Highland Tales

I burrowed deeper into my coat and scarf and hoped this stop would be worth the pain of thawing out upon reentering the car. Our guide led us out of the carpark and onto what looked like a wetland. He trudged ahead, dwarfed by his canvas coat and Mum kept pace with him; no doubt in order to squeeze every last drop of historical knowledge out of him.

The first piece of cloth appeared, tied to a branch above our heads. It was soaked almost transparent by the rain, icy in colour. Against the rich greens and yellows of the Autumn forest, it looked out of place, human fingerprints on this pure setting. I felt a pinch at my heart but I wasn't really scared just yet. Hugh chuckled at my mother's exclamation at this first sighting. It was exactly as he'd promised. "Just you wait," he turned to grin at us. The path narrowed as we paced forward and began to ascend up a small hill. I noticed a few more knotted pieces of cloth dotted amongst the foliage.

As we entered the clearing, a whole fist closed around my heart. Pieces of material, rags and clothing hung from every branch in sight. The open forest now felt like a cave. Silence settled upon our small group. The cloths were like ghosts, dancing their slow song in the breeze that escaped through the canopy of trees. I wondered how many of the owners of these cloths were ghosts themselves. The atmosphere was claustrophobic; it was like a white noise pushed in on us from all sides. It was terriying but my feet stayed anchored on the leaf carpeted ground.

The Clootie Well is where Celtic people have carried their sorrows all through the ages. Beliefs varied but the general concept was that illnesses and pain would deteriorate along with the cloth you tied up at this sacred site. Other items placed here were mere offerings to the spirits. A teddy bear stared at me with one eye from its perch high up in a tree. A single sneaker swung from a low hanging branch. The sorows people had left behind were palpable. The desolation of the clearing along with every hung reminder of a pain caused sadness to settle over me. The people that created this place had journeyed here, clutching to the last ribbons of hope.

The well itself was a small stone basin, leaves the colour of liquid amber floated on its surface. I stared down at my reflection with the grubby decorations above my head. Our guide beckoned us back to the car and we retraced our steps. All the while I looked over my shoulder.