by Alistair Ferrie

If a glen is one of mother nature's trenches which worms itself among the lonely hills and drains itself dry by means of a river, then the longest in Scotland is assuredly Glen Lyon. It runs from the Appin of Dull to Ben Dorain and is well over thirty miles in length. No man was ever able to describe the fairest face on his first meeting with it.

The Lang Glen can only be weel-kent to those who have known and loved this glen in youthful summers of sunshine or in the early spring­time snows, or perhaps exploring the high tops of her great hills or plunging into many of it's secret pools. Lonely days of gangrel happiness - only the wanderer can tell the wonders of this fairest cul-de-sac in Perthshire - and perhaps enlighten the mind of many a fellow traveller who, more often than not, is in more of a hurry - who whisks up to the mouth of the Glen and whisks off again without dreaming of the glories which lie far up this gleann dubh crom nan garbh clach (dark crooked glen of the great rocks ) Today it lies sleeping in my August sunshine - but in winter - there are places in it's narrow throat where for months on end, the sunshine never falls.

Here you will find all that goes to make a Highland glen so wonderful - great mountains lining it's sides and guarding its head and foot, sometimes blue-black under clouds, then all purple and grey - green, or dimly elusive on the still days. Flowers would bank her long Gyle-like road in swathes of blue, white and yellow. The Harebells and wild Geraniums, Wild Orchid and Stitchwort, Yellow Bedstraw and St John's wort laying the grassy borders in the colours of the Artists palette. Innumerable streams tumbling north and south through the wild defiles into the great salmon river which drains with a splendid impetuosity into the whole valley from Loch Lyon far up among the hills to where it glides, slow and broadbosomed into the Tay at the end of Drummond Hill. But, most of all, this hal'owed place is steeped in history from end to end. Old battles of the angry clans, cattle reivings, creach lifting, killings and intrigues which shook the land from Auld Reekie to the Kingly Royal Court with alarm and indignation. Old stones, Kirks and crosses - surely no glen in Scotland is more wonderfully linked to the past and to the ancient Celtic Church than Glen Lyon. Many a saint and Gillean-Dhe laboured for God, had his cell in the glen - and as lona will for ever belong to Columba, so Glen Lyon will for ever belong to his successor and biographer, Adamnan.

Most people approach the glen from Aberfeldy, in so doing, pass the village of Dull without being conscious that it is there. And yet, Dull is one of the most important spots in the glen's kirk-lore and scholarship. But the glen proper begins with the open dale of Fortingal. Here is one of the neatest and sweetest villages in Scotland, nestling beneath a verdant hill of mighty timbers. Topped by an old fort, the grander aspect faces the purple sides of Drummond Hill across the fertile haughs by the river. At Fortingal there is plenty to whet the antiquary's appetite - stone circles, cup-marked stones, a Roman camp with an old pagan Altarstone resting on the side of the circular site of the headquarters of Septimius Severus (a.d. 209). Within the beautifully restored parish kirk there contains some fine work in native Oak. In a little stone recess behind the pulpit reposes the ancient Celtic hand-bell which was used at many a sacring service. In the kirkyard you will find within a railed fold, the remains of the Fortingal yew-tree which Lore assures, is the oldest authentic specimen of vegetation in Europe.

A truly wondrous statement, particularly when tradition provides, Pontius Pilate slept under this venerated tree. In a private garden can be found an excellent example of a cup-marked stone. It is also held, Pilate was conceived hereabouts - but that is another story. By the side of the door reposes an ancient and typically Celtic boulder font. Years ago, in the time of my Grandfather there were priceless examples of Celtic carving lying within the Nave of the church - but these stones have, mercifully, been removed to the safe keeping of the National Trust.

Beyond the village, and just before you come to the Roman camp, is Glen Lyon House - one of the most romantic and best-preserved old highland mansions. Seen from the road beyond a dilapidated sheepfank, lies Glen Lyon House. It was Campbell of Glen Lyon who set out from Achallader Castle for Glencoe, where he received the hospitality of the Macdonalds in their own house, then rose up with his men, and murdered them. Was there ever a deed which more damnably denied the inviolable law of Highland hospitality? Now we enter the narrow entrance to the glen at the Black Wood. The road affords a splendid view of the Pass of Lyon where the river comes tumbling down a straight narrow gorge lined with trees and shut in by the towering hills which seem to encircle the whole place within the walls of a prison. Standing here, the thought comes over a true lover of Scotland's rarest scenery with a grim pathos, that tens of thousands of travellers elbow one another to see a little snippet of scenery called the Trossachs, when all over Scotland there are scenes like this which beggar the path of the Trossachs for sheer grandeur. The Trossachs of Glen Lyon must not be confused with that of Stirlingshire. A few hundred yards farther on is Peter Macgregor's Leap - a leap across the boiling torrent from rock to rock, which a modern athlete of irresponsible age and with no family ties might still try with a reasonable hope of success. The two miles between the Pass of Lyon and the bend of the Black Wood are the finest in the glen. We have, however, but passed the dark doorway to which Fortingal's breathtaking grandeur, was merely the vestibule.

Now, we begin the long closed in historic journey up the glen. The Highland history of this glen has been made by the clash and clang of Campbells, Macgregors, and Menzies, with Columban priests preaching the gospel of Christ's own peace to soften life for these fighting clans. At Chesthill House the glen opens out into a pleasant place of fertile fields and sheep paths. On the other side of the water is the ancient Roman bridge with its spectacular waterfall. Beyond Balintyre the road takes a sudden turn round a wooded height on which stands, hidden in trees, the ruined castle at Carnban. This was the stronghold of Red Duncan Campbell who died in 1580. The oblong tower, looped and vaulted, commands the glen up to Invervar and down to Chesthill. Across the river stands Dericambus nestling amid a forest of Silver Birch. At the bend of the river, above Carnban, the view of the Glen from the road, is breathtaking.

Craig-an-Eilderg stands like a sentinel in the middle horizon. Here, the glen is full of memorials to Celtic saints. At nearby Invervar there is a little square churchyard in a Garth, a poor place now, but once the chapel of a saint. The holy well, or tiobart, lies beneath the chapel choir. Across the river at Inverinian - the very name commemorates St. Ninian - reached when we have pass by Ruskich and Slatich, we come to that sacred spot, Craig Dianaidh (the Rock of Safety) where, until about 1480, solemn and judicial meetings were held. On the top of the rock where the judge sat you will find the traditional footprint of Saint Peallaidh (Saint Palladius) after whom Aberfeldy took its name. A little way beyond this ancient hill of justice on the left hand side of the road, stands the cross of Saint Adamnan, the patron saint of the whole Glen.

Adamnan was Abbot of the monastery at lona and wrote the biography of the most sainted of all his predecessors - St. Columba, The name Adamnan means Little Adam, and the Gaelic form of the word - Adhamhnan - sounds in English like Eonan. So, Adamnan has left his Gaelic name of Eonan all up and down the Glen. The Seachanaid's story has it that Adamnan was banished from lona because he gave in to the Roman Church on two vital matters - the tonsure of the crown instead of the Celtic tonsure from ear to ear, also, the date of Easter, therefore he in company of eleven other Gillean Dhe Evangelists embarked upon missionary work elsewhere to preach peace to the men of Alban. When they landed on the mainland they walked together until they came to Drumalban, across the wilds of Rannoch Moor. On the Ridge of Alban each chose a river for himself, and followed it. Saint Fillan chose the Dochart, Saint Adamnan chose the River Lyon which meanders down the wild valley that was then called, glean dubh crom nan garbh clach.

At the place now called Milton Eonan nearby Bridge of Balgie, he set up his cell, in keeping with monastic doctrine, mingled his devotions with the practical turn for agriculture. Standing here today by the Rudestone on which is incised a simple cross, we remember that long years after his becoming Saint Adamnan, or Eonan, stayed off the plague which crept stealthily up the Glen from Fortingal. The panic stricken Glen folk implored him to work a miracle:

"Eonan of the ruddy cheeks, rise and stay the plague of thy people - save us from death - let it not come upon us east or west."

So the kindly Saint gathered them on the Rock of Safety and calmed their fears by preaching to them the peace of Christ.

In a house only forty yards away lay a child dying of the plague. Eonan segregated the people thus separating the sick from the unaffected. He sent the Glen folk away to the shielings high among the hills. Then he himself tended the sick, and the plague was stayed. Lay your hand on this ancient stone of the cross, which is all that is left of a still older cross, and while you are thanking God for every medical missionary of ancient or modern times who has not been afraid to pass his time among wounded or dying folk, take 127 steps further up the road, there, on the right hand side you will find a rough flat stone lying with a deep hole in it. Here, folklore provides, Eonan fixed his crucifix when he halted the plague. Then, as you pass by Camusvrachan with it's churches on either side of the river - both being visible monuments of the most famous church case of modem times - look to the left across the river and upwards toward the valley to the south you will see rising the mighty backs of Ben Lawers and the Stuc.

How happy are boyhood memories of a June day long ago up there on the shielings. Looking down on the valley floor in the springtides of long ago the young men and maidens drove their herds and flocks to these sweet grazing grounds while some old men and children kept them company. All the others stayed at home to gather in the harvests. You can easily conjure an image of the horses laden with churns and cheese presses, crocks and dairy utensils, pots and crooks and bags of meal as this annual flitting to the mountain shielings takes place. Up on the shielings, old and young are free to wander by the burnsides, milking the cows, fishing the streams, hunting the deer. Many a song was composed and sung by the Highland girls while they milked the cows and thought of their lovers. Did not the tragic incident which served as a foundation for the famous milking song “Colin’s Cattle" take place during a cattle raid in this very glen? On summer evenings the harp or clarsacb was brought out to accompany the songs, and round the cottage doors in the gloaming or by the light of the summer moons many a ceilidh or storytelling took place. Now, the grey-lichened stones and the little recesses for the milking pans in the old ruined walls remain to remind us of those happy shieling days.

Across the river yonder the very names of Roro, Roromore, and Roroyere, serve to remind us of the once great family of Macgregor of Roro, to which belonged Sir James Macgregor, Vicar of Fortingal and Dean of Lismore - the first Celt to collect MSS of Gaelic poetry - whose lyrical craic lies before us today and held for posterity within the National Library at Edinburgh. At Balnahanaid, across the burn from Roromore, there was a relic chapel or annait, hence the name today of Bal-na-annait, or Place of the Relic. When we cross the Bridge of Balgie we come to Saint Eonan's real shrine. Here, by the stream, is The Milton of Eonan.

A little down the river was his church and cell, which were demolished by Black John of Lorne in1368. Black John's wife was Janet, a full cousin to King David Bruce, and she complained of the marshy ground about the chapel because she could not attend her devotions without wetting her feet. So, Black John built another chapel at Druim-na-eaglais, known now as Kerrowmore. A mere hundred yards away are the ruins of this chapel, lying within the ancient churchyard of Kerrowmore. In this churchyard for generations there stood exposed the old Celtic handbell, somewhat similar to, but larger than, the bell in Fortingal Church. This priceless bell of Eonan's Chapel is now in the keeping of the parish minister at Innerwick. It stands 11 inches high, is 3 inches across at its closed in top where once was the handle. It spans 8 inches at its wide mouthed bottom. Made of iron and riveted, it has evidently been enameled or beaten over with bronze ... even today it's tone is rich and solemn when touched. This is the most precious relic of the Celtic Church in Glen Lyon today.

But what of Adamnan's end? When Adam lay dying he instructed his people to place his body on a bier and run lunnan (bearing sticks ) through rings of Withies (Dullan). Then they were to carry him down the river until a Withy ring or Dul broke. Where the first broke, there they were to bury him. They did so, and to his sacred memory called the place, Dull. There, a church was built nearby his grave and later, raised a school and college - said to be the first seminary of education on the mainland of Scotland. At Dull today stands a primitive old cross with one arm broken off. Dull became such a famous educa­tional centre that the King afterwards gave the Gillean-Dhe at Dull a Garth marked by large stones, and also, a Lordship's Alm House which to this day is called the Abbaland of Dull, (Appin of Dull) The famous common house and schools were removed from Dull to Dunkeld. Then, at a later date to St Andrews, which became the first university in Scotland. Thus Adamnan, or Eonan, will ever be associated with the foundation of our oldest university.

Before leaving Kerrowmore, near the Bridge of Balgie, it is well to note the circular mound, with a flat top, called Tom-na-Cuartaig or Hill of the Circle. This is probably the ancient meeting place where justice was dispensed. Nearby are the ruins of the chief's castle - Tigh lain Duibh nan lann (Black John of the Spears' House) The same John of Lorne who was married to Robert the Bruce's cousin, Janet, who was so scrupulous about wet feet on Sundays. Beyond Bridge of Balgie the Glen extends for many miles. Here stands Meggernie Castle, a stately white Highland home in green fields by the river, approached by an avenue of fine old Beech and limes.

Meggernie Castle was built by Colin Gorach - Mad Colin, son of Red Duncan - about 1582. It was enlarged by his great-grandson, the Glen Lyon Campbell of unhappy memories, who carried the curse of Glencoe. After the massacre he was ordered to Flanders with his regiment. He never returned but died at Bruges on 2nd August 1696 at the age of sixty-five.

“He smiled as a friend while he planned as a foe, to redden each hearthstone in misty Glencoe."

Meggernie then passed to the Atholl Murrays who greatly improved the roads and worked the lead-mines at Kerrowmore. From them it passed to the Menzies family, Colonel James Menzies of Culdares planting the great larches behind the gardens at Meggernie, said by tradition to be the first larches introduced to Scotland from Tyrol. Beyond Meggernie the road, a rather rough one, leads away up to Invermeran by Loch Lyon. Up here, by Cashlie (Castles) as the old Gaelic legend has it, there are some fine old Fingalian towers, or watch forts.

“Fingal had twelve castles in the crooked glen of large stones."

Five of these watch towers can still be traced - each with its Fingalian name. Beyond Loch Lyon lies the waste of Drumalban with Duncan Ban Macintyre's great hill of Ben Doran guarding in the distance, the wild scene. Even here, at the very head of the longest glen in Scotland nearby Drumalban, there was still another relic chapel or 'annait' of some saint.

Ancient days and hoary memories crowd upon us as we sit and play a lament or a battle march in the glen. With a sob in the chanter and a roar in the drones for every lost love or clan feud of Campbell, Macgregor, or Menzies. They will never come again. Strangers sit now by their hearths. But the blood and spirit and Celtic fire remain today wherever the old songs are sung or the new challenge to the fight is sounded in the ears of their children's children.

Source material:
Perthshire Advertiser archive.
Dundee Courier and Advertiser archive.
Perth & Kinross historical society.
Dean Ramsay, 'Reminiscences of Scottish Life'
T. Ratcliffe, 'Tales of Rannoch'
Alexander (Sandy) Ferrie: Personal papers (1928 - 30)
Alistair Ferrie: Personal papers and essays (1976)
Voilet Jacob: selected poems and songs.
Jim Reid: selected songs.
Betsy White, 'Travels wi' my ain Folk'
Statistical Account of Scotland (volumes various)
Bartholomew Ltd. Cartographers to the Crown.

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