Sketches of Stirling: Five
Our journey begins down a pathway along which many before us have marched, run, or simply strolled. Sma Folk, from Gillies Hill, armed with spears, apace with the feet of warfare, trained by King Robert the Bruce. Early morning joggers when the rising sun dapples the dancing leaves of low hanging tree branches, casting light upon Ben Ledi in the Trossachs, behind them in the distance. Dog walkers with pets on leads when fellow travellers pass by, part of a daily routine. Litter pickers too who seek nothing but a sense of pride in the passing countryside, keeping the pathways and hedgerows clear of empty crisp packets and plastic bottles. And walkers, like ourselves, raising money for charity, lost in the beauty of birdsong and the buzz of insects, shaded by a canopy of interlocking tree branches.
Let us not forget the tinkers, summer seasonal workers who came to help move cattle and gave their name to this ancient path, Tinkers Loan. Once it linked Stirling to the eastern villages towards Falkirk. Now the pathway only leads to the Battle of Bannockburn Site, aka the Brucie, and Stirling has city status.
It is also summertime and it is warm. Fencing separates the pathway from surrounding emerald, verdant pasture, sloping gently downwards to the left towards a fringe of fir trees, the hazy blue-grey Ochils peeping over them. On the other side of the pathway, fields of cattle rise towards further conifer woodland which crowns the scene.
We walk by ourselves and yet there is a presence here among these enchanted glades. Knobbly tree trunks encrusted with natural heart shapes; tiny hollows, mossy surfaces, twisting, grooved trunks and branches alive with magic. A home for elementals: gnomes, elves, fairies. Wild flowers glisten in purples, pinks and yellows, spiders weave webs of glorious gossamer. Someone has wrapped a gold band around a tree trunk, an angelic white feather lies in front of us on the gravel path.
The route is flat for a while until we traverse Farm Road and begin at first a gentle descent among the bevelled landscape. Soon we hear tinkling water and catch sight of a flowing stream below, reflecting the clear, cerulean sky. Down and down we go until we draw level with it. Shaded by willow trees, the water is darker here, foaming over a waterfall of boulders before flowing peacefully onwards, wending between farmland, bathed in golden light.
This is the true Bannockburn, created by the hand of nature. The other lies at the end of our journey, on the top of a hill, beside the Whins of Milton. But there is more to go first as our footfall continues onwards. The entrance to a mysterious driveway, with stone gate posts on either side, seemingly leading straight into woods. Then a farmhouse surrounded by fields of crops indented by the tracks of a harvester, and sheep snuggling against a fence as we pass on by.
The M9 motorway spears the landscape, creating an ugly man-made gash. A highway of whooshing vehicles pass below us as we cross a concrete bridge. Relieved, we are then enveloped in a sleepy, former way of life at the hamlet of Chartershall which lies on the Bannockburn. A painted powder blue house belongs to another age.
We begin our ascent to the visitor centre, dominated by a black statue of King Robert on horseback. For us it is a viewpoint back towards the route we have walked. Tinkers Loan, which never fails to soothe the senses in all seasons. Copses of autumnal copper, stark grey trunks and boughs of winter. Crows’ nests in tall treetops; buds on stems; catkins hanging from branches in springtime, messages of hope carved into tree bark. The path is constant while the seasons come and go as do those passing through.
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