These days, when strolling through the grassy paradise that is Prince’s Street Gardens, it is not uncommon to see elderly people sitting on benches, reminiscing about their youth, complaining about the state of things and just generally relaxing.
The benches which line the main path through the top of the gardens are often festooned with OAPs drinking in the atmosphere in the post-festival dwindling sunlight.
As the summer blues and greens shift slowly to the browns and reds of autumn, the pensioners still faithfully flock to their benches despite the increasingly bitter chill in the air and the damp, cold nights.
Robert Macarthur, 78, is one such gentleman, a patron of the park at Princes Street. “I come a walk here every other day. It gets me out of the house.” His eyes wrinkle into a nostalgic smile as he remembers no doubt the countless happy times he’s spent in the park.
“Me and Margaret used to come on walks through here when we were courting. In summer we’d sit under the trees with a picnic and laugh for hours. Nowadays it’s hard to relax with the roadworks up on the street.”
His wife, Margaret, died of a stroke in 2004 aged 71. “She loved it here,” The smile remains on his face as his eyes begin to well up with tears. “We came here a lot together. I used to have her for company. Now I just sit and watch the trams…” he branches off for a second, taking time to patiently observe the Japanese couple, stood in front of the bench, photographing the castle in the evening twilight.
I look around and see tourists, everywhere, buzzing bout with their SLR’s and their, presumably, new Scotland baseball caps. They all seem oblivious to the ground level heritage which is present everyday in Prince’s Street Gardens, instead focussing on the more obvious heritage provided for them. In reality they’ve barely scratched the surface.
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