St Ninian

A few weeks ago I was sojourning in the Lake District with AGA - Sir George was there too and although he confesses to a dislike of wilde nature he was pleasantly surprised and pleased to see the grass kept nice and short in the Lake District by the various sheepish inhabitants.

While we were there we decided to take a day trip to Galloway.  There were two reasons for this: 1) to visit Wigtown which totes itself as the Book capital of Scotland and 2) to go on a pilgrimage to sites associated with St Ninian.

Wigtown was a washout in more ways than one.  A few bookshops to be sure but pricey.  Don't go there expecting a bargain.  Also it spent a lot of time raining as though the book gods were trying to move us on so that we would not be disappointed - but we were.  Hay-on-Wye has nothing to fear from Wigtown when it comes to its bookish crown as premier book town in the UK.

Anyway...

We made our way into Galloway.  Sir George has a completely unfounded distrust of Scots.  I took umbrage at this, especially as I number many of the early Scottish Kings among my worthy ancestors.  Sir George remained unmoved, muttering of porridge and haggis and so we let the matter lie.

There are to my mind three main sites to visit when making a pilgrimage associated with St Ninian - and we made sure that we visited all three.

First stop was St Ninian's Chapel which is in a place called the Isle of Whithorn.  This isn't actually an island.  It was here that Ninian built his first chapel, after arriving in Scotland.  The current chapel is, of course, now a ruin dating from the 13th century.  Pilgrims landed near this spot and made their way to the chapel to pray and give thanks:

A witness cairn stands nearby and we picked pebbles to place on it as witness to our visit.  I left mine in honour of my father.  The coastline was beautiful and with the sun out it was perfect!

Next we visited St Ninian's cave.  This involved a drive plus a walk through some rather muddy patches which did not please Sir George at all however we carried on, past the first of the bluebells, down a long winded track that led through a forest, down to the beach.  

We then walked along the pebble beach until we came to the cave.  I am not sure what I expected. Something akin to a huge series of rooms reaching back within the rock, I suppose.  It was nothing like it.  A mere triangular crack in the cliff face stretching back maybe 10 feet.  Completely open to the elements but raised up high enough to be out of reach of the incoming tide.  In fact the perfect place for an aesthetic Celtic priest to retire to from time to time, when affairs of the world got too much.  

Inside were many carving from over the centuries.  The place has been a pilgrimage centre since at least the 8th century and we had no doubt that pilgrims had come there to seem advice form the Saint during his lifetime in the 4th Century.  We picked witness pebbles and placed them inside the cave, on a ledge.  We left them for my late father, AGA's late mother, our grandmothers and Tom in Vegas' Grandmother who had recently died.  We said prayers.  

At that point we were by ourselves.  No one else was around and surrounded as we were, by rocks, sea and sky with only the cry of seagulls for company, it became a very moving and atmospheric place.

The journey back to the car seemed to take a long time and there were grumbles from Sir George who dislikes getting his shoes muddy. . .

We then drove off to our next destination which was Whithorn itself.  

Here we passed through the old priory gatehouse which now leads on to the High Street, and visited the roofless, crow inhabited ruins of St Ninian's Priory.


Inside the church little remains as you can see.  The altar is gone and the tombstones are 'modern'
Although there is a very impressive Norman doorway:

but we said our prayers and took photos before returning to our car and driving off into the sunset and back into England with another successful pilgrimage under our belts!