Ewan Morrison: 'After a cuff round the lug at the Hill O' Many Stanes we travelled home in stony silence'

Published on Saturday 5 July 2008 19:54

That was my first thought when I was a guest at the premiere party for the Stone Of Destiny feature film at Edinburgh Castle.

It turned out that the stone before Alex Salmond's lectern was a fibreglass replica and the 'real' stone was safe behind security glass, although even that stone, Salmond said, was probably a fake too: "I don't care if it's the real stone, mystery, intrigue and romance play an important part in Scottish history."

So, to add to the romance of Scotland's fake history, I shall recount a local legend. As far as historic stones go the county of Caithness is left somewhat wanting. No Stones of Callanish or Ring of Brodgar stand proudly in its soil. Tourists often get excited about visiting the prehistoric site called the Hill O' Many Stanes, which the brochures describe as having the largest number of megalithic stones in the UK. They fight for a place on the minibuses that will take them to something they believe will be more epic than Stonehenge. I vividly recall a childhood trip with my parents, trembling with anticipation, my father parking the car then my little sister and I clambering over a fence, shrieking: "How far is it?" My father's sullen reply: "You're standing on it."

True enough, although a few of the stones stand a foot high, the majority are no more than pebbles. My father chastised me for kicking one of them, saying I'd probably rearranged the astrological positions of a Stone Age stellar observatory. Little sis wanted to take one home. Cuffed round the lug we travelled home in stony silence.

Years later, so local legend goes, the driver of the tour bus was unable to fulfil his obligation so a couple of his pub-mates, who believed themselves sober enough to do the job, offered to do the tour for him. With 20 excited Americans in the bus, it slowly dawned on them that they'd taken on a terrible responsibility. One would have to read from a pamphlet to the gathered crowd, but first they'd have to find the damned place. Not being visible from the road, and them both being somewhat in need of another drink, after an hour of skidding round Caithness B-roads as the tourists grew anxious, one of them came up with an ingenious idea, very close to Alex Salmond's. "Who cares if it's the real stones?"

So a field with some bricks and possibly even fragments of modern concrete blocks was hastily selected. And as the Americans gathered and took flash photos one of the duo nervously read from the page: "It is believed that the stones track lunar movements over a cycle of 18.6 years… sadly no records exist and all has been lost to the winds of time."

There were tears, a round of applause. Some shook his hand and confessed they'd never felt such a strong connection with the land of their ancestry, several lay down and embraced the ground. The pair of chancers looked up and saw an angry farmer approaching. Thankfully the accusations of trespassing were in local dialect and the tourists got back on their bus with their illusions intact.

What greater romance and intrigue could you want and who cares if the story is even true? There is a sobering truth to it though: you can create all the effects of real history with fake stones, but to do it convincingly you have to be half-stoned.