13 December 2004

Doune Castle, Monty Python and Me

By Annie Warmke
You can visit with Annie by going to http://www.bluerockstation.com

If you are into castles, Scotland is definitely the place to go.  At times it seems nearly every hilltop high enough to fling a rock from is crowned with a magnificent tower or the ruins of one.  During our stay in Scotland, (http:www.historic-scotland.gov.uk) we managed to visit our fair share. 

It is hard to pick a favorite.  Edinburgh Castle is the grandest.  Stirling Castle looks out over the fields of battle where William Wallace (of Braveheart fame) battled the English.  By far Jay’s favorite is Doune Castle, located in - where else - the outskirts of the village of Doune.

Doune Castle was built near the end of the 14th Century by Robert Stewart.  Back then people often married to acquire property and money (and maybe they still do today, but I’ve never had such luck).  Apparently this guy gained the castle grounds when he married Maragret, countess of Menteith in 1361.

This castle fell into decline after a few centuries.  It was restored in 1883, but by 1970 was nearly a ruin once more.  Sometime in the 1970’s a local family fixed up the castle, and it became the setting for much of the classic movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. 

Cat and Jay have, over the years, spent (or wasted, in my opinion) hours watching Monty Python skits and TV shows.  They laugh at jokes that make absolutely no sense to me, and spout lines (in a British accent) like “It’s only a flesh wound” or “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition”.  Then they collapse into giggles as I shake my head in wonder at these two normally sane people. 

So when we had the chance to visit the set of the movie, there was no holding them back.

On the day we arrived, it was cold and rainy…the perfect weather to climb around such a dark and dingy place in summer sandals.  We entered the 8-story gate-tower to pay our fees, the same gate that welcomed a huge wooden “Trojan Rabbit” (those who saw the movie will know what I mean).  I swore I could hear the “Pythons” comedy troop clapping together the coconut halves they used in their film…skipping along, pretending to ride horses. 

In the main hall, a cold and drafty stone room, we stumbled upon a “clan” of Scotsmen and women dressed as they would have been in the days that the castle was built. I was told that the metal helmet they wore to protect their faces from swords and other flying objects along with the chain mail armor added over 70 lbs. to their weight.

Cat was mesmerized by the tales of the clans, and their constant wars to take over neighboring lands.  She especially liked hearing how the women used herbs and roots to flavor their basic recipes. 

Jay, of course, was scoping out scenes from the movie.   “This is the room where they sang Knights of the Round Table,” he gushed.  This wouldn’t have been so bad, except that on the stairway leading to that room he had pointed out in a loud voice that this was the spot where Lancelot had murdered most of the wedding guests, and that the doorway to the left was the same doorway where the women led Galahad through to give them spankings (don’t ask) and a dozen other details, about which I could care less.

Even if you don’t know a Monty Python from a Flying Circus – you can enjoy the castle’s rugged beauty.  Walking the cold stone hallways, I was transported to a time more than 600 years ago when life was quite different.  Those rooms have seen such suffering and joy.  They have grown old, crumbled, been rebuilt, and crumbled again. 

We walked around the wet spongy green earth, looking up at the ancient stone building, set against the great grey sky.  I thought about the countless other long dead souls who  had walked in these steps.  My thoughts were interrupted by Cat and Jay pointing at the battlements at the top of the castle and giggling.

“I pick my nose in your general direction you silly English-type person,” Cat yelled out with her perfect fake French accent.   Jay responded in the same silly accent – something about an unlaidened African swallow.  I worry about those two.  Perhaps next time I will wait in the car where my feet will stay warm, and my vanity won’t be at stake.