INSPIRATION ON SUMMERISLE ~ THE WICKER MAN - Scotland. 

Derek Pike

It is the middle of July and in true British fashion the rain is bouncing down on the bride and groom.  It’s a shame, as otherwise this is an almost perfect moment.  Friends who my wife and I met at uni are having a fairytale wedding in the chapel of Edinburgh Castle, being an officer in the RAF, Matt, the groom is allowed to do this sort of thing.  It’s a fantastic experience, American tourists clamour around to see whose getting hitched in the vain hope that another Spice Girl is marrying another footballer or that Elton and his partner David Furnish are finally tying the knot, but alas, today they are not, however this does little to dampen the excitement of the raincoat and tartan umberella covered mass who fire questions to us lowly guests in the manner of a press conference.

Vows are exchanged and guests are ferried by hired coach to another equally impressive Scottish castle just North of Dalkeith for photos, speeches and the Gay Gordon.  The sun stays out long enough for photos and then the heavens open once more.  This is perfect for a Bootle boy like me as I am in my element, posh nibbles in one hand, champers in the other, I’m standing in front of an enormous open fire in a Scottish castle looking out over rain sodden windswept heathers, a luxury I’d have once only dreamed of.  It’s almost comical really, the people I’m with are garbed in beautiful dresses and suits and we’re talking house prices and IKEA, and these are the very people who were living on mouldy cheese, toast and lager and living in what only claimed to be comfortable accommodation when I first met them almost ten years ago.  Some people hate getting old but I find it highly amusing.

On the whole people seem impressed with Edinburgh and see it as a possible place to relocate to, and we chat about how we’re going to spend the post-nuptial next few days.  It seems that everyone else is going back to England the next day, except for my wife, Caroline and myself, and the happy couple who are off to Rome.  When I tell people of our plans they look a bit concerned.  They understand how we might want to visit the South West coast of Scotland, after all it’s supposed to be very picturesque if not a little desolate, but to spend two days tracking down locations from “The Wicker Man” seems a little extreme.  “Why not stay in Edinburgh and get pissed, there are loads of great pubs, it seems a shame not to?”  Part of me agrees, but this is too much an opportunity to miss.  After all, we’ve come prepared; we’ve got the soundtrack CD in the hire car for God’s sake, waiting to be played as we arrive there.  For some of us a soundtrack to our lives is essential, even if it’s a film soundtrack in itself.  We are also armed with the invaluable tome “Inside The Wicker Man” by Allan Brown, a man after my own heart.  This exhaustive book chronicles the bizarre occurrences that surrounded both the making of and distribution of the film, but also conveniently includes a scene-by-scene breakdown of locations.

I convince the non-believers that this will be a valuable journey and convince those who have not seen “The Wicker Man” to do so.

I was introduced to this great film about five years ago when ITV showed it as a late night double bill alongside “The Lord of the Flies”, fitting as the film was originally released in 1973 as support for Nicholas Roeg’s  “Don’t Look Now”.  I’d heard a great deal about it, usually in conversations with people who couldn’t remember the title but enthused about this great little film they once saw late at night that was really scary.  I differ in that I find it unforgettable, I can’t think of another film like it.  It’s difficult to place into a genre; in terms of thrills it never lets up, performances are fantastic, it’s scary, funny, whimsical, charming and befits the term cult classic more than any film that springs to mind.  Immediately after my first viewing I watched it again with Caroline who fortunately thought it was one of the best films she’d seen too.

For those unfamiliar with the film, let me offer a brief synopsis.  This is difficult to do without revealing the end, so move onto chapter one if you want to discover it for yourself.

Christian copper Sgt Howie (Edward Woodward) is sent a letter, eerily signed by “ A child lover” asking for assistance in finding the missing girl, Rowan Morrison.  The letter is from a remote island off the south West Coast of Scotland, Summerisle, famous for it’s apples but infamous for it’s pagan beliefs and rituals.  Howie flies to Summerisle and is confronted with a frosty reception from it’s inhabitants who seem reluctant to help, to the extent that they are making it as difficult as possible for him to carry out his duties.  Howie books a room at The Green Man pub run by the sinister Alder Mc Gregor and his lusty daughter Willow (Britt Ekland).  Howie discovers that the islanders have what he considers to be a rather unhealthy appetite for sex, typified by Willow’s fertility dance in the room adjacent to Howie’s and an orgy in the graveyard opposite.  His investigations lead him to Lord Summerisle (Christopher Lee in his finest role), who tries to convince Howie that the pagan way is much purer than Christianity, which only urges Howie to pursue the disappearance more thoroughly.  As the islanders prepare for their Mayday celebrations, Howie has one last frantic search which culminates in him knocking Alder unconscious and dressing in his Punch costume in order to investigate the proceedings undercover.  During the celebrations Rowan appears alive and well in a cave on the beach and it dawns on Howie that he has been set up by the entire population of Summerisle.  Lord Summerisle explains that due to a poor harvest, no apples, Howie being a virgin is perfect for sacrifice and he is led to an enormous wicker edifice in the shape of a man.  Along with a collection of terrified farm animals, Howie is locked into the chest of the wicker man and ceremoniously burned alive to the sound of singing island dwellers swaying in unison on a clifftop. 

Sunday morning and we’re heading off in a hired Vauxhall Astra (Very nice) down the A702 away from Edinburgh and discovering how awful the radio is on a Sunday once Parky has knocked off for lunch.  Our own car radio doesn’t work so we’ve been spared thus far.  The only other choice is “The Wicker Man” soundtrack, but we want to save that till we’re nearer our destination.  Being the sad obsessive that I am, I had come prepared with a home made soundtrack tape, recorded guerrilla style from the “Wicker man” DVD the previous week, but being something of a luddite I’d not accounted for the likelihood of the hire car having a CD player so had to fork out for a suitable replacement on arrival in Edinburgh.

On arriving in Wicker Man country we are listening to the CD for the third time, and even for me that’s a little more than enough.  Why did we play it to death?  The fact that “Stairway to Heaven” by Dolly Parton is on the Radio 2 playlist.  I hate to break it to you Dolly, but there is no chorus, and if there were it wouldn’t be “Stairway to Heaven” (Repeated six times over).  I hope this clarifies things.

We are heading along a beautiful road with a loch to our right, and we are in the vicinity of our first location stop, Kirkcudbright.  Before we reach it, we spot one of those yellow AA signs nailed to a tree.  These rarely interest me, but this one was indicating “The Wicker Man Festival”.  We have to follow the signs and we do, for quite some time.  We eventually arrive at some common ground in the middle of nowhere and discover a smattering of tents and some scrawny dogs sniffing around in the litter, we fear the worst.  A small man in large trousers is standing by a pick up truck at the edge of the field and he seems to be akin to the aforementioned dogs.  I have to ask him what’s going on so I approach him tentatively.  Now I’m not claiming that the locals are any kind of rednecks, but until now my only experience of them is by watching “The Wicker Man” and I don’t fancy being burned alive until I’ve at least had a look around, but this one looks like he’s bypassed “The Wicker Man” completely and gone straight for “Deliverance”.  My naivety and ignorance have served me well as he is a friendly enough bloke once he opens his gnarly mouth and in the strongest dialect I’ve ever heard (I’m not sure what dialect this is), he informs me that I’ve missed it.  Apparently once a year a festival is held on this site, bands perform, this year headliners were Stiff Little Fingers and Spear of Destiny, and a full size Wickerman is burned.  I wonder whether this is indeed a local custom and that more fact than fiction was employed in the making of “The Wicker Man”, but the local guy informs me “It’s all to do with that film, I’ve not seen it but it’s supposed to be alright”.  I bid him farewell and slalom through his dogs to the Astra where the sound of “The Landlords Daughter” is emanating once more.

This is a real shame as we’re not likely to be passing through this area too often and being here on this very weekend is nothing short of a coincidence.  No worries, we travel on to Kirkcudbright.  Now maybe it’s my imagination but I’m feeling a little like Sgt Howie as I walk round, all the young folk seem to be doing little else except snogging, wherever you look, passion is abound, but I’m no puritan and this is quite a romantic spot so fair play to them, go forth and multiply. 

It is in fact a lovely little harbour town that featured in “The Wicker Man” a great deal.  Many of the buildings can be seen in some of the shots where Howie is frantically searching prior to the Mayday celebrations, but the most notable building is May Morrison’s shop.  As May is Rowan’s Mother, this is one of Howie’s first ports of call in the film and although the exterior remains largely unchanged, the shop itself is not a sweet shop but a hardware store.  What is interesting is the alleyway next to the shop, in the film Howie chases Oak, a character dressed as a traditional Mayday Hobbyhorse.   It is tucked away nicely and its appearance in the film can easily be called to mind.  For those who have seen the recently released uncut version of the film, the mainland police station is also in Kirkcudbright but I foolishly forgot to look for it.  This may have been due to drinking heavily the night before at the wedding and needing to use the toilet.  I found what can only be described as the most horrible public toilet in the world at Kirkcudbright, a tourist attraction in itself, particularly for those interested in spores and fungi.  It could easily be confused with another Scottish film location, one used in “Trainspotting, this was surprising as the rest of the place is an absolute joy. 

Teatime and Sunday night Corry threatened so we drove on to Gatehouse of Fleet in search of accommodation.  Up to now I’m happy, there is a definite feel to the area that can only be described as Wickermanesque, and the further West we travel, the more desolate it becomes.  We arrive in Gatehouse of Fleet and find a group of villagers sat outside of a pub drinking and enjoying the sunshine.  They don’t seem too bothered that we are taking photos of The Cally Estate office, (closed on a Sunday), they obviously know of its history.  Despite the fact that there is this perfectly suitable pub opposite, the estate offices were used as the exterior of The Green Man, and it works well.  The metal bracket still exists from which the pub sign hung, but there is little else to suggest that this was once a pretend pub.  Along the High St is Starks chemist, the interior of which features in the film.  What is most memorable about this scene are the grotesque pickling jars containing amongst other delights, foreskins and a conjoined dog foetus.  As it’s Sunday we can only glimpse the interior but some old jars are visible on a high shelf so we make a note to return in the morning and hope the foreskins have been removed.

We make a short diversion in the car to a tiny hamlet, Anwoth, hidden away from the main road and as desolate as you can only imagine.  All that exists there is a small gathering of buildings that feature as Miss Rose’s schoolhouse and the graveyard.

The schoolhouse is as it was and is still very pretty in an almost sinister way, but the real joy here is the graveyard.  In one of the most memorable scenes in the film some nylon trousered youths and a high camp teacher at the gates of the graveyard, perform a highly amusing Maypole dance.  Howie once inside discovers an umbilical cord tied to a branch at Rowans mock grave and a woman breast-feeding a child with an egg held out in front of her.  The most outstanding aspect of the scene is the perfect location and in reality it is not a disappointment.  Being the only people there added to the atmosphere and we walked around the graves in absolute silence.  The tombs are decorated with weather-beaten skulls and are housed within a ruined church with no roof.  In his book Allen Brown tells us that the Schoolhouse is available to rent as a holiday home / retreat, and is always booked well in advance by “Wicker Man” fans, I’m not too sure I’d like to be this isolated, I’m a city boy at heart, but I’m glad I visited Anwoth, I’ll not forget it in a hurry. 

We book in at the four star hotel in Gatehouse of Fleet, which is quite plush I must say, and claims to have had Robbie Burns as a guest in it’s time.  It is part of The Robbie Burns trail, boasts a Robbie Burns room and displays some related exhibits in glass cabinets.  We watch Corry as planned and eat in the hotel restaurant.  This is a journey back in time.  The food is lovely, the decor is 1940's and swing music is playing throughout the meal.  The waiting staff are dressed in traditional black and white pinafores and the only thing to shatter the illusion is when the CD sticks and the young lad from the bar runs through the dining area cursing in a lilting brogue. A Scottish tradition is emerging too, I ask for a diet coke as I am still recovering from the night before, and I’m fat.  The can is brought to the table and placed next to a very small glass.  This is about the third time this has happened in our short visit and isn’t the last.

We return to our room and bed down for the night.  Not a sound can be heard above the deafening silence.  I really mean this, when you are used to falling asleep to the sound of lorries charging along theA33, silence is a full on spooky sensation.  I resist the urge to mimic Britt’s late night fertility dance and slap the walls in my nip, who could appreciate that?  And I fall soundly asleep. 

The next morning I start the day with locally smoked kippers and feel all the better for it.  Now for the foreskins, locally snipped I hope.  The foreskins are gone but the jars remain.  I refrain from asking the young girl serving if they are film props or just old jars from the shop as I fear she won’t know what I’m on about, and instead fall suddenly into old age and buy a tin of travel sweets for the journey.  I feel like an uncle buying these sweets and carefully placing them in the oasis next to the gear stick, and true enough, a couple of weeks later I am offering them to Caroline’s 12 year old brother who is sat in the back of our car.

Before we leave Gatehouse of Fleet, we pay a visit to the common, which is hidden behind the Cally estate office.  From here you can see Willow’s bedroom window, which again is part of the office.  In the longer version of the film she is seen beckoning the young lad, Ash Buchanan to her room to initiate him into adulthood.  We feel a bit intrusive taking a photo into what is basically some back gardens, and decide to have a wander while the early morning dog walkers disappear.  We have already seen a metal fire beacon at the entrance to the common and now we discover a pyre.  Made of wooden planks and surrounded by discarded clothes, sheets and holdalls this would not look out of place anywhere in early November, but this is late July and we’re in Wicker man country.  As there appears to be no charity shops here this is a fair way of disposing of unwanted tat, but as I said, I’m a city boy and to me this is strange.  We voyeuristically take our photo of Willow’s bedroom window and head off for our next destination. 

Creetown is a half hour drive away and is a pretty town with a precious gemstone museum.  It is also the home of The Ellangowan Hotel.  Externally this resembles any other High St pub, possibly a little larger than most in this area, but the interior is that of The Green Man, and little has changed.  A wall has been knocked through to make a games room and the harvest festival photos in the film have been replaced with photos commemorating a return visit by Edward Woodward, looking a lot less wary than Sgt Howie, not to mention a lot older.  In the snug area, which is relatively unchanged, save for new cushions, framed stills show the burning man and images of Woodward and Ekland in the pub during filming.  This is comforting as at least the landlord and lady are happy to acknowledge the association of their pub with the film but have not turned it into a “Wicker Man” theme pub.  It’s only just gone 11.00 and we are the only people in there apart from the barmaid.  When she disappears we snap away and for a moment turn into American tourists.  When she returns we compose ourselves and enquire if a room is available for the night.  There is and it’s very reasonable too.  By now an English family have descended on the pub and are attempting to order an early lunch.  Like typical 21st Century kids nothing is good enough for them and they whine and moan for about ten minutes.  Apparently the pub was busy last night and they’re all out of soup but the landlady can offer them a ploughman’s lunch.  Neither Mum nor Dad knows what a ploughman’s lunch is.  Bearing in mind these people are in their mid to late 40s, I find this incredible and I am glad they have been blessed with such awful children.  It’s lucky the soup was off, as the landlady would have to have explained that too. 

We leave our luggage and head off to the village of Whithorn. 

Whithorn is a short journey away and is a typical village for this area.  Locals are friendly enough, apart from some menacing looking teenage lads who are leaning against a sign on a shop that asks, “Please do not lean on this shop”.  Apparently the exteriors of The Green Man’s upstairs corridors were filmed in a private house here, and the library is also featured when Howie is researching into paganism and sacrifice as children sing “We carry death out of the village” outside.  The exterior is completely unchanged but the library is shut on Mondays so our investigation ends there.  The video library however is open and in keeping with the spirit of the trip, I buy an ex-rental copy of “Children shouldn’t play with dead things”. 

For every location enthusiast, there is a holy grail, and for “Wicker Man” fans, this has to be the actual Wicker Man. Now obviously as we know, this enormous film prop was burned down at the end of the film, but tiny stumps still exist where he stood.  A smaller Wicker Man was built for close up shots of the pleading Howie inside the chest, and for the final shot of the film where the great head of the Wicker Man bows to reveal the setting sun.  Larger remnants of this reduced man exist.  Therefore, we head off in search of our holy grail, to Burrowhead Holiday Village on the southernmost point of the isle of Whithorn.  As with all the locations of “The Wicker Man”, this too is situated on the mainland and it is credit to all involved that when watching the film, Summerisle does feel like an island.  This is amongst other things down to excellent location hunting, selecting similar style properties to shoot over a wide area of land to give the impression of a small island community.

On arrival at the Holiday Village we do as the sign requests and report to the reception office.  A friendly lady who doesn’t mind at all that we are visiting the site for the sole purpose of seeing The Wicker Man’s remains greets us.  She shows us a wall display that has been put together from images from the Internet, this includes photos of the library, chemist, hotel etc and serves it’s purpose well.  She shows us a large arial photograph of the holiday village and points out where she thinks the remains are. 

“I’ve not seen the film,” she tells us, “Not really my kind of thing, but I believe it’s very good, I think it was on at New Year”.   She also informs us that she knows a lot of people who were extras in it.  I choose not to tell her that they are by far the scariest thing in the film, but once again I’m surprised that the locals have not seen it.  She also tells us that she’s not been down to view the remains herself, which is even more surprising as this is an area of great beauty aside from the film connections, and it’s only a five minute walk.  Apparently an Italian film crew were down there yesterday, the lady points to my copy of Allan Brown’s book and tells me “They had one of those.”

We drive down through some caravan plots and park up by the outdoor pool, it’s not quite hot enough to swim in the open yet as it’s only late July, so the kids are busying themselves in the arcade and have gone catatonic in the souvenir shop. We walk past an enormous concrete edifice, which looks like a gargantuan bunker but turns out to be old toilets, until we find ourselves gazing out to sea at the cliff tops.  It is truly breathtaking and immediately reminiscent of the film’s climax.  The grass is like a deep shag pile carpet underfoot and is luxurious to walk over, but this has covered the tiny stumps of the larger Wicker Man and as hard as we search, we cannot find it.  We settle for the smaller one and this is the highlight of our journey.  There is still a good three-foot of each leg remaining on a concrete plinth and to stand between them is quite an eerie feeling.  It’s easy to pass this off as merely a film location, but the Wicker Man was based closely on illustrations of actual Wicker Men that did exist and were used for similarly horrific rituals.  The presence of even these small stumps is quite eerie and still thrilling for a fan of the film like myself.  A notice kindly requests that visitors do not steal wood from the legs, so we respect this and keep our memories instead.  Of all the film locations I can think of, this has to be the one I have wanted to visit above all others, and it is certainly no disappointment.  Although the bulk of the man has been burned away the view remains, as do the cliffs and the atmosphere is incredible.

The final destination is St Ninians Cave, just a little way along the coastline from Burrowhead Holiday Village.  St Ninian was the person who first introduced Christianity to Scotland, and the cave, which can be reached after a mile and a half walk to the stony beach where it stands, was where he would retreat to gather his thoughts and pray.  The nooks and crannies of the walls are now filled with small crosses, letters and scratched stones, dedicated to those who are loved and lost, so it certainly retains its spiritual feel. This is also the cave where Rowan Morrison finally appears during the Mayday celebrations in “The Wicker Man”.  In the film, she and Howie run through the caves to a hole on the cliff tops, in reality the cave is only a few meters deep, the film’s interiors were shot at Wookey Hole in Somerset.  The beach is also the setting for the offering of ale into the sea, prior to Rowan’s appearance.  To say this hasn’t changed is unsurprising.

On the way back to Creetown, we call into Newton Stewart, this is where the cast and crew were based during the shoot and is a bustling little town, big enough for it’s own Safeway.  We call into a little pub for a drink and experience our first hostile reception, fittingly in the style of The Green Man. As we entered the clock stopped and a dart halted in mid air.  We ordered our drinks to an audience of about half a dozen engrossed punters.  I had a Guinness and Caroline had a can of diet coke and a small glass.  We found a quiet corner and drank in silence watching the racing results on Ceefax.  Suddenly the volume of the speaker above our heads was raised to an almost deafening level and we could feel all eyes fall upon us.  We supped up and moved on, as we left the pub we could hear the volume drop once again to a reasonable level, Monday’s Corry threatened so we were happy to head for our room and our teamaking facilitites.  Teabags, coffee sachets and plastic milk pots were all present, but a biscuit was required.  I popped into the little shop next door and it was quite a treat.  For those Wicker man fans who can only wish that the interior of May Morrison’s shop was still intact, look no further, this is the real thing.  A charming little man emerged from a living room that looked like that of the faun’s in the illustrations of “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”, and proceeded to give me a guided tour of his wares.  In the corner of the shop is a small cluster of tables for those who want to eat their biscuits in, and the walls are a fascinating museum of this man’s life, notably a portrait of him as a younger man, framed in a large mirror.  I accepted some Kit-Kats and Tunnocks wafers, anything more exotic would have seemed inappropriate.  The shopkeeper was falling over himself with friendliness and cheered me up for the rest of the evening.

The room was modest and the hotel food excellent.  We were expecting the legendary ploughman’s lunch, refused by the family who didn’t understand it, but evening meals were served in the new bistro, “The Ellangowan’s newest attraction”.  We remembered the “disgusting” meal that Howie was served in the film, tinned runner beans and peaches, and counted ourselves lucky that this was undeniably top nosh.  As I was settling the bill before bed, I asked the young girl behind the bar where the room was where Howie ate his infamous meal.  Unsurprisingly, she too was unfamiliar with the film but guessed it was where the games room is now situated at the far end of the bar.  I checked this out when I got home and I think she was right.

We were sorry to leave Wicker Man country the following morning, apart from the pub in Newton Stewart the locals had made us very welcome and we would certainly return, if not for the festival then for the friendly atmosphere.  What we establish however is that in general, people don’t mind humouring or even helping out location hunters on their turf.  They sometimes have a tale to tell, or claim to have been in on the action, and they seem to enjoy this as much as us.  With this in mind I have decided to return to the streets of London and seek out once more those cult film locations that lie down alleyways, in parks, behind buildings and more often than not stand on busy thoroughfares, with passers by oblivious to their none too secret history.

I have chosen to look at cult films, as the audiences of these films are the folk more likely to make the effort to visit them.  The term cult is a little grey and I apologise if my idea of a cult film does not match yours, and I am open to suggestions for further investigations.  I do hope you enjoy my journeys and embark on them yourselves; there are always a few more surprises in store than you plan for and more often than not, it’s just plain fun. 

© Copyright Derek Pike 2006