James F.
Google
Whit can we say that hasna been said aboot this braw gem o’ a place? We made our wye tae Falkland Palace on a brisk October day, the kind that gies ye clean chowks an’ maks ye feel alive, an’ I’m here tae tell ye, the hale experience was jist grand. It’s nae jist a pile o’ auld stanes; it’s a livin’, breathin’ thing, an’ we left feelin’ we’d shaken hauns wi’ history.
First, a word on the practicalities. For onybody drivin’, we had nae bother findin’ a spot for the motor. The on-street parkin’ was free for the takin’ in October, which is aye a welcome bonus, savin’ the siller for a fine piece an’ a cuppie later.
Noo, for the palace itsel’. Let me tell ye, it’s a sicht for sair een. As ye come up on it, the Renaissance façade is jist stunnin’, a proper royal hoose nestled in the hert o’ Fife. It doesna feel like a museum, but like ye’ve stepped back through time an’ the laird an’ lady micht jist be doon the close. The guide buke will tell ye it was the favourite howff o’ the Stewart monarchs, an’ efter seein’ it, ye can fair believe it.
The guides, man, the guides! They were the heid o’ the parade. They werena jist gien us a list o’ dates an’ facts. Naw, naw. They were the heid o’ the parade. They were storytellers, pure an’ simple, an’ their passion for the place was catchin’. They painted pictures wi’ their words, tellin’ us tales o’ King James V an’ Mary, Queen o’ Scots, that made the history leap aff the waw. They were gey frien’ly an’, maist importantly, hoonest. They telt us straight that some o’ the famous tapestries were aff the waws an’ awa’ for safekeepin’ while a passagewey was gettin’ a needed mend. We could see the wark gaun on, an’ it didna spoil a thing. In fact, it added tae it – it showed this isna a deid place, but a livin’ hoose that needs care, like ony auld hoose.
Inside, the Royal Apartments are jist magnificent. Even withoot some tapestries, the atmosphere is thick wi’ the past. Ye can staun in the King’s Bedroom an’ imagine him waukin’ there. The furniture, the paintins, the heraldic glass – it’s a’ a feast for the een. The Chapel Royal is a wee, quiet sanctuary, a bonnie spot for a moment’s peace.
But hear me noo, for the crownin’ glory for me was the Real Tennis Court. No’ jist ony tennis court, mind! It’s the auldest in the warld still in use, frae the 1500s. Staunin’ there, lookin’ at thae auld waws, ye can near hear the thud o’ the ba’ an’ the cheers o’ the courtiers. It’s a thrill for onybody that appreciates history ye can touch.
We finished our dauner wi a turn aroon the gairdens. Even in the back-end o’ the year, they were a peaceful delight. The Orchard, the physic gairden, the ancient yew hedges – it’s a’ managed wi’ a lovin’ haun, a perfect complement tae the grandeur o’ the palace.
A’ thegither, it was a day oot that had the lot: braw scenery, deep history, brilliant storytellers, an’ a wheen o’ hame truths aboot keepin’ our heritage alive. It’s a place that deserves its five stars an’ then some. We’ll be back, nae doot aboot it, an’ we’d urge onybody wi’ a hert for Scotland’s story tae dae the same. A pure, unadulterated joy.
