Well, if it’s good enough for The Batman… aye, Glasgow’s Necropolis is pure dead brilliant.
Oh, by the way and ‘a that… that’s Glasgow speak.
Now you can live all your young life in a place and never visit its historic sites even when you are a historian.
And Glasgow’s Necropolis atop the hill above Glasgow Cathedral is where they buried the Great and Good and the Merchants.
So you’ll see The Tobacco Lords who made Glasgow the Second City of Empire.
And the Merchants after which the Merchant City district is named.
The Titans of Protestantism
And the titans of Protestantism, credited for giving the citizens the Protestant Work Ethic.
Which they used to create wealth and prosperity.
Chief among them, of course, is the floppy capped, long of beard John Knox.
You might know him from the movie Mary Queen of Scots.
Or his page-turner, The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women aimed at the aforesaid Catholic Mary.
Knox stands defiantly above all the other monuments in the Necropolis at 12ft and 58ft in total, taking in the podium.
It is a gift during the Victorian Age from the people of Glasgow.
With a glowing inscription on its base describing his many achievements.
A disciple of Luther
Knox, of course, was a disciple of Martin Luther’s who stands proudly in front of the Frauenkirche in Dresden in his native Saxony.
But as is the way with his disciple Knox now larger in death, or at least in my home town.
As too is King William III, aka of Orange, or King Billy, who is immortalised in bronze down from the Necropolis.
To mark the Tercentenary of the Glorious Revolution.
When he rid Scotland of Catholicism, King James VII, and II of the United Kingdom.
A Catholic riposte
In a touch of irony in this divided city, a bastion of Catholicism rises from the East End where the Irish Immigrants gathered.
They have nicknamed Celtic Park, home of Glasgow Celtic, Paradise because it is built next to a graveyard too.
And it spells it out on the stadium when you turn from the downtown shot of the city centre.
We Glaswegians have come to learn to wear different hats when needed.
And so to the story of an Irish immigrant from nationalist Co. Donegal who was only intending to stop here to nurse for six months.
But who fell for the charms of a Glaswegian medical student and stayed for 65 years.
An adopted Scot
Here she is wearing the colours of an adopted country but retaining the thickest Irish brogue.
All of which may be the type of random thoughts that run through your mind.
When you’re standing with your home city under your feet.
Aye, Glasgow’s Necropolis is pure dead brilliant.