Were the plans for the New Town of Edinburgh based on the same principles as the Temple of Solomon and the Great Pyramid? See The Eye, Spring issue and note that the distance from the vestibule of the current Royal Bank of Scotland building in St Andrew’s Square and a point near the corner of Charlotte Square and Glenfinlas Street, if divided by the distance between Prince’s Street and Queen Street gives something near the value of pi. (No calculators, please).
    Snippets of information of this sort merely confirm the view of those who live here that the city is on a par with the Seven Wonders of the World. There can be few other places in Britain where those searching out houses to buy have such rarified priorities. While most urban house-hunters still look for an appropriate number of bedrooms and reliable wiring, here a bow-ended dining room, good decorative plaster-work and an original dado is a must. Bare stone staircases are much admired and if your bath has four legs and takes a whole tank of hot water to fill, then your happiness will be complete.
    If there was anyone skilled in this sort of mental arithmetic, it was unquestionably Edinburgh’s three times Lord Provost, the Freemason George Drummond (1687-1766). Although he did not live to see it built, he was the main inspiration behind the New Town. His reputation was built on his knack with figures. “His expertness in calculation,” observed one writer, “an acquirement always despised by those who possess it not, brought him into notice.” Quite so. Drummond was so good at sums that at the tender age of eighteen he was employed by the government to calculate the relative wealth of the two nations, England and Scotland. Pi would have been no problem to him. One thing led to another and after the Union (1707) he was appointed to the office of Accountant-General of Excise, a taxman supreme. The only trouble, according to a contemporary, was that “the duties of this office were not sufficient to exhaust his application...” So not being a man to hang around, Drummond set about raising money for the building of a Royal Infirmary.
    Old Edinburgh, squashed between castle and palace had its shortcomings. In Proposals for carrying on certain Public Works in the City of Edinburgh (1752), Drummond and his cronies advocated Improvement. “Placed upon a ridge of a hill, it admits but of one good street, running from east to west... The narrow lanes leading to the north and south by reason of their steepness, narrowness and dirtiness, can only be considered as so many unavoidable nuisances... the houses stand more crowded than in any other town in Europe, and are built to a height that is almost incredible. Hence necessarily follows a great want of free air, light, cleanliness and every other comfortable accommodation.” Families lived one above the other with the associated horror of the common stair, whereby neighbours, even if locked in feuds, must still take turns with mop and bucket for their mutual benefit.
    It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and Edinburgh in autumn is a windy place. Some time in September 1751, the year before publication of the Proposals, “the side-wall of a building of six stories high, in which several reputable families lived, gave way all of a sudden... This melancholy accident occasioned a general survey to be made of the condition of the old houses”, which turned out to be rather ruinous. From this private disaster a public movement was born. “Let us improve and enlarge this city,” they trumpeted, “and possibly the superior pleasures of LONDON, which is at a distance, will be compensated, at least in some measure, by the moderate pleasures of EDINBURGH, which is at home.”
    They did. A year later, Drummond himself, as Grand Master of the Scottish Masons, laid the foundation stone of the Exchange, now the City Chambers. Grand Lodge spared nothing. There was a triumphal Arch, Augustan style, at the entrance to where the stone was to be laid. Niches flanked by columns on either side of the arch contained life-size figures representing Geometry and Architecture and, over the Corinthian entablature sat the “Genius of Edinburgh” in a curule chair. Anthems were sung. Laurel, flowers and tapestries adorned the stands and a company of Grenadiers escorted the party with bayonets fixed. Back at the Lodge, “An Entertainment suitable to the occasion was prepared by Grand Stewards...”
    Mathematically speaking, William Mylne may not have been quite on a par with his brother Freemason, Drummond. The City accepted his design for the first North Bridge, 1,134 feet overall, almost 70 feet high and 40 feet between the parapets over the three arches. (Here’s a mathematical opportunity for someone). By early in 1769 the bridge was open to pedestrians, but that summer, disaster struck. Mylne seems to have miscalculated the gradient between the old High Street and the south end of the bridge. Finding it too steep, he piled earth on top of the arches. The extra weight was too much for the foundations and part of the south abutment collapsed.
    An army of men were employed to repair and finish the bridge. But the Genius of Edinburgh did not desert Mylne. In the end, the town picked up the tab. The bridge gave access to the fields of the north and in Craig’s plan, Barefoot’s Parks became Prince’s Street. Everything was gained, although Barefoot and his sheep are gone forever and the chain stores hold sway.
    There is no statue of Drummond in Edinburgh. He built himself a fine house in what is now Drummond Place and took up gardening, a cure, maybe, for intro-spection. “I am afraid I am puft up. Woe is me,” he wrote in a private diary. “I can neither be humble under success, nor bear up under discouragements. Oh! What a poor worthless creature am I.” But history has been very kind to him.