This time last year, I travelled up to Edinburgh for four out of five days during Freshers’ Week for the Research Methods Course. A year on, this is to mark my final trip.
I had the maximum 25 library items on loan for most of the second half of the year. With 21 still to return, including the Passions of the Renaissance anthology and the Cambridge History of Early Modern English Literature, it was quite a burden to carry up the valley.
At Edinburgh’s library, books are to be returned on a single window shelf during open hours. There was amusement as the pile almost boarded up the window single-handedly.
There was also a £7.00 fine for my sins, which was declared to the librarian as ‘my last task’. (Reminiscent of Knightmare’s final episode, fittingly enough, as the library presently resembles a dungeon.)
It was a strange day; there was no sense of belonging in Edinburgh after all. It was quite a shock to see the place awash with students, many new, after the summer of relative tranquility.
The library has been the only place of belonging this year, and it is not an inspiring building. The main hope was to say farewell to the two tutors who helped me this year, but all lecturers had fled for their lives.
In contrast to the peaceful Bristo Square, hundreds of people swarmed aimlessly around the precinct. Once up the lofty flights of the David Hume Tower, the corridors of the English Department were also eerily deserted.
After waiting twenty minutes to catch Dr. Loxley, I left a copy of the submitted dissertation against his door. That was the farewell to the David Hume Tower, which apparently holds the best views of Edinburgh. (I argue for the top of the News Steps.)
I’d hoped to catch Dr. Fox, but his neighbouring office was being stripped of furniture, and he was not around. Rather anticlimactic that nobody was around.
So, farewell to Edinburgh (and the customary mile of George Square, Bristo Square, King George IV Bridge, past The National Library, down the (Good) News Steps and across the bypass into the Station).
Maybe it was less about people and more a snapshot of experience, a gateway to another future, a bizarre coincidence, and a time memorably forgettable, or forgettably memorable.