On your right is Trinity College Kirk… or, more accurately, what’s left of a church that had the misfortune of being built in the path of “progress.” Edinburgh has always loved its history… right up until it needs the space.
This place began in grief and royal ambition. In 1460, Mary of Guelders-widow of King James the Second-founded a grand collegiate church and an almshouse called Trinity Hospital. James had just been killed at the siege of Roxburgh Castle, and Mary wanted a lasting, stone-solid way to honor him… and to pray for the wellbeing of his soul, and basically every Scottish royal soul on file. She herself was buried in the original kirk floor when she died in 1463, though her coffin was later moved to Holyrood Abbey in the 1800s.
“Collegiate church” wasn’t a school the way we mean it now. Think of it as a well-funded religious workplace: a provost, eight prebendaries, and clerks-each supported by lands and church incomes drawn from all over Scotland. Some of that money even came from places in Fife, including a leper colony at Monimail. And there was a deal attached: the provost had to maintain three “bedesmen,” meaning poor men supported by the foundation, at the Soutra hospital. Medieval charity came with paperwork… and strings.
Now, if you’re picturing a finished cathedral-like masterpiece… not quite. The original plan was never completed. They managed the apse, the choir with its aisles, and the transepts-impressive, but still a “work in progress” that never got its final act. It was built from local sandstone, quarried not far away-handy stuff, and good quality. Style-wise, it was late Gothic with a cosmopolitan edge, and it drained rainwater through gargoyles… because nothing says sacred architecture like stone creatures spitting water at you. Even better: the decorations reportedly included CARVED MONKEYS. No one fully agrees why. Maybe a warning about mischief. Maybe the masons just had a sense of humor. Honestly, relatable.
This kirk also had serious cultural clout. It housed a famous triptych altarpiece by Hugo van der Goes, finished in 1479-now in the National Gallery of Scotland. It shows James the Third, with saints and family, plus the provost who commissioned it, Edward Bonkil, proudly stamped in with his coat of arms. In other words: faith, power, and branding… the full medieval package.
Then came the railway. In the 1840s, the North British Railway got legal power to buy up land for what became Waverley Station-and Trinity Kirk stood in the way. So in 1848, under architect David Bryce, the old church was dismantled, despite protests from antiquaries who were, understandably, not thrilled. The stones were numbered for rebuilding and stored on Calton Hill… but decades of delays meant many stones vanished. Turns out “numbered” isn’t the same as “secure.”
The railway paid the Town Council £18,000 at the time-roughly about £2.5 million today, or around $3.2 million USD-to compensate instead of rebuilding exactly. A later replacement church opened in the 1870s, using only about a third of the original stone to recreate the choir and apse you’re seeing now, the “Trinity Apse.” The rest… scattered, stolen, or sitting in someone’s garden as a suspiciously fancy lawn ornament.
When you’re ready, Regent Bridge is next-just head west for about 2 minutes, and it will be on your left.
