My husband and I arrived in Leith, Scotland, July 15, 2015. The port for Edinburgh, an interesting town – we had time to walk around and lunch. Good to be off the ship. Tomorrow was ostensibly the highlight of the cruise – The Open at St. Andrews, on the other side of the link.
The real highlight for me was the opportunity, on a free day in Edinburgh, to find my boarding house and school close onto 50 years after attending – Cranley School for Girls – 1967-1968. Volunteers at the pier provided maps and directions for the usual tourist spots. No doubt the woman we spoke to was taken aback when I gave a specific residential address that I wanted to “get to”. About to send us to City Centre with multiple bus transfers she lit up and said “Over there. No 8. Tell the driver to let you off at Holy Corners.”
Holy Corners – right by the Edinburgh Hospital. A place burned into my memories of that year at boarding school.
We left the bus as directed, at Holy Corners. No surprise as to how it came by its name. The churches butted the sidewalk on each corner of Gillsland and Morningside, ergo Holy Corners. The stained-glass windows were dark with grime of decades of vehicles belching smoke into the air. Iron fences barricaded the grounds of the Edinburgh Hospital, lining the sidewalk, pinning the walkers between them and the busy street.
Gillsland was the quieter of the two roads. Old, stately homes stood well back on the lots, narrow gates opening from the low stone walls by the street. They had been built in an era where there were few cars and no need for driveways or access for vehicles. My boarding house was number 8.
A plaque with the street name was nailed into the wall at the corner, right next to one of the churches.
A gentle place with the sun shining, a dreary place in the drizzle of Scottish winters and an eerie place in the gloom of the evening. That is the memory I have of Holy Corners. A memory of the churches ill-lit and their shadows darkening the street even more than the dusk. Street lights were grimy and glowing dimly. The wet streets flickered with the reflection of car headlights. The whole of Holy Corners seemed to swirl like a living, breathing thing – crooked fingers reaching out to block the way.
Why was I trying to negotiate the way from the Edinburgh Hospital, past Holy Corners, to my boarding house on Gillsland Road on such a dark and dreary evening?
………………
Sally was older than I was, Scottish-born and bred. I had been assigned to her dorm room. There were four of us. Sally, of course, and Louise and Ellen. As the youngest (and newest) I got all the cruddy jobs like getting up on a freezing morning to turn on the space heater to take the edge off the unheated room. I was also the only non-Scot. Sally’s parents lived in or near Edinburgh but Louise and Ellen’s parents were elsewhere in the world. My parents, too, were thousands of miles away – in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania – I was very lonely.
Sally loved horses, as did I. However, Sally walked with canes, legs braced – a victim of polio at a very young age. The bones didn’t grow properly so every year her legs were broken, the bones stretched apart to create a gap and pinned in place so that the gap could fill with new bone. Every year! This year her parents had promised her a respite.
Sally had been encouraged to ride woolly ponies at a nearby stable – very staid. She was easily infected with the desire to up the ante. We found a lovely stable to try with the help of our young house mistress. The horses were trained in basic dressage, point-to-point steeplechasing and jumping and rides were available at all levels.
Our Headmistress, Miss Porteous, into her 60’s and less than fit and active (aka “Porky” – children are cruel), had some trepidation but she bowed to our pressure. Sally’s parents also caved to her pleading. Our first couple of visits were uneventful. Compared to the ponies this equestrian centre made us feel like real horsewomen. The stable hand was cautious with Sally and had put her on a big, slow-moving gelding – definitely part draft horse – a real sweetheart. His fetlocks were hairy right down to his big, flat hooves. This day he was tacked up ready to go, reins draped over his neck. The attendant had stepped away to help another rider. Sally’s parents had come to watch and no doubt showing off, Sally, in a burst of independence, decided she would mount the horse unsupervised. Crazy! Her head didn’t even reach his withers and there was no mounting block. She lifted one foot to the stirrup, hand gripping the front of the saddle.
In absolute slow motion I saw the rear hoof of that easy-going horse shift and saw him flick it forward as if to knock off a fly. Sally was right in its path. She went down like a rag doll.
I raced to her. She was sobbing in shock. Her mother scrambled over screaming Sally’s name. The stable hand whipped around and grabbed the horse, getting him out of the way. It was quickly apparent that Sally’s leg had snapped.
We lifted Sally very carefully and ensconced her in the back seat of her parent’s car. I crawled in to the same seat and supported her head in my lap. I was trembling. Sally was whimpering and I was soothing her. “It’s OK. We don’t have far to go. Just stay still.” She managed a nod. Staying still was easier said than done. Her dad, white as a sheet, was driving like a maniac. To the Edinburgh hospital right by Holy Corners.
I was left standing alone in the Emergency Room. Sally had been rushed into x-ray and her parents with a quick squeeze of my shoulder went with her. At this point I couldn’t process where I was or how to get back to the boarding house. It was now quite dark. I found a pay phone and called the house. Mrs. Todd, senior headmistress, answered. In her firm, no nonsense voice. “I understand. Sally is being looked after. Now let’s get you home.” She calmly directed me to the exit out of the hospital, past Holy Corners back to the big stone boarding house at 8 Gillsland Road.
Mrs. Todd greeted me at the lobby door. I was ushered into the Headmistress’ sitting room, across from our dining room. Several boarders were hovering at the door, Sally’s accident had already become known. The sitting room was full of over-stuffed chairs, throw rugs, cushions and a cozy gas fire (most of the rooms in the boarding house were unheated). I felt chilled to my core. I slid into a big chair that enveloped me. Mrs. Todd was stiff upper lip – “You are OK, dear. Home safe.” Miss Porteous – “You poor dear. And poor Sally. We should never have let her take the risk. Do you know – did she break the leg again?” “I think so. I didn’t get to go with her to the exam room at the hospital. She was in so much pain.” I hiccupped with the start of a sob. Both Mrs. Todd and Miss Porteous hugged me. Nauseatingly sweet, milky tea was poured into my cup. It cloyed on my tongue, the honey thick in the bitter liquid. I burst into tears.
There was no more riding for Sally and she spent that Christmas, yet again, in leg casts.
……………
And here my husband and I were at Holy Corners, walking down the road to 8 Gillsland Road and I remembered that long ago day like it had happened yesterday.
