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Robert Fergusson (5 September 1750 – 16 October 1774)

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How we remember the dead tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Who we remember, tells us even more. Being a creator of words adds to the complexity. We are not merely worlded by the city we live in, or our neighbours who share the dwellings around us. We are not merely worlded by the words we use, our manner of pronouncing, the lilt and tone of our voice. We are not merely worlded by our forebears, who carry us into a life full of complexity and embodied history. We are worlded by our imaginations, by our flights of fantasy, by our means of escaping where we are.  Robert Fergussion died aged 24, having sustained a head injury. After a period of care, first at home and then in a place of Bedlam, he passed away. His mother, who tried to care for him, had said he had become insensible.  Try to imagine Robert’s mother, caring for the body of her son, a son she no longer recognised as such. The body of Robert had become unworlded, while it still moved and breathed. Robert’s mother c
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Another John Anderson

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How we remember the dead tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Who we remember, tells us even more.  Today I visited Rosebank Cemetery. It is the closest final resting place to my home and is perhaps best known for the Gretna Rail Disaster memorial. In May 1915, over 200 lives were lost in a multiple train collision. Soldiers, on their way to war met with disaster before even leaving Scotland. Many of the men, who came from the Leith area, were brought back to Edinburgh for mass burial. They were buried three deep and the funeral procession took over four hours.  The enormity of what happened is hard to get your head around. For every life lost, scores would have mourned the death of a loved one. One account tells of a Scottish gentleman killing survivors at the scene, much like one might put down a badly injured animal. I am uneasy with the thought and angered by the wasted potential of these men sent to their deaths..   So in glorious sunshine, over one hundred years after th
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The Scottish Witch Trials: 1479-1722

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How we remember the dead tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Who we remember, tells us even more. Sometimes, our memories can merge with the lies of others, creating myths and legends. Names can be forgotten and stories of victims eradicated to the extent there is no final resting place. There is no rest from the wickedness of past actions as the full truth can never be known.  Visiting The Witches Well just below Edinburgh Castle, these thoughts run around my mind. I refuse to be spellbound by the images of the evil eye or the snake curling around the head of the goddess Hygeia. Such imagery seems to play with the myth and lies associated with The Witch Trials that ran from 1479 to 1722.  The societal belief in witches and magic, covered a more sinister truth: such a narrative acted as a justification of the mistreatment and killing of others. These others, who were designated as witches, were often vulnerable people targeted for various reasons. They may have behaved in way
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Susan Edmonstone Ferrier 1782-1854

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How we remember the dead tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Who we remember, tells us even more. This quickly became obvious  when I first set out to write this blog. It became obvious how the majority of famous dead Edinburgh residents are well heeled men. Looking down wikipedia lists, perhaps only 10 percent of people mentioned are women, not to forget others who are non-binary, non-white etc...  This in part, tells us how men, particularly those who occupy a privileged socioeconomic position, dominate. Even women, from such privileged backgrounds, have larger hurdles to overcome than their husbands, brothers and fathers.  Walking around St Cuthbert's Burial Ground, trying to find the grave of Susan Edmonstone Ferrier, I thought I might like to lie flat down over the graves, to listen for murmuring voices, whispering forgotten truths. I didn’t want to imagine that the voices of this congregation were totally extinct.  Before this visit, I had a quick read about Susan E
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David Hume 1711-1776

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How we remember the dead tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Who we remember, tells us even more.  Today on my afternoon walk, I entered Old Calton Cemetery, Edinburgh. I wanted to find the grave of David Hume, the prominent Scottish philosopher.  I am a philosophy graduate but I have never felt the need to come here before, despite living in this city for ten years.  I remember the first time I heard of David Hume. Sometime around 1997, James Daly, the Marxist political philosopher, placed his name on a white board.  The board had two headings. On the left hand side, under the capitalised and underlined title of ‘philosophers,’ were names such as Socrates and Aristotle. On the right hand side, under the word ‘Sophists’, David Hume’s name was marked.        At the time, I remember thinking this was a simplistic introduction: a list of good guys and bad guys. James Daly was no idiot though, nor was he underestimating his students.   Sophists were interested in wisdom but they
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