Houses can give off good and bad vibes
DRIVING to Inverness with a friend – way back in the 1950s – my mother tells me that the two of them saw a house in the distance that was on fire.
"We could see the flames coming out of the long windows, and we wondered whose house it was," she said. "And the next time we travelled on that road there was no house to be seen. It had completely vanished. There never had been a house there. Now what do you make of that?"
What indeed? Had there been sherry involved? I tease my mother – but she still sticks to her story. They definitely saw a house on fire that day, all those years ago.
Now I am a cynic when it comes to things that go bump in the night. I believe that most of the "supernatural" is either the imagination, a misunderstanding of entirely natural events or straightforward charlatanry. Ghosts and ghouls do not feature much in my everyday thoughts and activities.
That is, except for one small thing that puzzles me. I know of a large and impressive house some distance north of Tain that, quite frankly, gives me the willies.
I haven’t set foot in it for a number of years now, but when I did as a child, or later as a sceptical adult, the place nevertheless cast a shadow over my mood. I can’t begin to explain what it is all about, but its very stones seem to throw out an aura of sadness and bad luck.
It’ll surely be worth quite a few bob, and if I was suddenly left it in a will, I would flog it as quick as lightning. Nothing would induce me to live in it.
On the other hand, the ruined croft house above Edderton which my wife bought and renovated in the 1990s, had just the opposite feel.
Its walls gave forth a feeling of happiness and friendship – and when we discovered that a number of children had been fostered there long ago, and that all of them had the warmest memories of living there, it came as absolutely no surprise. There had been laughter in the place – we had sensed it all along.
Now you might say that in some subconscious way I am favouring croft houses and discriminating against mansions. But not so.
Take Foulis Castle, the seat of the Chiefs of Clan Munro, near Evanton, as an example. It has a superb atmosphere. Grand, yes, and the laughter would have been to the accompaniment of fine food and wine, but the place throbs with good will and bonhomie.
There can be no wonder that Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, was a regular caller on her way to and from the Castle of Mey in Caithness. The old lady must have loved the place.
At Portvasgo (near Tongue) there is one cottage which I adore (but I’m not going to precisely identify it for fear of embarrassing the owner). And at Smerral in East Caithness there is another ruined croft house which I positively covet.
Whenever I pass these houses my mind falls to imagining that I lived there. Lining board walls, lots of books, the fire lit and a dram in your hand… If Ernie ticked out one of my premium bond numbers, you can see where the money would go. These are all good atmosphere houses. Unlike another one, on the A96 to Aberdeen, for which estate agents would probably fetch a tidy sum, but which I would have to blow up.
Of course, everything that I have just written is complete baloney (at this point my mother, who faithfully reads this column every week, will protest: she did see that burning house) and the author of "The God Delusion" Richard Dawkins would be the first to say so. It is all science and rationality, and strange atmospheres have no place.
And yet. You find a watch lying on a beach and you pick it up and admire its beauty and intricate workings – and, importantly, you naturally assume that the watch had a designer and maker.
Ditto the world and the Almighty. It is called the teleological argument for the existence of God. Richard Dawkins loathes it; and actually it is fundamental to my belief.
So maybe there is such a thing as good and bad vibes being associated with locations and buildings. I must remember to ask my fellow columnist, the Reverend Susan Brown.
I promise to mend my ways and be more rational next week.