Showing posts with label scotland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scotland. Show all posts

12 February 2026

She said "Oh I really would like to be free and escape"

Thursday music corner: Scottish singer-songwriter Al Stewart was born in Renfrewshire in 1945, and issued his first album, Bed-Sitter Images, in 1967. He has released 16 studio albums plus four live albums, and remains best-known today for his 1976 hit single The Year of the Cat, and the album of the same name, which reached number five in the US album charts and number 10 in Australia.

The wistful baroque pop of Swiss Cottage Manoeuvres was the second track on Stewart's debut album, released when he was 22. It was the b-side to the title track, which was the album's only single.

Al Stewart - Swiss Cottage Manoeuvres (1967)

See also:
Music: Al Stewart - The Year of the Cat (1976)
Music: Al Stewart - Soho, Needless To Say (live, 1978)
Music: Al Stewart - Song on the Radio (1979)

12 June 2023

Mendelssohn's coach journey from Glasgow to Liverpool

We flew away from Glasgow on the top of the mail, ten miles an hour, past steaming meadows and smoking chimneys, to the Cumberland lakes, to Keswick, Kendal, and the prettiest towns and villages. The whole country is like a drawing-room. The rocky walls are papered with bushes, moss, and firs; the trees are carefully wrapped up in ivy; there are no walls or fences, only high hedges, and you see them all the way up flat hill-tops. On all sides carriages full of travellers fly along the roads; the corn stands in sheaves; slopes, hills, precipices, are all covered with thick, warm foliage. Then again our eyes dwelt on the dark-blue English distance - many a noble castle, and so on, until we reached Ambleside. There the sky turned gloomy again, and we had rain and storm. Sitting on the top of the 'stage,' and madly careering along ravines, past lakes, up-hill, down-hill, wrapped in cloaks, and umbrellas up, we could see nothing but railings, heaps of stones or ditches, and but rarely catch glimpses of hills and lakes. Sometimes our umbrellas scraped against the roofs of the houses, and then, wet through, we would come to a second-rate inn, with a high blazing fire, and English conversation about walking, coals, supper, the weather, and Bonaparte. Yesterday our seats on the coach were accidentally separated, so that I hardly spoke to [Mendelssohn's travelling companion Karl] Klingemann, for changing horses was done in about forty seconds. I sat on the box next by the coachman, who asked me whether I flirted much, and made me talk a good deal, and taught me the slang of horsemanship. Klingemann sat next to two old women, with whom he shared his umbrella. Again manufactories, meadows, parks, provincial towns, here a canal, there a railway, then the sea with ships, six full coaches with towering outsiders following each other; in the evening a thick fog, the stage running madly in the darkness. Through the fog we see lamps gleaming all about the horizon; the smoke of manufactories envelops us on all sides; gentlemen on horseback ride past; one coach-horn blows in B flat, another in D, others follow in the distance, and here we are at Liverpool.

- Composer Felix Mendelssohn, letter, 19 August 1829, quoted in James Wilson Hyde, The Royal Mail: its Curiosities & Romance, 1885

10 November 2022

Through my eyes it's a fine way to sleep all night and dream all day

Thursday music corner: Ette is a former solo project by Scottish singer-songwriter Carla J Easton. In 2016 in collaboration with producer-musician Joe Kane she released the full-length album Homemade Lemonade, which featured the boisterous indie-pop Attack of the Glam Soul Cheerleaders as its opening track. Since then Easton has released two new albums under her own name: Impossible Stuff (2018) and Weirdo (2020), plus a 2021 vinyl re-issue of Homemade Lemonade. In 2021 she also formed the new duo Poster Paints with Frightened Rabbits guitarist Simon Liddell; their debut self-titled album was released on 14 October 2022, and features Sundays-influenced singles Never Saw It Coming, Number 1 and Falling Hard.

Ette - Attack of the Glam Soul Cheerleaders (2016)

07 January 2022

Nithsdale's narrow escape

After the failed Jacobite rebellion of 1715 in Scotland and England against the reigning monarch, George I, heavy reprisals were handed down on those perpetrators who were captured alive. Lords Derwentwater and Kenmure were beheaded, and Lord Nithsdale would have suffered the same fate, were it not for his wife: 

But there were also escapes. Lord Nithsdale, another Catholic, who had proclaimed James VIII at Dumfries and had been captured at Preston, was due to suffer [execution] with Derwentwater and Kenmure. However, his wife (the Duke of Powis's daughter, Lady Winifred Herbert) was unusually resourceful. After [King] George refused to reprieve him, having dragged her along the floor as he walked away when she clung to his coat-tails after flinging herself at his feet - she changed her tactics.

Visiting her husband at the Tower on the night before the execution, Lady Nithsdale framed his face with false curls, rouged and powdered it, dressed him in a cloak and hood, and then led him out, pretending he was her maid. Disguised as a footman, he hid at the Venetian embassy before leaving for France with the ambassador, who was unaware of his presence. During the voyage, he heard the ship's captain say 'the wind could not have served better if his passengers had been flying for their lives'. His wife joined him later.

On learning of Nithsdale's escape, George flew into a frenzy, shouting that traitors were at work, and sent messengers to the Tower with instructions to see other prisoners were strictly guarded.

- Desmond Seward, The King Over the Water, Edinburgh, 2019, p.156


Lord Nithsdale, Escape from the Tower, by Emily Mary Osborn (source)

See also:
Scotland: The Grand Vizier o' Kirkaldy, 5 October 2018
Scotland: Crusader Kings 2: House of Dunkeld, 5 May 2013
Scotland: The character & attachments of a Scotchman, 3 November 2012

26 November 2021

The Traills of Stewart Island

On the island of Rousay [in the Orkneys] there were interpretation boards about the Traill family: unjust Victorian lairds, imperial military adventurers, emigrants. Among the family's many destinations was New Zealand. In 1900 one of the furthest travelled of the Traills, Charles, finished up in Stewart Island/Rakiura, at the opposite extremity of the British imperial world, after trying his luck in the Californian gold fields and in Australia. He must have been another isle-o-phile, having travelled the span of the globe to make his home on another island, off an island, off a continent.

His half-brother Walter, who grew up on the Fife coast, retired to join him there after a life at sea catching seals. Another Orkney islander, Arthur Traill, was the local schoolteacher and Justice of the Peace.

Some years later E. and I made it together to Stewart Island, following an eighteen-month journey, by motor cycle, that began in Orkney. The resonances in the landscape between the northern and southern extremities of our journey were profound. As we sailed south from the ferry port of Bluff, albatrosses swooped over the waves around the ferry. There was a park there named for the Traills, in the settlement called Oban.

Like that albatross in Unst, it felt as if the Traills were in search not just of an island to call home, but an island climate brutal enough for their comfort; the names of the settlements reflected not only Orcadian influence, but that of Shetlanders. 

- Gavin Francis, Island Dreams: Mapping an Obsession, Edinburgh, 2020

See also:

05 October 2018

The Grand Vizier o' Kirkaldy

In 1739, the Russians and Turks, who had been at war, met to conclude terms of peace. The commissioners were Marshal Keith for the Russians and the Grand Vizier for the Turks. These two personages met, and carried on their negotiations by means of interpreters. When all was concluded they rose to separate, but just before leaving the Grand Vizier suddenly went to Marshal Keith, and, taking him cordially by the hand, declared in the broadest Scotch dialect that it made him 'unco' happy to meet a countryman in his exalted station'. As might be expected, Keith, who was himself a Scotsman in the service of Russia, stared with astonishment, and was eager for an explanation of the mystery. 'Dinna be surprised,' the Grand Vizier exclaimed; 'I'm o' the same country wi' yoursell, mon! I mind weel seein' you and your brother, when boys, passin' by to the school at Kirkaldy; my father, sir, was bellman o' Kirkaldy'.

James Settle, in Max Hastings (ed.), The Oxford Book of Military Anecdotes, London, 1985, p.153. 

10 September 2015

De Quincey's phobia of public conveyances

While I'm a firm believer in the benefits of a comprehensive public transport system, English essayist Thomas De Quincey (1785-1859), author of Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, took a rather different view:

In 1853 James Payn visited De Quincey at his home a few miles out of Edinburgh:

'As I took my leave, after a most enjoyable interview, to meet the coach, I asked him whether he ever came by it into Edinburgh.

'What!' he answered, in a tone of extreme surprise; 'by coach? Certainly not.'

I was not aware of his peculiarities; but the succession of commonplace people and their pointless observations were in fact intolerable to him. They did not bore him in the ordinary sense, but seemed, as it were, to outrage his mind. To me, whom the study of human nature in any form had become even then attractive, this was unintelligible, and I suppose I showed it in my face, for he proceeded to explain matters. 'Some years ago,' he said, 'I was standing on the pier at Tarbet, on Loch Lomond, waiting for the steamer. A stout old lady joined me; I felt that she would presently address me; and she did. Pointing to the smoke of the steamer, which was making itself seen above the next headland, "There she comes," she said; "La, sir! if you and I had seen that fifty years ago, how wonderful we should have thought it!" Now the same thing,' added my host, with a shiver, 'might happen to me any
day, and that is why I always avoid a public conveyance.'

John Gross (ed.), The New Oxford Book of Literary Anecdotes, Oxford, 2012, p.100.

09 May 2015

On the surprise UK general election result

So the results are in and a surprise small Conservative majority appears to be the situation. An inquiry is being planned into why the result was so different to the pre-election opinion polls, and why no-one saw it coming. Ed Miliband, Nick Clegg and Nigel Farage have all stepped down as leaders of their respective parties. Russell Brand has admitted that maybe he didn't have all or indeed any of the answers. Here's a few thoughts on the implications of the result.

This was a proportional representation election carried out under a first past the post system. Or to put it another way, the electorate is hugely fragmented and every party is either over-represented or under-represented substantially. This means, as many people have pointed out, that the electoral system that Westminster has clung to is not fit for purpose. Held up by its supporters in the two main parties (who naturally have the most glaring vested interest in advancing their own party's cause) as providing clear majorities for the largest party, I'd argue that despite yesterday's result first past the post has now handed the UK two elections in a row without a workable long-term majority.

The argument is therefore even clearer than before in favour of meaningful electoral reform in the UK to bring in a system of proportional representation. (Even Nigel Farage says so). The risible 2011 referendum on Alternative Vote was never going to deliver proper reform, which is exactly why the Conservatives forced it on their hapless Liberal Democrat coalition partners. Here's what the 2015 election result would have looked like under PR, and what's striking from these projections is that not just some but all of the main parties are receiving representation that is substantially out of whack. This is grossly unfair to voters. Both the Conservatives and Labour are gifted more seats than their support merits, although this effect is far more pronounced for the Conservatives, who received 36.9 percent of the vote but garnered 50.9 percent of the seats in the Commons. The SNP are also substantially over-represented due to their sweeping of the Scottish electorates. Both UKIP and the Greens return only one member, which means that their combined voices of five million British voters are represented by a mere two MPs. It's like the rotten boroughs of old.

The Conservatives, against all predictions, gained seats in 2015 - but this doesn't mean they have a sweeping mandate for continued reform. Their share of the vote increased by half a point over their 2010 result to a total of 36.9 percent - but that is a long way from 50 percent. The hard right will want to use the next parliamentary term to press on with hard-line policies in case they are not returned to office in 2020 (assuming the Conservatives retain the support of a majority of the House for that long). But given the thinness of Conservative support across the UK it would be foolish to adopt a hard-right strategy.

In one sense, Rupert Murdoch was right. Despite being a cartoonishly evil meddling tycoon puppet-master of the far right, Murdoch's tweet that the nearly four million voters who cast their ballots for the anti-Europe, anti-immigration, thinly-veiled racism of UKIP need to be heeded is, sadly, correct. The party has a mere one MP (Douglas Carswell in Clacton) but if the UKIP vote is combined with that of the Conservatives that is an enormous right-of-centre voting bloc. (Some left-of-centre voters do cast their votes for Farage's UKIIP, however). Over the next few years the UK may see a situation akin to the 1993-96 term in New Zealand before the first MMP election, during which members elected under first past the post decided to jump ship to parties that were closer to their own reactionary political views. The pressure will be immense for far-right Conservative backbenchers to defect to UKIP and soak up the love from those four million largely unrepresented voters. The Conservative majority may not last.

With this in mind, David Cameron should consider the New Zealand approach to coalition-building and provide himself a little security by - against all predictions - retaining the coalition with the Lib Dems. The Conservatives might not need those eight extra votes now, but at some point in the next few years they are likely to. And gifting a minor portfolio to the Lib Dems (or, with a spot of wishful thinking, a referendum on proper proportional representation) would be an ideal insurance policy, allowing the public opposition to the Conservative government to be diluted into a broader anti-Coalition sentiment.

Labour, unsurprisingly, elected the wrong leader - and perhaps even the wrong Miliband. The party seems to have been in denial about what was needed to win a popular vote. The polls suggesting a dead heat between the Conservatives and Labour may not have been 'wrong'; as in New Zealand in 1993, there may have been a concerted shift in public opinion right at the last minute, as voters questioned whether they felt Ed Miliband could actually pull off the job of being Prime Minister. And the Crosby Textor approach of polling for weak spots (i.e. the supposed dangers of a Labour-SNP coalition) and then relentlessly targeting them seems to have worked a treat in the electorate battles that mattered.

The SNP now have an African National Congress-like vicehold grip on the Scottish seats at Westminster. The question remains is how it will respond to the challenge of almost unfettered authority for the voices of Scottish voters in a Westminster system dominated by an English Conservative party government. By 2020 we may well be asking: will David Cameron be the last Prime Minister of the United Kingdom?

In a related problem, a new colonialism is operating in the UK. There is only one Scottish Conservative MP in the government caucus - one MP speaking for 5.3 million Scots. Also, the UK is now governed by a party with huge ties to provincial England but almost none to inner-city Britain, where some of the biggest problems the nation faces are playing out.

After all that drama, don't worry if the election result gets you down: the Guardian has concocted a wonderfully desperate list of nine things to be cheerful about, including the fact that Nigel Farage didn't manage to win Thanet South (and was photographed next to delighted comedian Al Murray when the result was announced), and the silver lining that the utter plonker George Galloway isn't an MP anymore.

11 December 2014

The influence of Chinese sage Lao Tzu on Scottish League One football

Back in the sixth century BC, when Babylonia fell, the Persian Empire rose from its ashes and toga-wearing Greek philosophers first started to look quizzically at tortoises, the Chinese sage Lao Tzu delicately laid down the first few brushstrokes of the Tao Te Ching, the text that would go on to become the bedrock of Taoism.

Lao Tzu had faith in the duality of the universe. ‘When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly,’ he declared. Yin and yang. Each thing must, by its very nature, have an opposite.

So perhaps that in order to have that mouthwatering Old Firm derby drawn out of the hat on Saturday evening we first had to sit through this: 90 minutes of the most tedious, excruciating football imaginable […]

- Callum Baird reports on a 0-0 draw between Morton & Airdrieonians, The Herald, quoted in Private Eye 1380, 28 November – 11 December 2014, p.28

[Sample picture caption from original article: 'Morton goalkeeper Derek Gaston calls for a Socratic dialogue']

12 July 2013

On a ship called Dignity

In honour of my sisters' first T in the Park festival in Edinburgh tomorrow, here's Scottish group Deacon Blue (who are on the bill on Saturday) performing their first hit, Dignity, in Glasgow, 2006. Normally I don't enjoy it when bands let the audience sing their songs for them, but it's hard to avoid the bonhomie in this performance. The single was written by singer Ricky Ross and was taken from the band's million-selling 1987 debut album RaintownIt reached no.31 in the UK pop charts (plus a charting of no.20 when it was re-released in 1994). Deacon Blue have chalked up 16 top 40 singles in the UK.
 

See also:
Music: Orchestra Baobab - El Son te Llama, 26 June 2013
Music: Cmdr Chris Hadfield - Space Oddity, 13 May 2013
Music: Meryn Cadell - The Sweater, 22 March 2013

16 May 2013

A German spy, or possibly a transvestite

From Simon Garfield's We Are At War, Glasgow war diarist Pam Ashford (a pseudonym) records a workplace conversation about the German spy threat, in her entry for Boxing Day 1939 (plus some additional gossip about two office girls and her family canary):

Mr Mitchell and Miss Crawford had a long conversation on the subject of spies. Both believe every word of the following stories:  
Mr Mitchell: 'A porter at Paisley Station saw a nun. She dropped something and when picking it up he noticed it was a man's hand. He warned the police. The nun was a spy. The porter received a letter from the War Office thanking him. That proves it is true'. 
Miss Crawford: 'No, you have the story wrong. The facts are these: my friend's friend went from Glasgow to Greenock late one night. She got into a carriage in which there were nuns. During the journey a nun dropped something and the girl noticed it was a man's hand that picked the article up. She warned the police. She has a letter from the War Office thanking her'. 
Several people drew a comparison between our two office girls. Betty (14) notices every bill in the street and can always tell you what the latest is; Margaret (18) never notices anything at all. Several people wondered if she knew there was a war on. I commented upon the fact that Margaret often says, 'Daddy says the only thing that matters is if I am happy'. 
A curious piece of natural history. For the seven years from 1932 to September 1939, Dick, our canary, fell into a somnolent position at tea-time and the family did not get much pleasure from his company thereafter. On the day that the war was declared he changed completely, and now spends the evenings singing and hopping and being as sociable as he can. 
- 'Pam Ashford', quoted in Simon Garfield, We Are At War, London, 2005, p.133.

The diary entries from Ashford and four others in the book were obtained from the remarkable social experiment, the Mass Observation project (official website, Wikipedia), which ran from 1937 until the mid-1960s, and was revived in 1981. For a revealing summary of MO's work, see Caleb Crain's excellent September 2006 summary in the New Yorker, Surveillance Society. In it Crain highlights the subversive intent of the early MO work, seeking to offer an alternative outlet for public questioning of government propaganda. This was later subsumed when it was incorporated as a market research firm in 1949. 

05 May 2013

Crusader Kings 2: House of Dunkeld

Following several abortive attempts to establish a long-running dynasty in Crusader Kings 2, I finally settled on the Dunkeld kings of Scotland. After an on-again-off-again playthrough lasting many months I finally completed my first full run-through of the game, preserving the Dunkeld grasp on the throne of Scotland through the entire 387 year history of CK2 from 1066 to 1453. This entailed 18 kings, whose reigns ranged from the trifling (less than 12 months for the ill-fated King Findlay) to the legendary (63 years for Godfrey the Great). In reality, the Dunkelds reigned over Scotland only until 1286, when they were supplanted by the Bruces and then the Stuarts. Here then is the alternate, condensed history of my Crusader Kings 2 version of Scotland's history. (n.b. The leaderhead in the top left of each screenshot is Duncan the Great, who was king when the game finished in 1453)

King Malcolm III (r.1058-96)
In his 30-year reign Malcolm avoided war with powerful neighbours and instead concentrated on methodical expansion of the borders of the rump Scottish kingdom. He added Innse Gall, Argyll and Carrick to the kingdom, and created the title of Duke of Albany to bolster his credentials. But his downfall came when he claimed and invaded Galloway in 1096. Later that year he died aged 57 in 'a suspicious explosion', i.e. the inn he was staying in had been booby-trapped with a pungent, fermenting cesspit that was set off with a spark, causing a mighty king-despatching conflagration. What a way to go!

King Duncan II 'the Cruel' (r.1096-98, 1105-09)
Duncan's reign illustrated how messy Scottish politics could be in the Middle Ages. Immediately upon taking the throne in 1096, Duncan was excommunicated by the Pope, thereby paving the way for the Duke of Lothian to rebel against Duncan's all-too-new rule. By 1098 Duncan had defeated the rebellious Lothian, but the kingdom was wrested from him and passed to his 23-year-old son, William. Biding his time, Duncan now styled himself the Duke of Albany and consoled himself with the idea that at least he still had his head. He also served as his son's Marshal, leading the Scottish armies, and giving him plenty of time to plot his revenge. By 1103 it was time to pounce, and Duncan launched his claim to regain the throne. William's supporters saw the writing on the wall by 1105, and as Duncan was besieging his son William they stripped William of the title and passed the kingdom to William's son Donald (Duncan's grandson), who was only eight years old at the time. Within six weeks Duncan's relentless siege was a success and he proclaimed himself king once more. Duncan's enemies were punished, but not his errant son or grandson, both of whom later had a second chance at kingship. Duncan's prize was four more years on the throne, until he died a natural death aged 52 whilst campaigning in France.

King William (r.1098-1105, 1109-18)
William didn't have long to wait for his second taste of life as the king, but the start of his new reign was troubled. Moray rebelled in 1110, and the covetous King Rayner I of England declared war on Scotland in 1111. William suffered a major setback, losing Cumberland to England the following year, but at least by 1114 he had crushed the Moray rebellion and imprisoned its leader. Seeking to atone for his losses to Rayner, William claimed Galloway from its rightful (or should I say 'current') owner. Alas, in 1118 William died at the Battle of Dunragit, fighting Duke Bard of the Isles, at the age of 43.

King Donald III (r.1105, 1118-21)
An ill-starred king. Duncan's grandson had six weeks on the throne whilst cooped up in an isolated castle when he was merely a boy, but by the time he finally regained the throne aged 21 it was clear he was not suited to a life in command of an entire kingdom. While he did manage to oversee the surrender of Galloway and its addition to the Scottish realm, after a mere three years on the throne Donald died aged 24, of symptoms arising from severe stress.

King Malcolm IV 'the Noble' (r.1121-74)
A mere toddler when he came to the throne, Malcolm's early regency was turbulent as Rayner I of England renewed his bullying of Scotland, declaring war a few months after learning of Donald's death. Two terrible Scottish defeats in 1122 saw English spirits soar - at Carlisle Malcolm lost 3800 men and at Roxburgh a further 1000 died; Teviotdale was lost to Rayner. Matters worsened the following year when Galloway rebelled once more, seeking to install the pretender Prince Duncan on the throne. After years of warring, Rayner was halted and by 1129 Galloway was finally imprisoned; Teviotdale and Cumberland were reclaimed for Scotland! Upon attaining his majority in 1135 Malcolm immediately took Princess Cecile of France as his wife, and the following year he set forth to earn his reputation on crusade to Jerusalem. With a mere 1425 men Malcolm reached the Holy Land and fought the infidel, but it was in Catalonia and Sardinia that he made his mark, taking Tortosa and Cagliari for Christendom.

Returning to Scotland as a famed young warrior, Malcolm proceeded to expand his holdings by revoking rivals' titles, invading Ireland and building strong claims to new lands. Fife, Ulster, the Isle of Man, and Caithness joined the kingdom over the next 10 years. Following an ill-advised adventure to France to aid the Duc de Berry, in which Malcolm's forces were defeated by Moorish hordes at Tours, Malcolm was bereaved in 1155 when the 35-year-old Queen Cecile died. He did not remarry for four years, when he finally wed the 17-year-old Duchess Tatyana of Vladimir from the far lands of Rus. Malcolm earned the title of champion of a tournament in 1161, which led to him staging Scotland's greatest tourney of the 12th century two years later. Further territorial additions led to secret rivals hatching a kidnapping plot against the king in 1167, but this was foiled by chance. In thanks for this lucky escape, Malcolm collected his Welsh territories and crowned himself King of Wales alongside his Scottish claims, and also joined the Pope's crusade in Aragon. While 1170 was marked by the diplomatic triumph of the marriage of Malcolm's daughter Princess Cecilia to Basileus Isaakios II of Byzantium (nice to have an empress in the family), it also saw a stinging Scottish defeat at the Battle of Zaragoza (2900 dead). Malcolm's luck on the battlefield had deserted him. He was scarred in 1172 at the Battle of Ossona, and two years later in 1174 he died a natural death aged 55, still crusading in Aragon.

King Ingram (r.1174-91)
On attaining the throne at age 34, Ingram chose the wise path of buttering up potential rivals, dispensing duchies, earldoms and counties to his vassals. Following a brief sojourn against the infidels in which he took Santiago in Galicia, he returned to put down a rebellion on the Isle of Man in 1176. By 1180 Ingram's attention had switched to Aragon, which was claimed by Christendom in 1181. In 1184 Ingram showed his diplomatic mettle, marrying two of his half-sisters to European rulers: Princess Agatha was wed to King Klas of Sweden and Princess Isabel married Prince Ljutomirl of Croatia. He later returned to crusading, venturing to Anatolia in 1188 and on to join the King of Croatia's crusade against Transylvania the following year. Ingram died like his father, on crusade, but even further from home - he passed from this world after a severe illness in Semender in the remote Caucasus, aged 51.

King Malcolm V (r. 1191-98)
Young Malcolm's reign was dominated by the rebellion of the Countess Aelfthryth of Dyfed in Wales, who was joined by four other disloyal Scottish vassals, leading to a Scottish civil war. The highest price for this conflict was paid by Malcolm's brother Prince Ingram, who died aged 22 in a suspicious accident, presumably having been assassinated by Malcolm's rivals. Malcolm fought long against his rivals, but eventually perished in 1198, aged 31, at the Battle of Fortingall against the Earl Oystein of Caithness.

King Alwin I 'the Hunter' (r.1198-1213)
The third son of King Ingram, Alwin was not expected to take the throne, but he outlived his brothers Malcolm and Ingram and became king aged 25. Soon after his reign commenced Scotland was riven with another civil conflict: in 1200 the Duke of Lothian declared full independence. Biding his time, Alwin permitted the insult to go unpunished for the time being, and concentrated on defeating rebellious Ulster. By 1203 Alwin was ready to punish Lothian, and declared war to regain the territory for Scotland; this was achieved by 1205 and the erstwhile duke was sent to Alwin's dungeons. A failed campaign to wrest the county of Durham from the Duc de Normandie occupied Alwin for several years until the annus horribilis of 1211 in which the new Duke of Lothian declared independence just like the last one (it's so hard to get good help these days), and Alwin's Queen Janet died of syphilis! How ignominious, particularly given that Alwin preferred the company of men, both in the halls and bedchambers of royal Scone. Alwin tried to keep the news of his wife's infidelity from spreading, but his reign was cut short only two years later when he was besieging Roxburgh; he caught an infection and died a natural death, aged only 40. Ultimately, Alwin left a great legacy for Scotland: despite his homosexuality, he sired five children, and all became monarchs. His three sons, Findlay, Alwin and Stirling all ruled Scotland in turn, and his two daughters Mariota and Elspeth became Queen of France and England respectively.

King Findlay (r.1213-14)
The doomed boy king Findlay reigned for less than a year before succumbing to a youthful bout of pneumonia, aged 14. During his brief reign the Lothian rebellion was suppressed once more, but the Countess of Carrick also rebelled.

King Alwin II 'the Just' (r.1214-1229)
The second son of Alwin the Hunter took the throne aged only 13, but unlike his older brother he attained his majority. His reign started perilously with a military defeat in Ulster, which saw the boy king fleeing across the sea to Gowrie. Determined on revenge, Alwin opened the Scottish coffers and recruited the famed White Company of mercenaries, unleashing 6100 trained men. Displaying his flair for military strategy, the Countess was soon defeated and imprisoned. In 1217 Alwin joined a crusade for Andalusia, but upon the death of the traitorous Duke of Lothian in the dungeons at Scone, his son Coenwulf, the new Duke, rebelled against the crown. By 1219 Alwin had come of age. He married an obscure Croatian courtier, Rijeka, who was famed for her genius, and before the year was out he had captured and imprisoned Coenwulf. (The young Duke spent five years in the dungeons and emerged chastened and loyal to the king; Alwin gained a reputation as a fair and lawful monarch).

Feeling secure, Alwin set sail for al-Andalus with an army of 3200 men to join the siege of Almonte. Soon he was defeated by a superior Muslim force at the Battle of Fuente de Maestre (in 1220, 3000 men lost). In 1222 Alwin made history by founding the city of Falkland in Fife, but the year was marred by the king's terrifying bout of typhoid fever, which he fortunately survived. By the late 1220s Scottish advisers were increasingly concerned that Queen Rijeka had produced no male heirs, having delivered five clever daughters but no sons. But the king was still young. Ever active, Alwin ventured with an army of 3000 to support his ally the Duke of Vladimir in Rus, but he was soon called back westwards by the rebellion of Duchess Janet of Deheubarth, who fought for an independent Wales. A sixth royal daughter for Alwin didn't improve the situation overly, but the fortunate marriage of the king's sister, Princess Elspeth, to the ominously-named King Rayner the Ill-Ruler of England cemented a useful alliance. Alwin joined Rayner's wars against Munster and Cornwall in 1228, but was called away to more important matters: a mundane, run-of-the-mill peasant uprising in Lothian. Leading the army to restore order, Alwin suffered a humiliating accident when he was isolated at the Battle of Abercorn and massacred by peasant levies who mistook him for a hated nobleman. Alwin II was the last Scottish king to die on the field of battle.

King Stirling 'the Just' (r.1229-62)
The crown of Scotland passed to the third son of Alwin the Hunter, Stirling, who was in his prime at age 25. He was blessed with an honest, humble nature and a kind spirit, and in more practical terms it was indeed fortunate that when he took the throne two of his sisters were queens of neighbouring powers, France and England. His subjects came to overlook the disfiguring harelip that foreign dignitaries couldn't help staring at. Stirling's early reign was dominated by campaigning, including joining the French holy war in Valencia (with an army of 1300 Scots), successful campaigns against Duke Alwin of the Isles, and the rulers of Galloway and Connacht. In 1238 Stirling's young heir, Prince Alwin, was married to Theodosia the Greek, another eastern genius like his sister-in-law Rijeka. In 1242 Stirling married his daughter Princess Maud to King Sandor of Hungary, and three years later another daughter, Princess Cecily, married King Berenger II of France. Stirling then saw his chance to seal his control of Irish lands, declaring a holy war to extinguish the Cathar sect in Munster. Within two years Munster had surrendered and Stirling crowned himself King of Ireland alongside his Scottish and Welsh crowns. Irish lands were dispensed to loyal and grateful Scottish vassals. In 1251 he seized control of Dublin from his English rivals, which led to full-fledged war with England. This was not resolved until 1254, when Prince Henry of England was slain by Scottish soldiers on the field of battle. Demoralised, England finally gave up its claim on Dublin.

The following year Stirling took his armies to France to fight for King Berenger against an Orleanite rebellion, but the war was short-lived because Berenger was killed in battle. In 1255 things went from bad to worse for Stirling when his wife Queen Euphrosine died aged 53, and shortly afterwards the Orleans armies massacred Scotland's army in the Battle of Luzen. Stirling fled to Scotland, where he succumbed to a debilitating bout of consumption. Seeking a soulmate, and against his counsellors' advice, the king took the lowborn Donada, a mere 23-year-old, 30 years younger than the king. Donada piqued Stirling's curiosity, being a sickly, celibate genius whose nimble wit fascinated the ageing monarch. Sadly, Donada's illness worsened dramatically and she died a mere three weeks after the modest wedding ceremony. Stirling consoled himself with the good news that one of his daughters wed Basileus Belisarios I of Byzantine. Ill fortune stalked Stirling now, because in quick succession in 1257 his son and heir Prince Alwin died of a wasting illness and the following year his grandson and new heir Stirling also died, this time of typhus. Seeking a partner more his own age, Stirling married for a third time, this time to Godgifu, the 51-year-old daughter of the Duchess of Moray. Godgifu was present at the founding of the new city, Kenmore, in 1259, and by this time Stirling had gained the same epithet as his brother: the Just, for his work reforming the Scottish law codes. Stirling set sail for France once more that year to battle the Orleans forces. Besieging Bordeaux, the king became enfeebled and infirm, but he rallied and eventually took Orleans itself, earning a white peace for the weakened King of France. In 1262 Stirling ordered one last campaign: his forces invaded Orkney and besieged its Danish lord. Alas, Stirling died bedridden and infirm before victory was achieved. He was 58.

King Godfrey I 'the Great' (r.1262-1325)
The second grandson of Stirling the Just, Godfrey was an unlikely king, being largely fascinated with religious texts rather than kingly duties, but he eventually became Scotland's longest-reigning monarch of the medieval period. The new 13-year-old king's first task was to put down the Moray rebellion, plus that of his disloyal uncle Prince Giric, who inflicted a huge defeat on the king's men at the Battle of Dunkeld in 1264, in which Godfrey's army suffered 10,800 casualties. Matters were saved when Godfrey came of age and wed Princess Maud of England; this brought King Robert V of England into the Scottish civil war on Godfrey's side, and following a defeat at the Battle of Scone, Prince Giric surrendered. To celebrate Godfrey staged a Grand Tourney in 1269, the first in over a century. In 1272 Godfrey declared a holy war on the Moorish invaders holding Brittany. Several counties were returned to Christian rule under hand-picked Scottish vassals. Favouring the king for his piety, the Pope granted Godfrey an annulment of his marriage to Queen Maud, who had produced five daughters in a row (something of a Dunkeld family curse). In her place Godfrey married Duchess Richwara of Upper Lorraine, who after yet another daughter finally produced a son and heir, Donald, in 1277. Godfrey also took the opportunity to expand Scotland's holdings in Iceland, seizing the west of the island in 1276.

Emboldened by his success in Brittany, Godfrey declared holy war on Galicia in 1283, and set sail with 21,300 men in 233 ships, a massive armada for the time. When this war ended inconclusively Godfrey consoled himself by besieging Quimper in Brittany. Relations with England soured to a point when, in 1291, King Robert the Cruel declared war to regain Cumberland. The strain of the war was too much for Queen Richwara, who died of distemper not long after Robert invaded. Godfrey quickly remarried for a third time, to Princess Christina of Denmark. This quickly paid off when Christina give birth to a second royal son, Gilbert, in 1292. Three years later, Godfrey had successfully beaten back the English armies. After seizing York Castle, Robert was forced to surrender his claim to Cumberland and pay a hefty fine of gold into the coffers at Scone. Soon Queen Christina would show her considerable mettle: on her orders the royal spymaster the Duke of Lothian was murdered, and Christina took over the position of spymaster herself! She performed well in this role for nine years, until her sad death of slow fever in 1308, at the age of 38. Seeking another wifely spymaster, Godfrey then married his fourth bride, Eufemia of Vodi. In 1311 the now elderly Godfrey completed his hold over all of Ireland, and four years later he took Yorkshire from a weakened and fragmented England. Godfrey's reign stretched on and on, displaying his impressive longevity. By the time he died a natural death in 1325 he was 77, and had reigned for 63 years, producing 12 children and marrying four times.

King Donald IV (r.1325-1333)
Donald inherited his father Godfrey's fascination with matters religious, but preferred obscure mystic and occult matters to traditional churchly fare. He had many years to hone his knowledge, because his father's long life did not end until Donald was 48. Upon finally taking the Scottish throne, Donald had to wage war against the Lollard heresy of the Duke of Ulster, and was then beset by King Christopher of England, who tried to test the martial skill of the new monarch. Within a year it was the English who had been taught a lesson, suffering a huge defeat at the Battle of St Peters (9000 English casualties); by 1331 Christopher had surrendered and paid gold tribute to Scotland, just like King Robert in 1295. Following a brief period of crusading in Navarra, Donald had returned to Scotland, where he rapidly sickened and died of natural causes at the age of 56.

King Godfrey II 'the Apostle' (r.1333-1363)
Godfrey was a serious young man touched by religious fervour and gifted with a strong command of military strategy. The early part of his reign was dominated by the Great Tourney of 1337, with which he hoped to evoke the memory of his idolised grandfather for whom he was named. Soon Godfrey found his calling on the battlefield against Moorish foes, joining Toulouse's war for Aragon in 1338 and then Aquitaine's war in the same land. In 1343 Godfrey showed his spiritual side by seeking wisdom from a renowned hermit in the hills of Aragon. The knowledge he gained there sustained him during his later captivity, when on 1 October 1343 Godfrey was captured by Sultan Musa on the battlefield. Godfrey's imprisonment was brief and luxurious: after a mere three months in the Sultan's palace Godfrey paid a heaping gold ransom to free himself. Despite the hospitality of his courteous captor, Godfrey became maddened by the humiliation, and soon began to torture Moorish prisoners. Worse still, some whispered that he had developed a grotesque fascination with the grim art of impaling his victims. His hatred grew when his Queen Christina was murdered - allegedly on the orders of the king's brother, Prince Edgar. Marrying Princess Marie of Bohemia, Godfrey threw himself into endless military campaigns to assuage the demons in his heart and head, besieging Toulouse and Narbonne in 1349, joining Hungary in its war against Poland in 1352, and putting down a rebellion in Leon in 1353-54.

Soon it was time for one of Scotland's great medieval epics: in 1356 Godfrey declared war on the English over Lancaster, and in a famous campaign taking the war to the soft Sassenachs even besieged Westminster itself in 1359. With Lancaster won, Godfrey turned his gaze once more to Brittany and the remaining Almoravid lands there. Declaring a holy war in 1362 he took 31,300 Scotsmen across the sea, and in the Battles of Leon and Lezergue he wreaked havoc against his enemies, gaining a reputation as a holy warrior of Christendom. Sadly, Godfrey's days were numbered: in the third major battle in Brittany, the Battle of St Brieue, Godfrey received a severed blow to the head and was rendered mentally and physically incapable. Unable to be moved, he died the following year abed in Brittany, aged 66, having dealt a crippling blow to the health of the Muslim conquest in France.

King Kenneth IV (r.1363-65)
Definitely ill-suited to the throne, Kenneth was at heart a simple man - his loves were falconry, old-fashioned hymn-singing, and drunken carousing. His reign started with the chilling revelation that Kenneth was a reviled kinslayer, having murdered his younger brother in an insane rage. After 18 months of uneasy rule Pope Vigilius III had been convinced (with healthy donations from the Scottish coffers) that Kenneth deserved absolution. It was to be of no avail, because almost immediately the king set forth to complete his father's punishment of the Almoravids in Brittany, where he was maimed and crippled in battle. Kenneth died aged 49, like his father, on a sickbed in Brittany.

King James 'the Fat' (r.1365-1409)
Coming to the throne at age 23, James' interests were primarily in things martial, although he also took an interest in agriculture and gardening, hoping to improve the crops grown in his kingdom. He was also concerned with the Dunkeld legacy, and in 1367 commissioned a scholar to write his family chronicles for posterity. The following year James completed the work of his grandfather when he pushed the Almoravids out of their last lands in Brittany, and crowned himself King of Brittany. The ensuing goldrush of titles for James' vassals secured his popularity. During a two-year papal crusade in Sicily, James suffered the loss of his wife Queen Maud, who died aged 27 of an unknown illness. His second wife, Antonina, was a Byzantine princess. From 1377 to 1379 James fought for the Holy Roman Emperor in his war against Burgundy, and once this was won he called a Grand Tourney in 1380 to celebrate the return of peace. In this legendary event the king, still vigorous at age 38, was triumphant in the open melee. Two more wars for his ally the Holy Roman Emperor followed: a holy war in Alger and the Atlas Mountains, and a crusade against the Shia in Africa.

As he entered middle age James lost the enviable warrior's physique of his youth and gained in girth. Soon he became known as James the Fat, a name that stuck for the remainder of his rule. Now James' attention was directed homewards, by the exploits of his wayward daughters. The unmarried Princess Affraic fell pregnant and delivered a bastard son Angus; James took custody of the babe and married off his daughter to King Marcau II of Aquitaine. Seeing this outcome, James' younger unmarried daughter Princess Maud also gave into temptation and delivered her own bastard, Godfrey. James followed suit, fostering the boy and marrying Maud off to the Duke of Thuringia. He also vowed to pay more attention to his domestic responsibilities. Following several years of recuperation as a result of a serious hunting wound, James returned to campaigning for his imperial ally, joining the Holy Roman Emperor Gottfried's war against Thuringia, which his daughter Maud had become Duchess of five years earlier. In 1393 James won the siege of Zutphen and the battle of Nijmegen, but this was insufficient to save Gottfried's doomed campaign, and the emperor lost the rebellious province. James was also distracted by the machinations of his heir's wife Sheena, who his spymaster discovered was plotting to have the king done away with. Despite his son Duncan's protestations, Sheena was despatched to house arrest in her quarters.

In 1396 James ventured to France to support King Robin in his war against Orleans, and the following year's conquest of Le Mans by Scottish troops was a major factor in Robin's eventual victory. As he entered old age, James' exploits were fewer, but he found time to seize the Shetland Isles and joined Ferrara in its trade embargo war against Venice. In what was to be one last hurrah James joined another papal crusade for Sicily in 1408; the following year Scotland took Erice from the Muslim forces, and the crusade was won by the Emperor. But during the seaborne return to Scotland the 67-year-old James weakened and in a rapid decline, died while his ship was still in Mediterranean waters.

King Duncan III 'the Blind' (r.1409-37)
The scholarly 36-year-old Prince Duncan had journeyed to Argyll to meet his father's fleet returning from Sicily, but instead was told the news of his accession to the throne. Seeking to make his own mark, Duncan declared a holy war on the mighty Sultan for his lands in Asturias in 1411. He was forced to abandon this campaign temporarily the following year when the underhand King Gerald III of England declared war on Scotland to reclaim Yorkshire. Instead of making his name in Spain, Duncan entered the history books fighting at home: in two battles in 1413 his forces killed first Duke David of York and then, in the Battle of Conisbrough, slew King Gerald himself. The 20,000 English casualties suffered in the latter battle broke the English spirit. However, in 1415 Duncan suffered his own tragedy, when boiling pitch from an enemy siege engine took his sight permanently at the age of 42. Just before Christmas of that year King Nicholas I of England surrendered and offered huge gold tribute to the blinded Scottish king.  

This permitted Duncan to return to his long-neglected Asturian ambition in 1416, but after two further years of crusading there and in Qulumriyah Duncan had to admit defeat, and pay some of his hard-earned English gold to the Sultan to secure peace. To salvage his pride Duncan staged another Grand Tourney in 1422. After several years of political management in Scotland, Duncan was surprised by the death of his wife Queen Sheena of depression at age 63. It was mused (in private, out of Duncan's hearing) that the queen had never truly recovered from her long incarceration by her father-in-law. Taking a new wife, Duncan married the 24-year-old Albina of Tusculum, a devotee of the dark arts of espionage and intrigue. While Albina gave Duncan another son (his sixth), more tragedy struck in the same year when the king's heir, the 39-year-old Prince James, Duke of Moray, was crushed to death when a pile of flagstones fell from a cathedral roof directly onto him. Duncan's spirit was diminished by these setbacks, and during a campaign against the rebellious Earl Gilmure of Ross, Duncan died at Scone of complications resulting from his old battle wounds, aged 64. His heir, Duncan, was a mere boy of 11.

King Duncan IV 'the Great' (r.1437-??)
Duncan's father James had married wisely if in an unorthodox fashion, taking Gurbesu of Ryazan as his wife: widely regarded as one of Europe's greatest female geniuses. Gurbesu played a major role in safeguarding Duncan's early rule when he became king. Titles were dispensed to vassals judiciously and fairly, and alliances were forged with valuable friends, including King Stenkil II of Sweden. When he attained his majority in 1442 Duncan married Princess Nada of Poland, a woman after his mother's heart, in that she was a renowned theologian in her native land. For two years young Duncan fought for his new father-in-law in the Polish king's war against the rebellious Duchess Katalin, joining the siege of Balga, and proceeding to invest Znin. It was in these far Baltic lands that Duncan's heir Prince James was brought into the world. Returning to Scotland after the war's successful conclusion in 1444, Duncan craved the excitement of battle. Unfortunately Duncan's father's ill luck appeared to be hereditary, because while on an expedition in the woods of Gowrie hunting the fabled white stag, his charger stumbled over a tree root and pitched the king onto a rocky outcrop. Despite the efforts of court physicians the 19-year-old king lost the full use of his right leg. This did not halt Duncan's quest for battlefield glory, however. In 1447 he battled Duchess Margaret of Gwent, and in 1449 he set sail with 20,000 Scots to support King Stenkil's ailing civil war campaign against would-be usurpers of the Swedish throne. Duncan's force took the strategic fortress at Gripsholm, helping Stenkil to put down the rebellion. As New Year's Day dawned in 1453 the 27-year-old Duncan was loved and admired by the Scottish people for his fortitude and military prowess, and a mighty reign akin to that of Godfrey the Great seemed surely to be his destiny.

And that's where the game ended! The year 1453 was selected by the designers as the traditional end date for the Middle Ages, as it coincided with the Ottomans' conquest of Constantinople on 29 May of that year. Here is the core of the Scottish empire ruled by Duncan the Great at the end of the game:



See also:
Comedy: Dara O'Briain, 'His behaviour in the field was erratic at best', 5 March 2013
Blog: The new kings of Ireland, 7 July 2012
Blog: Feudal backstabbing in all its glory, 25 May 2012        

22 February 2013

"Drunk, by Jove!"

Fordyce, George (1736-1802), physician. Fordyce was a popular doctor, but his bedside manner was unorthodox. According to James Caulfield's Portraits of Remarkable Persons (1794), he was once called to the sick bed of a titled lady when he had too much to drink. His condition made it impossible for him to take her pulse since his own was so unsteady. Frustrated, he admonished himself, muttering, 'Drunk, by Jove!' and left. The next day he was again summoned to her bedside and, fearing that he would be reprimanded for his condition on the previous occasion, he went in some trepidation. He was greatly relieved when she begged him to forgive her, confessed that his diagnosis had been correct, gave him £100 and promised that she would never touch alcohol again.
Fordyce's study of the eating habits of lions convinced him that one meal a day was enough for anyone. Accordingly, for 20 years he followed a routine that never changed. A 4 o'clock every afternoon he went to Dolly's Chop House in Paternoster Row where he ordered a one-and-a-half-pound rump steak. While this was being prepared he enjoyed an appetizer of half a chicken and a plate of boned fish. With his meal, he drank a tankard of ale, a quarter pint of brandy and a bottle of port. After leaving Dolly's he went to three coffee houses, one after another, drinking a large brandy at each, before setting out on his medical rounds. He died of gout at the age of 66.
- William Donaldson, Brewer's Dictionary of Rogues, Villains & Eccentrics, London, 2002, p.266
George Fordyce
By way of evening up the score, it's worth noting that George Fordyce was also a distinguished practitioner of his age, a Fellow of both the Royal Society and the Royal College of Physicians. He delivered the prestigious annual Harveian Oration for the latter in 1791, a lecture delivered in Latin and originally instituted in 1656. According to the Royal Society 'his work was highly regarded in his lifetime, but an eccentric lifestyle and a lack of concern for the social graces tended to reduce his standing among medical colleagues. He made no significant discoveries and although his contributions to medical education were important, he has been largely neglected'.

However, Fordyce certainly fitted the bill of an odd fellow. In the Carl P. Pforzheimer Library edition of Shelley and His Circle 1773-1822, a footnote records that he:

...had some fame as an eccentric in an age of eccentrics. From his concentration on his lectures, his carelessness in manners and dress, "and from spending no more time with his patients than was barely sufficient for forming a just opinion of their ailments, he had for many years but little private employment in his profession" (Monk's Roll of the Royal College of Physicians).

===

Dolly's Chop House emerged during the reign of Queen Anne (1702-14), and according to John Timbs' Club Life of London (1866) was at the time of publication 'still a well-appointed chop house and tavern, and the coffee-room, with its projecting fireplaces, has an olden air... The entrance to the Chop-house is in Queen's Head passage; and at Dolly's is a window-pane painted with the head of Queen Anne, which may explain the name of the court'. By the time Henry Shelley published Inns and Taverns of Old London in 1909 Dolly's, which he notes once had an illustrious clientele, was no more -

Almost adjacent to St Paul's, that is, in Queen's Head Passage, which leads from Paternoster Row into Newgate Street, once stood the famous Dolly's Chop House, the resort of Fielding, and Defoe, and Swift, and Dryden, and Pope and many other sons of genius. It was built on the site of an ordinary owned by Richard Tarleton, the Elizabethan actor whose playing was so humorous that it even won the praise of Jonson. He was indeed such a merry soul, and so great a favourite in clown's parts, that innkeepers frequently had his portrait painted as a sign. The chief feature of the establishment which succeeded Tarleton's tavern [i.e. Dolly's] appears to have been the excellence of its beef-steaks. It should also be added that they were served fresh from the grill, a fact which is accentuated by the allusion which Smollett places in one of Melford's letters to Sir Walkin Phillips in Humphrey Clinker: 'I send you the history of this day, which has been remarkably full of adventures; and you will own I give you them like a beef-steak at Dolly's, hot and hot, without ceremony and parade'.      
In 1846 the Literary Garland and Canadian Magazine, published in Montreal, expounded in a more florid and clearly impassioned style on the literary and culinary adornments of Dolly's:

Turn from the bustle and tough beef of New-gate street down a quiet court, silent as a cloister, and on the right hand side you will see Dolly's Chop-House - than which a more celebrated tavern does not exist within the precincts of London. Talk of pilgrimages to the Holy Sepulchre, or Mahomet's sacred house of Mecca, or even to a-Becket's shrine of old, at Canterbury! How shall we number the great and celebrated men who have many a time and oft visited the venerable gridiron at Dolly's Chop-House. And a rare gridiron it is! For upwards of a century that gridiron has never cooled; by night and day, from luncheon-bearing morn, through dinner-inviting mid-day, till suppery eve, perpetually are its bars simmering and simpering forth their greaseful admiration of the tender steaks which lie upon them. 

Paternoster Row was devastated during the Blitz in December 1940, and eventually redeveloped into Paternoster Square in 2003. The renovated and transplanted Temple Bar, designed by Wren and removed from the spot where Fleet Street becomes the Strand in 1878, now separates Paternoster Square from St Paul's.

But never mind that. Is it just me, or after all that talk of Dolly's does a barbecue sound good right now?
     
Dolly's Chop House, 1856
(c) British Museum

03 November 2012

The character and attachments of a Scotchman


'You do not know the genius of that man's country, sir,' answered Rashleigh; 'discretion, prudence, and foresight, are their leading qualities; these are only modified by a narrow-spirited, but yet ardent patriotism, which forms as it were the outmost of the concentric bulwarks with which a Scotchman fortifies himself against all the attacks of a generous philanthropical principle. Surmount this mound, you find an inner and still dearer barrier - the love of his province, his village, or, most probably, his clan; storm this second obstacle, you have a third - his attachment to his own family - his father, mother, sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, and cousins, to the ninth generation. It is within these limits that a Scotchman's social affection expands itself, never reaching those which are outermost, till all means of discharging itself in the interior circles have been exhausted. It is within these circles that his heart throbs, each pulsation being fainter and fainter, till, beyond the widest boundary, it is almost unfelt. And what is worst of all, could you surmount all these concentric outworks, you have an inner citadel, deeper, higher, and more efficient than them all - a Scotchman's love for himself'.

- Sir Walter Scott, Rob Roy, 1817.

16 August 2012

On the economics of the Edinburgh Fringe


This past week, people in Edinburgh paid £31 to see the television comedian Michael McIntyre's warm-up shows of work-in-progress for his forthcoming stadium tour. Personally I never do warm-up shows for my own standup. My grandfather was of the opinion that you couldn't polish a turd. He did, however, believe very strongly in lacquering them, and lost many friends after insisting they sat through a piece-by-piece display of his entire collection.

Critics complain that £31 is too much for Michael McIntyre's try-out show, competing, by virtue of its appearance in Edinburgh this month, with free fringe performances by unknown talents. But Michael McIntyre's £31 warm-ups were not part of the Edinburgh fringe and so he was not obliged to observe its ethics. The high prices do mean, however, that McIntyre could afford to pay significantly more than the £200 he recently offered a Yorkshire security guard if he'd beat up an inflatable sex doll wearing a mask of my face.

My tickets in Edinburgh are £15, but I do not think it is wrong for Michael McIntyre to charge twice that, or for his colleague the television comedian Frankie Boyle to charge £29 in the same venue. Television comedians guarantee a good night out to cash-rich fun-seekers, and so are priced accordingly. My tragedy is that, irrespective of any merits I may or may not have, I am valued only by people unlikely to pay higher ticket prices.

- Stewart Lee, Observer, 5 August 2012.

See also: Stewart Lee on emigrants - 'Is there any cultural stimulation - any kind of good documentaries or theatre or anything like that?'  Emigrant: "No, there's nothing like that here, Stew. It's like having your brain cut out and having it flung into a swamp"

10 August 2012

Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard

Formed by Charles I [in 1633] to fight for France in the Thirty Years' War, the Royal Scots are the oldest regiment in the Regular Army. During a good-natured argument over seniority with the French Picardie regiment in the seventeenth century, the Scots claimed to be descended from the Roman unit that guarded Jesus' tomb. Not to be bettered, the French replied that had they been on guard duty instead, Jesus' body would not have gone missing. Thus [the Scots] gained the nickname 'Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard'.

- Nicholas Hobbes, Essential Militaria, London, 2003, p.146.

[Note that since this text was published the Royal Scots have been merged into the Royal Regiment of Scotland, which occurred in 2006 on the 373rd anniversary of its formation. The oldest regiment in continuous service in the Regular Army is now the Coldstream Guards, which was formed as George Monck's Regiment in 1650]

20 July 2011

The wave on the shore, and the sun on the height

Exploring Mull, Iona and Oban in the west of Scotland


Last month I was lucky enough to spend the best part of a week exploring the Isle of Mull in the Inner Hebrides, off the west coast of Scotland, with friends. Fiona, who until recently lived in Edinburgh, was already planning to travel to Mull with her friend Hilary, and they both kindly invited me along for the trip, knowing that I was very keen to explore another part of Scotland and see the isles once more. My only other trip to the area was in 1997, when I relished the beautiful scenery on the Isle of Skye for two fantastic days. I was looking forward to a new Scottish adventure, particularly as we were staying in the much-admired fishing town of Tobermory, and because it would be possible to pay a visit to the historic sites on little Iona, an island with a rich heritage located just off the western coast of Mull.

Day 0:


The first logistical issue was how to get up to Edinburgh to join the others. Flying and the train were both rather pricey, and since speed wasn’t a particular concern I opted for a coach journey instead. This turned out to be something of a master stroke – the Megabus ticket for a nine and a half hour coach journey from London Victoria to Edinburgh was a mere £5.50 on an advance booking fare. It wasn’t the most scenic of voyages (the train has more pleasant views, if you’re heading that way yourself), and the two rest breaks were at the traditionally dispiriting and institutional British motorway services depots at Watford Gap and Scotch Corner. But I had my iPod and a book to read, and at that ticket price I was very pleased.

The only concern, apart from the strange fondness of Scottish planners for single-lane highways with no overtaking bays to pass the seemingly endless queues of slow-moving lorries, was the invariably unpredictable Scottish weather. On the journey north the skies were grey and the temperature dial hovered around 12 degrees. Would this be a Scottish summer holiday trip without the all-important sunshine?

Day 1:


George Square, Glasgow
After catching up with Fiona and meeting travelling companion Hilary for the first time, we had a leisurely start to our journey. We made our way to Edinburgh Waverley station in the heart of the city for the first step of the journey: one of the multitude of trains that ferries passengers between the rival cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow. I had a brief ten minute window before our next train to explore George Square next to Glasgow Queen Street station, and made a point of fitting in a Gregg’s cheese and onion pasty from a nearby shop (just like Marilyn Manson). Sure, it’s not authentic Glasgow cuisine like a deep-fried Mars bar or a Munchy Box, but it was certainly deliciously bad for me and it was one of the British culinary treats I was soon to leave behind.

Kilchurn Castle
The two-coach service along the West Highland line to Oban soon departed Glasgow and made its way north out of the city through the grey tower-block suburbs. The journey was to take over three hours, and during the northward run it ran beside chilly grey lochs, huge forestry reserves, and jagged granite peaks, punctuated with stops at increasingly smaller intermediate stations with grand names like Garelochhead, Crianlarich and Falls of Cruachan. Fiona perused her novel while Hilary and I scanned each side of the track for suitable photo opportunities. Every now and then a bird of prey swooped past the train, on the lookout for stray rabbits or mice in the fields. The scenic highlight of the journey was probably the ruins of Kilchurn Castle at the head of Loch Awe, which the West Highland line takes a broad circuit around, affording an impressive view of its crumbling battlements and gaping, glassless windows.


By the time we rolled into the pretty port of Oban, located on a sheltered portion of the Firth of Lorn, the gloomy grey clouds had been dispelled in favour of shining blue skies. We lugged our bags around the crescent harbour to our respective hostels. I had booked afterwards so was staying separately in Corran House, a tidy, worthwhile waterfront ex-B&B by the look of it. Then we met up to get our bearings.

Oban waterfront

After exploring the waterfront we continued northwards along the coast a short way to climb up to the ruins of Dunollie Castle, which sit in ivy-covered splendour on a headland guarding the harbour. Indeed, such was the growth of the vines over the castle keep, it seemed that the vegetation was probably doing a great deal of work to hold the stonework upright.

Dunollie Castle

Dunollie Castle


As the daylight ebbed away we returned to the centre of Oban and hiked up the steep hill overlooking the town to the prominent McCaig’s Tower, a concrete Victorian folly in the form of the Colosseum which was originally intended to serve as a family memorial. Now it’s a grand memento of an eccentric local benefactor, with superb views over the whole town.

McCaig's Tower, Oban


We rounded off our day with a slap-up meal that Enid Blyton would probably have envied (unless it was too working class): golden haddock and chips from the Oban Fish & Chip Shop on George Street, which has received glowing praise from celebrity chef Rick Stein (they quote him as saying it’s the best fish and chips he’s ever had). I have to admit, as we sat at the harbour’s edge and enjoyed our meals while the low-lying sun crept closer to the placid, milky water, in a lifetime with a fairly large amount of fish and chip consumption I struggled to find an example to top Oban’s finest takeaways.





Day 2:


Duart Castle, on the approach to Mull
We spent the morning loafing about in Oban and stocking up on a few supplies for the trip out to the island.  We also paid a visit to the charming little Oban Museum, which was packed with local detail and some interesting background on the town’s role as a seaplane base during World War II. At around midday we departed on the ferry, heading westwards into the grey, flat sea, with Mull our final destination. The fine sight of Duart Castle loomed into view on the port bow (more on which later) and we edged into the pier at the tiny settlement of Craignure, the gateway to the island. We were finally ready to explore Mull.

Oh the Island of Mull is an isle of delight
With the wave on the shore, and the sun on the height
With the breeze on the hills and the blast on the Bens
And the old green woods, and the old grassy glens
- ‘The Island of Mull’, Dugald Macphail

The bus to our final destination, Tobermory, was awaiting the ferry, and we soon set off on the hour-long dash across the northern arm of the island. The journey took in plenty of rolling Hebridean farmland, passing derelict fishing boats stacked and leaning on the shore, and the tumbled-down ruins of Aros Castle on a headland overlooking the sound. Finally, after a long descent and a brief detour around the upper town, the bus delivered us to the harbourside of Tobermory, our base for the next few days.  The broad curve of the harbour wall is lined with the same multi-coloured shops and houses that have delighted visitors for decades, and as we walked the length of the arc to our accommodation we savoured the sea air and the lively atmosphere. We were staying right on the harbour-front in the town’s YHA, which is housed in a jolly pink dwelling near the fishing wharf. Just beyond the wharf is the spot where a lost Spanish galleon is said to have sunk following the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588.


Tobermory at dusk
On our first patrol of the environs we walked up the steep hill to the upper town, which afforded us splendid views over the harbour. On talking to a local nature photographer we also spied our first example of the local wildlife: a church spire afforded a graceful peregrine falcon an excellent vantage point from which to keep an eye on the pigeons fluttering around the town below. Later, down near the marina, we met the town’s one true celebrity: none other than Tobermory Cat, who has his own Facebook page and a loyal internet following.  (There are actually two TCs, a pair of brothers, which helps them to patrol their turf. This basically includes the whole waterfront). There was clearly plenty of history and plenty of Mull to explore in the coming days.
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Tobermory Cat
Peregrine falcon


Day 3:


Duart Castle
With a watchful eye on the island weather forecast, the next morning we boarded the speedy but rather expensive bus from Tobermory to Craignure. (I concede that the journey is 21 miles, so it’s not exactly short). Once there, another bus with a cheery driver took us the short journey westward to our destination: the proud edifice of Duart Castle, the ancestral home of Clan McLean. There’s been a castle here since at least the 13th century, and the current upright square keep dates from the 14th century. Its commanding position on the approach to Craignure allowed the castle to control an important channel and access to Mull, while making assault by land or sea difficult. 


Our entry tickets were sold by a distinguished gentleman in a kilt – later I wondered if he was actually the laird. Alas, no photos were permitted inside, but the castle was an intriguing mix of medieval and early 20th century living, with strong touches of family history in every room. The grand hall was particularly impressive, with its grand piano, many-pointed deer heads, and photos from two of the most prominent movies to have been filmed at the castle: When Eight Bells Toll from 1971, featuring a young and clean-cut Anthony Hopkins, and 1989’s Entrapment, with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta Jones. In the beautiful Sea Room the McLeans could keep an eye on the busy sealane in fair weather or foul, and the view from atop the castle battlements on this clear, calm day was quite stunning.

Before we departed we ventured down to the water’s edge to eat our lunch and admire the castle from the seaward flank. The crag on which it’s perched is still as impressive as when the castle was first built, and visitors can easily imagine how difficult it must have been for the McLeans’ enemies to attack.  Indeed, nothing short of a heavy naval bombardment would likely have startled the castle inhabitants.  Nowadays the main inhabitants of the grounds are plenty of nimble swallows, darting hither and yon in search of an insect meal.   








Upon being dropped back in Craignure by the trusty bus driver, we promptly headed out of the hamlet again, this time to the nearby Torosay Castle. To reach it we walked along a pretty forest trail, getting as close as we could manage to a herd of Highland cattle, whose lavish brown fringes tickled their moist noses. Torosay isn’t open at the moment, but you can put in an offer if you feel like buying it to add to your castle collection. So the day we visited the main attraction was the journey back to Craignure on the Isle of Mull (miniature) Railway, a labour of love for the island’s rail fans.  It’s a pleasant 15 minute journey along the shore and through dense woodlands back to Craignure on the tiny train, and it’s still an enjoyable treat even for grown-ups.

Highland cattle

Torosay Castle

Mull miniature railway

We made our way back to Tobermory – becoming old hands at the island’s buses, we were – and settled in for a quiet evening. Tobermory seemed to come alive once the last bus of the day departed, taking with it most of the daytrippers to the ferry. Down at the harbour, where the tide was far out in the bay, the fishermen scraped their hulls. Up in the town people popped into the Co-op for their supplies, and carted beer and snacks for an evening’s entertaining. We did the same, enjoying a meal around the kitchen table in the hostel, and then a few tunes from my iPod upstairs.



Day 4:


Our next day was spent in the vicinity of Tobermory, in part because the weather forecast was poor and we didn’t want to risk being trapped at large in a downpour. So we chose to don our hiking boots and explore some of the walking trails to the south of the town, in an area known as Aros Park. This used to be an imposing estate surrounding Aros House, owned by the Allen family, who made their money from the shipping trade. The Allens owned Aros from 1874 until 1959, but by the end of the family’s tenure at Aros the Forestry Commission had acquired the surrounding land, and soon the house itself was in a dangerous state of disrepair. Sadly, it was demolished by the Army in 1962, and now a carpark, several barbecues and a public lavatory occupy the site on which the grand dwelling once stood.

Fortunately there are numerous trails running through the forests surrounding the old manor house site, winding through forestry land and circling a calm lake replete with spreading lily pads. We took our time to admire the many waterfalls in the park, and in particular the highest one, which roars over a rocky cliff and can now be admired from a safe distance in a smartly-built modern viewing platform. Further from civilisation we encountered an eerie dell of ranked pines in which stood an abandoned stone three-room hut, hard up against a hillock that would have blocked both the easterly gales from the sea and the warmth of the morning sunlight. Here and there we saw red robins darting, and on rare occasions fellow humans. The promised downpour never turned up, but we were glad of the chance to see some of Mull’s flora and fauna at close quarters.

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Upon returning to town that afternoon we paid a visit to the excellent little Mull Museum, which details the history of the town and the island. Apart from the expected tales from prehistory and World War Two, my favourite was the story of the Newfoundland three-masted schooner Neptune II, which was blown far off course during a routine overnight passage from St Johns to its home port in Bonavista Bay in November 1929. Instead of a 100-mile journey, the five crew and five passengers were thrown into the mid-Atlantic, and repeated storms forced the vessel further and further eastwards, away from home. In one of the sensational news stories of the year, the Neptune II eventually found a safe harbour in Tobermory in January 1930 after a 3000-mile journey lasting 48 days, with all crew and passengers disembarking safely.
In another historical oddity, Tobermory contains not one but two rarities: Edward VIII red postboxes, erected before the King’s forced abdication in 1936. One is located next to the fishing wharf (pictured) and another is in the upper town. 

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We also ventured out to sample some of Tobermory’s nightlife, but probably not in the way you’re expecting. We walked up to the parish church for an evening recital of handbell-ringing from a visiting troupe from Dunkeld. A most enjoyable hour it was too, even if it did seem like we were the youngest people in the audience!

Day 5:


Finally on our fourth day on Mull we took the plunge and committed to the long cross-island journey that would take us to the far western tip of the isle, and thence on to the historic isle of Iona. It entailed getting up early for the 7.30am bus, if that’s any measure of our dedication to the touristic endeavour. This was one of the high points of our Scottish adventure, because Iona is a major drawcard for thousands of visitors every year. Just as Canterbury is famous as the home of English Christianity, because it was there St Augustine founded England’s first abbey in 597, Iona is famed because this small island was home to an evangelising saint, St Columba, who brought Christianity to the north from the 560s until his death in 597. And this task, which was no mean feat in an age of barbarism and paganism, was accomplished a generation before Augustine’s crossing from Europe.

St Columba has many legends attached to his long life. This one’s rather quaint, as related by Otta F. Swire in her 1964 book, The Inner Hebrides and their Legends:
St Columba & the squirrel
He had grown tired and dispirited, as who does not at times? [...] Feeling as he did, he decided to leave Iona for a time and consider in peace and solitude what his future should be. So he took a coracle and set off by himself for Mull, where he landed and wandered into the woods which then covered the island, to meditate and pray... At length he came to a forest pool. On a stone at its edge sat the red squirrel, obviously so busy and preoccupied that she did not even hear the saint's approach. And she was busy in the queerest way. She was dipping her beautiful bushy tail into the pool and then shaking it dry over the grass behind her. St Columba watched for a time, then, coming quietly forward so as not to startle her, he asked what she was doing. 
"I'm trying to empty this pool," said the squirrel. 
"You can never do it like that," exclaimed the saint. "Why, it would take you years and years, longer than you can hope to live" 
"That's true," answered the squirrel, much impressed. Then her lovely little prick ears and her tail began to droop and she said sadly, "I suppose you're right. It's all no good. I've just wasted the summer. I'd better stop" 
She climbed down from her stone and stood thoughtful. Then she suddenly jumped up on it again and began soaking her tail once more, remarking, "Anyhow, I'm making it easier for the next squirrel, if only a little" 
St Columba gathered a large handful of nuts and placed them beside her. Then he returned to his boat and his job. He had had his sign.
In the 6th century AD Celtic Christianity, originating in isolated sects of Irish monks, was one of the few literate influences in the British Isles. St Columba was famed for arriving on Iona, a low sliver of an island just off the coast of Mull, and building a monastery there that stood as a beacon of civilisation for centuries, until constant pillaging by murderous Viking raiders sent the monks packing for Kells in Ireland. (And if you’ve seen the world-famous Book of Kells in Trinity College Dublin, then you might be aware that scholars believe it actually originated in Iona, before being moved to Kells by fleeing monks). The monastery fell into disrepair for several centuries after the raids, until it was revived as a centre of pilgrimage in 1200 on order of the King. After the Reformation it fell into hard times once more, and when Samuel Johnson paid a visit in the 1770s the abbey was unroofed and derelict. The effect of the visit upon Johnson, was clearly undimmed by this:  
We were now treading that illustrious Island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion.  To abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible, if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish, if it were possible.  Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings.  Far from me and from my friends, be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue.  That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona! 
- Samuel Johnson, A Journey to the Western Isles of Scotland, 1775.

The abbey has been the subject of major restoration since the 20th century, and now stands complete, despite the odd bit of scaffolding on the church tower. The abbey can be seen clearly from the shoreline on Mull, at the tiny hamlet of Fionnphort, where you board the busy ferry for the ten minute crossing over to Iona: a rugged, sandy-brown medieval complex, set against low green hills dotted with outbursts of bare grey rock. Pride of place in front of the abbey goes to the imposing St Martin’s Cross, an original eighth century Celtic stone cross with finely carved designs on both sides and a landward side covered in a sprinkling of moss. The cross stands in front of the current medieval abbey, with modern cloisters on the left, a medieval church on the right and a separate but attached shrine to the saint himself located in the centre. Perhaps the best view of the abbey is from the small hummock just in front; there’s a socket for a now-vanished medieval high cross here, and it’s reputed that St Columba had his own humble dwelling on this spot.

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Iona Abbey
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St Martin's Cross
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Cloisters
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Chapel
Hilary had visited Iona once before, so we split up to explore different parts of the island and meet up for the ferry later. Fiona and I headed west along farm lanes until we reached a broad sweeping bay on the sandy western shore of Iona. Here we paused for lunch in the bright Hebridean sunshine and happened to spot a local seal bobbing in the waves, looking for a meal close to shore.

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Iona shore
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After a celebratory icecream in Fionnphort, which was barely disrupted by a family of long-horned sheep rambling up the main road past all the parked tourist coaches, we boarded our bus for the long journey back to Tobermory. It had been a particularly successful sojourn.

Back in town, we decided that we’d spent too much of the day sitting down – it was more than two hours by bus each way to Iona – so after dinner al fresco on the pier we donned our boots once more and walked the cliff path northwards round the coast to the lighthouse. Despite clinging mud on the path and vertiginous drops to the shoreline below we emerged at the lighthouse unscathed. It was perfect timing too – we arrived at 8.30pm and the sun was still reasonably high, casting a golden light over the calm, flat ocean. We were able to get a good close look at the lighthouse (which was erected by the famous lighthouse builders, the Stevenson Brothers, in 1857) and a family of nearby oystercatchers, whose distinctive cries were the only sound in that peaceful place. By the time we departed at 9pm the light was still strong, and our half hour walk back to town was lit by a pale but clear light of the setting sun, which reminded me how much I enjoy high latitudes in the warmer months. 

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Tobermory lighthouse
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Day 6:


Finally it was time to head back to the real world. We had one last morning to enjoy the gentle charms of Tobermory (and the scones from the bakery!).  Just before midday we rolled out of town on the bus for the last time, joining a few of the locals heading to the football club near Craignure to watch a social game. It was another brilliantly clear Scottish day, and we relished the ferry ride back to Oban from the open top deck, photographing the watchful seagulls swooping in the ship’s wake, eagle-eyed for scraps of discarded lunch.

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Back in Oban the crowds were out in force for a local fete along the waterfront. Yes, there were bagpipes. The sun was hot and plenty of pale Scottish skin was sizzling. We stocked up with supplies for our long train journey ahead, and rejoined the mainland set. Within an hour of our 4.10pm departure the gleaming sunshine had turned to dank, sweeping rainclouds – perfect timing and perfect train weather when you’ve already seen the route you’re travelling on. Soon we were back in beautiful Edinburgh, our expedition to Mull chalked up as a resounding and memorable success.

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Last morning in Tober