Day 5: Roaming the haunted halls of Tulloch Castle
As I roamed the hallways and rooms of Tulloch Castle, Dingwall, in the early morning hours (once again, awake before 5am), I was struck by its grandeur. The layers of history here are tangible–each visionary over time building upon an idea first seeded in 1122 AD. The castle has flourished over the centuries, bearing witness to the comings and goings of its generational inhabitants. I particularly loved the heavy tartan carpets and the dark wood carpentry of the stairs, along with the tapestries and gold-framed portraits of people and landscapes.
The family tree and its mysteries
Proudly displayed on one wall is the Davidson lineage. Though not as self-explanatory as the author might have hoped–many birth and death years are missing–it still offers a glimpse into the family’s past. I was intrigued by how many marriages some individuals had–sometimes three to five. I couldn't help but wonder: what happened to the women? Was it poor health? Were they intentionally hidden away, institutionalised, or victims of the perils of childbirth in a time when medical care was far less interventional?
A castle of winding paths and private doors
The castle’s layout is delightfully confusing. Many rooms have more than one entrance or exit, and it’s easy to become disoriented. With so many doors marked “Private,” and sprawling grounds that hint at secrets, you get the sense there’s much more to Tulloch Castle than meets the eye. A ghost tour seems a fitting way to uncover its layers–I imagine it reveals the castle in all its eerie glory–but those secrets will remain until next time.
Ghosts real or imagined
Speaking of ghosts, aside from a jarring feeling at the bottom of the stairwell, then some prickly sensations and a television that turned on and off by itself a few times when we unpacked in room 15 yesterday, there’s been little else to suggest a haunting. Today, the countryside looks peaceful, and the halls feel warm and inviting.
The only ghosts I encountered were those in my mind. In the Bayne Room, I was suddenly reminded of Mr. McBain, my Year 2 primary school teacher who was also a Brother at a Catholic school. A flash of his kind face, dark hair streaked with white, stirred something in me. It’s funny how people long gone can live on in vivid, moving-picture memories. Are those the truest ghosts?
Untamed Scotland and the contrast of empire
Outside, the gardens share the wild, overgrown character common across Scotland, so different from the manicured perfection of English gardens. Those tightly controlled English landscapes made me wonder: were they a metaphor for the empire itself? A desire to tame and shape the world, to impose ownership and order over wildness. To assert strength. To dominate. Perhaps even to erase. Slaying kings and queens across continents, drawing borders where there were none, all to expand control and influence. In contrast, the Scottish grounds feel honest–untamed, enduring, alive in their own way.
In the fields, thick-coated, black-faced sheep tended their lambs, calling to them in familiar bleats echoing across the countryside. There’s a nurturing quality to this land–wild, yet deeply comforting.
Room 15 and cherished moments
Back in room 15, on the very top level of the castle, I pulled a high-backed armchair–upholstered in royal blues and tans that matched the heavy drapes and four-poster bed–to the window. There I sat, absorbing the township below: green rolling hills, leafy trees, and a lone wind turbine on the horizon. A single bird kept flying past the window at the same height, in the same direction, like a loop from a video game.
From the chair, I could hear Lark giggling at RaRa’s hilarious antics as they sang and engaged in life’s daily ritual of getting ready to explore the day. Their joy is grounding–a sweet, modern contrast to the echoes of history in these old stone walls. A soundtrack that will keep me warm as a little old lady, wistfully yearning for these days once again.
Breakfast at Turrets
When 7am rolled around, it was time for a full Scottish breakfast at Turrets Restaurant–our old favourite, haggis, made a welcome appearance alongside a new addition: black pudding. Lainey enjoyed hers with a generous dollop of strawberry jam. I simply enjoyed mine, no questions asked.
Farewell to the castle
We lingered in our top-floor room for as long as checkout would allow, soaking up the last of that castle magic. Then it was time to venture downstairs, say our goodbyes to the deers trophies and hamish the highland cow doorstop, and give a final wave to the turrets as we drove off toward our next stop: Glenmorangie Distillery!
A haunting revelation
Side note: I later found out while researching the history, courtesy of the internet, that room 15 was Lady Elizabeth Davidson's (aka the green lady) bedroom. She is said to have fallen down the stairs to her death after witnessing her father in a compromising position with the maid. It’s believed she was running back to her room from room 10. Room 15 (the one we stayed in) and room 8 are supposed to be the most haunted in the castle.