure up a porcupine. Imagine its spikes are long spears facing in every direction with the schiltrum also able to move in any direction.     King Robert put thick trees and marshy ground to his left and right because cavalry does not prefer that type of terrain. In the front, he dug pits and sprinkled the ground with caltrops, four-pronged stars designed so one of the prongs always faces up. The pits and the caltrops stopped the knights’ charge, allowing the schiltrums to move forward. The knights tried to charge the schiltrums, but horses are not stupid. Their idea of a good time was not to get impaled on spears.     The English called the knights off, and sent in the archers, who began to kill off the Scots from a distance.     However, King Robert had one other weapon up his chain mail – 500 light cavalry, mounted on small unarmored horses. The light cavalry’s commander was Sir William Keith, Bruce’s equivalent of General Jeb Stuart. Bruce pointed Keith in the direction of the archers and commanded, “Go get ‘em, boys!” The archers left the field. Even so, 6,000 opposed to 20,000 would still take some doing.     As the second day of battle ended, both the English and Scots were exhausted. Suddenly over the brow of the hill came a lot of cheering folk brandishing banners, spears and home-made weapons. This fresh infusion of “troops” was comprised of about 2,000 Scottish army followers, women and men, who had served as cooks, bakers, armourers – “sma’ folk” – who kept the army going.     To the English, however, they looked like fresh Scottish regular troops. The English ranks broke and ran, with King Edward getting away by the skin of his teeth.     During the melee, Bruce captured the Earl of Hereford, eventually exchanging him for his queen, sister and mother, who had been held prisoner in England.     It was an astounding victory, yet the incident most remembered occurred at the start of the battle.     An English knight, Sir Henry de Bouhn, saw King Robert on a small pony separated from his men. If he could kill King Robert, the battle would be over, he reasoned. As King Robert watched, this knight, wearing a half ton of steel, charged him. The king waited. When Sir Henry was nearly on him, Bruce pulled his horse to one side, allowing the knight to thunder past. Standing up in his stirrups, Bruce killed Sir Henry with a single blow of his battle axe.     Bruce was not recognized as king outside of Scotland until 1329, the year he died. In 1320, however, the most important document in Scottish history was published, the Declaration of Arbroath. The Declaration of Arbroath was one of the documents consulted by the Founding Fathers of the United States of America when they sought a model for the Declaration of Independence in 1776.     King Robert the Bruce is still a dearly loved Scot. After dying of leprosy, he was buried in Dunfermline Abbey Church – except for his heart, which was embalmed and put in a lead casket in Melrose Abbey in the borders.     Maybe a Texan or two has the blood of Robert Bruce in his veins – I can certainly think of one or two candidates.

The Merry Month of Marry, i.e., May in Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Special to the Courier Published May 31, 2007 This photo and the next four are of Lochleven Castle where Mary Stuart or Mary, Queen of Scots, was imprisoned and from where Willie Douglas helped her escape. It is a lovely peaceful place. This is the church where they measure the brides for the legacy in St. Cyrus Aberdeenshire.    It has gotten hot here in Scotland, and everything really seems to have awakened. May appears like a trendy young granny, chiding her family, “C’mon all you couch potatoes, time to be up and doing. It’s summer, come out and live.” May’s sweet-scented air takes us back to days by the river or in the forest. Then everything was new and the years ahead numbered more than those passed.     While fishing for “the biggest fish that ever was,” we blinked and rubbed our eyes. Wasn’t that     Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer on the raft that just drifted by?     “M” signifies May – and marriage     May is the start of the wedding season here.     In St. Cyrus on the east coast of Scotland in Aberdeenshire, it wasn’t just the groom who had an interest in how the bride looked, but the minister as well. I had better explain.     According to local custom, a legacy of about $60 each had to be paid to the oldest, youngest, shortest and tallest brides. To determine the oldest and youngest was no problem; birth certificates took care of that. However, the tallest and shortest brides had to be verified by the minister and his trusty measuring stick. The bride was sized up in the vestry in front of the groom and the family. She was not allowed to wear her hair up; it had to be over her shoulders.     Statistics were compiled and at the end of the year, before Christmas, the appropriate money was paid out and results published in the local newspaper. The measuring stick remains in St. Cyrus, and is still used, despite there being fewer weddings in that church.     The longest wedding I ever did was one in which the bride was 45 minutes late.     Have you ever seen a groom who needed oxygen, whose face was the colour of Dairy Queen vanilla? And whose best man was trying all the stories he could think of to get him not to worry? Okay, you must be dying to know what happened.     Well, one of the bridesmaids had just gotten into her posh dress when the zip came right out. She was in floods of tears, and her mum had to do a quick nip and tuck job. The bride was upset as well, and when she got to the church, was not – as we say in Scotland – “a happy bunny.”     … and also for Mary     Willie Douglas fell in love with an impossibility.     What to do when the object of your love is Mary Queen of Scots?     That happened to Willie. He took care of the boats at Loch Leven, a castle in the middle of a Loch. In Mary’s day, the water came within two feet of the castle walls.     Mary was 5’ 10” tall, titian-haired and as graceful as a gazelle.     During her year’s imprisonment, the young queen walked the castle walls and stared wistfully out its windows. She missed her husband – the Earl of Bothwell, who had fled to Denmark, deserting her. His mummified body is still preserved in a Danish castle.     In addition, due to bad treatment during her imprisonment, Mary had delivered stillborn twins at the Loch Leven castle.     In May 1568, Willie took part in a plan to free the queen.     In disguise, she huddled in the bottom of the boat as Willie rowed the woman he loved across the loch in the moonlight to a prearranged spot.     Mary went off to her destiny. A fortnight later, after losing a battle near Langside in Glasgow, she was imprisoned again – this time in England by Queen Elizabeth I of England. Mary was beheaded at Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire in 1587. The castle no longer stands. After Mary’s son, James VI of Scotland was crowned James I of England, he had his mother’s body removed from a tomb in Peterborough Cathedral where it had lain for 25 year. In 1612, James reburied his mother at Westminster Abbey in London – ironically close to the crypt of Elizabeth I who had signed her death warrant.     What of Willie? We do not know, but as Sir Thomas Moore wrote, “The heart once having loved loves on until the end.”     Shucks, never did see a Texas wedding – maybe one day!

April's letter from Scotland By Rev. Alan McLean Special to the Courier Published April 5, 2007 Paisley Close Greyfriars Bobby A close in view on the oldest part of Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland    April arrives in Scotland like a girl going to her prom, poising at the top of the stairs looking lovely and showing much promise. She lingers, awaiting compliments that are not short in arriving. And, like her blossoming womanhood, April announces the hopes of summer with its expectation of good weather and vacations.     People begin braving the roads for chill-out purposes and winter clothes slowly make their way to the back of the closet. Last summer's clothes get tested out and would you believe? They have "shrunk in the wash." It's amazing how it happens to clothes when they've been in cupboards for months. I suppose you have that problem in Texas, too?     The change of weather must have come as a blessing to a wee dog sitting on a grave in Greyfriars Kirkyard in Edinburgh. His master, "Auld Jock," an Ettrick shepherd, had died and was buried in the kirkyard. For 14 years, the wee Skye Terrier dog sat next to his master's grave, fed by the local people. He died still at his post and became the only dog to be buried at the edges of a church cemetery. His master's name was not important, but the wee dog became known to the world as "Greyfriars Bobby." Americans, who appreciate both courage and loyalty, erected a statue to him in the street outside the cemetery, which has become a big tourist attraction.     I watched the film "World Trade Center," starring Nicholas Cage, that showed something of the unimaginable events of 9/11 – the courage and hope as people worked together.     Over on this side, we felt so helpless as we watched events unfold. Many prayers were offered for the trapped people, the courage of the police and firefighters and grieving families.     I recall a story about a "close," a passageway with six or eight flats built on top of one another, in Edinburgh.     In 1861, the buildings were at least 150 years old when four floors collapsed killing 35 people. The workmen had pulled out dead bodies, one after another and, thinking there was nobody else left, were about to give up for the night. As their words drifted round the ruins of the close, a boy's voice came from the back, crying. "Heave awa' lads. Am no deid yet." And, "Keep goin' guys. I am still breathing."     The boy was the only person to be pulled from the rubble alive. The close, which is still there, is today known as the "Paisley Close" or ‘The heave awa' close."     The other thing happening here in April is cricket. What's that some of you say? It's our second national game, a bit like baseball. That's what.     The great thing is there are 11 players on the team, coming from all the "airts" – different places and jobs – and all with different opinions. For the length of the game, however, they pull together and play and support and encourage one another to beat the opposition.     Families pulled together to feed Greyfriars Bobby for 14 years. Men worked together to pull the boy from the rubble. And, regardless of background or education, the team plays together to win.     That's one of the things I love about Texas and America. To my outsider's eyes, people pull together.     The bluebonnets will soon be out.

March in Scotland By Rev. Alan McKean Published March 15, 2007 The Firth of Forth, where during a very violent storm, King Alexander III, managed to cross over along with his friends. The cliff where King Alexander III fell over in the fog and is now known as Kings Crag. Monument erected in 1886 at the place where they found the body of King Alexander III.    March is a strange month in Scotland, a month that is not quite sure whether it is supposed to be winter or spring. Glenshee, where I lived, was two ranges of hills and a long valley running the full length of these hills. It was a place of sheep, sheep, then some more sheep. In March, it was also a place of strange weather. One place the sun could be shining and a 100 feet away it could be thick snow.     There was a flock of Blackface sheep on the hill behind my house. The shepherd came up on his 4x4 buggy with a big bail of hay, his two sheep dogs and in bright sunshine. Behind my house, there was thick snow like a white drape coming down from the hills. One could spit further in it than one could see.     The shepherd got off his buggy, hiked the bail of hay on his back and walked toward the curtain of snow.     "You're not going in that?" I asked.     "Aye," he said. "The sheep have to be fed." And he and his dogs walked into that curtain of snow and vanished.     They were gone for about 30 minutes. Then the two dogs came out shaking the snow off themselves, followed by the shepherd. He was shaking himself and wrapping the twine off the bail of hay around his hands. He waved to me, climbed back on his buggy and shot off down the road. The shepherd's name was David Houston and he went on to marry an American girl.     Bad weather and love helped spark a tragic event that led to a terrible period in Scottish history. King Alexander III, 44, was holding council in Edinburgh March 19, 1286. It was a dark and stormy night and sensible people would have stayed in Edinburgh until morning when the storm had blown over.     Alexander had a powerful reason for braving the storm, young Queen Yolande, daughter of a French count. She was waiting for him in the castle at Kinghorn on the other side of the Forth River.     Alexander's first wife had died, as had his three children­all under tragic circumstances. He knew he must marry again and produce an heir.     Alexander and Yolande had been married for a month. Well, y'all…when a person has only been married a month, you don't want to hang around in a cold bed in Edinburgh! So in the middle of the storm, Alexander and his amigos set out for Kinghorn. They managed by rowboat to get across the Forth in one piece. Then they picked up horses to ride toward Kinghorn along a cliff's edge. Due to the fog, Alexander became separated from his men. They heard a loud cry. The next morning after the storm blew over, they found Alexander's body at the bottom of the cliff. To this day, it is known as King's Crag.     A very popular King, Alexander left no heir. All the barons who wanted to be king put in their claim. The country went to seek the arbitration of the English King Edward, who claimed to be overlord, and he chose John Balliol (the son of Lady Devorgilla who built Sweetheart Abby in her husband's memory and wore her husband's embalmed heart around her neck in a locket) as Scottish king. Then Edward invaded Scotland to make himself king and imprisoned John.     But where there is tyranny, there are always those who value freedom more and believe it is worth fighting for. One man shone out from the first, Sir William Wallace, known to the world as Braveheart.     On Edward I's tomb in Westminister Abbey in London, there is the phrase, "Edwardus primus Scotorum Malleus, pacutum serva," Edward I, hammer of the Scots, keep truth. But as he and many others were to find, Scotland is an anvil that has broken many hammers­as has America.

From Scotland with love By Rev. Alan McKean Published March 1, 2007 Sweetheart Abbey in Scotland was built in memory of John Balliol by wife Lady Devorgilla. So much did this wife love her husband that after he died, she wore his embalmed heart around her neck in a locket. She is buried next to him at Sweetheart Abbey. Commodore John Paul Jones, the founder of the U.S. Navy was born in this Scottish cottage, built in 1747.    Here in Scotland, we are busy tunneling out of the long dark nights of winter. The snow has just arrived to surprise the early flowers.     Valentine's Day is coming. My sister owns a candy store. When Valentine's Day and a candy store meet, it can only be good news. She sells the kind of chocolate that kids buy and also the serious handmade ones. With Valentine's Day near, men from 18 to 90 come into the shop to buy chocolates for the love in their life, meaning, "I really do love you." (Boxes of chocolates so expensive that it has you looking to see if you need to extend the mortgage.)     Love is celebrated in the love songs of Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns. "My love is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June; my love is like a symphony that's sweetly played in tune…as fair as thou, my bonny lass, so deep in love am I…and I will love you still, my dear, till awe the seas gang dry." Later in the song he promises, "I will come again, my love, though it were 10,000 miles. The heart once having loved, loves until the end."     It did for Lady Devorgilla of Galloway. Nestled in the hills of Galloway near the town of Dumfries in southwest Scotland lies Sweetheart Abbey. Founded by Devorgilla in memory of her husband John Balliol who died in 1273. Her husband had been most famous for founding Balliol College as a part of the University of Oxford.     When John Balliol died, Lady Devorgilla had her husband's heart embalmed. She carried it in a gold and alabaster locket around her neck until she too died, in 1289, and was laid to rest beside the love of her life, under the high altar.     So touched were the monks by the depth of the wife's love for her husband that they changed the name from New Abbey to "Dulce Cor," Sweetheart Abbey." Today it still stands, a romantic ruin that celebrates the living power and depth of love.     Seven miles down the road from Sweetheart Abbey, toward Kirkcudbright, stands a small cottage that was built in 1747. Commodore John Paul Jones, the founder of the United States Navy was born there. He had love for his country, facing hard and difficult odds. The cottage faces a lovely bay and it was easy to comprehend where his love for the sea came from. He saw something worth giving his heart for in the growing, young United States.     It's all about love.     It can be amazing to spot how powerful love is even when one is shopping.     She is sitting on a ledge seat just inside Tesco's front door with a trolley of shopping next to her. He is coming through a checkout just up from her with two dozen red roses in a bouquet in one hand and a bottle of perfume in his other hand. He goes up to her and hands her the flowers and the perfume. "It's your favorite," he says, eyes bright with joy.     She gets up and takes the flowers like a girl getting a first bouquet from a sweetheart. "Thank you," she says, and kisses his nose. She puts the card he gave her into the pocket of her coat and gazes at him with love. To him, she is 18. To her, he is 19. They walk out of Tesco's with him pushing the trolley and her with one arm through his, one arm holding the roses like a bride being walked down the aisle. They are both more than 80 years old.     Whether it's Texas or Scotland, ain't love grand!     Rev. Alan McKean of Scotland exchanged pulpits in May, 2006, with Pipe Creek Presbyterian Church Pastor Raymond Powell. He continues to stay in touch with his Texas friends from across the pond in Scotland.