From Cathures To Glasgow

Chapter 1

Flying With The Eagle

A summer’s day in Glasgow brings joy to the heart and a spring to the step. Sunshine reflects upon the tall, modern office blocks, the various types of glass giving off a myriad of bright colours. On such a day as this, with a cool northerly breeze, a walk around the Glasgow city centre is very pleasant indeed.

The old lady was wearing a white dress with large red polka dot patterns, matching red low-heeled shoes, and to top it off a red wide brimmed sun hat. Her petite figure and elegant walk belied the fact that she was very old. Makeup caked her face, and the bright red lipstick only served to enhance the wrinkles around her mouth.

Enjoying her walk, but getting weary, the old lady stopped her journey down Bath Street towards Charing Cross and chose a bench in the man-made haven that is Renfield St Stephen's Church. This was her own personal sanctuary, and on such a day as this, all the more enjoyable, for the grand church to the left and the church halls to the right provided shelter from any wind. Behind the benches is the Oasis Restaurant.

Even though Bath Street was facing her only a few yards away, the old lady felt comfortable and safe. There were others on the benches, many of whom she had a nodding acquaintence with. Her recent encounters with some of the buildings in Glasgow had left her depressed and weak, the walls of those buildings had given up many secrets, which made her sad. At least in this haven, on a bright summer’s day, she could finally unwind and enjoy the tranquillity that not even the traffic, or the chatterings of other people could disturb.

In front of her was a fountain, a stone wheel laying flat, water gently bubbling up from its hub and pouring over the rim of the wheel. This fountain had originally been made for the Garden Festival of 1988. The birds came to bathe in the cool water, which entertained those sitting on the benches. On the ground, near the old lady’s feet, a pigeon was performing a mating dance, its tail feathers trailing the ground, as it danced in a circle to the right, and then to the left. The object of the pigeon’s desire appeared aloof, as she calmly pecked at the ground, looking for morsels of food. This amused the old lady for a few moments, then the female flew off with the male pigeon in hot pursuit.

The old lady noticed that one pigeon was perched near the centre of the stone wheel, unperturbed by the water pouring over its feet. It was a brown pigeon, with no other markings. In its beak there was an object, smooth and flat about three inches long. This pigeon stared at the old lady. No one else had noticed, for up above the pigeons were flying anti-clockwise continuously, drawing the attention of everyone skywards, except for the old lady.

She looked down again at the stone wheel. She was startled to find that the brown pigeon was at her feet. It stood very still, no one else could see, then it dropped the object and turned its head to the right, looking at the old lady with the left eye. Instinctively she picked the object up. It was a flat, black stone. As she clasped it, a familiar tingle went up her arm, just like all the times she touched old walls in Glasgow. Walls that gave up their secrets to her. The old lady wanted a rest from all this, and was dismayed that the feelings were now coming back through this black stone in the palm of her right hand.

But this time there were no voices, no feeling of dread or sadness. She felt a lightness, a sense of peace. Her soul began to shine through and was uplifted by the feelings from the black stone. She looked down, the brown pigeon was still there, and she knew it was waiting for her. Closing her eyes, she let the black stone tell its story. She felt the fresh wind on her face and felt the sensation of flying. She was soaring high into the bright sky, like a bird. She heard the beating of the bird’s wings, but the bird was bigger, no longer a pigeon. As the old lady soared higher, the bird turned into a golden eagle, and she saw through its sharp eyes, becoming as one. The black stone was sending her on a journey back in time. Back to the birth of her beloved city, Glasgow. The exhilarating feeling of flying gave way to a feeling of surrender, letting the beautiful eagle guide her through this wonderful story, passing through clouds, clasping the black stone in its right talon - flying back to another time.....

From Cathures To Glasgow

Chapter 2

The Holy Man

The eagle descended from the clouds and swooped low over the flat countryside. Her left talon stretched out to land,the right talon still clutching the black stone, brushing against the long grass until she finally hovered over a large rock near a burn and, beating her wings briefly to slow her descent, finally landed on top of the rock.

It was a warm summer's day and the scent of wild flowers filled the air. The long grass swayed as a gentle breeze caressed the land, bringing a welcome coolness from the heat. Water noisily rippled and and out and across the stones in the burn, untainted, coloured blue by the reflection of the clear sky.

The eagle cocked her head to one side and listened intently. A faint rumbling could be heard in the distance, far down the dirt road running alongside the burn, where the water was deeper. A few minutes later, a cart pulled by two oxen came into view. As the cart drew closer to the shallow crossing across the burn, the eagle did not move from the rock but watched as two man walked on foot, guiding the oxen. The man sitting on the cart was clothed in a plain coarse grey garment of a holy man, with long sleeves and a hood. His face could not be seen because the hood covered his head.

The cart reached the low water crossing of the burn, but the men could not see the eagle perched upon the rock. No one would ever see this eagle as she journeyed through time.

On crossing the river, the holy man called out to the two men.

"My brothers, there before you just beyond the bank of this burn is the burial place that Ninian himself has consecrated. it is here that we will bury our friend, Fergus."

And so, on that sunny afternoon, Fergus was laid to rest by strangers who had befriended him during his last few days of life. They had no tools to dig, and used their bare hands. The soil was hard and dry, so they used sharp pointed stones to break up the earth.

The holy man said a prayer over the fresh grave of Fergus, then he and the two men left the burial ground and came to the burn. Stripping off, they waded into the cold but pure water and cleansed themselves of the soil. The holy man got dressed, but waded back into the water, then turned to the men.

"Come my brothers. Let me baptise you in the name of God, and prepare you to receive Jesus, pure of body, mind and soul."

On that day the two men were baptised by Kentigern, the holy man.

"Upon the bank of this burn", announced Kentigern, "I will build my church to the glory of the Holy Trinity. Go you to yon small village and tell the good people there to come and be baptised, so that they can receive Our Lord."

A few days later, the men bade farewell to Kentigern and set of on their cart - never to see the holy man again.

The eagle took off from the rock and soared upwards, circling clockwise in a half mile radius, at great speed. Looking down, she could see the seasons changing quickly on the land below, as the years swiftly passed. Wood buildings rose, were burned, and rose again. She swooped down and landed upon the same rock. Again, no one could see her.

The year was 603, a time of great sadness for the village of Cathures. A slow procession of people carrying flaming torches made their way along the bank of the Molindinar Burn. They followed the body of Kentigern, now fondly called Mungo, meaning dear one by these God-fearing good people. His frail small body was being carried on a wooden plinth, carried by four strong men.

The procession all filed into the little church that Mungo had built, and there, in the dim light of the flaming torches, Mungo was laid to rest.

The eagle soared upwards again, and circled above the land. Seasons changed. The small church grew, and then burned to the ground. The church was forming again, this time made of stone. As the eagle circled, the church's steeple grew skyward, until it last it became a magnificent cathedral.

Soaring upwards in a straight line, the eagle beat her wings faster, to travel into another period of time.

She would come back to Glasgow Cathedral again - for this was only the start of a long traumatic history for St Mungo's church.

But for now, the spirit of the old lady within the eagle was to see the next momentous event in Glasgow's history - through the eagle's sharp eyes.

With power and grace, the eagle soared through the clouds, still clasping the black stone in her right talon.