You didn't think we were going to walk right past the birthplace of one of the world's greatest poets and not go in? Today we explore the concept of a non-walking "rest day." I'm not sure why we didn't think of this before in 10 years of long-distance walking. It is great to ditch the smelly boots for trainers, wear "civilian" clothes and give the blisters a rest. Although we still end up walking a fair bit in order to take in the Burns museum, the house he was born in and ... go back to the graveyard. Well, there's not that much to do in Alloway. Highlights of the Burns museum include finding out just how much of an adulterous lecher he really was and spending most of the time wondering why Jean Armour stayed with him. But in amongst this some phenomenal poetry adorns the walls, original manuscripts can be viewed and there are quite a lot of portraits of him. My favourite bit is the graphic above showing the makeup of a poet's mind. Jennie's favourite artifact is Robert Burns' English guittar from 1757, the earliest known in any Scottish collection. To top it off outside the museum there is of course, a giant mouse. That ain't no timorous beastie. Up next, no these are not photos of our B&B. This is in fact the cottage where Burns was born, although he didn't actually live there very long. It looks quaint from the outside with its lovely vegetable patch, however inside most of the room is given to the animals they kept in there, which I wouldn't really fancy myself. It is fascinating to read an excerpt from Burns school report in which his music teacher comments, "Robert's ear is remarkably dull, and his voice untunable." There's also what appears to be a spinning wheel. "O Leeze me on my spinnin-wheel, And leeze me on my rock and reel; Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien, And haps me fiel and warm at e'en! " - Bessy and Her Spinning Wheel Never believe what they tell you at school. I guess the spinning wheel is not original but apparently, part of the dresser definately is. There's a lovely garden where we hang out for a bit before heading over to the Brig O' Doon, which Tam O' Shanter fled over in the poem. These days it's not used by traffic, goes to nowhere, and has apparently been under threat of demolition several times. It is a curious and eerie thing to stand on this bridge with the ghosts of the past, the famous and not-so-famous who found their way into the songs. "Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its Luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine;" - The Banks O Doon Burns actually stood here. I feel a bit spooked out. We might as well go back to the Alloway Kirkyard in the daytime, then. We are not disappointed. There are some truly magnificent medieval graves that put the fear of God into me. They don't make graves like they used to. Mind you, plague is making a comeback so who knows. Burns himself is not buried here (he's in Dumfries) but his father, mother and his sister are. A memorial stone features an epitaph Burns wrote for his father. Yep, I think we've definately done Alloway to death, as they say. I really enjoyed it. Happy anniversary Jennie! (She actually got me interested in graveyards in the first place).
Matthew
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