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This morning I drove over to Colintraive and took the wee ferry onto the Isle of Bute, as I had a couple of meetings in Rothesay.

Bute is a lovely Island, and I have become quite familiar with it over the last few years, as I am responsible for some of the Mental Health services there. Today the son shone on the swans in the castle moat, and I shared a nice lunch with some colleagues in the Green Tree Cafe in the moat centre- highly recommended by the way, and recently visited by Prince Charles and Camilla (the local talk is of how the council painted only the sides of the building that could be seen by them as they arrived- but this being Bute, it may well just be a story…)

But I will always be a kind of visitor- a partial outsider to these communities that I live and work amongst. In Bute, this seems to be made worse by my arrival as a manager, with all the power and control issues that are associated with this. There is, however, a process of growing together- grafting…

It seems to come with shared stories, insider knowledge that sometimes tips over into gossip- particularly, it seems, in small Island communities, like Rothesay. Much of this seems negative at times- although only insiders can really be openly critical.

I hope that my role is to look for good things, and encourage them further…

Rothesay Castle

Rothesay Castle
Stormed at last by scaffolding
By men of mortar in yellow vests
Encircled by the advancing town
The old lady lies broken toothed
But well pointed.

Whilst within
In the shadow
Behind the big black bolts
The castle kitchens lie cold
Hygienic
And where once was roasted suckling pig
There is a man in tartan uniform
Eating his sandwiches
But with due reverence
He leaves no crumbs.

Meanwhile, out in the sunlight
A brilliant white swan circles in the moat
Beneath ornamental trees
Like me, both are aliens
Imports.

So I start to let this place become familiar
To finger into foreign soil
To paddle across defensive ditches
To borrow history and make it mine
And take my place in this
Permanent impermance

© Chris Goan
2.3.05

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