Culloden

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers.

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PHOTO PROMPT Β© Roger Bulltot

The old stone Abbey loomed up suddenly through the early morning mist. A cold chill suddenly made my bones feel brittle. I knew I had been here before. Long before.

A shape stepped out of the dark so close in front of me that I nearly bumped into it.

“Tis me, my lad” a voice called. “Ye be a tad late I’m afraid. The battle is long over. But your great grandfather stood his ground until they kilted him. He fought for Bonnie Prince Charlie until a Redcoat thrust a bayonet through his heart. All Scotland loves the McKenzie Clan.”

Author: Danny James

β€œTravel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”

31 thoughts on “Culloden”

  1. Oops, sorry, I over-commented on Neil’s comment.
    I enjoyed the story very much.
    I visited Culloden (and Glenfinnan) on a recent visit to Scotland and found it as eerily tragically spookily heart-rendingly magical as ever.

    Liked by 2 people

          1. Far be it for me to contradict Neil, but on the west coast where I spent much of my youth ‘kilted’ was perfectly acceptable for killed.
            And Charlie was undoubtedly there to reclaim the Jacobite throne, but there is nothing in the story to suggest otherwise, is there?
            But I would disagree that all Scotland loves anyone, it was as divided in 1746 as it is today.

            Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh dear. Your post got me interested in my own family tree again and I discovered that I’ve insulted my ancestors big time! They were Normans, not Saxons. Gr-gr-gr-etc-grandfather John de Vaux built Dirleton Castle on the Firth of Forth, starting about 1240. But they did come up from England.

        Liked by 2 people

          1. Now that’s a really sad story. But back then a lot of women just couldn’t get work that paid enough to buy food and pay rent. Factory jobs were often brutal. But the poor children!

            My husband read about a Goodenough hung for treason back in “merry old England.” And I discovered my gr-grandfather had been press-ganged as a 9-yr-old in London. Jumped ship in Halifax four years later. The poor sometimes endured terrible suffering no matter where..

            Liked by 1 person

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