Twice before, we had located it, the gravesite of John McGugan -- Ground Zero, really, for a host of McGugans, McGougans, and McGoogans. We had made our way to the Kilchatten Cemetery on the tiny Scottish island of Gigha, three miles west off the coast of Kintyre.
The first time, roughly a decade ago,  I had ignored a Keep Out sign as not pertaining to me, climbed over a makeshift fence surrounding the ruined church and, on deciphering the word "Gugan," excitedly scraped away as much mud and overgrown grass as I could.
The second time, five or six years ago, conservators had cleaned up the mess and, as a sign says, "consolidated the church as a ruin." With the help of a gardener, who knew the stone as the oldest legible marker in the cemetery, I was able to get a better look. But the day was overcast and the light was terrible and we failed to get a decent photo.
Third time out, yesterday, we had a devil of a time locating the stone. We remembered roughly where it was, both Sheena and I, but the grass -- the flourishing grass is no friend of ours. Eventually, we found it. And so began our moment of gravesite madness, ripping and tearing at the grass, clearing away chunks and small strips of turf. Finally, we got the stone uncovered.
As you can see, it is very near the wall of the ruined church, which dates back to the 13th century. Archaeologists have determined that it was still in use in 1695, but was replaced by another in the early 1700s.
Nearby, there existed an old holy well dedicated to St. Cathan -- but its position "has now been lost." My madness, you see, is not without reason. This gravestone could easily disappear forever.
Variations on the McGugan name, one of the most common on Gigha, turn up on at least four legibly printed and much more impressive markers from the 19th and 20th centuries.
But on the Ground Zero stone, and this is what I love best about it, somebody scratched out the lettering by hand. Not only that, but the line-breaks are marvellously haphazard, dictated only by space considerations: "This is the bury// ing place of John Mc// Gugan tenant at Ardminish . . . "
Ardminish is the name of the only village on Gigha. There is more. Sheena says that it might come clear if we could take a decent rubbing . . . but of course we carried no pencil.
Fortunately, a few written records do mention John McGugan. But about those, I shall leave you in suspense.










So there we were in Kilchattan Cemetery on the Isle of Gigha, pulling out
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Canadian invasion forces have swept through the Dunfermline area north of Edinburgh, claiming Broomhall House.  This impressive mansion, located on a splendiferous, well-kept estate has been in the family of Robert the Bruce for more than 300 years. The Canadian connection comes via James Bruce, the eighth Earl of Elgin, who had his home here. In the late 1840s, as governor-general of Canada, he proved pivotal in introducing responsible government, a key step in Canada's emergence into independence. The taking of Broomhall House follows hard on earlier successes.  Canadians were able to claim Dalhousie Castle thanks to George Ramsay, the ninth Earl of Dalhousie, who spent more than a dozen years in Canada and established Dalhousie University in Halifax, modelling it after Edinburgh University. East of Edinburgh, the invaders claimed Ballencrief Castle, birthplace in 1721 of James Murray. He fathered the Quebec Act of 1774, which saved Canada from joining the rebel states in the American Revolution. The rebels judged it intolerable, this business of allowing French colonists to retain their language, laws, and religion. The Canadian invasion of central Scotland began in
Edinburgh with the taking of Abden House, where in 1862, Canadian politician George Brown met and fell in love with Anne Nelson. Their marriage proved transformative and enabled Brown to become a leading father of Confederation. Canadian forces had begun their all-inclusive campaign in Orkney at the Hall of Clestrain, birthplace of Arctic explorer John Rae, who joined the Hudson's Bay Company and discovered the final link in the first navigable Northwest Passage. In central Scotland, the taking of four landmark locations -- Broomhall, Dalhousie, Ballencrieff, and Abden -- suggests that the Canadian invaders will soon turn their attention to the Highlands.
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He is commemorated on a stone that marks the grave of his widow, Catherine Wishart. And here is another surprise, courtesy of Orcadian historian Tom Muir. Not far from St. Magnus, the Scottish Episcopal Church of St. Olaf contains a stained glass window dedicated to “the beloved memory of my husband Dr. John Rae, the Arctic explorer.” It was installed by his remarkable Canadian wife, Kate Rae.

Turns out that Orkney was more than ready for me. Wonderful venue, the Orkney Theatre in Kirkwall. Good-sized audience, well-informed. Excellent introduction by my friend Tom Muir. And all those books we brought? Sold every one. I talked about John Rae, the Hall of Clestrain restoration, the Arctic Return Expedition. Had several fun conversations. That special bottle of John Rae whisky I received here a few years back, one of only thirty, is steadily increasing in value. So that's cool.
Oh, and a woman gave me a copy of a letter that Kate Rae, the explorer's Canadian wife, wrote about Rae's last day.  The letter-giver was the great-great-granddaughter of the recipient. Readers of Fatal Passage will recall that I quote the wonderfully expressive Kate Rae near the end of the book.  She and her sister came to Orkney to see the Stromness native buried. From the Kirkwall Hotel, on July 29, 1893, Kate wrote to Major James Barnett of the 1st Orkney Volunteers Artillery.  She remarked on "the great love he had for these islands and the Orkney people, and the many happy years he passed here both in this youth and in maturer years . . . . He was so pleased you had written to remind him [of his previous generosity], and said how active you had always been both in volunteers and boating matters and he said what a good shot you were and he asked me to go myself and get the postal order [for a magazine subscription] and send it to you at once. I scarcely ever left his bedside, but I went at once and got the order and wrote the note beside him and had it posted. It was his last subscription to anything and it seemed to me most suitable for amongst his simple pleasures he loved his boat dearly."
Don't you love gifts like that?