Part of Bawsinch Nature Reserve, Duddingston Loch is a scenic quiet spot with nearby walks; up Jacob’s Ladder, around Arthur’s Seat, along the Innocent Railway, local community orchard, Dr Neil’s Gardens. Great for weddings too, if permission is granted by Historic Environment Scotland. Below is an excerpts of a wee verse dedicated to it, perhaps you can make up your own :-)

The Ice Bride

In the arctic winter of 1600's folklore, A fairytale wedding, just off Duddingston shore. Their ceremony set in the season of cold, On the thick frozen Loch, treasured vows to uphold. The romantic Groom, desiring forever's kiss, His hopeful Bride, waiting their future of bliss.

The solid Loch mimicked a grand marble floor, Rings were exchanged, their love they swore. Innermost feelings and dreams were revealed, A Celtic blessing, the marriage was sealed. The newlywed couple and guests celebrated, A glacial party, revellers ice-skated.

Bride and Groom had their first icy dance, Until separated by unfortunate chance. Suddenly cracking, a flaw tore them apart, A rift of blue water grew between the sweethearts. Silent and still, no one dared move their feet, But the weight was too much for the frozen ice sheet.

An eerie cracking, grew louder and spread, Many guests feared they were too far from the edge. Panic set in as the ice started to break, They screamed and scrambled to find somewhere safe. Slow motion time, yet only a second elapsed, In the blink of an eye, the whole surface collapsed.

Plunged under water, past memories lost, The Loch froze back over, patterned with frost. The Groom was safe, but what of his Bride? She should have been with him, there by his side. In the aftermath there was a lot of confusion, This tragedy must have been cruel illusion.

The search could only be done on dry land, To find his partner in matrimonial banns. But his young Bride was gone, laid to watery rest, Leaving a widower mourning, and solemn guests. One day a wedding, the next a wake, The love they shared he would never forsake.

No body surfaced, many years went by, One by one the survivors greyed and died. None left to recall the Bride lost beneath, Flowers lay withered with remembrance wreaths. The deceased long forgotten at the scenic Loch site, But the Bride would return, with a sharp fanged frost bite.

Under ice topped blue water, she did silently float, The cruel curse which befell her had no antidote. Turned into a zombie, but not one who ate brains, She devoured people's spirits, 'til life forces were drained. A fit, hardy rebel, was the first victim to fall, Captured by a brisk freak Autumn snowfall.

Before Prestonpans Battle in 1745, Young Jacobites were ready to defeat and rise. Men camped at Duddingston, set for a fight, Not knowing the Ice Bride had them in her sights. As Bonnie Prince Charlie slept safe in the Causeway, Water was fetched, from the ominous Loch bay.

Left there alone, a cart with barrels to fill, The renegade fought the unforeseen windchill. The Ice Bride absorbed heat, til ten below zero, The Loch froze over, beneath Scotland's hero. Snowflakes were lit by the moon like fireflies, The glitter-air sparkled and crystallised.

At first glance of the ice, he saw his reflection, Then lowered his head for a closer inspection. He watched his face glow under frozen tide, As it gently transformed into that of The Bride. Skin palest white, swirling fair hair, Icicle fingers beckoned his stare.

When closer, she opened her frosted white eyes. Spellbound, he was helplessly mesmerised. One breath from her lips, the ice started to thin, The surface fractured, he disappeared in. The icy Loch closed, he was instantly frozen, Unable to move, his senses were broken.

She took his spirit but left his numbed brain, He became her subject, his essence was drained. A half century blurred past, an indistinct haze, Until once more, the chilling Ice Bride was raised. In 1795, zombie numbers grew stronger, When curlers played on the Loch for longer.

...Continued in Fairy Trail’s Of Arthur’s Seat by the Tartan Outlaw 2017