Again, I was happy to arrange a brisk sunny day for our trip to Rosslyn Chapel last Saturday during my visit with Steve and Steph in Glen Isla, Scotland. For those of you who have read Dan Brown’s ‘The Da Vinci Code’ you will remember Rosslyn Chapel as the one that contains a ceiling from which hundreds of stone blocks protrude, jutting down to form a bizarre multi-faceted surface. Each block is carved with a symbol, seemingly at random, creating a cipher of ‘unfathomable proportion’. Apparently, modern cryptographers have never been able to break this code. Moreover, geological ultrasounds have revealed an enormous subterranean vault hidden beneath the chapel, with no entrance or exit and to this day, the curators of the chapel have permitted no excavation…And in case you forgot, it was founded in 1446 by Sir William St Clair. Who was he? Why, he was the third and last St Clair Prince of Orkney, of course! He was said to have brought a piece of the true cross to Scotland (as opposed to the fake cross, which was much larger).
Robert the Bruce.
Rosslyn Chapel’s thirteen-meter high roof was under restoration and so the entire chapel was surrounded by steel scaffolding and covered by a massive metal roof. Although this detracted from its silhouette (flying buttresses and all) it did provide a means for a closer examination of its higher elevations. The sweet smell of varnish and damp stone filled the numbingly cold chapel as a French guided tour would shuffle past. The lighting was peculiar: modern domestic (deco) stand lights consistently directed a warm light upwards and static upward facing orange fluorescents illuminated the checkered nave ceiling, both casting irregular shadows. Even more bizarre was the twelve o’clock English Christian sermon given in all sincerity to foreign tourists without ears. The whole scenario seemed forced and out of place. Among the chubby angels, numerous Green Men, corn and the death mask of Robert Bruce carved in the soft stone, the arrangement of furniture, didactic panels and the procession of the visitors in the humble sanctuary were void of design towards worship. We hung in the side aisles as a priest spoke. When he finished, the visitor’s complacency returned with the silence. I bet the silence of Sir William St Clair’s Rosslyn Chapel was of finer substance.
Rosslyn Chapel
That being said, I am sure some of the finer substance was still present and I probably could have found it, if I’d stopped looking. I noticed how Steve and Steph would view everything with the eyes and hands of craftsmen. Steve would complement his architectural knowledge at a basic level of touch and I’m sure he could feel a breathing purport in the thick stone walls and verbose chunky carvings that I couldn’t.
Out of the trunk of their off-white Audi (with the custom battery disconnecter switch) we ate Brie, tomato and lettuce sandwiches with chilled hands (and no, we did not eat chilled hands). Stopping only to warm them on hot cups filled with lemon ginger tea.
By that time, I could feel the tips of my fingers again and we set off for Stirling Castle.
Tags: travel