Clashing Cultures

I watched episode nine of the Outlander TV series last night... where Jamie takes his belt to Claire for her disobedience: "You've done wrong to all the men and you must suffer for it". She then twice makes him promise, at the point of a dirk, never to do such a thing again. This tension between cultures is one of the charms of the books and Diana Gabaldon has put her finger on an enduring issue.

For Claire, an intelligent liberated woman of the 20th century, such barbarity is unacceptable, indeed contemptible. But, stripped of modern ethical standards, clan society in the 18th century worked pretty well, and Claire was operating in a cultural vacuum (her culture had not yet been born!).

The episode put me in mind of  Alistair Moffat's comments in his excellent book on Hadrian's Wall, on the relative barbarism of Romans and the invaded, artistic but illiterate Celts, "In AD 105 the Emperor Trajan sent 50,000 captives back to Rome to be butchered by gladiators for the amusement of spectators... very civilised".

Where a culture has superior military power, it somehow believes that its values are superior to those who are less developed, less able to defend themselves.

In 1919 the Aliab Dinka of Southern Sudan, naked, spear-carrying cattle herders were not paying their taxes and, when confronted, had the temerity to outwit the government forces and kill the provincial governor. The Lewis gun equipped punitive expedition burned villages and drove off 7000 cattle, sold to fund the occupying force. Who were the Barbarians?

Moffat also writes of the aftermath of Queen Boudica's rebellion, "Paullinus scoured the countryside for fugitives, allies, or even neutrals... smoke rose on every horizon as the soldiers punished southern Britain for daring to rebel". The same man dealt with the island of Anglesey, "In the days after the battle the killing went on: Paullinus ordered his men to cut down the sacred groves of oak trees on Mona, and as far as possible extirpate the cult of the druids".

The extirpation of a cult was more or less exactly what the Duke of Cumberland had in mind with his brutal and indiscriminate suppression of the Highlands in 1746. The violence and sense of superiority of the British Army of the day is only a little exaggerated in the TV series.

That was 270 years ago. But the conviction that more developed cultures are superior (and should be imposed) still endures.

Gallipoli 1915 and Culloden 1746

My adopted town of Hawick remembers its dead. In May I visited the Gallipoli peninsular, scene of a disastrous campaign in 1915, where there is a marble shield to the Hawick fallen. 86 Hawick men lost their lives on 12 July 1915 and each year there is a service of remembrance here. Today, the centenary, there was an expanded ceremony; each of the 86 names was read out, the Last Post sounded: They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old... 

The Hawick men were from 4th Battalion, Kings Own Scottish Borderers. They were ordered to take a non existent line of trenches and ended up milling around in the open under heavy machine gun and artillery fire. Only two officers ended the day uninjured; seventy men from a unit of about 700 were fit for duty next day.

There are many heart wrenching tales from Gallipoli. Many are scarcely believable accounts of sheltering for days in the baking sun behind rotting bodies (a ready breeding ground for millions of flies). But the story that particularly caught my attention was that of Brigadier Scott Moncrieff. At the Battle of Gully Ravine, he watched his men being cut to pieces as they attacked into Turkish machine gun fire. He was ordered to attack again and felt he had no choice but to be at the head of his men. He led them 'over the top' and was hit in the head by a bullet. The attack failed.

The grave of Brigadier Scott Moncrieff

It reminded me of Cameron of Lochiel ('The Gentle Lochiel') at the Battle of Culloden in 1746; he was a polyglot, expert forester and much respected clan chief. He must have known that, after the failure of the night attack, the situation at Culloden was hopeless. But all the same he bounded across that moor in his powdered wig, brandishing a broadsword, endeavouring to engage the British Army.

But Lochiel did not reach the government front line as his legs caught the grapeshot of their cannons; he was carried back to his home at Achnacarry and escaped to France where he died.

Cameron of Lochiel (1700 - 1748)

Both men willingly put themselves in certain mortal danger in a battle they knew would be lost, leading their men in the full knowledge that it was probably all in vain. It was their duty. Better to die a hero than live a coward.

Scotland says 'No'. But now that you're listening...

So what should those outside these shores make of our Independence Referendum?

In short, the 'No' vote won but we are now in a much better position  - with more devolution on the way - than we were a month ago.

Much passion has been generated and it has sadly left some bitter divisions. In my personal view, this was a wasted opportunity: we were asked to vote on a general principle (which would be binding) without any knowledge (or rather with two totally conflicting opinions) as to what the balance sheet of an independent Scotland would look like. A 'Yes' vote would have been an enormous leap of faith.

The vast majority in the UK is very relieved. It did at one stage seem quite possible that the votes of two million people in Scotland could break up the 300 year old United Kingdom, (pop. 64 million). Any UK government will think carefully about a future referendum.

The good news is that Scotland has put down a marker. We want more devolution and we want it soon.

This genie will not be going back into its box. Many people are distraught. They feel betrayed by the majority. In their hearts they cannot accept this decision. Expectations have been raised.

Alan Little, the BBC Scotland correspondent makes some very good points...

• Almost all the mainstream media (including Scottish media) were hostile to independence.
• The banks would move to London. 
• The financial services industry would collapse. 
• Mortgage payments would rise. 
• Scotland would have to get in the queue behind Kosovo for EU membership. 
• The oil is running out.
• No one knew what currency we would use.
• Supermarkets prices would go up. 

And still 45% voted 'Yes'!!

Why?

Well, its mostly the fault of the Romans. For three hundred years the Celtic tribes in the north were walled off from their southern neighbours who began to favour baths, wine and a trip to the amphitheatre over the traditional Celtic entertainments of warfare, feasting and song. And because these southerners became so soft they were easy meat for the Angles,Saxons and Danes who imported a different language and a different culture. Two kingdoms were born.

Joining them together was a success.We defeated Napoleon, built the Empire, suffered together in two World Wars, built post-war prosperity and the welfare state. But now we are both part of Europe and subject to its laws ('independence' is a relative, not an absolute, concept nowadays). Scotland's coal, steel and shipbuilding is now worked out. Now, more than ever, the centre of gravity is in London. There isn't really a joint project any more. We feel different.

It hasn't helped, over the years, that the English regularly beat us on the battlefield (as well as on the rugby pitch). It hasn't helped that English Victorians who bought Scottish castles and estates, tended to treat the locals as serfs. It hasn't helped that successive Prime Ministers - Douglas Home, Heath and Callaghan - have promised more devolution than they have delivered. But mostly it's because we feel different.

Unscrambling the constitution,  - which is now what is needed - will be very tricky. I'm not going into that now. But, despite the infighting, we are a lot better off now than we were a month ago.

Come home to Scotland!

How lucky we are in Scotland to have a colourful and vibrant clan culture to underpin our tourism industry! But are we looking after our Diaspora?...making it easy for folk to find and enjoy the experiences that they seek?

Yesterday I was at the very successful 'Bannockburn Live'. An effective 'battle performance', great music and good local food were marred only by some rain and a wee problem with traffic management. The clan tents were busy, especially when Robert the Bruce himself was doing the rounds.

Tomorrow I am at a meeting to discuss how to 'develop the potential of clan tourism in Scotland'. So, as I mow the grass, my mind inevitably turns to what can be learned from 'Bannockburn Live' and how we can build on it...

Correcting my un-straight lines, I conclude that Highland Games elsewhere are in many cases grander affairs than here in Scotland, but an event such as 'Bannockburn Live' or a Scottish Highland Games offers a 'Rooted Authenticity'. This may come from some or all of the following...

• A historic setting - castle, battlefield, iconic venue such as Holyrood Park, or somewhere that resonates in clan history.
• Clan events before or afterwards, and/or the opportunity to tour remote clan lands, seek out family heritage - or visit popular attractions.
• What surrounds the event - people, architecture, whisky, music. An American friend who was at the event yesterday evening has uploaded a video of a music session in a local pub commenting " Just another reason I love Scotland!!!"
• Meeting native Scots of the same name. This may seem trivial to us in Scotland, but after 12 years of running tours with an ancestral theme, I know it is not.
• Our funny Scottish ways: local people with impenetrable accents enthusing about ...something, the Atholl Highlanders, Lonach Highlanders, nobility, Royalty.

Atholl Highlanders

There's a bit to think on there - and I'd be very grateful for any feedback, especially from those in far off places. Have I got this more or less right? 

If so, the way we get the message out and make all this more accessible is a longer discussion.

Maybe we should be doing more events like 'Bannockburn Live'? There are Highland Games and Gatherings all over north and central Scotland and this year the Highland Tattoo at Fort George. What about something to celebrate Border clans and families during the Common Riding season with participation by cornets/callants? Bannockburn again perhaps? Or a massive 700th anniversary of the Declaration of Arbroath in 2020?

Finally, I was chatting to this man in the beer tent yesterday. Clearly a passionate Scot.
Where does he come from?

Basel.

Food for thought...
maybe another beer...

Rewriting the Battle of Bannockburn

I am Edward II of England, facing King Robert of Scotland, played by the Chief Guide at the Bannockburn Centre. It was an interesting encounter: I led my cavalry straight into his foul calthrop trap but he was so keen to protect his king (yes, it's a bit like chess) that I outnumbered him in various encounters. Then he gleefully pointed out that whilst I had lots of archers and cavalry left, I had no infantry with which to relieve Stirling Castle - which had to be done by midsummer's day to comply with a gentlemanly deal done with the Scots by the castle's governor, Sir Philip Mowbray. (The Russians may have a similar plan in eastern Ukraine although as yet no date has been set).

Of course in 1314 it was a Scottish victory, indeed it was our last 'home win' against England and the encounter will be replayed on 28 and 29 June at Bannockburn this year, a 700th anniversary celebration.

I enjoyed the new attraction and all the fun of 3D glasses with the effects of knights galloping past a mere arm's length away. The talking figures of various characters in the battle are excellent in every detail - don't miss any of these. But the much hyped war game is, I think, overambitious. It's designed for 30 players, each with a division or two to command, and an understandable need for quick decision-making so that the battle does not take all day. Commentary and advice from staff is essential to make some sense of it all. It's great to see hi-tech options being embraced, but I wonder how much each learned about the actual course of the battle...

The seeds of this conflict were sown by the untimely death of King Alexander III of Scotland, whose only heir, his granddaughter Margaret, died on her way back home from Norway. Edward I of England ruthlessly exploited the resulting power vacuum and took Scotland under his control. The Scottish victory at Bannockburn was a game-changer and in this year of the referendum on Scotland's independence it is understandably cited as a source of national pride and patriotism. Conveniently forgotten is that the Scottish solution to the problem of King Alexander's death was to make a good marriage for his heir, Margaret the 'Maid of Norway'. The intended bridegroom?... none other than the future Edward II of England.

What is a 'Broken Clan'?

Clan Cunningham website announces jubilantly, "We are no longer a broken clan!".
Indeed there is now a Chief of the Name and Arms of Cunninghame (sic) which, after 218 years without one, is good news.

A chief-less clan is often cited as 'broken'. But I wonder if members of Clan Cunningham knew we were a 'broken clan' before we ceased to be one? Of the 324 Scottish clans or families within which individuals have coats of arms recorded, only 121 currently have a chief, as recognised by the Lord Lyon. It does sound a little dramatic to suggest that the rest are 'broken'!

Historical documents often use the phrase 'broken men', also known as thieves, vagabonds, caterans, 'unanswerable men' and 'clanless men'; men who, in a subsistence agricultural society, have lost their land, perhaps due to a larger clan taking over their traditional clan lands. These men, without the protection of a chief, without any source of income, relied on their wits, turned to crime and were a constant problem to the authorities in Edinburgh. A look through the Records of the Parliaments of Scotland to 1707 gives 49 references to 'broken men' and the resulting problems. Interestingly there is not a single reference to a 'broken clan'.

Amongst the several Acts for the "repressing of the insolence of the barbarous people and broken men of the highlands", only one clan is specifically mentioned: "that wicked race and name of the Glengregor, notorious villains and malefactors".  The MacGregors were displaced from their clan lands by the Campbell Earl of Argyll but they never lost their chief. The present chief is Sir Malcolm MacGregor of MacGregor Bt., much respected convenor of the Standing Council of Scottish Chiefs.

So what is a 'broken clan'?

When is a castle not a castle?

A castle is advertised for sale. So I took a look.

Cavers Castle (or maybe Cavers House?) in its prime.

Cavers Castle, a tower house of the Black Douglas, was destroyed by the English in 1545, remodelled in the 1750s and much extended in 1887. It has been a ruin since 1953 when the last Palmer Douglas laird, quite remarkably, sold the contents and allowed the army to use the building for target practice. Now mature spruce trees surround and oppress the sad skeleton, swaying arrogantly in what was drive, lawn, flower bed.

Cavers now.

I chatted to some people from a cottage nearby. "It's not really a castle", they said, "more of a mansion house". And when I looked in my favourite reference book, the entry under Cavers Castle read, 'See Cavers House'. 

So which is it?
The generally accepted definition of a castle is a 'private fortified residence'. When built in the 16th century Cavers was undoubtedly a castle; but in 1887 it was rebuilt for gracious living with no thought for defence. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert did not build Balmoral as a fortified residence in 1856 but, unlike Cavers, it does have many of the architectural defensive features of a castle.

Balmoral Castle.

Blair Castle, seat of the Dukes of Atholl, started as a castle, was remodelled in 1740 to be a stylish country house with no turrets or castellations then in the 1860s, under the influence of Balmoral, was transformed back into a castle!

So it is a grey area... which could confuse the potential castle purchaser. Or, more unfortunately, a visitor to our shores; Castle Venlaw in Peebles, for example, is a very good hotel, but no more a castle than your house or mine!

Roxburgh Castle

It's difficult to imagine, as I walk by the River Teviot to ruinous Roxburgh Castle, that King David I (1124 - 1153) governed Scotland from here, that it saw royal marriages and births, and was one of the principal strongholds of Scotland, ceded to England (with Edinburgh and Stirling) after the capture of King William 'The Lion' in 1174.

It's a wet and windy January afternoon and it's also hard to imagine an iron cage hanging from these walls, a cage containing a king's sister. She was Mary, sister to Robert the Bruce, held here by the English, 'exposed to public view' from 1306 to 1310, then removed to a convent, (presumably to stop a valuable hostage from dying of exposure). She was released after the Battle of Bannockburn (1314) in exchange for English noblemen.

Ah yes! Bannockburn. There's a happier story! Our last 'home win', 700 years ago on 23 and 24 June. And Roxburgh Castle was taken for the Scots by 'Good' Sir James Douglas earlier that same year by creeping up on it with sixty men disguised, they say, as cattle; though sadly we don't have the exact day to celebrate it. This left Stirling as the only Scottish Castle in English hands... fanfare and cue Bannockburn re-enactment later this year.

But returning to Roxburgh, this is what Andrew Spratt (and he's normally pretty good) thinks it looked like.

The two rivers join just below the illustration and the Teviot was partially diverted (top) to surround the castle with water (just like Caerlaverock on the Solway Firth and Old Inverlochy Castle at Fort William).

Roxburgh changed hands between Scots and English 13 times and was eventually destroyed by the Scots in 1460. But this was another bitter and uncertain time: our king, James II, had been killed standing by a canon, firing on English-held Roxburgh Castle from the grounds of Floors Castle across the Tweed.

The magnificent  building that now smiles benignly across the river is a modern structure (of 1721) but well worth a visit. And if you do go, look for the holly tree marking the spot where James II was killed by his favourite canon. And perhaps you will take time to wander up to the thought-provoking ruins of Roxburgh Castle.

Authenticity is Everything in this Counterfeit World

I had a birthday the other day and was given a cd by Hugh Laurie (thanks Jamie) who apologises in the liner notes for being a white middle class Englishmen offering songs from black Louisiana in the early 1900s. He goes on to talk of 'furniture dipped in absinthe and towed behind a truck from Nice Table all the way to Wow, What's the Story Behind That???' suggesting that, 'Our alienation from the land, our inoculation against disease, our cultivated fear of hot things, sharp things, fast things... has made us hungry for the real thing, for Truth. If we don't get it we'll settle for its distant cousin, Authenticity.'

Earlier this week I was guiding clients in their clan lands, pulling out scraps of history and relating them to what's there now on the ground. The rocks, the rivers, the corries and to some extent the churches, are easy but most buildings are far removed from those ancient Truths. I'm grateful for the Authenticity of monuments and graveyards.

On Tuesday night I was at a B&B - a typically Scottish Victorian villa  in a small Perthshire town with a lovely garden. We've used it for clients before and they've had a great welcome. As did I, from the charming young landlady and her partner who produced an excellent breakfast. This couple have had the house for a year. They come from Roumania. So, not really authentic. But what if they had been from London, or Glasgow, or Inverness, or the next town down the glen?

Ideally the landlady would have been born and brought up in the town; but there aren't so many of those about. Truths are often hard to pin down - intellectually, historically or for a tour guide on the ground. But for our Clans and Castles clients we serve up as much as we can of that distant cousin, Authenticity.

Book a trip with us and there's one very nice B&B that you won't be staying in.

The Hill Road to Roberton

The hill road to Roberton's a steep road to climb,

But where your foot has crushed it you can smell the scented thyme,

And if your heart's a Border heart, look down to Harden Glen,

And hear the blue hills ringing with the restless hoofs again.

When I moved back to the Borders last year, I was looking forward to living near lovely Tweedside Abbotsford, home of Sir Walter Scott, which reopens to the public on 4 July. But I had forgotten about Will H. Ogilvie who wrote that great poem, The Raiders (too long to quote here but follow the link - it's a wonderful evocation of the romance of the Borders). 

I was recently in Galashiels on a lovely spring afternoon and decided to return to Hawick via 'The Hill Road to Roberton' where Will's ashes were scattered, and pay my respects to his cairn (below). 

It's a beautiful, undulating, moorland road which I will make a point of revisiting in August when the heather is out. But I'd forgotten that as I wound down into the valley of the River Teviot I would pass by 17th century Harden Tower, once home to Auld Wat of Harden (depicted below), one of the most notable of the Border Reivers. 

Which brings us back to his descendant, Sir Walter Scott, who wrote so effectively about 'Auld Wat' in the 'Lay of the Last Minstrel'.

Do make a point of visiting Abbotsford - a lovely and fascinating house with a well designed visitor centre.

The Queen's Unfortunate Love of Golf

Mary Queen of Scots (1542 - 1587) is reported to be the first woman to play golf regularly. Now some readers will know how that game can just get a hold of you; it clouds the judgement. So it was for Mary: people noticed that within days of the murder of her husband, Lord Darnley, the Queen was back out with her bag of golf sticks chasing that wee ball along the links. Of course it didn't help that fifteen weeks later she married the Earl of Bothwell, the man generally thought to be her husband's murderer.

Not only was Mary a golfer, but a fine horsewoman, poet, musician, and according to a contemporary "there was no human knowledge she could not talk upon... she used a most gentle style of speech, with kindly majesty mingled with modest reserve". She was also tall, athletic, beautiful. In fact she was just the sort of queen that Scotland needed in the 16th century. But it all went horribly wrong. Golf was the least of her problems; the biggest was... men; she fell in love with the wrong ones. It is a long and tragic story, related in many books and now by the excellent Scottish Portrait Gallery in an eTour.

But if you would like to see the castles and palaces where she was born and christened, where she lived and danced, prayed and plotted, you can now accompany Lord Sempill in a personal tour which fleshes out the life and loves of this extraordinary woman. A compelling story, well told.

The Burning of the Clavie

Though my calendar shows 12 January, it is actually January 1st ... according to the Julian Calendar, accepted in Britain until 1752 (in Alaska until 1867 and Russia until 1917).

That means last night must have been Hogmanay and a night of celebration! And so it was for the folk of Burghead in North East Scotland who celebrate with a fire festival, the Burning of the Clavie, every 11 January.

A burning tar barrel is carried flaming through the streets and burning staves are given to residents to bring them luck in the New Year. Finally the clavie forms the nucleus of a bonfire on the rampart of an ancient Pictish fort.  Burghead was the heart of the northern Pictish kingdom from the 4th century until destroyed by the Vikings in the 9th century.

What is it about Scotland and fire festivals? At Hogmanay in Stonehaven near Aberdeen locals make up balls of chicken wire which they fill with flammable material and march through the streets, swinging the burning balls round their heads, accompanied by a pipe band.

In Shetland at ceremonies called Up Helly Aa they throw burning torches into a replica viking ship.

It's all a wonderful excuse for bringing the community together and brightening up the long nights with a good bonfire and a party!

Christmas for a King in 1716

The best known Jacobite rising was of course the 1745 which ended with the disastrous Battle of Culloden. But it was the 1715 that had the most chance of success. Queen Anne died in August 1714 and although there were 56 better claimants, a non English speaking (but Protestant) German princeling was brought over to be the next king. Many people were unhappy; there were impromptu riots in English cities and armed rebellions in northern England and Scotland. The rightful king, Bonnie Prince Charlie's father James, took an extraordinarily long time to lend his presence to those who wished to secure the crown for him. Had he come earlier, things might have been different!

James arrived (in disguise) at Peterhead on 23 December 1716 accompanied by just six gentlemen companions. No preparations had been made but he was offered the Earl Marischal's house at Fetteresso near Stonehaven. The Earl himself was in Perth with the Jacobite army, only arriving at Fetteresso on the 27th. The weather was foul and the king fell ill with the ague. He thus spent Christmas, still incognito, ill in bed in a strange, cold, house without a host or hostess (and a price of £100,000 on his head!). I doubt there were many presents.

My broken leg and I are being looked after by the excellent staff at Raigmore hospital, Inverness, this Christmas. It will be a whole lot more pleasant than that of the would-be James VIII of Scotland on his first visit to this country in 1716!

I wish you all a Christmas fit for a king!

PS. For more on Jacobites and Christmas, have a look at my last Christmas post.

Remembrance Day

I was delighted to read that traffic in Inverness will stop for two minutes at 11.00 tomorrow, 11 November, to mark the memory of  all those servicemen who fell in the First World War and subsequent conflicts. This move which augments tributes that will be paid at War Memorials throughout the land this Sunday is a welcome move to bring this extraordinary sacrifice into people's daily lives.

I was at Eilean Donan Castle recently, looking at the memorial to the MacRaes who gave their lives in the two wars. I re-read the poem by John MacRae, a Canadian, which led to the poppy becoming the emblem of Remembrance:

In Flanders fields the poppies grow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; whilst in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly 

Scarce heard amidst the guns below.


We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved and now we lie
In Flanders fields. 

On the first day of the Battle of the Somme, 1 July 1916, the British Army suffered nearly 60,000 casualties - that's nearly the population of Inverness.

I, too, will be pausing for two minutes at 11.00 tomorrow.

Guy Fawkes Day and the 'Winter Queen'

Today is an ideal Guy Fawkes Day - clear, crisp and a Saturday. There will be fireworks throughout the United Kingdom tonight and massive bonfires topped with a 'guy', a stuffed effigy of Guy Fawkes who, on 5 November 1605, hoped to make a bonfire of the Houses of Parliament thereby killing the king.

The king in question was King James VI of Scotland (right), son of Mary Queen of Scots, and recently crowned James I of England. Guy Fawkes and his co-conspirators were aggrieved that James, a Protestant (albeit with a Roman Catholic mother and wife) was not resisting anti-Catholic legislation.

The story twists and turns and is well told here and here. In essence the plot was that with the king and his elder son dead, his nine year old daughter Elizabeth would become Queen of a newly Catholic country. Well, Fawkes was discovered on 4 November and Elizabeth grew up to marry the German Frederick V, Elector Palatinate. For just a few months in the winter of 1619/1620 Frederick became King of Bohemia, and known as 'The Winter King'; thus Elisabeth acquired her moniker 'Winter Queen'.

Elisabeth, who was born in Falkland Palace in Fife and brought up at Linlithgow Palace near Edinburgh, would surely have considered herself a Scot; her portrait hangs in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery. It is therefore doubly ironic that Elizabeth whom Guy Fawkes wished to crown as a Catholic Queen is remembered principally as the Grandmother of George I, who was preferred to the Cathoic James Stuart, the exiled de jure king, when Queen Anne died in 1714. George, a Protestant, became the first monarch of the House of Hanover, leapfrogging more than 50 Roman Catholics who had a better claim to the throne! There followed 32 years of Jacobite Risings, seeking to right this perceived wrong.

Elizabeth died in England, whilst visiting her nephew Charles II who was fond of her and insisted that some of the 'barbarous' names in his new territories across the Atlantic were named after her, hence the Elizabeth River in Southeastern Virginia and Cape Elizabeth in Maine.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

Shinty/Hurling International

I went down to Bught Park in Inverness today to see an International... Scotland v Ireland playing the hybrid rules that combine Scotland's national game of Shinty with its Irish brother, Hurling.

I once watched a Shinty game with an American client, and remember describing it as hockey with fewer rules. He said, 'Mmmh, strikes me as more like organised violence'.  This was what we enjoyed today.

Watching the game, I was struck by the difference in the two sticks. As you can see from this advertisement, the Hurling stick has a flat surface and the Irish proved very skilled at picking up the ball, running with it tossing it up and hitting. The Shinty stick is better suited to hitting off the ground and this was where the Scottish points came from.

The word 'Shinty' probably comes from the Gaelic sinteag, a leap or bound, which may also be the root of the word 'shindig', a riotous party. The first reference to Shinty is actually in Kirk Session records of the City of Glasgow in 1589.

Hurling, probably Shinty's ancestor, has earlier roots: a 12th century Irish document refers to Cuchulainn, a mythological Celtic hero, who won fame by driving a ball into the snarling mouth of a guard dog.

Shinty or Camanachd is a part of Scotland's Gaelic heritage. In the bloody aftermath of the Battle of Culloden in 1746 tartan was banned, carrying weapons was banned, bagpipes were banned and there were attempts to ban both Shinty and Golf (that other Scottish game). But the subsequent Highland Clearances dispersed Highlanders and their Celtic culture all over the world; Shinty spread with them and there is now a US Camanachd Association. Golf seems to have caught on there too.

In Canada, they say, the game changed a little. In 1800 Scottish immigrants played on ice at Windsor; and ice hockey was born.

And what happened today?

Well, it was a bit like the Scottish Rugby team's performance in the recent World Cup in New Zealand: doing well at half time (11 - 5) but ultimate defeat (14 - 15). Both sides played well and there were remarkably few casualties.

Queen Victoria's Love of Scotland

I've been working a few weekends recently and, now that the season is over, today I took a day off - a walk down the lovely River Findhorn...

... and a cup of tea at nearby Logie Steading, where there is a particularly good second hand bookshop. I fell prey to a book on Scottish surnames, a volume of Nigel Tranter's Fortified Houses of Scotland, and the book that has kept me engrossed for the past several hours, Ronald W Clark's Balmoral. No wonder Queen Victoria fell in love with Scotland when she visited first in 1842!

At Dunkeld the Royal Party was met by the Atholl Highlanders, armed with the Lochaber axe. Received in an immense marquee, they were regaled with a gargantuan menu, a display of Highland sword-dancing and a taste of Atholl Brose. Taymouth Castle took things to a higher level.   The firing of the guns," Victoria recorded in her Journal, "the cheering of the great crowd, the picturesqueness of the dresses, the beauty of the surrounding country, with its rich background of wooded hills, altogether formed one of the finest scenes imaginable. Lord and Lady Breadalbane took us upstairs, the hall and stairs being lined with Highlanders". If anything more were needed, dusk brought not only fireworks but 'Welcome Victoria - Albert' spelled out in hundreds of oil lamps, and the blaze of bonfires from a dozen nearby summits" .

Taymouth Castle

Following the Battle of Culloden in 1746, Queen Victoria's great great grandfather George II had done everything in his power to destroy Highland culture (an undoubted seedbed of Jacobite discontent and a threat to the throne since 1689): the wearing of tartan was banned, the carrying of weapons was banned, the playing of the bagpipes was banned and the clan chiefs were stripped of their power. His son, the Duke of Cumberland thinned out the Highland population considerably and used their cattle to feed his occupying army. You would be forgiven for thinking that Highland culture was beyond saving.

So we should indeed be grateful to the Duke and Duchess of Atholl and Lord and Lady Breadalbane for their wonderful display of Highland hospitality. Without them and the Queen's resulting decision to buy Balmoral  Castle unseen, those three great icons of our culture, Tartan, Bagpipes and Whisky, would never now be recognised worldwide.

265 Years After Culloden

This morning I travelled from my home in Nairn past Balbair where the government army camped prior to the Battle of Culloden, past the Loch of the Clans, past Kilravock Castle where the Duke of Cumberland reputedly had breakfast, and on to the site of that battle, 265 years ago on Drumossie Moor, where I attended the annual commemoration service.

It was perhaps appropriate that I approached from this direction since I am a Lowlander. I served in the British Army, in a regiment that stood in the Government front line that day. But one of my ancestors died fighting with the Jacobites in the 1715 Rising. So, like many Scots, my sympathies are split. I abhor Cumberland's cruelty following that battle. Equally, I condemn the arrogance that led to the whole misconceived enterprise, undertaken with no foreign assistance.

Seventy years earlier the 'Brahan Seer' had written "Oh! Drumossie, thy bleak moor shall, 'ere many generations have passed away, be stained with the best blood of the Highlands. Glad am I that I will not see the day, for it will be a fearful period." And so it was. An awful slaughter, the beginning of the end of the clan system.

As a tour guide, I am often at the battlefield. It's a familiar routine, explaining the battle to visitors. But I have never heard a Gaelic prayer, never heard a Piobaireachd, (the great pipe lament), spreading out over this familiar field. It becomes a different place, especially when surrounded by Highlanders who have been there numerous times before, and will come again, to pay respect.

Surrounded by descendants of those who died, I am even more appalled that for 76 years there were no markers at the mass graves of  a thousand or more members of the Jacobite Army who fell that day. It was only in 1822 that Duncan Forbes of Culloden erected the present stones; the great grandchildren of the Inverness women who dug those graves told him which mound was which. It was only some 30 years ago that the 1835 road which bisected the graves was diverted to a discreet distance.

 The swallows are recently arrived in Highland farmyards, baby rabbits scuttle on field fringes, skylarks sing over rough pasture and black-faced sheep that have been overwintered on the low ground are heading back to the hills. Just as it was in 1746.

And just as in 1746 Highlanders are dying for a cause that they cannot fully understand, not in the sleet of Drumossie Moor but in the dust of Afghanistan. As Allan Campbell, President of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, commented this morning, 'It is extraordinary that we never learn the folly of war'.

The Clans - violence, honour and obligation

I was listening yesterday to a programme about Easter Island in the South Pacific; the commentator referred to 'rival clans'. Around Christmas in London I was in a taxi driven by a man from Somalia, who talked about the 'clans' who are controlling certain areas there. In both (random) cases there is an implication of violence: the clans in Easter Island finally eliminated one another and uncontrolled 'clans' was the reason that my Somali taxi driver was disinclined to return to his Somaliland home. The violence in 'Klan' is self evident.

My Shorter Oxford Dictionary (pub. 2007) gives four definitions for 'clan'; none has any violent or negative association. I believe that this fine word is now being corrupted.

It comes from the Gaelic clann which simply means 'children'. Clan is in fact a wholly positive word which speaks of honour, of commitment, of people supporting each another. In his excellent book 'Clans & Chiefs' Ian Grimble writes, '...the office...required that the chief should place his undefined patriachal obligations before his absolute feudal rights'. This was fundamental.

There aren't so many examples nowadays of 'undefined obligations' taking precedence over 'absolute rights'. And of course the other side of the coin was that clansmen were absolutely bound to fight and die in any fight that might be picked by the chief.

How wonderful, though, that in 2011 the Standing Council of Scottish Chiefs has a website ... and invites questions. An undefined obligation if ever there was one!

Happy Tenth Birthday... to Us!

It was ten years ago that Scottish Clans and Castles Ltd emerged from a mixed bag of other tourism projects.

And I'm delighted to have traced our first client, Angie Anstee (now Eikebu)... "It was 18th April 2001, my Norwegian husband's first trip with me to Scotland and we liked it so much we stayed two nights instead of the one that we booked!" The place, unsurprisingly, was Castle Stuart, an enduring favourite of our clients. And dear Caroline Stuart, the Chatelaine, has just emailed confirming more honeymooners this September.


Then, as now, our clients were primarily looking for holidays tailored to their personal requirements and clan connections. But a couple of years later we ran our first 'Outlander' Tour, a guided trip for fans of Diana Gabaldon's novels. It went well. Of our four clients two re-booked for the following year (and one is now running her own guiding operation in Minnesota). And last year we ran three 'Outlander' tours during one of which our guests dined with Diana Gabaldon and her husband at Castle Stuart.

The Year of Homecoming in 2009 was a milestone for us and about 300 of our clients enjoyed 'The Gathering' in Holyrood Park, Edinburgh.

This year, on our tenth anniversary, we are delighted to be launching two new products - 'Scottish Castle Escapes' and 'The Ultimate Highland Castle House Party', the latter being a luxurious weekend at Aldourie Castle on the banks of Loch Ness with private tours of local castles.


Now then... I'm thinking of a Castle birthday cake, candle on each turret...

"A daimen icker in a thrave"

A family group has just asked me to schedule a visit to Robert Burns birthplace. By coincidence I was there, at the new Burns Museum, last week.

I'm a great fan of Burns and, having been born and bred in Scotland, many words are familiar to me. But for those who do not enjoy that great privilege Burns can be a bit impenetrable! Take a daimen icker in a thrave for example; it's a line from 'To a Mouse'. Who has any idea what that means? (actually it means 'the occasional ear of corn in a set of sheaves').

I visited the museum with some other tour operators and we were inevitably concerned as to whether overseas clients would be able to understand it. The short answer was 'No'. Indeed the National Trust for Scotland has made the whole thing even less penetrable by writing the explanations on the show cabinets in Burnsian Scots, with difficult words translated. Not much good for overseas visitors.

But after a bit I mused that this is a celebration of Burns and his work. Should it not also be a celebration of his language? David Hopes, museum curator said, "Our intention has been to get under the skin of Burns, encouraging a creative response in the reader-visitor." A noble intention, and I think he has succeeded.  But how important is the original language?

One translation of Burns into Russian apparently sold over 600,000 copies and Burns is still taught in Russian schools. But I'm sure Abraham Lincoln, who carried a volume of Burns' work with him, only read the original. And what of Steinbeck whose 'Of Mice and Men' was inspired by the ploughman poet and his line from 'To a Mouse': The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley.'? How did he make sense of it? 'Translated' or not? Well, maybe some scholars can help me with that.

I do not believe that Scots is a language in its own right. But if traditional words and syntax are not used somewhere today, will it only be future academics who can revel in the earthiness and wonderful rhythms of Burns' poetry?

When I had seen the museum I wandered over to the old Brig o' Doon (of Tam o' Shanter fame) and the nearby Burns Monument, where I learned that there are 58 monuments to Burns around the world. Fifty-eight! More than any other poet.

This does not, of course, make him the world's greatest poet but it does convince me that Burns should not be celebrated in translation.

A Witch's Cursing Bone

It was a familiar voice on the car radio. But until he started talking about ancestry I hadn't recognised Bruce Durie, genealogist, broadcaster and chairman of the Ancestral Tourism Steering Group on which I sit. When he moved on to the cursing bone of Katherine McNure of Glen Shira, I stopped the car to listen.

The 'bone' in question is now in the National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh. Further illumination is given by this 'Extract from the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland Vol.78 (1943-1944) pg141:

Witch’s Cursing-bone consisting of the marrow bone of a deer or sheep, stained deep brown by peat, and fixed through a diamond-shaped pice of bog oak. It was formerly the property of a reputed witch living at the head of Glen Shira, Argyll. According to the local tradition,“When the “witch” wanted to “ill will” one of her neighbours, she went out with her bone between sunset and cock-crow and made for the neighbour's croft. She did not go to the dwelling-house, however, but to the hen house and seized the hen that sat next to the rooster (his favourite), thrawed its neck, and poured its blood through the cursing bone, uttering her curses the while.

I am reminded of Isobel Gowdie, from Auldearn, just two miles from here in Nairn, who gave a full and detailed  confession of the doings of her coven at her trial in 1662. I have read the full transcript and she seems really quite proud of her doings -  even giving the magic spell by which a witch can turn herself into a hare, then back to a witch.

But soon (25 Jan) it is Burns Night and I finish with my favourite witch: 'Nannie' famous for her 'cutty sark', short skirt, in Robert Burns' epic tale, Tam o' Shanter.

Satan is blowing the pipes, the witches are dancing, Tom is captivated, his horse Maggie terrified...

'Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main

Till first ae caper, syne anither

Tam tint his reason a' thegither

And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark

And scarcely had he Maggie rallied

When out the hellish legion sallied.'

The new Robert Burns Birthplace Museum opened today, 22 January 2011.

I look forward to visiting on Monday and will report back.

David Hume and Thomas Aikenhead

A man in a toga, 1.5 times life size, sits at the junction of Edinburgh's Royal Mile and George IV Bridge, more interested in his tablet than in St Giles Cathedral opposite - 'the mother church of presbyterianism'.

The man is David Hume, philosopher, historian, civil servant, founding father of the enlightement and one of the most influential Scots of the last millennium. Small wonder that he has no interest in St Giles, for Hume was an aetheist.

On 23 April this year, to mark the 300th anniversary of Hume's birth, a colourful parade will leave the Scottish Parliament and march up the Royal Mile to this statue.  The celebration will start by re-enacting the notorious 1696 trial of an Edinburgh student, Thomas Aikenhead, the last person in Britain to be hung for blasphemy. Aikenhead's story will be familiar to readers of Arthur Herman's book, 'How The Scots Invented the Modern World', since a discussion of the case forms the Prologue.

The parade will pass the Old Tron Kirk, a little further down the High Street where the 18 year old Aikenhead made a poor joke about the weather, 'I wish right now I were in the place Ezra called hell to warm myself there'. This flippant attitude to the Bible was the lad's undoing. You might call it a fatwa called by Scotland's Lord Advocate and chief law officer, James Stewart, to discourage others from treating the Bible with disrespect. Years later, Hume was utterly apalled.

I am not an aetheist but I may be there on 23 April to celebrate Hume's extraordinary pioneering thinking.

Hope the weather isn't hellish.