Good Crieff!!

 

30/6

I got up late due to the fuss in the room.

I had a long chat to a Polish Masters student who was doing a thesis on Scottish nationalism and the effects of the Wallace, Stirling and Bannockburn monuments on independence. He was sure the English were playing dirty tricks to subjugate the Scots, which was what I thought, but then the more he talked about it the more convinced I became that in fact the Scots were putting up pretty biased propaganda against the English in their heritage centres. He told me that I had missed a parade of Templar Masons marching from Wallace to Bannockburn on 24 June. I must have been playing Edward in the battle computer when they marched in. He told me to Facebook them as they had a theory on Templar involvement in Bannockburn.

 

 

 

 

Canons on Stirling’s walls and the Wallace tower in the background.

I headed up to the castle after shifting back to the YHA sick of the stoned Wallace, a sense of relief and order came to me. I went to the royal history vaults of the castle and read up on the kings. Some confusion over Bonnie Prince Charlie arose as grandson of James II. The two pretenders, the old pretender was James III, son of James, his son was Charles III, the last Stuart losing at Culloden in 1746 in the last land battle in Britain. Some Australians came and attempted to work out the lineage and I interrupted to explain the Glorious Revolution that removed James II for William of Orange and Mary, James’ daughter, followed by Anne, his younger daughter, the last Stewart or Stuart, then came the Hanoverians.

The Stewarts pretty much came from Bruce in 1300s. Henry VIII sister married a Stewart, James IV, and so was uncle to the next Scottish king, James V. He had a daughter Mary Queen of Scots, whose great uncle was Henry. Mary changed her name from Stewart to Stuart so the French could pronounce it when she was exiled in France. Elizabeth hated her and had her executed for treason. Mary’s son through Lord Darnley, also a Stewart and her half cousin, was James VI who became the next heir to the English throne when Elizabeth died without progeny. The Union of Kings had made James VI of Scotland James I of England in about 1600. He was a protestant, but sympathetic to the Catholics who were being persecuted and ended their persecution by Elizabeth. His son Charles I attempted to marry a Spanish catholic royal that failed due to antipathy towards Spain particularly by the protestants and instead he married a Bourbon princess and became more sympathetic to the Catholics and parliament who he was trying to restrict ended up voting themselves more power and restricting his, finally creating their own standing army of Roundheads. The Royalists left in protest and war began in about 1640. Charles was beheaded for treason in opposing parliament’s rule. Cromwell became Lord Protector. He died and they brought back Charles son in 1660, Charles II. His son James II attempted to bring back more royal power with sympathy for Catholicism as well and the Parliament usurped him before he dismissed them by having the Glorious Revolution in about 1700 where they brought in William of Orange of Holland as King by marrying her to James’ sister Anne. James attempted to get back in, known as the Jacobite, and when the royals died without heir rather than allow the Jacobites back in, the parliament got a king from Germany. George Hanover. James son, Charles III, or Bonnie Prince Charlie, attempted to invade England with French help and once again was defeated in 1746.

James I covered the walls of Stirling castle with statues to promote himself as a cosmopolitan king. They had been eroded and the paint gone. The castle had a mass of wooden heads carved ornately on show. The statues were mostly classical, Saturn and Venus. Showing breasts suggests a daring almost erotic element to the Stewarts being tainted by French royal permissiveness and libertinism – Flora had recently been discovered in Roman ruins and had been copied here as a goddess of wealth and prosperity. Naked male goblins and jesters with their privates exposed were designed to further titillate the kings as his French wife brought revealing Italian fashions to the court with blouses exposing breasts. This would probably shock the Scots people who were becoming fiercely protestant and puritanical and surely set the seeds for the later Stewart fall from grace where his own parliament deserted him. I fell asleep in the display dropping the computer.

The façade of the YHA, characterless modern after being gutted inside.

Returned to the YHA which was fairly empty. American school kids took over the common room and then the dining room was taken over by some German elderly women watching the World Cup yelling out like Hitler in support of Germany. ‘Ya, Weinsieggar!.. Scheize!’

I went to bed where an old man was sleeping in the room and gave me such bad vibes I went down and asked to be shifted. They did so putting me in a double room by myself.

Then none of the plugs would allow my stuff to be recharged. Wouldn’t fit for some bizarre reason. Finally I found one that fitted in the corner of the room.

1/7

I got up late.  Had some porridge that had dropped in for free into my food basket.

I had been looking up one man tents to buy. There was one for 30 quid in Inverness I found online weighing 1.5 kgs. The bivy bags were no good due to precipitation. Go was the store.

I tried to transfer money to the Commonwealth travel money card which took ages and was blocked even by the Commonwealth bank itself when I shifted money to the Netbank saver with its three month interest deal. I lost most of a beautiful day on this. Sunny for a change. I tried to find accommodation in Crieff, the cheapest was P40. Or the croft hostel 6 kms away from Crieff. Buses went there from Stirling.

Stirling Castle’s royal kitchen

Finally I gave up and booked into the YHA again and went up to the castle to see the unicorn tapestry and castle kitchens which were full of white dummies cooking meals, done quite well with all the ingredients. The tapestry showing the unicorn clearly represented Scotland being persecuted by England as a symbolic Christ. They were making the tapestry in France back in the 16^th century then sent it to Scotland. But the tapestry was lost and this one they were currently making was based on a similar French one now held in New York.

I tried to find a small chapel but none existed and I returned to the Great Hall listening to the audio about Mary de Guise who had married James V giving birth to Mary Queen of Scots and the various shenanigans as Mary was promised to Henry VIII her uncle and the Queen de Guise was not keen on that at all. James died as the English invaded and Mary escaped to France.

I returned to the hostel to come across a bunch of middle aged Czechs watching the world cup and had some noodles. I needed to escape these mediocre people and hostels.

There was not a good feel in the YHA. On the news ISIS was still going strong. Rolf was found guilty of child abuse.

Channel 4 had Talqir, an ambulance worker on the news, on Skype from Syria. And a Dutch Jihadist fighter. Debating with a conservative MP, Brooks?.

I had almost run out of food. Was eating noodles and porridge. Some Czech kids were watching football in the common room and I booted them out. Watched the news. Then ended up downstairs watching USA v Belgium which was quite close. They won in extra time. I returned to the room and there was an old Englishman and a Swiss middle aged guy chatting away at midnight. We discussed soccer and I switched the light off, then played with my mobile and about ten minutes later decided to ring VTMB on Skype, I had managed to resurrect my credit with Skype. I got onto a girl in Melbourne who insisted on all sorts of details to confirm my identity and I started to complain about it after I had given the last three transactions and a prior address, which still wasn’t enough. The Swiss took affront to this, no doubt supporting banks in general and began to yell at me to get off the phone as he wanted to sleep. I was in the middle of getting the password to finally transfer my funds so ignored him. This made him twice as angry and I was put on hold after telling him the phone call would be shortly over. But as soon as she answered and was giving me instructions the Swiss went off again and started yelling, kicking the bed and getting up and telling me to get out of the room. He made such a racket I decided I had to get out, he then almost pushed me out the door in my underpants and I had to put my shirt on outside the room. The bank officer thought I was being taken hostage and asked if I was ok. I complained to the night manager and once again moved rooms, but the only one available was for disabled people. I got my stuff in the dark with the night manager watching and moved to the other room. Then had to make another phone call to the bank to work out how to change the password from sms security. I was shaking.

2/7

Needless to say I had a bad night and wanted to leave early, but missed the first bus to Crieff. I had to wait in the dour bus station which was as modern and ugly as Australia. As I had left the YHA, I locked myself out of the disability room and the day manager made a rude comment saying, ‘it doesn’t surprise me’. I left without saying a word. Stirling had bad memories. Bad karma from the past of the Royal Scots. I was relieved to be going. I wrote to the YHA from the bus station.

Dear Sir,

I was a guest a Stirling SYHA the last few days.

I would like to make a complaint about what occurred last night in the dorm room 207 with a Swiss man.

I watched the news. Then ended up downstairs watching USA v Belgium which was quite close. They won in extra time. I returned to the room and there was an old Englishman and a Swiss middle aged guy chatting away at midnight. We discussed soccer and I switched the light off, then played with my mobile and about ten minutes later decided to ring VTMB on Skype, I had managed to resurrect my credit with Skype. I got onto a girl in Melbourne who insisted on all sorts of details to confirm my identity and I started to complain about it after I had given the last three transactions and a prior address, which still wasn’t enough the Swiss man took affront to this, no doubt supporting banks in general and began to yell at me to get off the phone as he wanted to sleep. I was in the middle of getting the password to finally transfer my funds so ignored him. This made him twice as angry and I was put on hold after telling him the phone call would be shortly over. But as soon as she answered and was giving me instructions the Swiss went off again and started yelling, kicking the bed and getting up and telling me to get out of the room. He made such a racket I decided I had to get out, he then almost pushed me out the door in my underpants and I had to put my shirt on outside the room. The bank officer thought I was being taken hostage and asked if I was ok. I complained to the night manager and once again moved rooms, but the only one available was for disabled people. I got my stuff in the dark with the night manager watching and moved to the other room. Then had to make another phone call to the bank to work out how to change the password from sms security. I was shaking.

Needless to say I had a bad night and wanted to leave early, but missed the first bus to Crieff. As I had left the YHA, I locked myself out of the disability room and yourself, the day manager, made a rude comment saying, ‘it doesn’t surprise me’. I left without saying a word.

The night before I had asked to move rooms due to a man in the room disturbing me. I didn’t confront him or get aggressive. I simply went to the manager and asked to change rooms. This is the proper course of behaviour if you feel disturbed in a room, not violently attacking someone. This is unacceptable under YHA code and I would like you to speak to the Swiss man and let me know the outcome or I will be complaining to SYHA.

I am grateful for the night managers extremely tactful behaviour in this difficult situation where there was a lot of aggression displayed by the Swissman and his handling of it avoiding confrontation was very skilful. I would like to commend him.

You seem a nice person and I appreciate running a hostel is not easy given you have no idea who is coming in and who to believe. However I give you the phone number of the bank who has a tape of the conversation I had with them which will confirm the danger I was under. The representative was called Barbara in the VTMB, it is a small bank. The phone number is +6139-834-8560.

Sincerely,

James Travers-Murison

I got the 10 am bus to Crieff for P3.20. I went upstairs and met a man at the front from Northern Ireland and told him my story. He was trying to sell a house in Crieff without luck. He was elderly and sympathetic, but did not know of the Heugh. Just before I got off in the pretty town which reminded me of Edinburgh with little Baronial turrets everywhere, a middle aged man with Mohawk, dyed red hair and piercings got on with a fairly normal looking young woman and began insulting her finally threatening that he would bash and knife her. I could feel her fear, she got off then they got back on again. The stereotypes were true here.

Violence seemed to be pervading me in Scotland. After all the glorification of Bannockburn.

I got off at the next stop at the Galvelbeg B&B and was met by a very cheery Edinburgh woman who showed me my room, I then insisted on paying her which she seemed upset by and changed rooms to one with a view that was smaller. SYHA replied wishing me well saying they had talked to the Swissman and he had a ‘different take’ on the matter.

I had a view out of a small window to the Scottish hills and meadows swept by light rain and dim cloud. I had arrived a day too late.

I headed out for a subway roll which was quite good with a diet coke. I headed off to a real estate agent run by a law firm and was directed to Heugh. No one was there but a barking Labrador.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Heugh

I headed further up and found a prep coed school, up the hill was Knock Castle and a large Alsatian. They had a single room for only P49 but none available. They had several bars and restaurants, but the stairs going up to the place were falling apart. It looked like another Fawlty Towers on a larger scale, but worth staying at. The top restaurant had fantastic views of the highlands. I headed down to Taylors Park past kids playing in a park to Earn Burn. I thought that certainly I wasn’t earning anything just paying out on this trip and I needed to change that.

I continued on down the Lady Mary Walk along the burn which widened into a wide brook. The type where you would expect to see salmon jumping and an old laird with a fishing rod. But there was only joggers, I headed up the hill into Norwegian Pine forest and stretching grand fields full of barley perhaps, and in the distance the highlands covered in mist in the light rain. I videoed some of this trying to connect to my great grandfather and his sisters living there for a few years after their father had died leaving them without proper money and most likely after Patrick had left him nothing. Patrick was his father who died only a few years before himself. William died at 51 a drunkard.

Then came back dropping by the Huegh to see if anyone was there, a woman walking down the street walked in and I caught her attention. She took me inside and I took off my boots and took photos of the house. The husband was into Templars and Scottish heritage and ironically had been trained to play the pipes by a Gordon pipe player, Jim McKenzie? Who fought in WWII. I told him of my connections to the Templars and he scoffed. He was a Boyle and apparently had some tartan, castle, clan leader in the South West near Glasgow. The castle he showed me had Peruvian psychadelic graffitti on it.

They had stag heads up and the usual ghastly paintings lined up like my mother had in her drawing room. Scottish landscapes. The dining lounge room was nice with two rooms turned into one. And the attic where the boarders from the prep school stayed needed renovating with big glass windows and higher ceiling. I got his email to send him dad’s stuff on the Heugh and to send him my Templar book. He was a bit of a Templar fan having read Baigents books. I headed off feeling a bit down and got some takeaway for P9 at an Indian café. Expensive but filling. I ate it at the B&B whose lounge room was off limits and for a few pounds more I could have been in a luxury castle with a spa. Drummond Castle was not far away as were a mass of heritage sites, but I needed a car. I tried ringing Dundee car rentals and my phone credit disappeared. I rang up EE and found out that numbers beginning with 8 were charged at VIP rates, Dundee obviously was full of rip offs.

Crieff full of Ghurkha cafés

I switched on the TV Scottish news and there was Douglas in the borders with a mass of black hogs complaining about animal cruelty in the slaughter houses. I was stuffed with Indian food from Gurkhas who had moved in locally. My stomach started aching after a hot chocolate. And the computer locked down refusing to start. Bodies were washing up off the Isle of White from sea burials.

3/6

I slept reasonably well. But it was light very early as usual. I got up at 8 for breakfast, which as I was full anyway from last night was something of a saga getting through the muesli, yogurt, fruit salad, tea, scrambled egg and salmon on muffins and toast and orange juice. All included. I spent some time in the loo extricating it all with visions of some wild Scot’s tribes man shafting me with a hot poker. The pain turned into joy. Germans from near Dresden from communist times were visiting their daughter who worked in the Hydrohotel in Crieff, the posh big hotel here. Donald Trump had plopped into Scotland as well to raise publicity for his golf course near Aberdeen. Trump Turnberry. He was unhappy with the First Minister due to a wind farm going up nearby and was refusing to invest further and going to Ireland for happier pastures. The Trump was none too happy about independence claiming taxes would go up, though he stated he had no opinion on it.

Could Trump be persuaded to join UOCA?

I was out before 10.30 am with the Londoner trying to boot me out of the room, vacuum cleaner in hand, his accent sounded Yorkshire. His bonnie Scottish wife had disappeared to be replaced by himself waiting on me hand on foot asking me when I was leaving. I wasn’t sure if it was caused by my accessing porn on their wifi or telling them of my ancestors and my whoas. I mistakenly asked to leave my backpack there whilst I checked records for the Knowe in the library, this wasn’t possible as they were going out, key could not be given, so I thanked them profusely as they told me to go to Perth library for the records and then come all the bloody way back to look up the house. Opposite the bus stop I explained the situation to a pub called the Tower and they agreed to hold the bag in the garden shed.

My pack in garden shed.

Through narrow lanes I ended up at the Crieff library by the sports centre, a vast modern affair. Had the librarian assisting me in finding the Knowe. It turned up a lot of the houses on the hill between the golf course and the Hydro hotel were called Knowe, Beechknowe, Fernknowe, Knoweitall on and on. I was on a wild goose chase. One had been a retirement home. One was on Ancaster road another on Ferntower above Morrison College.

I made a major mistake of trying to log into the Crieff Library wifi it completley fucked up my Outlook settings and didn’t work anyway. A gremlin was about in a major way.

I dug up some records relating to the three moor’s heads and the Knight Templars and Bannockburn. It seemed to come down to a Templar Knight… and may be the son of Moir who eventually became the Murisons. And somehow a past incarnation of myself seemed very much connected to this man.. it also explained how I had been mysteriously drawn to the Douglas in the Bannockburn Centre then met the actor of him at Bannockburn Live!! The same Douglas family who two hundred years later had been repeatedly murdered, tossed out of windows at Stirling Castle by the dastardly King James Stewarts.

Kenneth Moir

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Sir Kenneth Moir was a champion knight, knights templar who, in 1330, rode with Sir James Douglas and the Crusaders to Spain with the heart of Robert Bruce to defeat the Moors who had laid siege to the fortress at Teba in Andalusia.

He was first Sir Kenneth de la More, a contemporary, perhaps nephew or grandson, of Ranald de la More, the Bruce's Chamberlain of Scotland (1329–1341).^[1] Sir Kenneth and Sir James Douglas rode out on Crusade with Sir Simon Locard of Lee, Sir William de Keith, Sir William de St. Clair and his younger brother John of Rosslyn,Sir Symon Glendonwyn, Sir Alan Cathcart and the brothers Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig and Sir Walter Logan.^[2] Locard would as a result of this Crusade became known as Lockhart.^{[citation needed]}There was also a young William Borthwick.

Having been granted a promise of safe conduct from Edward III of England, the party sailed from North Berwick and made for Luys in Flanders in the spring of 1330 remaining there for 12 days and attracting more followers from all over Europe.^{[citation needed]} Knights Templar had been outlawed and ordered killed by this time. There are no written records of who joined the party of Scottish Knights. There is circumstantial evidence that at least one Knight from Germany joined in Flanders.^[3]

Their intention was to then sail to Cape Finnestere in the North West of Spain to visit Santiago de Campostella which had been ordained as a holy town by Pope Alexander lll following the discovery of the remains of the Apostle James.^{[citation needed]} A pilgrimage to Santiago captured the imagination of Christian Europe on an unprecedented scale as it was the 3rd holiest site in Christendom and at the height of its popularity in the 11th and 12th century attracted over half a million pilgrims each year.

However, before they could set off for Santiago word reached them that the King of Castile and León, Alphonso Xl, in his efforts to drive the (Moors) out of Granada had laid siege to the Castillo de las Estrellas (Castle of the Stars) at Teba which was occupied by the Saracen Army of Mohammed lV, Sultan of Granada. The Knights travelled 2,000 kilometers to Seville and offered their support to Alfonso for his Crusade to rid the Iberian Peninsula of non-Christians. They marched the short distance to Teba.^[4]

On 25 August 1330 southeast of Seville in a saddle high above the river the Knights came to Teba in Andalusia. There, three thousand of Muhammed IV's cavalry made a feigned attack on the Christian. The great body of his army took a circuitous route to fall, unexpectedly, upon the rear of Alfonso's camp. With the Christian troops otherwise engaged, the Templar Knights face overwhelming odds. Templar Knights do not retreat and Sir James gave the order to charge^{[citation needed]}. Sir James Douglass, Sir William St. Clair, Sir John de St. Clair, Sir Robert Logan and Sir Walter Logan died in battle. To be a Templar Knight requires giving up family name in devotion to Christ. These Scottish knights followed the practice of Sir Kenneth. Instead, of going into battle with family amorial family symbols the knights, like Sir Kenneth were marked by crosses and stars. After the battle families would buy back their captured knights. Unfortunately for the fallen knights, the Moors would have preferred to gain wealth by returning captured knights. Lochard did take a Moorish knight captive and was given a jewel that would become known as the Lockhardt penny for the knights release back to his family.

In Teba's Plaza de Espana stands a block of Scottish granite to commemorate this town's illustrious connection with Robert the Bruce where Scottish Knights gave their lives to recover the plain below the castle for Christian Spain.^[5]

Sir Kenneth survived to oversee preparations for transport home of the fallen Templar Knights^{[citation needed]}. This included the scrubbing clean of bones. He returned the Scottish Knights to their family homes. For his extraordinary bravery and for might when faced with overwhelming odds, Sir Kenneth's surname was forever changed from de la More to Moir, from the Scottish Gaelic for brave and mighty one.^{[citation needed]}

The earliest Moir armorial bearing, the family crest of the Moirs, depicts a shield beset with laurels under a knight's helmet. Larger than the helmet above is a skull scrubbed clean with two leg bones saltire proper in a cross to represent the fallen knight. The two bones form the cross of St. Andrew's, a saint martyred on a tipped cross, "a mort head upon two leg bones saltyre ways proper."^[6] Below the knight's helmet are three Moor heads in their gore cut proper with blood dripping arranged in a perfect triangle. To draw away attention from the triangular symmetry and to the answer the question why three over the centuries arose the saying: "One Christian Moir slew three pagan Moors."^[7]

The Moor's head is one of the most mysterious symbols in Christian heraldry. Pope Benedict XVI, the current pope, has placed the Moor's head in identical profile on his own coat of arms. Pope Benedict is from Germany and may have gained the heraldic symbol from a Friesland or Bavaria family descended from a Knight of the Battle of Teba. The Moir crest is not that of a triumphant victor. Instead the crest is grim memorial to fallen warriors both comrade-in-arms and enemy. The family motto in the scroll on the crest is "Non sibi sed cunctis"—Not for self, but for all." When setting forth the family motto Kenneth Moir remembered the Templar Knights' motto: "Not for self, but for God."

References[edit]

1. Jump up ^ Moir, Alexander L.,. Moir Genealogy and collateral lines : with historical notes. unknown: The author, Lowell, MA, 1913.
2. Jump up ^ Sir Herbert Maxwell, History of the House of Douglas II Vols., London 1902
3. Jump up ^ Matthew Battles, 2008, Papal signifiers, How to read the coat of arms of Pope Benedict XVI, http://cache.boston.com/bonzai-fba/Original_PDF/2008/04/12/1208010928_4005.pdf
4. Jump up ^ BRAVHEART The Battle of Teba, http://www.spain-info.co.uk/History/Battle-of-Teba/Braveheart-Sir-James-Douglas.htm, January, 2012
5. Jump up ^ Garvey, Geoff and Mark Ellingham , The Rough Guide to Andalucia 6, Rough Guides; 6 edition (20 April 2009)
6. Jump up ^ Amorial Bearings from the "Lyon Register" quoted in Alexander L. Moir,1913, Moir Genealogy and Collateral Lines, Lowell, MA
7. Jump up ^ Moir, Alexander L.,. Moir Genealogy and collateral lines : with historical notes. unknown: The author, Lowell, MA, 1913.

 

 

Clearly Sir Ken being a young man was not a fool and ran from the battle when the tide turned. But he would have been far too young to have been in Bannockburn, so it was not him that the mystery turned. But he was an important code or piece of the puzzle. Perhaps I had left the knight actors too soon at Bannockburn Live?! The Swedish medieval actor of James Douglas was keen to head to Toba on pilgrimage and I too needed to be there!

 

"Non sibi sed cunctis"— was the key in the Latin cunctis?! The translation seemed wrong.

Another clue or another deadend?

But was Murison from Moir or Maurice?

If from Moir it was Gaelic for brave and awarded for gallantry at Teba along with most likely the three Moors heads. Had Sir Ken returned from battle with three Moors heads, taken in revenge at the loss of so many Scots knights of the Templars. An order the Spanish refused to banish despite the French and Papal orders. At that time the anti-popes existed in Avignon and the French kings had them by their proverbial privates. Yet clearly in Scotland they refused to suppress them.

More bizarre coincidences were turning up by the minute… my brother had been named Alexander and myself James. The town the knights were heading to for pilgrimage had been made holy by Pope Alexander on discovering remains of St James. ‘Their intention was to then sail to Cape Finnestere in the North West of Spain to visit Santiago de Campostella which had been ordained as a holy town by Pope Alexander lll following the discovery of the remains of the Apostle James.^{[citation needed]} A pilgrimage to Santiago captured the imagination of Christian Europe on an unprecedented scale as it was the 3rd holiest site in Christendom and at the height of its popularity in the 11th and 12th century attracted over half a million pilgrims each year.’

Was there a code like semiology in my life and my brothers. Did I somehow need his sanctification to be resurrected into life now?

Why did Pamela, a Yugoslav, insist that we go to Spain in 1989 when communism fell in Europe. And I write a book after meeting Baigent by the Dead Sea who wrote about the Templars, satirizing him and his books about the Templars set in Spain based in part on the travels with Pamela? Coincidence or not? I had thought of going to Campostella back then yet had been drawn away to Portugal where I had broken up with Pamela. Her heart broken. And mine. I had begged her to let me go alone for a week with the car to head north and she had refused saying she would return to Australia if I did. Women!

Was I once again entering the Matrix of the Scone of Destiny on which not just Scotland’s fate rested but that of the entire planet and life on Earth?

The thing was the Battle of Teba had occurred on 25 August, the same date as my sister’s birth. As eldest was she somehow connected to that day when the Douglas with Bruce’s heart had fallen unable to follow his Lord’s request to take his heart to Jerusalem. It had been returned to Scotland. Tears came to my eyes as my heart filled with remorse. Did I have a mission to find Bruce’s heart and take it to Jerusalem?!! Would that repair the relationship with my sister. Did she too have to come with me to Teba on the 25^th.

Even if symbolically!

I had missed the boat at Bannockburn on my 50^th. It was damage control now to stay in the game. And to stay in the game I had to play the Great Game! That meant playing it! Not ringing car hire shonky joints in Dundee and getting ripped off on the mobile phone, such that the phone disconnects. Ringing EE in India I had felt a cockney connection very strongly. ‘Lovee’. Tingles went to my knees. Then neck. Erith? Why Seven Oaks – I had rang an historian who was basking in the Summer heat in Kent, Colin Molloy?, the local Crieff historian. I rang him from the library where he said the Knowe was in Ancaster Road, not near the golf course. Seven Oaks where Pam and I had argued with Alex and his wife, second wife who I was related to through the Hawkers. Avril? Had our stuff thrown out in 1990. God was a mystery of ‘small things’, minute details. Small irrelevant coincidences that if noted took immense proportions. Was I on a goose chase over the Knowe?

De la More was the Norman knight who Bruce made Chamberlain of Scotland. Who was old enough to fight in Bannockburn. Moir’s uncle? Sir Ranald. Yet I felt it not to be him either. Who had I been in that battle? My impression was still that I had been killed that day. Even that I had changed sides to the Scots.

I had come to Scotland to lay my father to rest. To forgive him and myself. And to find my true identity.

I had loaded up Chrome to get the cover fixed on the Templar book and publish it. And Outlook had malfunctioned refusing to open the pst file. I opened the Nortons antivirus vault to log in. I altered the book cover leaving an error included hidden Christ of Lkon and emailed Booktango explaining it as a code I had no idea about yet, of course I didn’t tell them that. On top of that the cover of this and Tank Battles I had lied about, I had no permission for some of the photos had been ripped straight off Google Images. Because they amounted in each image to about a tenth of the cover image which was an artistic collage, I took it that permission was not required under copyright.

I now couldn’t get into Outlook. So gremlins were afoul in my system. On top of that another sign in hacker from Perth had been tossed out trying to get into my email. I assumed using the open wifi was causing this when I had been logging in to Chrome. I wasn’t sure if the hacker was indeed myself so wasn’t going to change the password again.

 

 

Oddly enough I had now discovered a more organised Murison network. www.murison.net. These were connected to Professor Falconer, the one who had written a biography on William Wallace. The links were slowly lugging together.

‘In Reply to: MURISON ORIGINS AND FAMILY TREE posted by Paul Murison on January 16, 2001
Murison is not a common Scottish family name. It is commonly associated with Aberdeenshire.
It means 'son of Muris' a variation of the French Maurice. Either from the Norman invasion of 1066 or the later Templar settling of the 1300's. The given name Maurice is derived from the Latin mauritious, indicating a moor, possibly further evidence of the Templar connection. Earliest record is 1448, in Scotland when one Simon Mwyrson was recorded as a husbandsman of Abirbothy. Latter descendants, Sir Willian Murison, a cleric. Many other churchmen. Sir James William Murison, Judge and later high comissioner of Zanzibar (appears on murison.net family tree) American side may stem from Geo Murison Rye New Hampshire died 1709. Johannes Murysone is listed as the Burgess of Kirkaldy and Archiebald was a bailie in Fife in 1529.’

I responded:

My opinion is that this Maurice origin is a misnomer, a canard due to some academic trying to relate his Latin to the name Murison and the fact of the coat of arms being Moors heads. It is quite clear that the coat of arms is of crusader origin and has nothing to do with us being dark skinned Moors. It is of the bloody beheaded heads of three Moors taken in battle. In fact I assert our origin stems from Sir Kenneth Moir, a Knight Templar. I say this because this was the first known use of the Three Moors Heads. They were created after the battle of Toba in Spain for him after he distinguished himself in battle taking the heads of three Moorish princes after the rest of the Templars were slaughtered including the Sir James Douglas carrying Robert Bruce’s heart in casket to take to Jerusalem. I suspect the young Sir Ken returned to Scotland tail between his legs with Bruce’s heart and Douglas body. Ken was in fact a Norman called de la More and his name was changed to Moir meaning in Gaelic ‘brave’ for his feat with the Moor’s heads. I suspect that he settled round Aberdeen in a Templar abbey. ‘In about the year 1187, William the Lion granted part of the Culter lands on the south bank of the river Dee in Aberdeenshire to the Knights Templar and between 1221 and 1236 Walter Bisset of Aboyne founded a preceptory for the Knights Templar, so there is a possible link with the Murison name and the Templars that settled in the north east of Scotland..’ according to www.murison.co who doesn’t explain the link though I have asserted an hypothesis as to why which I have no proof of the Aberdeen connection only the Arms. Some of their sons adopting the name Moir-son, which due to illiteracy got changed to Morison due to an i being incorrectly placed and then Murison about 1600. Spelling was so bad in these days this is not surprising, however coats of arms tend to be less butchered. In fact Sir Ken may not have settled in Aberdeen. ‘Earliest record is 1448, in Scotland when one Simon Mwyrson was recorded as a husbandsman of Abirbothy’. This place is located not in Aberdeen – see where the name is used in a rent book of Cupar Abbey.

 https://archive.org/stream/rentalbookofcist01gram/rentalbookofcist01gram_djvu.txt

“Two places in Scotland are designated Cupar — one a royal burgli and the capital of Fifeshire ; the other a town in Angus or Forfarshire, resting on the eastern border of Perthshire, and the site of an important abbey. To etymologists the name is a puzzle. In his "Memorials of Angus and Mearns," Mr Jervise remarks that it may be derived from the Gaelic Cid-hhar, the back or end of a height or bank. If a Gaelic derivation is to be preferred," our correspondent, Dr Charles Mackay, suggests that "the name may have come from cohhair, a sanctuary or place of monkish retirement." But Dr Mackay, Professor Ehys, Dr W. F. Skene, and Dr Thomas M'Lauchlan are all disposed to think that the name is not Celtic. It has been suggested that as David I and his royal successors brought into Scotland traders from the Low Countries, the name may be derived from the Flemish coper, signifying one who exchanges commodities. And in a recent publication there is a list of religious houses in Great Britain that, in the thirteenth century, sent wool to Flanders.”

This could mean the Moirsons originated near Perth, not Aberdeen, in fact not far perhaps from where my Murisons came from. Of course this is mere conjecture and either way Mwyrson may not even be connected to Murison. Again bad spelling could have sounded out Moirson as Mwyrson by a semiliterate clerk of the church. Furthermore since at least 1600s the Morisons with the first being Morison of Preston Grange, have used the Three Moors Heads in their arms, hence I am sure we came from them.  I suspect some of the sons were less bright and spelt worse and the Murisons were not the most academic of Sir Moirs offspring. Hence my heritage which stems from poor crofter Murisons from Alyth near Dundee, who sought land leaving from Aberdeen way according to our records, which supports an Aberdeen origin. I am fascinated by the Inverness connection of Murisons as my father ended up there during WWII. His Murisons escaped Alyth to make a mint on the jute trade in Dundee where James Murison ended up on Dundee’s Council as an astute jute broker having his father marry into the Thomson family of Seafield Co.

My 50^th being on the 700^th of the Battle of Bannockburn combined with my father’s service in the Gordon Highlanders and his secretive kanny holding onto his Murison heritage that drove us all mad, which I have only just discovered on his death and even then I had to fight the estate to attain it as he had hidden it away in trusts for donkey’s years, has led to a return to Scotland for me. The point being that I am certain we were connected to Bannockburn and the Templars fighting there and somehow the tide of battle turned to the Scots due to possibly Sir Ranald De La More and the Templar Knights giving a tactical edge in that battle, so ending English tyranny over us against massive odds; causing such a fearful rout of the English that it took them till 1700 to rule over Scotland again. And my last past life was connected to that battle, victory and Templar involvement. And once again Scotland is caught in a battle for freedom from England and as such I have come from Australia to do battle. To join up and fight for freedom! I call on all Murison, Morison, Moir, Muir and the whoever to come back to the Homeland and fight for Freedom and Independence with a pilgrimage to Spain and Toba on the 25^th August when the battle was fought there! Come ye yonder Murison clan home to the fair hills of Aberdeenshire to resurrect Scotland the Brave! Email me at info@wna.org.au

 

I headed out of the library traipsing up the hill to Ferntower Road and the Knowehead House. I was far from certain this related to the Knowe my father had mentioned. But there was no Knowe in Crieff. In fact Knowe meant hill in Scots and was pronounced now as the lady on the desk kept reminding me. After walking in circles round the area I got to Knowehead. And knocked on the door, it was all looking a bit cheap and rundown Victorian huge not quite baronial house. A man tottered to the door in his 70s. Thin and small with a white beard and hair and looking like a bemused timid water rat who had been caught out. He stood looking through the window staring at me. Uncertain who this invader with camera equipment was. I explained my holy quest for the grail. He knew the houses history well. It had been built by jute mill millionaires from Dundee, surprise, surprise. One who had been in Calcutta with a large mill there. He showed me murals on the outer walls showing a tiger with a man with turban subduing it in India. And another with a camel representing the Sudan and cotton he thought. Strangely, the person that built it had a great grandson turn up one day who was the director of botany in Sydney Botanical gardens. He had recognised a rare Himalayan plant there and I took a photo of it. I was not sure at all if my family had rented the place off him. It was big enough. The current fellow had bought it off the Scottish church on the cheap who were using it as a retirement home. I took a photo of him and me then left, running out of time, it was 6 pm.

I crossed into the Hydro Hotel which was a monstrous huge Baronial Baroque Victorian monstrosity spa hotel that had been renovated in disgusting 70s glitz style with mod multi-coloured armchairs in the reception along with that slate slab brickwork California ranch style and little alteration since to that area. Themes were all over the place. It lacked grandeur though with a little brains in redecorating could have it. Horrific as it was it did have a kind of summer camp class to it. Large tennis courts, golf course, garden grounds, lawn bowls, square not conical turrets, Scottish flag flying and the spa baths. Blackpool it reminded me of with those glass garden style additions not unlike the Royal Exhibition Building in Melbourne. It was started by Dr Miekle in 1860s as a health spa for sick Scottish ministers of the church.

I headed into the café which had fine views of the low lands and high lands. I got a cappuccino and typed, but the computer quickly froze and I got the message to leave but not after some video and photos. Being in money made you see and feel and conspire for money. Ideas came to mind to renovate the place. Power and Trump. Interconnections on a massive yet small scale.

A businessman worked away next to me looking perturbed at my presence as I described the place on video. I left across the greens to Ancaster Road going against my feelings illogical as they were and having to jump over a wall. Sure enough Ancaster was a dead end, the historian must have been as deaf as a  post because he had directed me to the wrong house with the wrong spelling. Knoll.

 

I gave up after checking another Knowe, Beechknowe that was connected to the golf course and even another Knowe on Comrie road near the Heugh. I had to catch the bus shortly, and headed back to the Tower Pub to get my backpack expecting a garden gnome to be present in the shed. On the way I past Morrison College. 

 

 

 

 

I took a photo for Boyle. Boyle Stonemasons van in front of the Crystal Universe Shop. Sweeney’s Barber shop followed – cut throat shaves and pies. Then the Red Squirrel Café. The occult symbols were descending fast and furious upon me. Whoever was god had a wicked sense of humour. In the pub were lass after Scottish and Polish lass. All offering me assistance. I refused to be tempted by the sweet pungency of the ale and the fair sex on my quest for the grail. I sat down for twenty minutes at the bleak bus stop as a cool wind blew. An aeronautics engineer student from Crieff turned up and we chatted on the bus to Perth as I related my drunken antics there at age 19 in a pub near Marigolds. GPS and the driver and a quick call directed me into the university campus and the YHA which was opened in summer and part of the campus college. I had a room to myself for P24 and surrounded by wee lassies looking most disconcerted.  In fact I had a small flat that was fairly basic. A feeling of academic homeliness entered me.

I still had to make contact with Charlie Murison.

I drank tea from a well used teabag with a taste of pea soup from my thermos. Ate Pringle chips and chocolate. And boiled up a small quantity of brown rice.

I was getting thrush between my toes from the YHAs. I had a shower in the attached bathroom. And sat down at the desk in the twin bedroom.

Dear Maciej Wiktor Kornobis,

Maciej.kornobis@gmail.com

Institute of Ethnology and Cultural Anthropology

Universtiy of Warsaw

I am in Perth having visited Crieff, where my ancestors lived, a spa town you should visit for its Victorian baronial architecture and pseudo Scottish Imperialism. The Hydro Hotel is full of it.

Grouse and Whisky museum, a tartan heritage centre in Comrie, I missed. But not the Lady Mary Walk. Scottish Victorian Nationalism developed in places like this. No doubt my Murison ancestors were in full support.

I have come to the conclusion life is about appreciating everything. Osho confirmed this. That is the trick to it without exception. Even a Galaxy chocy bar can be taken as heaven. The vice it is. With the new silkier feel.

I can report that I am coming closer to the truth of my Murison heritage and Knight Templar origins stemming from Bannockburn. I am sure I come from the Knight Sir Kenneth Moir, a Templar, who went to Spain with James Douglas in 1330 with Bruce’s heart. Our coat of Arms is his. The three bloodied beheaded Moors joined at the neck and earned in Toba. I told you about my birthday, 50^th on the 700^th. My sister’s is on the same date as Toba. She is part of the Grail. The symbology  Umberto Ecco talked about, Baigent in the Holy Blood Holy Grail and then Dan Brown in the Da Vinci Code. I have further come across the Gospel of Judas – just today in Crieff library.

Further than this I found the house my great, great grandmother lived in, the Heugh, and the people living there knew Gordon Highlanders my father knew. Even more he was familiar with Baigent. Boyle was his name – an accountant.

I am being led further into Abirbothy abbey to the first Murison near Perth and may have the Templar connection to Moir. It dates to the 1400s. I feel like a detective. Dead ends, false leads and occasionally gold.

As for your Masters on Scottish Nationalism and Stirling, Wallace and Bannockburn, these are all symbols of Scottish victory against the odds. Wallace a commoner who sacks England. Bannockburn a victory against the odds by Bruce that keeps the English at bay for some time. Stirling Castle, the seat of Stewart royalty and the block on the Forth to the highlands. I would keep your theme focused on the 1300s and high Victorian romanticism. I suggest you check out Murison’s book on Wallace which is free online. It is typical pretentious Scot’s Victorian prose self aggrandizing Scotland. Walter Scott did much the same. Throw in Burns and Stephenson, and the Edinburgh idealists of the Enlightenment who on the one head kowtowed to the Empire whilst glorifying Scottish freedom and individuality often denigrating the English. A schizophrenia existed where they would pay homage to Empress Victoria and her Scottish army whilst vilifying the English before that as if the Union disposed of the English as a separate nation. For instance Walter Scott insisted on digging up the Crown Jewels of Scotland in 1820, yet shortly after that insisted that they be offered to Queen Victoria who clad in tartans insisted she too was Scottish, though clearly of Germanic descent.

 

An autoelectrician from Leeds turned up as I burnt my rice.

For more see www.enligtenart.com.au