“Write a story for me, for my birthday,” my friend
said.
… I was looking through old photos, and I came
across one that I had taken in Scotland sometime in the 1990s. I could not
recall the name of the cemetery nor the castle in the background, but the trip
I took with a colleague around Edinburgh remains vivid in my memory. And since
my friend is of Scottish heritage, and Halloween is a couple weeks from now,
this ghoulish photo gave me ideas for her request of a birthday story.
First,
today’s Halloween originated from the Celtic celebration of the harvest ending
and advent of winter, known as Samhain.
The tradition of wearing creative costumes on Halloween is said to be derived
from the Celtic belief that on October 31st the spirit of the dead
return to haunt the living. So they wore creative costumes to fend the
unwelcomed spirits away. The photo I took, well after sunset with my Nikon F2
has all the feelings the 2,000 year old Samhain tradition embodied regarding
the dead, their eerie spirits, and a castle in the dark.
Second, I do not know how to write a story en guise
of a birthday wish!
… I traveled for international health research work
to Ireland and the UK more than a few times between late 1970s and-2000s. I
found a couple of photos from Edinburgh that capture the Scottish spirit in a
vivid way, through the pub names and signs:
As for a story, as requested by my friend, here is one that stands out:
In the late 1990s, at a conference in London, I met
a most impressive participant from Edinburgh. A physician and professor, she
was as “Dame”, the equivalent to a “Knight” title given to men to honor their
achievements, in the UK. However, what impressed me most was her humility and
life well lived through the sciences and the arts. We communicated by written
letters (ah, those past times’ habits...) for a short while, and she proposed
that I check with her next time I plan to be in Edinburgh. Which I did, and we
met on a typically “low skies” afternoon.
“Since you like to cook and experiment, I can take
you to an eclectic restaurant” she suggested. “The chef cooks only for a few
people every night, and there is no menu – you eat whatever he had prepared
that day.”
It was an offer I could not refuse.
The restaurant had four tables arranged to
accommodate the ancient space or an edifice built centuries ago. Candles and a
candle round chandelier displayed the shadows on the walls from any movement
the chef, the single server and the patrons made.
“Today’s dinner is a windy day dinner,” the chef let
us know.
As my friend smiled seeing my inability to guess
what we were about to be served, the chef continued:
“On windy days I walk around the castle. Sometimes,
the wind picks up and the pigeons lose their feet, or forget how to fly. I
gathered enough for tonight,” he ceremoniously informed us.
And, after pouring a glass of Aberfeldy for each one
of us, he went to his “cooking area” to prepare the windy day special.
It was my kind of food, prepared sublimely, even if
I doubted the veracity of the chef’s story. A thin crust pie for each person
had two pigeons’ torsos proudly placed upon pesto risotto and wild
mushrooms. And the environment was that
of a time travel.
“Travel well,” my “Dame” colleague said as we left
the restaurant. And we lost touch after the thank you letters we exchanged.
… A year later I was back to Edinburgh this time
meeting with a dear friend, a physician and a philosopher, who cherishes the
moments we have talking about the Scottish philosopher David Hume, rather than
health care. Actually it was on that trip that I took the photo of the cemetery
and castle. And also on that trip I learned about the “whitening” of David
Hume’s toe on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile, near the High Court. It seems that tourists
and locals with a wish had started a tradition of rubbing the bronze statue’s
toe for good luck in their endeavors.
“And say that Hume rejected the validity of all
superstition in his works,” I recall my friend saying.
Of course superstition and rubbing parts of statues
remains a well anchored human behavior in spirituality and wish-making. Here is
a public domain photo of the Molly Malone’s statue in Dublin. The superstition
is always the belief in good luck; the Irish seem less approving of rubbing
statues’ breasts than the Scotts are regarding rubbing a bronze big toe.
But the English in London are the ones who took
action – indeed; the statues of Winston Churchill, Margaret Thatcher, Clement
Attlee and David Lloyd, at the entrance of the Commons chamber have been
involuntarily getting foot massages since Churchill’s statue was the first to
be unveiled in 1970. In the past half century, these four statues have been
seriously damaged (at least the feet of the above four persons, and the
Parliament has placed these statues and their toes off-limits to all wishing to
have good luck in the Commons chamber.
Finally, while the above examples are about the
“rubbers’ ” superstition and hope for good luck and success, there are more prominent
hopes associated with the ritual in question. For example, it is common for
sailors to touch or rub parts of statues they associated, say, with maritime
activities (fishing, war, etc). And what can be more promising for good fishing
sorties or survival of maritime military conflicts than the rubbing bronze
statues sirens’ breasts! Here is a photo I took about that ritual at the Port
of Baltimore, Maryland:
… Somehow, this story transformed itself
from Halloween to superstition, passing through toe and foot massage.
So, to make that circle close, here is a
photo I took in Taipei of a walk-in massage parlor in the street. I was amazed
to see a dozen men, lying on their backs in perfectly aligned parlor seats,
having a foot massage. I was told that it was a common practice to take the day’s
pains and troubles away after returning home at night.
The masseuse was happy and intrigued to
see me point a vintage film camera at her.
October 12, 2025
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2025
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