The Case of the Missing Detective
I recently had occasion to visit my daughter in Scotland and decided this would be a great opportunity to go on the Sherlock Holmes Walking Tour of Edinburgh. But when I emailed in a request, Toby, who runs the tour, replied that he was away on holiday.
Never mind, I thought, checking the itinerary, I will do it by myself. I will visit the Arthur Conan Doyle pub and have a typical Scottish lunch, see Picardy Place where Conan Doyle was born and take a selfie by the statue of Sherlock Holmes.
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Alas, the best laid plans and so on…Walking down from Princes Street guided by Google maps, I found that a vast swathe of the city has been torn up possibly to extend John Lewis from the megastore it already is and build a hotel of gleaming glass and concrete that has already been dubbed the Walnut Whip.
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The only sign of Conan’s Doyle’s birthplace is a miserable little plaque indicating that it was at a house opposite, now demolished (see image above, the very spot).
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At least the Arthur Conan Doyle pub proved to be a little haven of older civilisation, nudging the corner of a street of fine Georgian houses leading down to the gloriously Victorian folly that is the Portrait Gallery.
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The pub itself is cosy and full of Sherlock-related memorabilia, but, alas again, the cullen skink I had promised myself was ‘off’, and I had to settle for a Scotch broth. (Cullen skink, for those who don’t know, is a rich and creamy soup of smoked haddock, onions and potatoes, perfect for a damp, chilly November day)
All these disappointments, but the worst was yet to come. Hunt as I might, there was no sign of the famous statue of Sherlock Holmes. The detective had gone missing. I suppose I should have taken the hint when Tripadvisor told me it was ‘closed’, a strange fate indeed for a public statue.
[image error]Here he is, in happier days
Apparently, as I discovered subsequently, Sherlock is lying safely in some vault, swaddled in a duvet until the works are finished and he can be put back somewhere, if there’s a space made for him. No wonder Toby went on holiday.
Next time: Surgeons’ Hall and Dr Joseph Bell
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