Documenting from Scotland the rise of the One World King; the "masonic" Sun God.

Sunday 18 January 2009

I can see the woods, and the trees

"I went out to the hazelwood,
Because a fire was in my head,"

W. B. Yeats

Another criminal curiosity of the cranium related variety has manifested itself in Scotland's capital city, a curiosity which ties in well with recent posts - although I confess the exact meaning eludes me, and I am therefore required to act on conjecture - whilst including a personal synchronicity which requires highlighting, but will alas perhaps mean little to readers and may indeed sound slight narcissistic. However, when in Rome...

Starting with reported "facts" , yesterday in the early hours of 17th January, a man was discovered, murdered, in Hazelwood Grove, The Inch, having been shot in the head - events of this nature being thankfully scarce up here, and thus fairly remarkable. It is likely that this assault was part of an ongoining fued between two rival gangs, one from the Inch, the other from Granton; the latter location links to the Hawthornvale head in a bag case in itself.

To begin, it is interesting to reflect upon the street name and scene of the incident, Hazelwood Grove, which sits just to the West of historical
Craigmillar Castle. From the wikipedia link:

In the 1820s, a plan was drawn up to lay out picturesque landscape gardens between Inch House and the castle, which would have incorporated "Queen Mary's Tree", a
Sycamore supposedly planted by Mary, Queen of Scots. Much of the woodland within the castle estate dates from the early to mid 19th century

Craigmillar Castle is best known for its association with
Mary, Queen of Scots. Following an illness after the birth of her son, the future James I of England, Mary arrived at Craigmillar on 20 November 1566 to convalesce. Before she left on 7 December 1566, a pact known as the "Craigmillar Bond" was made, with or without her knowledge, to dispose of her husband Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley.

Mary's colours, see recent posts for similar

Although the majority of this woodland is now chopped, rather like Queen Mary's head, we are left with the streeet name, Hazelwood Grove, and as such delve further into the mythology of the dowsers favorite tree. From we glean deeper insight, this a very short fragment:

The hazel might be said to be the quintessential Celtic tree because of its legendary position at the heart of the Otherworld. Here, nine magic hazel-trees hang over the well of Wisdom and drop their purple nuts into the water. In some accounts, the hazel-nuts cause bubbles of "mystic inspiration" to form on the surface of the streams that flow down from the well; in others, the Salmon of Knowledge and Inspiration eat the nuts and send the husks floating downstream. Those that eat the nuts (or the salmon) gain poetic and mantic powers.

Moving on, readers will doubtless recall the tale of the mummified head found in an Ikea bag in Hawthornvale on New Years Eve (see here), but being quite honest I have refrained from writing any more until more is known, although, what has been established, is that the head once belonged to a lady called Heather Stacey and that a Mr Alan Cameron, aged 54, has been charged with various offences in connection with the remains, although not as yet murder. It should be pointed out that more body parts were found in the aforementioned Granton area of Edinburgh, the likely location of the abodes of the perpetrators of the Hazelwood shooting.

And this, my own personal story which is true, although I appreciate could be doubted:

Yesterday morning, just before midday, I myself travelled to the Inch to make acquaintance with a friend. Knowing nothing of the shooting I took my usual route until, finding it blocked with police tape, I was forced to take a small diversion through the estate. When I arrived at the house a young lady was present and I was politely introduced, before being told of the shooting I hasten to add, and asked if I remembered her. I did, albeit vaguely, and as such was reminded she was the daughter of another. alas seldom seen, long acquainted friend.

Now, this young lady was a few years ago in a romantic relationship with a ruffian, a proverbial bad egg. The individual concerned, known ever-after as the grave robber, was charged and convicted of the ancient offence of violating a sepulchre after breaking into a tomb in Bobby the faithful dog famed Greyfriars Kirkyard, cutting off the head of a corpse and playing with it. From the BBC,
Youths guilty of tomb violation:

The pair had forced open the Mackenzie Mausoleum, where Sir George Mackenzie, a former Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, was laid to rest after his death in 1691, on 30 June 2003.

Mackenzie was a prosecutor for Charles the Second and earned the nickname "Bluidy Mackenzie" for vigorously pursuing Covenanters whom he had tortured to gain confessions.

The court heard that they played with the head like it was a "trophy".

However, they were acquitted of allegations that they forced open the coffin and simulated oral ex with the severed head.

Thus, given the above, and even excluding my own experience, I am drawn yet again to heads, to Royalty, and to, surely salmon of wisdom eating, Nostradamus:

BBC report on shooting here.

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