We left our hotel in the morning and drove to the museum in Haroldswick. It was a long drive that included two ferry rides, one from Toft to Ulsta and one from Gutcher to Belmont to reach cold and windy Muness to see the remnants of a castle. There was hardly anyone around and when we came across someone, an occasional car, or a small group of cycling enthusiasts, we waved at each other earnestly. My wife and I were with Dr Abe and Dr Elizabeth vacationing in the Shetland Islands, an archipelago in Scotland, the northernmost region of the UK.
It was cold,
windy, and wet. I love visiting museums and old buildings. Museums, for many,
are like cemeteries, resting places for relics, reminders of tragedies and some
made-up stories. Museums, to me, are roads to the past and windows to the
future. I call it, ‘Mortui Vivos Docent.’ or 'The dead teach the
living', a phrase I picked up from a book I read recently. In Latin, ‘mortui’ means ‘dead,’ ‘vivo’ means alive, and ‘docent’
means ‘guide or teach.’ Pathologists of the yore thus justified cadaver
dissection. When I leave a museum, at times after spending the whole day, I
feel very enriched and connected.
Every piece
in the museum is a cadaver of sorts. For those inclined to listen, each exhibit
is an unsaid story. For those who can visualise, exhibits can become the means
to a journey in time to the generations before us and witness their struggles,
trials, and tribulations and their triumphs or failures. Each boat, fishing
tool, and other items on display that day had an individual story to narrate.
Collectively it was a moving story of grit, grime, sweat, blood, and triumph. I
could visualise the noisy landings of the herring-laden boats, the
splashing sounds of countless feminine hands and the unkind words of their
masters. I could hear them haggling about their wages and smell their
smoky cabins. I could see some beautiful eyes sparkling through weatherbeaten
faces and sense romance even amid hardships. I was there experiencing the
poverty and misery of a people and their undying hopes kept alive by
indomitable will. The sunset well after 10 at night helped us with a day
far longer than I had ever seen. The next day we spent time in Lerwick
museum. In the three days we stayed on the Island, I travelled back in
time, two centuries. I was amazed at the way the museum had been
curated. some of the places I visited were run mostly by volunteers. It was a
treat to the eyes. I recalled my trips to museums back home and the
difference in how we maintain and curate relics.
We set sails, out of Lerwick in the evening and berthed at Aberdeen as the day broke. The next day we pulled into the car park of an inn at Bradon Mill, Hexham, to
commence our walk to The Hadrian Wall. Running over 73 miles, it was built on
the lines of the Great Wall of China, on the orders of Emperor Hadrian way back
in AD122, to demarcate and guard his borders. It was built during the ascend of
the great Roman Empire, known for its strong legal and administrative systems.
Over time the state acquired unquestioned authority over the people. Corruption
became rampant. Unable to cope with it, people looked for alternative
socio-political and religious systems, setting in motion the fall of the Roman
Empire. One thing led to another and the great Empire bit the dust. The Hadrian
Wall, the largest Roman archaeological feature in England, remains a testimony
to the rise and fall of the Empire.
Standing next to the wall, or its remnants, I was transported 1900 years back to witness the mighty Emperor's perception of threat and how he planned to secure his kingdom. An audacious construction for those times, rudimentary and primitive for contemporary defence, the wall hit me hard with the realisation of the transient nature of our authority and how irrelevant our wealth of material possessions becomes with time. The memory of a powerful emperor, once the world under his feet, now rests on a lifeless piece of primitive stonework. The beauty of the area around me captivated me so much that I forgot about the wall, standing next to it. That much for the ancient authority!
On our climb down the hill, I realised that our assets or authority neither make us immortal nor guarantee eternity. Men of intellect like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle with hardly a material belonging, are revered far beyond all rulers of the past combined. This is one reason why despots attempt to manipulate history while they reign, little realising the futility of trying to make or alter history.
“Memento mori, quare ne obliviscaris vivere,” a Latin phrase translated literally: “Remember you must die, therefore do not forget to live,” is the lesson I learnt.
