Edinburgh Castle and finding Big Bob

 Our walking tour of Edinburgh led us inexorably up to the castle. The steel stands for the military tattoo in August were going up, obscuring some lovely big Celtic crosses. And triggering unfortunate memories of 2008 when Daniel and I chose to attend the Tattoo despite the forecasted torrential rain, and we were not alone in doing so. But the forecasted torrential rain was not wrong. And there was no 15 minute reprieve. No, three hours of torrential rain, no cover, steel bench seats. And a further three hours drying Daniel’s jeans with a hair drier back in the hotel room.

Now back to 2025.

Just before we entered the castle, Marina, our very tall young guide with the ‘attractive’ nose ring (none of us oldies were in favour), went to get our tickets, and so we went to a great little loo down a southern close.

We knew it would be special when we went in - there was a dome. But even better there was a male attendant who cleaned the toilet cubicles as they became empty. What a lovely tradition. Was he there all day, manning his 4 cubicles? We had not seen a similar role elsewhere. So perhaps we were just lucky to arrive as he was on the job. 

My review of the toilets of Scotland will soon follow.

There are some amazing ones, so far my favourite was at Kilmartin Museum.

What a champ he was. We did have a habit of drawing in the crowds. So our little groups of 8 mature women would descend on a small country, or capital, toilet facility. And we would wait maybe 3-4 people at most.

However on the way out, the line would now snake endlessly out, or up, or down (depending on geography). 

Had it got out that I was formally reviewing the toilets of Scotland for this blog?

Was I being followed?

And we hadn’t even been to the spooky place - where there were no toilets to review, thank god.

Back to the castle. What a hot-potch. Wandering with Monica, my fellow medic, we agreed to see both the Prisons display (her choice, and it was very good), and the Scots Guards museum (my choice). You may remember that Big Bob, our relative, had joined the Scots Guards as a cadet and risen to become Commander-in-Chief at the time the regiment did two tours of Northern Ireland in the troubled 1970s. 

Unfortunately Monica had not agreed to me reading every display. But once we hit Northern Ireland, I was looking for him. I found him in two photographs, and, of course, on the Colonels-in-Chief honour board. General Sir Robert Richardson … actually we share the same middle name - Francis/Frances. Had my parents known something even then, without even knowing it?…

I would know that profile anywhere after reading his memoirs.

There is a very good reason he was called Big Bob. But it was also a recognition of his great heart, and his genuine care for his fellow military family.

Love the tartan trews. 

Cousin Bob was commander in chief when Princess Anne was made Colonel-in-Chief, so I feel certain this is him also.

Oh yes, there was Saint Margaret’s chapel, built in the 1100s and barely the size of a bathroom in one of our better hotels (actually the George where we currently are at the end of the tour, but I did not get my big bathroom again, sigh). Avoided the queues to the Crown Jewels. 

A big deal is the one o’clock gun. Initially begun to tell the sailors and others down in the Port of Leith 3 miles away, that it is one o’clock. We missed it being inside a building, or more likely, getting lunch inside a building.

There were a few gift shops where I succumbed to buying badges of the MacRaes, Chisholm and Matheson. There are NEVER Buchan or Bain, and we are NOT Buchanan.

If you are reading this in real time, so that is you Pete, we are having a private tour of Holyrood Palace tonight that includes champagne. To toast his majesty, no doubt.