(Dad and me, in 1974, in the Chilean Andes outside Santiago.)
My dad commented yesterday, Father’s Day, how great it was to share “the dream” with me. Let me explain. The recurring dream I have about the stone manor is evidently an “ancestral memory.” Don’t mean to sound creepy or heretical. Just stating the facts, ma’am. Besides many of you know how much I love faeries, fantasy, AND if I could have only one Super Power it would be flying!
Back to the dream. I was watching a Discovery Channel program a few years ago with Dad about Scotland. There was a beautiful one-track road with breath-taking views surrounding it, and Dad made the comment that it looked a bit like a dream he’s had for years. He began describing it, and I told him I’d had the exact same dream, beginning when I was eighteen years old. Crazy, we thought. Then later, I was in the car with my husband and our three sons, and I began to tell them about the dream and before I could explain what it was about our eldest son, Trevor, said, “You mean the one about the castle? Well, it’s not really a castle more like a great stone manor.” He was eighteen. He’d had the SAME dream. Can we all just let out a big CRAZY SCREAM right now? (Thanks for that.) Anyway, this dream helped form the main “magical” element of my novel.
We took a trip to Scotland in 2002 with our three boys, all teenagers, and spent some of that time looking for the “dream” manor. No luck. We DO have a lovely daughter, but she was married and did not make this trip with us. Another time!
When I found ancestors from the Isle of Skye, I was elated. The fact that they’re on my mother’s side did not dissuade me. I KNOW my dad has ancestors from south-western England, Ireland, and Scotland. Somewhere there is a stone manor, and someday I will find it! In the meantime, I’m borrowing my mother’s ancestors, the Macdonalds, who immigrated to America around 1774 from Skye and grafting them into the stone manor dream. Sometimes I forget I’ve mixed the two. Like when Jim and I spent a week in Skye in 2008, researching for my novel. I was actually looking for the manor. Hey, it could happen!
A couple of years ago, my husband graciously agreed to accompany me on a search to the far south-western edge of Wales to look for a stone castle where one of my dad’s ancestors had lived. It had been described as a Fortified Manor House. Hmm. Could this be the one? It was awesome! We drove up in the rain, which is the only way one should see a castle in ruins in Wales. Alas, it was not our dream manor, but will make for a great setting in another novel.
(Weoley Castle, Southwestern Wales. Photo by Jim Hale)
My dad is a STORYTELLER in the truest sense of the word. I’ve inherited this from him, and I am grateful. I love you Dad. Thanks for the FANTASTIC heritage.