December 15, 2017

The Scots who stopped Pinochet’s engines. NEW FEATURE DOCUMENTARY, NAE PASARAN

 

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The Scots who stopped Pinochet’s engines.
NEW FEATURE DOCUMENTARY, NAE PASARAN

Award-winning director Felipe Bustos Sierra launches the final crowdfunding campaign to compete his feature-length documentary, Nae Pasaran. The project, which launched in 2014, set out to investigate the real impact of a four-year solidarity boycott by factory workers at Rolls-Royce East Kilbride. The research led to the discovery of the Chilean Air Force military engines which disappeared from the factory in 1978. One of the engines, the first engine caught in the boycott, has been returned to Scotland and will be unveiled in East Kilbride early next year.

1974, Scotland. Bob Fulton, a Rolls-Royce engine inspector, returns to his section, upset and anxious. He’s just told his colleagues that a Chilean Air Force jet engine has arrived in the factory for maintenance and he’s refusing to let it go through, in protest against the recent military coup of General Pinochet. He’s seen the images of people packed into football stadiums and the Chilean Air Force jets bombing Santiago, and now one of the engines from those very same planes is right there, waiting for inspection. He can see his supervisors approaching, he knows he’s about to be fired yet he feels a responsibility.

The Chilean coup, on the 11 September 1973, was a landmark of the Cold War. The first democratically-elected left-wing president in Latin America, Salvador Allende, was brutally overthrown by the Chilean Armed Forces, which surrounded and attacked the presidential palace where Allende and his staff refused to surrender. Allende died in the palace and the dictatorship that followed claimed thousands of lives, with many still disappeared. Hundreds of thousands of Chileans were sent into exile.

The images of the Hawker Hunter air raid, caught by documentary filmmakers, traveled the world. When the Scottish workers saw the images of tv, they recognised the planes and knew immediately they’d worked on the same engines. The Hawker Hunter was one of Britain’s most exported military aircrafts, with over 20 Air Forces flying them. All of them were powered by the same engine, the Rolls-Royce Avon.

By the 1970s, all Avon engines were repaired in the same factory… Rolls-Royce East Kilbride. With nowhere else to go for maintenance, the workers’ action could potentially be devastating for the Chilean Air Force.

The boycott of Chilean engines at the Rolls-Royce factory was a minor cause célèbre. The workers kept the boycott going for four years, leaving the engines to rust at the back of the factory, until one night… the engines mysteriously disappeared. The workers were told their actions had been meaningless.

The filmmaker, Felipe Bustos Sierra, son of a Chilean exile, grew up hearing rumours of the now-mythic tale of international solidarity. These accounts bring him to Bob’s door 40 years later. Was any of it true?

NAE PASARAN is the painstakingly documented and emotional account of the impact of their action, and for the very first time, the feature film tells the story of the many Chileans who crossed paths with the engines.

In 2015, following revelations of our research, the Chilean ambassador bestowed the highest honour given to foreigners by the Government of Chile upon the Scottish workers. In an unlikely twist of fate, the film chronicles how the pensioners from East Kilbride became Commanders of the Republic of Chile.

Earlier this year, after having discovered the lost engines in Chile, we were able to bring one back to Scotland with the support of Unite Scotland and assistance of Glasgow Museums. Next year, the engine will be returned to East Kilbride to resume its struggle against the Scottish weather and stand as a monument to the Scottish action for international solidarity.

The film is close to completion and Debasers is now seeking its final £50,000 in funding via Kickstarter. After a successful crowdfunding campaign in 2015 to begin filming, this final round of funding will push the film to completion ahead of its 2018 film festival deadlines.

Crowdfunding perks include Rolls-Royce Avon engine blades, invites to the premiere after-party in East Kilbride, personalised poems written by “The Glasgow Poet” Stuart Barrie (one of the Rolls-Royce workers), and postcards signed by the workers.

For any further information, photographs or interviews, please contact Nicola Balkind: nicola@nicolabalkind.com

Link to campaign: naepasaran.com

Screening times: To Be Announced.

The short film is available to watch at: https://vimeo.com/182246588

Felipe Bustos Sierra said:

It’s been a long project to research and our characters and their story have been an incredible buoy throughout: a true barometer to keep us going in the right direction. We’re asking that if international solidarity means anything to you, if you believe – like we do – that we are all connected trying to make a life for ourselves while treating each other like human beings before politics, class, language or borders muddle it up, this is a story for you and it has a painstakingly-documented happy ending. Please pledge to help us reach our funding goal ahead of our film festival deadlines in early 2018. If you can’t help financially, tell others about the “Scots who stopped Pinochet’s engines”. Tell them what we’re doing and please get them to our funding page at www.naepasaran.com

NOTES TO EDITORS

NAE PASARAN is directed by Felipe Bustos Sierra and produced by Debasers Filums.

Felipe Bustos Sierra is a Belgian-Chilean filmmaker based in Scotland. His second short film “Three-Legged Horses” was the first successful Kickstarter project in Scotland and has played since at over 40 international festivals over 5 continents. He’s the creative director at Debasers Filums and working on his first feature film, “Nae Pasaran”. He’s an alumni of the Berlinale Talent Campus and the Edinburgh International Film Festival Talent Lab.

Kickstarter helps artists, musicians, filmmakers, designers, and other creators find the resources and support they need to make their ideas a reality.

The title Nae Pasaran is the Scottish-accented ‘NO PASARAN’, the anti-fascist battlecry of the Spanish Civil War which saw thousands of men and women throughout the world travel to Spain to fight Franco’s troops. The stories of the Scottish International Brigades are legendary and have been a strong source of inspiration ever since, particularly for the Rolls-Royce workers who led the Chilean engine boycott. ‘No Pasaran’ is still often used today at anti-right-wing demonstrations across Scotland.

The crowdfunding page can be found at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/debasers/nae-pasaran-the-scots-who-defied-pinochet-finishin or http://www.naepasaran.com

Follow Nae Pasaran online on Twitter: @naepasaran and on Facebook at http://facebook.com/naepasaran

 

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The actions of the East Kilbride Rolls Royce workers were highlighted in the press in 1978 when it was reported that four aero-engines belonging to the Chilean government were removed in a secret operation from the Rolls Royce workshop with a call going out to all British workers to black all work for Chile.

A shop steward from Rolls Royce, Peter Lowe, was quoted saying, “There is nothing we can do now that the engines have left the factory. We can only hope that our fellow trade unionists everywhere else will take up the cudgels on behalf of the people of Chile.”

The engines which the men had refused to work on for four years were worth £3 million. They were taken from the factory by sheriff offers in an operation described as of military style precision and it was thought transported to RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire and from there flown to Chile.

The TUC condemned the actions of the government for supporting the rightwing junta in Chile responsible for the disappearance of 2000 political prisoners.  

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And the Scottish national football team got caught up in the Chilean controversy when in 1977  the SFA insisted a pre-World Cup friendly be played against Chile in the very stadium the Pinochet junta used as a detention camp for those who opposed their illegal takeover of government – where workers, students, intellectuals, parents and even their children were horribly tortured, raped, humiliated and killed.

Mr Willie Allan of the SFA insisted the match go ahead. Opposition came from among others the committee of the Ross and Cromarty Constituency Labour Party who said, “We are disgusted that the SFA should want Scottish footballers to play in a country whose dictatorial regime used their main football stadium to rape, torture and murder opponents during the military coup.

But such opinions failed to influence the Scottish Football Association and the match went ahead in that blood-soaked pitch proving that to some footballers their game is more important than lives.

One of the best known people who died in the Santiago stadium was Chilean singer and guitarist Victor Jara who had his hands crushed and destroyed before a military officer played a game of Russian roulette with him. Victor Jara died at the third shot. And his popularity with the Chilean people was so infuriating to the rightwing military the singer his corpse was then machine gunned.

December 7, 2017

Short-changed: Scotland’s currency a Unit or Unite?

Or minting it in Aberdeen 

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Robert III gold lion

Banks have been in the news recently for all the wrong reasons, again. Can’t remember when it was otherwise. In certain parts of the country such as where I live it’s virtually impossible to find a working bank that doesn’t involve a round trip in a car that takes a good hour and a half or by bus the greater part of a day. It really is like going back more than a century.

Now it appears banks will also remove many cash machines making it all but impossible for folk in rural areas to access their own cash, never mind the difficulties all of this involves for local businesses in depositing takings at the end of each day or for community groups trying to get their hands on change for admission charges to facilities or indeed bank these safely and locally.  

Not so long ago Scotland’s influence over its money supply was greater than now with local banks and even stock exchanges dotted around the country and like now banks issued bank notes but not coins – this ended in Scotland 300 years ago.

Since the Union of 1707 Scotland’s mints along with so much else were consigned to the scrap heap thereby diminishing this nation’s ability to influence her own economy despite Article 16 of the Treaty of Union stipulating that Scotland retain its own mint –

“…a Mint shall be continued in Scotland under the same rules as the Mint in England…”

What happened to that? The Mint at Edinburgh stopped striking coins a mere two years after the Union with an issue of half crowns and shillings in 1709. In 1870 the Coinage Act transferred the nominal role of Governor of the Mint of Scotland to the English Chancellor of the Exchequer in London. Another Coinage Act, this time in 1971 finally extinguished all sign of Scotland’s distinctive currencies when the Chancellor of the Exchequer became the Master of the Mint under Edward Heath (apologies for any unwanted imagery associated with that statement.)

The mint at Aberdeen was one of the earliest Scottish mints. It began during the reign of William the Lion (1165 – 1214) and continued intermittently until the Act of Union. Despite its long existence few Aberdeen coins are extant for coins used to be melted down and the precious metal re-used for new strikes at the behest of the monarch who pocketed the difference between the higher value of old redundant coins and lesser worth replacements. Essentially this was a means of underhand taxation that benefited the monarch while anyone else caught snipping off pieces of coin for its silver value faced gruesome execution. 

We are all too familiar with being short-changed nowadays when using Scottish currency in England but you may be surprised to learn that the foundation of this has legitimate basis for people with long memories. Way back in the 12th and 13th centuries the amount of silver that went into making silver coins or sterlings was reduced from 240 pennies created from one pound of silver to 252 squeezed out by Robert the Bruce’s moneyers compared with 243 around the same time in England.

When David II was held for ransom by the English the Scots paid £40,000 to get him back using silver from which 294 pennies were extracted (and later still a pound was used to produce 352 coins) giving rise to complaints that the exchange was being carried out on the cheap. It has to be said that England did the same whenever cash was required – for example to finance military campaigns or to pay off debts – the medieval equivalent of quantitative easing. Coins were also cut in half or quartered to provide coins of lesser value used along with small value currency such as round half-pennies and farthings (which date from Alexander III.)

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Alexander III silver penny minted in Aberdeen 1250-1280

It’s not known where Aberdeen’s mint was situated. According to one of the city’s 19th C historians, Kennedy, it was in Exchequer Row, but others disagree – in the way a bunch of historians do (worse than ferrets in a sack.) It might be mints from different periods operated in different parts of the town for there was no need for a specific building as little space was required to produce coins – they were made by hand, stamped or hammered from a die imprinted with the design of the coin. Perhaps a furnace was employed to soften pieces of metal to be cut to an appropriate size of disc and weight which were then placed between a two dies – the top one hammered to make the distinctive markings on the new coin. Mechanisation was brought in during 1637 in Scotland with the appointment of French coiner Nicholas Briot as Master of the Scottish Mint.

Naturally, control over the creation of money was tightly regulated. In 1526 the Scottish parliament decreed that –

“feigners and counterfeiters” of the king’s money should be severely punished by which was supposedly hanging, drawing and quartering.

Such a dire threat might have dissuaded some from forgery but not all and a cursory glance back in time shows just how tempting it was to try. In 1566 arrests were made in Aberdeen of individuals accused of bringing in counterfeit or black money called hardheids from Flanders and the town’s commissioners, Robert Crichton and James Millar, were ordered to carry out an investigation which resulted the following year in Andrew Murray, a burgess from Perth, and Patrick Ramsay, a burgess from Dundee, being found guilty and gruesomely executed. In 1594 Scotland’s Privy Council reiterated a ban on foreign currency to reduce the amount of foreign coins circulating, sometimes from legitimate reasons e.g. the old rose noble of England had been temporarily allowed into Aberdeen to pay for English soldiers then barracked in the town.

As I mentioned above control over currency rested with the monarch who appointed moneyers to mint coins and he or she determined the timing of new issues. Sometimes a moneyer’s name was pressed onto coins, adding to confusion over their source for coiners and moneyers were peripatetic and moved about the country following the monarch’s movements and supplied coins where necessary.

Scotland’s own currency, silver pennies, first appeared in the 12th century during the reign of David I. Before then all sorts of currencies were used for trading including Roman, Northumbrian, Viking and Anglo-Saxon which explain why exposed money hoards have often included money from different parts, for example two hoards of Roman silver denari found in 1966 at Birnie, near Elgin in Moray (pronounced Murray as in Andy not moray as in the eel) inside wee leather purses which had been placed in a pot lined with bracken. A couple of centuries ago several purses and bags of money were discovered in Aberdeen which dated from the time of Mary Queen of Scots and these coins carried both her name and that of her husband Francis, Dauphin of France.

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Mary and Francis testoon

It was in 1136 then that Scotland’s first coins were minted – in England, or rather that disputed territory of Carlisle. The town had been taken by the Scottish King David and as there were silver mines there along with a mint he put both to good use and had a number of silver coins struck. These first issues looked remarkably like English money but over time Scotland’s currencies grew distinctive. By the reign of James III (1460 – 1488) instead of showing a nominal portrait to represent the monarch Scottish coins featured realistic regal portraits and were by now more comparable with French coinage than English – a hint at the close relationship between Scotland and France. Those from the reign of James III also featured Scotland’s heraldic emblems of the thistle and the wonderful unicorn. The golds were called riders and the silvers were placks.

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Find the unicorn

Edinburgh has long been Scotland’s financial centre and unsurprisingly an important supplier of Scottish currency although it wasn’t until 1527 that a specific building was designated for the mint. Edinburgh was also the last place in Scotland to mint coins after the Union of Parliaments. The Union of Scotland and England was marked by striking a new coin which interestingly acquired similar but different names north and south of the border – known as a unit in Scotland and as a unite in England (make what you will of the subtext of these names.) The unit was silver and worth £12 Scots or £1 sterling (English) and from the time of the Union Scottish currency had to fit in with England’s; both silver and copper.

Aberdeen minted coins were of a slightly more recent vintage than Edinburgh’s but as parliament followed the king around Scotland with the mint in his wake Aberdeen became a centre of production for several years from 1342 when plague ravaged the country encouraging the nobility to head north in hope of escaping it.  

Whenever mention is made of Scotland’s former currencies it’s usually the groat or bawbee which are recalled but there were many other coins circulating here across the centuries including the plack, bodle, pistole, crown, demi-lion, ducat or bonnet, merk or mark, unicorn, half-unicorn, dollar, farthing and ryal as well as half-groats, half-pennies, and half almost anything – produced by cutting a coin in two. Of course not every coin was minted at each new strike and not every mint from the Borders to Inverness produced a range of coinage.

As trade increased so did constraints on currency. Parliament imposed limitations on the movement of money leaving the country. Such a tax in 1331 was set at one shilling in the pound and provided Aberdeen with over £8 duty taken from £160 of its currency which had moved away that year.    

While there are not many extant Aberdeen minted coins some remain. Several turned up in a silver hoard of 12,000 coins unearthed in a 3-legged bronze pot in 1886 in the city’s Upperkirkgate, at Ross’s Court. Most of these 13th and 14th century coins were English pennies along with a number of French Mary Queen of Scots testoons and 113 pennies from the reign of Alexander III but as to where they were minted there is no record and no hint on the coins.

On the subject of things missing several coins from that cache, sixty-two of them, were bought by Queen Victoria including twelve early ones produced under Alexander III, a couple from the time of Robert the Bruce and two from John Balliol’s pretendy reign – they have since disappeared along with several handed over to both the National Collection of Antiquities in Edinburgh and the British Museum. The bulk of the hoard, around 10,000 coins, was returned to Aberdeen city and the University of Aberdeen but again a portion of these have also disappeared.

Aberdeen coins showed the king’s crowned head on the front except for those dating from Alexander III’s time which show an encircled head containing the king’s name and title. The reverse features a long double and single cross with stars, pellets and so on in the angles – and the mint name in a circle. In the case of the groats and half-groats an outer circle included the motto Dominvs Protector Mevs et Liberator Mevs (the protector and liberator) or contractions of it. On the Alexander III penny the coin includes the name of the moneyer, John of Aberdeen (no, not THAT one!)

David II was the first monarch to have groats and half groats minted, the latter marked Vila Aberdon indicating they were struck in Aberdeen. A Robert III groat reads Villa de Aberdein. A rare James II half groat from the Aberdeen hoard has Villa Aberden. Another variation denoting Aberdeen in James III and IV groats is the legend Villa de Abrde. Coins carrying HA were also Aberdeen mints signifying an occasional spelling of Aberdeen as Habirden.

As British banking staggers from crisis to crisis and the ordinary people of this country are the ones to shoulder the burden of bankers’ incompetency and criminality and at a time financial experts warn that the state of the UK banking system is worse than useless for its ability to ride out another storm the likelihood of which is extremely high it is surely time to return to more localised fiscal controls – not dependent on the whims of a monarch but a national bank of Scotland issuing 21st century currency, perhaps the unit.

November 20, 2017

Lady Gordon Cathcart one of the last of Scotland’s tyrants

It takes a certain type of personality icily detached from common humanity to be at  ease with plucking people from all that they hold dear and is familiar to them and transplant them like so many cabbage plants into an area of foreign soil with nothing to sustain them.

Scarth family from Scotland

Scottish settlers in Canada

Lady Emily Eliza Steele Gordon Cathcart was one such woman. Famous and notorious in equal measure she wielded power like so many demi-gods of the 18th and 19th centuries in turning people off their hereditary lands; populations with more claim to the land than her. Her tyranny was one of the last of its kind in Scotland. She died in 1932 and not a moment too soon.

Cathcart came to own chunks of the Hebrides through her marriage to Captain John Gordon of the Cluny estate in Aberdeenshire (a long way from the Western Isles.) He had inherited parts of the Hebrides from his father who bought up islands from the Chief of Clanranald in 1838. The Gordons were fabulously wealthy chiefly from the several slave estates they owned in the West Indies.

Up to their necks in the slave trade the Gordons were represented in parliament, for Weymouth and Melcombe Regis by John senior, a Tory. This John, unsurprisingly opted to see something of the world, and get paid for it so he joined the military. In Egypt he admired many of its ancient monuments and with characteristic humility carved his name on several of them – the Dendara temple was graffitied by him in 1804. He did the same at the temple of Edfu, and at Esna, and at Gebel el-Silsila and in Thebes at the temple at Karnak and at the pylon of the Luxor temple, and the great temple of Medinet Habu and in the mortuary temple of Ramesses II, and on several tombs in the Valley of the Kings, and at Kom Ombo at the Isis temple at Philae, and at the Tomb of Paheri – on both its east and west walls. In fact he was the first to vandalise the tomb.

The vandal John Gordon

Fast forward to his inheritance of both Cluny Castle and estates and riches from his uncle’s six properties in Tobago. Slavery was abolished in the UK in 1833 and slave owners were very well compensated. Gordon’s 1400 slaves proved to be a good money earner when the UK government paid him nearly £25,000 which would work out around £100,000,000 today in compensation for the loss of their human chattels. He didn’t require much of that to buy up North and South Uist, Benbecula and Barra plus estates closer to home (not Weymouth but Aberdeenshire) of Midmar, Kebbaty and Shiels, Banffshire, Inverness-shire, Midlothian and Nairnshire.

Like so many of today’s British super-wealthy this Gordon senior invested substantial part of his fortune overseas for he was notoriously greedy as well as being a disreputable rogue who evicted 3,000 tenants with centuries-long ties to the land. Those who resisted were handcuffed and forced aboard Atlantic-bound ships. Some thought they might run off and hide in caves but were hunted down by men and dogs. When homes were pulled to pieces islanders propped up blankets on sticks for shelter but these were taken from them. Some concealed themselves under fishing boats but they, too, were exposed and their boats destroyed. The choice to stay or go was not offered to the Gordon tenants. They were regarded as vermin, and not dissimilar to the Tobago slaves, property to be dispensed with however the laird liked.  

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Benbecula

All sorts of promises were made to cajole people to leave the Highlands and Islands. Promises of a grand life awaiting emigrants but as with most promises they turned out to be nothing but lies. There was not work, nor land for them all. Ripped away from everything they had known Scottish Islanders were reduced to begging. Scottish child migrants were badly undernourished in this land of plenty. The Reverend Norman MacLeod reported seeing them with shrivelled legs, hollow eyes and swollen bellies. For the privilege of slowly starving to death Gordon’s islanders were forced to pay for their imposed migration by this the wealthiest ‘commoner’ in Scotland.

John Gordon far from doing anything positive with his vast fortune proved to be an utter scoundrel. He attracted the reputation as one of the most hated men in Scottish history but his name has faded from our collective memory so I thought it time to revive his notoriety.

Motivated by greed and vanity he earned himself a reputation at the time for his brutal treatment of the islanders of the Hebrides. He wanted them out and so they were sent packing – lock, stock and barrel the populations of the islands were given no choice – no generous compensation from a sympathetic government for them – if only they had been slave owners -but instead they were booted out of their homes, their crofts, and onto ships that took them to Canada to survive or fail in the strange environment where a different language was spoken for these were entirely Gaelic speaking people. Those who survived the long weeks at sea had to get by or sink.

John Gordon senior died without any legitimate heirs and several dead illegitimate ones bar one, John, husband of Lady Emily. He was as vicious as his father in his treatment of the islanders and he, too, left no legitimate heir and so his wife inherited everything. She shared his malicious temperament and she persecuted the poorest in these lands with the same vigour as her obnoxious husband. Their contribution of clearing and re-settling people was, at the time, seen as both an outrage and an impressive contribution to empire building.

Lady Emily Gordon fairly quickly remarried and she added Cathcart to her list of names, taken from her new husband Sir Reginald Cathcart of Sunninghill, Berkshire in England.

The banished populations of the Hebrides disembarked on the northeast coast of Canada and straightaway had to erect shelters, initially of turf, as well as try to find a means of providing food and income for their families. Food prices were extortionately high in the area – eggs sold for one dollar per dozen, flour was six dollars for one hundred pounds, sugar cost a dollar for four pounds and salt ten cents a pound. Mostly farmers several Scots tried to re-establish croft life digging land to create smallholdings around Moosomin in Saskatchewan. Land that was sold to them for $2.50 an acre by the Canadian Pacific Railway company who lay claim to it. And who just happened to own shares in the Canadian Pacific? None other than Lady Gordon Cathcart who also held stock in Canada’s Hudson’s Bay Company. As an investor in the potential of Canada Lady Emily Gordon Cathcart had strong reasons for sending enforced labour to this part of the empire. Bad doesn’t get close to describing parasites such as the Lady Gordon Cathcart aka Lady Bountiful.

They made do, these hardy souls, torn from their lands while the Gordons clung onto their vast estates and Castle Cluny itself. At Moosomin the Scots deposited there were said to have taken the Scotchman’s Trail to the place that would become their new home. They had virtually nothing to get established with and turned old herring barrels into sleighs so they could move around in the deep snows that fell in this inhospitable land. The woollen clothing that kept them warm in Scotland was no use in this harsh climate and they took to wearing animal skins in winter for protection.

And what of the natives of this dumping ground? They were Chipewyan, Cree, Saulteaux, Assiniboine, Atsina and Sioux. Their hold on the lands they had lived on for generations was no more secure than that of the Scottish Highlanders and like them they were banished and confined to designated areas. Part of the territory Lady Cathcart targeted for her cleared people was known as Assiniboia, the name taken from the First Nation peoples whose land it once was before being purloined by the government and in turn sold off to settlers.  

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Assiniboine Woman c 1900

 

 

Those recent settlers from the Hebrides hewed the untamed soil to establish their farms. To retain their newly acquired property they had to reside on it for at least six months annually over the first three years. Winters were brutal, far worse than anything known to them in Scotland and they were forced to move into towns during the worst months when snows made remaining on their farms impossible, sometimes taking their basic shacks with them. Winter started around the end of November and lasted until around April. Out of necessity Scottish islanders learned to skate, toboggan, to get around on snow shoes and by sleigh, originally as we’ve seen converted herring barrels.

Everything froze. Solid blocks of milk were broken up by hammer and chisel and sold by the pound. Live stock had to be shut up for the whole of winter and fed from hay gathered from the prairie. Traditional Scottish woollen clothing was fairly useless at keeping out the cold and so the Scots took to wearing animal skins and furs.

Frostbite was rife. One man, a Jewish rabbi, (not from the islands) undertook a journey of two miles in a blizzard with only cotton socks and moccasins on his feet. Sixteen hours later he was found close to death and his legs had to be amputated.

There were regulations imposed. Alcohol was regulated and mostly confined to the sick, although I imagine it was available to wealthier people in the area. A government permit was required if the need was desperate, ie illness, and the permit allowed the recipient to get liquor for up to six months. Inevitably this policy led to an upsurge in sick claims, especially from young men. When that failed several decided their only recourse was to produce their own booze through illicit distillation – of which there is a good strong tradition in Scotland.

Newcomers found the communities welcoming and traditional British class distinctions tended to fall away. People became less subservient. There is a nice account of a young girl from Benbecula who discovered being a servant didn’t suit her and so after three days she told her mistress she wouldn’t wait on her any longer and off she went. Her attitude chimed in  with members of First Nation tribes who resisted being constrained by European master/servant relationships and the trappings of European dress.

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It has to be said that scraping a living in the Hebrides was no easy task but then neither was it in the wild uncultivated part of Canada many found themselves. When some neighbouring islanders took to boats and landed on the empty acres of Vatersay they took cattle, sheep and ponies with them to set up farms there, earning themselves the nickname of Vatersay Raiders and were duly thrown into prison for daring to defy Britain’s property rights and squatting on Gordon Cathcart’s land. They could have chosen to cross the Atlantic to Canada or America but they wanted to stay in Scotland. The press, fawning towards the wealthy and powerful as ever, demonised the squatters on land Lady Bountiful herself had described as barren and inhospitable with no good water supply and where even potatoes would not grow. Still, she liked the place enough to hold onto it and fought those who tried to make a go of farming it. She demanded the Trespass Act be employed to defend her property from the audacious pirates who had taken ‘violent possession of it.’

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The Vatersay Raiders

The matter was raised in the Commons where her supporters and detractors stood up to defend or attack her for her behaviour towards tenants. She was described as a harsh and inconsiderate landlord but jumping to her defence was Lord Tweedmouth, First Lord of the Admiralty, who claimed she had done great work for encouraging work in Scotland and

“It was a monstrous proposal from men not even in the status of crofters to cross the sea to Vatersay, which was not included under the operation of the Crofters Act, and which was in occupation of a tenant, to take possession, and put their cattle upon it.”

In 1908 she took the squatters to court to reinstate her empty land – and to punish them, of course. A number were tried in Edinburgh and jailed. There were references to Scotland’s ‘semi-Celtic populace’ who, given half a chance, would spread the contagion of lawlessness if not controlled. She was accused of being an unprincipled owner intent on getting the government to purchase her property.

The disgraceful antics of Lady Gordon Cathcart attracted so much public attention the government did indeed buy the island in 1909 and divided it up into 60 working crofts.  

Again in 1914 questions were asked in the House of Commons over compensation for her losses – the goose and duck shoots, value of coastal products (seaware and tangle – seaweed kelp was a valuable resource for making into iodine and soda for the manufacture of soap and glass) to the tune of £13000.

The Union with England of 1707 afforded opportunities for lairds to transform their estates from places where people lived and reciprocated services to land that could be exploited for new-found commerce – game shoots, grazing for cattle to provide meat for the English market, sheep to provide wool for clothing for the domestic market but more importantly to provide uniforms for the military in the never-ending wars Britain was involved in. Mutton, too, from sheep and not forgetting kelp. The barren Highlands turned out to be an area rich for development, like any other colony and while the native people were not slaves as the West Indians were they were helpless, nonetheless, when it came to deciding their futures. And, er, she had a golf course built at Askernish on South Uist – make of that what you will.

 Lady Emily Gordon Cathcart’s character was rarely far from public scrutiny. Still she had many of her class ready to come to her defence. Unionist MP Sir George Younger, member for Ayr, rejected accusations that she had forcibly cleared crofters off their lands (and there are still unionist revisionist historians that will applaud Younger’s view that the Hebridean crofters voluntarily left their homes and boarded ships for Canada. Some would have but the majority did not.) Younger claimed Lady Cathcart’s tenants had their passages paid by her which was not true. Yes some received a loan but it had to be repaid. Younger told the House of Commons the former crofters were prospering in their Canadian homes and were grateful to Cathcart for the opportunity of moving there. Not everyone in the House was convinced. One asked if she had offered to transport the geese to Canada, or indeed Sir George Younger himself.

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Lady Cathcart had written to newspapers the year before attempting to salvage her reputation for being a nasty piece of work, insisting that in 1883 she ‘assisted a number of crofter families from the Islands of Benbecula and South Uist to emigrate to Canada, where their well-being and prosperity are assured, and they have repaid all the advances which I made to them to settle them on their homesteads.’ She produced a letter written by one of the settlers as part of her defence. It was well-known that Lady Gordon Cathcart was vehemently anti-Catholic and as most of her islanders were Catholic I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions how that might have affected her behaviour aside from her business interests in the northwest territories of Canada, around Regina and Wapella,   

The notorious clearer of people from their homelands Lady Gordon Cathcart of Cluny died at Westgate-on-Sea that well-known Scottish part of Kent at the age of 88yrs. In her will she left £5000 to Princess Helena Victoria “if she will accept it.”

Bet she did.

 

 

 

 

November 5, 2017

The Making of the NHS: from Tannochbrae to the Highlands and Islands

dr finlays

Dr Finlay’s Casebook, a hugely popular television series in the 1960s and ’70s, had something of a reputation for being a bit twee with a good dollop of Scottish sentimentality rolled in; human interest stories of everyday people and a heroic doctor who tried to turn their lives around; except, of course, he couldn’t.

The stories were set in a fictional Tannochbrae somewhere in Scotland during the 1930s – the hungry thirties of the Great Depression when vast swathes of Britain led a hand-to-mouth existence with very little help coming from the state. Those most badly affected were dependent on charities, local health schemes, friends and their own families.

Tannochbrae was not as obviously impoverished as other places – this was no filthy, ugly, disease-ridden inner city but impoverished it was – bonnie but disease-ridden this rural village shared with its urban neighbours hunger, poverty and ill-health. The taciturn Dr Finlay who assisted the inscrutable Dr Cameron was surely the author A J Cronin himself for there is much in the writer that appears in Finlay’s character.  

Underlying the stories is a strong sense of decency – of humanity, a benevolent outlook by Tannochbrae’s doctors who breathed air that was fresher and purer than many of their patients yet were driven by their sense of duty and consideration to ease their lives, as far as they were able; behaviour not always typical of their profession with its share of uncaring snobs, over-ambitious dilettantes and ignorant oafs, if Cronin’s characterisations are anything to go by.

Far from being happy-ever-after frippery the Tannochbrae stories exposed the bleak reality of life for so many before the advent of the National Health Service. Poverty not only produced despair but starvation, susceptibility to illness and premature and avoidable death. Poverty in a world where money is king and the king-makers include respected members of parliament often reluctant to change a system built on inequality because inequality benefits those at the top which often included them. Money didn’t guarantee you didn’t get sick but it did buy medicine and treatment and it did buy better housing, clean running water, a warm fire and with those came better odds, an improved chance, to avoid contagions, work-related accidents and to survive serious illness.

aj cronin portrrait

A J Cronin

Cronin dealt with much of the awkward social divisions that consigned the working classes to unbelievable misery for as a young Scots doctor he found himself thrown into working class communities where life was a daily grind that offered spartan comforts.  

I re-discovered Cronin when clearing out the house of a deceased relative and picked up a copy of The Stars Look Down that had belonged to my late uncle, also a doctor. I was captivated by the book, a tale of miners in northeast England who were victims of political opportunism and betrayal. It is, in my opinion, Cronin’s finest work – hugely impressive and its description of a mining accident is truly memorable. The Stars Look Down should be read by everyone in this country, and should be on school reading lists for not only is it well-written it is our social history in easy bites. But it is not this book that’s being spoken about at the moment. The Citadel has been resurrected for its influence in the debate that led to the creation of the National Health Service in 1948.

The Citadel

Set in Wales and London during the 1920s and 1930s The Citadel draws from Cronin’s own experience as a doctor in both places. The young Cronin had his sights on a Harley Street practice and he did get there but by a circuitous route that opened his eyes to the dreadful impact on the poor of Britain’s ramshackle medical services – a rag-bag of medical chance – postcode lottery before postcodes.

Corruption features a great deal in Cronin’s works – the medical officer of health who doesn’t care a fig for the sick, the conscientious doctor driven to drink by a system that overburdens him as an individual, the ambitious practitioner blithely striding forward in his career at the expense of his patients, manipulative politicians on the make – they were Cronin’s colleagues and acquaintances and a rich source of characters for his writing.  

Hatter’s Castle was Cronin’s first book but it was The Citadel published in 1937 that attracted huge attention – and fame and riches for its author when it was made into a Hollywood film with four Oscar nominations in 1938. The Citadel was credited with shifting opinion towards a universal health care system – a national health service. In it a young doctor, much like Cronin, struggled to make a difference to the lives of his Welsh patients in a small mining community. Cronin worked in the Welsh mining town of Tredegar and was employed at the its hospital which was financed locally through contributions paid into Tredegar Medical Aid Society (MAS) in return for medical treatment for contributors and their families. Tredegar MAS was an amalgamation of smaller benevolent or friendly societies. Around Britain in the 19th and 20th centuries there were many similar organisations that helped their working class members – providing a doctor service and sick pay but as they were linked to particular industries and their members largely men women and children were not covered. The Tredegar MAS broadened the range of benefits to include payouts for work accidents, sickness, unemployment and death expenses. Doctors were attached to a society by a ballot of members and in turn he could employ an assistant, the role of Dr Manson in Cronin’s The Citadel.

welsh village

Welsh mining village

Local friendly societies were run by powerful individuals so open to corruption. Medicine was then near wholly privatised with everything having its price as it is in private practice today: consultations, examinations, operations, x-rays, scans, every pill and plaster. Young doctors cut their teeth working as assistants to more senior colleagues who sometimes creamed off a sizeable portion of the little income they earned. Such corrupt practices were exposed in The Citadel. By shining a spotlight on the paucity of health care in Britain Cronin was able to educate and influence people, to alter attitudes towards the ramshackle health (don’t) care system.

“I have written in The Citadel all I feel about the medical profession, its injustices, its hide-bound unscientific stubbornness, its humbug … The horrors and iniquities detailed in the story I have personally witnessed. This is not an attack against individuals, but against a system”

Cronin’s hero, Dr Manson – a Scot like himself – is shocked at what he finds on his arrival firstly at Drineffy, a little Welsh coal mining town. Underpaid and undervalued, Manson struggles to cope so early into his career as the only fit and sober doctor in the town but he also struggles against penury for most of his salary is retained by the senior society doctor. Driven to resign Manson finds himself in a bigger town where there is greater scope to practise and undertake scientific research into the lung disease that he has become all too familiar with since arriving in Wales for it was a major killer in the coal mining communities. Again Cronin draws on his own experience with Manson eventually building his reputation and moving into private practice in search of wealthy patients easily conned to shell out for useless bottles of ‘tonics.’ This was not meant to be a book review so I won’t reveal more of the story for the real value is in its description of an alternative system of health care that stood out amidst all the various styles practised around the UK.

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Lord Northcliffe at work

But let us back-pedal a little. A National Insurance Act came into being in 1912, despite the British press loudly opposing it. Most of Britain’s major newspapers were then owned and controlled by Tory press baron Lord Northcliffe whose empire Associated Newspapers Ltd produced such titles as the Daily Mail, The Times and The Observer. They all used their columns to churn out propaganda against the scheme. Northcliffe had no sympathy for working class people and was hostile to old age pensions while at the same time he demanded, through his newspapers, increased government spending on armaments. There is little doubt he was an unpleasant and violent bully and not untypical of his class. He could not stomach a scheme to help protect the most vulnerable which involved employer and government contributions along with workers’ own in order to provide such basic benefits as sick pay, free treatment for tuberculosis, care by a panel doctor and maternity benefits. Despite fierce opposition from Northcliffe and other loud voices the Act became law but it was far from perfect. It was fine in urban areas and much of Britain but Scotland’s topography is markedly different from the south in that it is far more widespread (don’t go by weather maps on television) which meant the Act was unworkable across half of Scotland’s land mass and its crofting communities.

An answer here in Scotland came in 1913 with the establishment of a centralised state-run health service which operated across the Highlands and Islands as The Highlands and Islands Medical Service (HIMS) and it continued until superseded by the UK-wide National Health Service in the summer of 1948. It was the Dewar Report of 1912 which revealed major problems in Scotland’s rural areas with the National Insurance Act so a bespoke alternative scheme was put in place whereby doctors, nurses and midwives were subsidised to live and work in sparsely populated areas with few opportunities to rake in substantial earnings. A medical laboratory was set up in Inverness (which Cronin would have approved of) and an air ambulance eventually provided. This bold endeavour became a model for similar schemes in rural Canada and the USA and in the 1940s influenced the design of the NHS.

The Highlands and Islands Medical Service was not identical to the later NHS for it was not free to patients but it did establish a body that attempted universality of cover and was a vast improvement in what had gone before.

Britain in the 1930s was riven by extremes of wealth and degrees of poverty unimaginable to us today. There was virtually no state help and having nothing then meant nothing to buy food, keep a roof over a head, buy clothing or keep healthy. Living conditions in towns especially were quite atrocious. Cronin’s candid writing about health inequalities helped raise popular awareness and highlighted a system that put patients at its centre. Such was the appetite for his books it was clear public opinion demanded change to lift Britain’s millions of families struggling against the odds out of perpetual misery and despair while others worked the system – political, social, industrial and medical – to amass riches way beyond most people’s comprehension. Then came the Second World War.

During the war a study into the provision of social care in the UK resulted in the Beveridge Report which identified five areas requiring attention by government: squalor, ignorance, want, idleness and disease. Discussions between the government and the medical professions including the Tredegar Society and the Highlands and Islands Medical Service led to proposals for fundamental reforms in health and social care. At the end of the war there was such a groundswell of opinion for change that the Labour Party was swept into government on the promise it would set up a National Health Service. Central to this was Aneurin Bevan, one-time a health board colleague of Cronin’s in Tredegar. It should be said that Cronin did not support the NHS when it first emerged and his scepticism and opposition was shared by a fair number of the medical establishment. Reading his biography it’s fair to say he comes across as something of a snob, tediously religious in a judgemental way, attached to the very hierarchies that maintain inequality and he was vehemently hostile to abortion (and, yes, I recognise the time he was writing but there were many doctors in Scotland and elsewhere, his contemporaries, who recognised the need for offering abortion in particular circumstances [and in Scotland medical abortion was not the criminal act it was in England and Wales] .) I know from that same uncle that rekindled my interest in Cronin’s works just how split over the prospect of an NHS were doctors – many regarding it as socialism, an anathema to the mostly ultra-conservative medical profession. Cronin shared this view. And, contrary to what you might expect, the NHS was launched not with a bang but a whimper, certainly as far as newspapers I’ve looked at were concerned. The main story of the 5 July 1948 was Britain’s worst air crash or concern over the Russians. 

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Cronin was born in 1896 at Cardross in Dunbartonshire and as a schoolboy exhibited a talent for writing at Dumbarton Academy. Torn between a career in the church or medicine he said he chose the lesser of two evils, so medicine it was. He won a Carnegie scholarship and graduated from Glasgow University in 1919 and from there went on to obtain further qualifications. He practised medicine in Scotland, England and Wales where he was confronted by life in the raw in a dirty, alien village smothered in coal dust and scarred by distress. He was made Medical Inspector of Mines for Great Britain in 1924 which provided scope for his research into lung diseases brought on by breathing in industrial dust, such as coal dust, and rife among miners. The link seems obvious to us today but it was not when Cronin studied it. Once he found success as a doctor the work seemed to bore him; prescribing medicines and dispensing advice to his then wealthy patients in Harley Street and Notting Hill in London and he abandoned his medical practice for life back in Scotland to try his hand at writing.

Cronin’s itchy feet saw him move to more places around the world than there is room for here. He became a major name in the world of celebrity and wealthy as Croesus and I suppose it is an irony that he made his money from his gritty depictions of the powerless and exploited during some of Britain’s bleakest and most impoverished times. While not great literary works Cronin’s easy style of writing and his eye for detail makes reading his books a pleasure rarely a chore.

stars look down

I know one or two people, all male, who never – that’s never ever- read books. Literature is not only an enjoyable (mostly) pastime it is a vehicle to encounter experiences we would otherwise never know about. It offers us opportunities to confront issues in a palatable way which might alter our preconceptions. I hope some of you will pick up a Cronin novel – I recommend The Stars Look Down and be prepared to have your eyes opened to a world that is hard to imagine today. In the meantime when you next visit the doctor or are admitted to hospital spare a thought for how the NHS came about and worry that its days might be numbered in which case we might all be closer than we’d like to experiencing the pre-NHS world of Cronin’s sick and vulnerable patients.

November 3, 2017

There’s nothing like the smell of xenophobia in the morning

The Telegraph has run a piece by its digital editor on something very topical, or would have been more than 300 years ago,  under the title  “The farcical story of Scotland’s ill-conceived colony in the jungle” – not many pejorative terms used here, well, not quite all pejorative.

How much the derogatory title is down to a sub-editor with a grudge or the author I’ve no idea and quite why this piece was run is curious for it adds nothing of historical value to the account of this centuries-old venture but with its disparaging title appears as an excuse to have a go at the incompetent Scots. I was not impressed by the character Oliver has chosen to quote in his article on the subject of the Panama isthmus -“you can’t trust the Indians” he says, “with a glint in his eye” as he describes the deaths of hundreds of illegal immigrants in the area. I’m getting that smell again.

The Darien venture runs something like this. Towards the end of the 1600s a group of Scots with some cash behind them planned to establish overseas trading posts with the intention of colonising just like their neighbours the English were doing only the English had got in first and had erected barriers to other nations trading by the imposition of its Navigation Acts.

England’s Navigation Acts of 1651 were protectionism on the high seas. By applying them English colonies and places not colonised had their commerce restricted and were banned from trading in most circumstances except through English vessels and companies. The Acts were enforced by England’s powerful gunboats. The intention was to accrue more wealth for England and to develop London as the world’s powerhouse. Needless to say not everyone was happy with England’s high-handed policies which, in part, stoked resentments among the colonists in America eventually leading to the American declaration of independence from Britain.

While England sought to dominate trade Scotland endeavoured to establish its own merchant enterprise abroad and in 1695 the Company of Scotland for trade with Africa and the Indies was created with monies raised in Scotland and in England. Immediately alarm bells rang in London at the prospect of this mercantile challenge that might impact on the East India Company and aware of the unease south of the border the Scottish company looked at setting up a merchant colony on the other side of the world, around Panama.

The description of the Darien isthmus had been greatly misrepresented by a Welshman with a huge imagination and proved not to be the opportunity he sold it as. If the land was challenging for the Scots who sailed there to establish their trading post the determination of the English to scupper them was as great if not greater for England’s colonies in America and the West Indies were forbidden to trade with the Scots. There is no mention in the piece of the vehemence of England’s active opposition to the Scots e.g that survivors of Darien were denied help when they landed at Jamaica, an English colony, seeking help. When Oliver states “the English still refused to offer any support” he doesn’t quite get to the nub of its wrecking policy.

Oliver refers to the Scots angering “the enemy” not in his view the English but the Spanish who had colonised what England hadn’t in this part of the world. And he can’t help reveal his surprise that in a naval skirmish between the Scots and the Spanish the Scots came out victorious – “an unlikely victory” writes Oliver, dispassionately. Aye, too wee, too feckless.

Vast amounts of Scottish wealth were lost with Darien. Lost to those who had money which excluded the majority of the Scottish population and if there’s something that drives those with fortunes it is the need to preserve if not build on those fortunes so they were open to persuasion to offer up Scotland’s independence as a nation in return for personal gratuities. Even today’s tawdry politicians neck-deep in sleaze and corruption might not quite sell out a whole nation. Well, might.

What the people of Scotland wanted did not come into the reckoning when there was an opportunity to recoup some of the assets lost through Darien. What the people wanted was for Scotland to retain its independence but when did the people matter?

Oliver ploughs on. “The English were blamed for the expedition’s abject failure.” Perish the thought. Surely they must have looked at the evidence. Perish the thought twice.

As I wrote at the outset I don’t know why this article was written other than to take another pop at Scotland – to highlight the ineffectual Scot not quite up to the mark. As for that misguided rascal William Paterson, a director of the Company of Scotland, he went on to found the Bank of England – but Oliver makes no mention of this – well it would be a shame to spoil the damning narrative.

Oliver dismisses suggestions from historians that Darien might have been a success were it not for the fierce opposition it faced from England- he doesn’t explain why so readers are left to surmise it was because Scots have failure built-in.

Not highlighted in the piece:

1) England’s wars with France had seriously damaged Scotland’s mercantile economy.

2) England’s Navigation Laws were aggressively protectionist and rigorously upheld on the high seas by its vast navy preventing Scots pursuing trade.

3) Initially individual English people were found keen to invest in Darien (presumably they weren’t all ineffectual failures) but were strongly pressurised by the government in London to withdraw their money so that England could keep Spain as an ally while it (England) was at war with France (again.)

The financial shock felt in the pockets of Scottish nobles, many of them parliamentarians, took Scotland into a Union with England. There was no popular support for this, quite the contrary, and it was a cynical self-serving betrayal of the Scottish people. As for the London government it was keen on the union because Scotland was too friendly with France for England’s liking and Scotland was seen as a potential backdoor into England for France. And for those who argue the union was of greater value to Scotland than England the response is that if that were true England would not have entered into it. England was fiercely protective of its own power and status. England wanted to shut down Scotland’s relationship with France, it wanted to absorb Scotland’s exports and it wanted that immensely valuable resource it has been exploiting for 300 years Scotland’s strapping young men to fight in its never-ending wars with the enemies it kept making.

Those same people sneered at in “The farcical story of Scotland’s ill-conceived colony in the jungle” went on, as Paterson did, to start up the Bank of England and become core administrators in the vast East India Company till eventually Scots ran it along with many of the colonies that shaped the British Empire which is strange for a nation that was a ship of fools a few short years before.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/central-america/panama/articles/darien-scheme-scotland-only-colony/

October 29, 2017

Andy Scott: can a leopard change its spots?

I took the following comment from Flickr on the topic of artist Andy Scott’s leopard in Aberdeen’s hideous Marischal Square shopping complex.

I post this simply to make the point that the sculptor Andy Scott well-known for the Kelpies also raised some publicity for his objection to “Bavarian” burger bar opening at his “masterpiece”. He was quoted as saying that Falkirk Community Trust had “no understanding of the cultural importance of the asset they have inherited, nor of their obligations to the artist who created them”. The Bavarian fast food outlet was described as “tacky”. Andy Scott has just had unveiled a Leopard (in the Kelpie style) at Aberdeen’s Marischal Square, a building which is perhaps the biggest architectural crime visited on Aberdeen in the past fifty years. I do wonder what responsibility the sculptor might feel in helping give artistic credibility to such a terrible project? Oh that we had had the choice in Aberdeen of a small Bavarian burger bar or a monster glass and steel box which hides the magnificence which is granite Marischal College

October 26, 2017

Timber Rafting on Scotland’s rivers

 

Spey floaters c 1900

In my blog on the Braemar poacher Sandy Davidson there was a reference to the practice of floating timber down river to sawmills to sell on for – shipbuilding, houses, furniture, barrels, cart and carriage wheels, bridges later for mine and railways sleepers  and a host of other uses and it was suggested I write more about this unusual method of transportation, so here goes.

Forests which supplied timber for industry were often some distance from where timber was required. Wood is heavy and awkward to move and before railways and indeed roads in many instances taking great tree trunks, some very old and very very large, was a mammoth task which would have been carried out noisily with much shouting, laughter and not a few oaths uttered in Gaelic, the language spoken by the many of the lumber men who lived in simple wooden shacks which they erected in a matter of hours in each area of forest they worked. Their food was frugal for such physical labour –  doubtless a bowl of brose to begin the day and during working hours they were sustained by bannocks (similar to oatcakes) and cheese  washed down with drams of whisky.

In Scotland, certainly around the rivers Dee and Spey as well as in places around the world, Canada, America, Sweden, Germany the answer was to get these huge logs to a river and let them float downstream where incidentally the value of a felled tree doubled by the time it left a sawmill. Given the sheer bulk and weight concerned a good flow of water was needed and anyone familiar with the Dee will know it isn’t a large river by any stretch and so floating had to be carefully planned to take place in spring when snow melted on the high hills up Deeside or after sufficient rains swelled the river.

Floating timber down the River Dee

St Devenick’s Bridge over the Dee

Floating banks were constructed where the river water was naturally deepest and at these spots the adjoining banks would be cleared of trees and rocks so tree trunks, their boughs and branches having been trimmed off, might be prodded by long poles and rolled down to the water from where they were piled up at the top of the bank. Imagine this hard labour on a freezing cold morning when frosty logs were slippery and hands attempting to shift them numb with cold. Creating open runs for the timber was no easy task for the banks themselves were thick with trees and huge boulders and had to be painstakingly cleared to make slides and even before this part in the process the timbers had to be taken from where they were growing in forests often far afield and up hills closer to the river.

Every stage from tree felling, dressing the tree by stripping of all those unwieldy branches to dragging each trunk to the river bank was carried out by man and horse power. The land wasn’t exactly co-operative for in the 18th and 19th centuries this part of Scotland was dotted with large pools and gigantic boulders, remnants of the last ice age when pieces of rock split, splintered and slid vast distances till finally grinding to a halt in the most awkward places. Tracks, rough drag roads, were cut through forests along which small armies of men and horses trudged with their loads – some so heavy they pushed at them from behind determining the speed of both horse and man. The loss of horse shoes was an everyday occurrence for the going underfoot was so uneven and difficult and with no time to get to a distant blacksmith the foresters learnt to replace shoes so the work could continue without interruption.

At last the river was close and the tree trunks were uncoupled from horse chains and stacked near the slope where the bank dropped to the river in preparation for the float. Certain points and features were used to estimate the depth of water, for example at the Boat of Kincardine when a distinctive large black boulder was submerged floating could begin. At Glen Derry a dam was constructed in 1820 for water to accumulate in preparation for floating timbers.

Floating islands

One by one the stacked trunks were rolled from the top of the riverbank down into the river. There raft men waited waist deep in freezing water to arrange them for the float. Each raft was made up of two halves forming two rows each containing about twenty trees lined up and lashed together with ropes, strung through rings on iron dogs that had been driven into the trunk ends. Where trees were much thinner at one end they might only be strapped together with rope wound around a smaller tree set horizontally and used as a cross spar. Each timber raft had a forward and stern and was roped up to enable the raftsman who would be balanced on top to steer it with an iron pole. It was essential to get this right as the Dee had its share of rough waters – the Falls of Potarch (where one raft rider was drowned in a floating accident and there’s an amusing [sorry] anecdote on this in the chapter Gentlemen Drank Deep in Secret Aberdeen), the Salt Vat at Cairnton and the Mill Rush nearer to Aberdeen.

Floating was a rough, tough, hugely physical and dangerous occupation and liberal imbibing of whisky taken by floaters to see them through their task. They would pull in at each of the riverside inns on their way downstream such as one run by Meggie Davidson, sister of the Braemar poacher Sandy Davidson who at one time bought a piece of forest at Glen Derry and had the dam mentioned above built. He hired a squad of men and provided them with ropes, dogs, poles and so on to float down the Dee but at the end of the day he never got paid – but that’s another story. Deeside’s floaters were hard-drinking men and much boozing went on during their stops down river and they whiled away time playing the cairts such as Bawbee Nap, till ready to move on.  

Possibly the best known of the floaters was the artist John Blake Macdonald whose father ran a timber business on Speyside and Macdonald floated there for him but he also did several stints on the Dee. Well-known as a portrait painter his reputation spread among wealthier farmers on Deeside who employed him to paint their portraits.

'Lochaber No More', Prince Charlie Leaving Scotland

John Blake Macdonald’s painting of Bonnie Prince Charlie leaving Scotland, Lochaber No More

Where there were great unwieldy timber rafts on a fast-running river there were dangers not only to life but the bridges in their way. Scotland’s narrow rivers spanned by arched stone bridges were vulnerable to damage in a collision. At Potarch near Kincardine O’Neal a bridge under construction by Alford builder William Minto in 1812 was badly damaged by fast travelling timbers on the Dee. Actually the trees that took down the bridge weren’t bound together and weren’t manned but had been released tree trunks sent in to float down on their own. Because of the risks involved in this practice an act was passed in 1813 to prevent damage to bridges by banning floating of unmanned timbers in certain Scottish rivers and generally controlling floating.

In that entertaining and informative book Memoirs of a Highland Lady, 1797 – 1827 by Elizabeth Grant of Rothiemurchus there is a fine description of the number of lumber men involved in logging and floating timber – “a busy scene all through the forest, many rough little horses moving about in every direction, each dragging its load…” and she wrote of a floaters ball in a barn at Christmas with woodsmen and their families, some 100 of them. For hours before the ball men would play a game – the ba’ – an early form of shinty in which piled up plaids set out the goal boxes. The ball began with a meal of beef and mutton followed by a dance with music supplied by fiddlers and thirst quenched by punch made in washing tubs. The thumping noise of the dancers’ feet reportedly heard a mile away.

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It was around 1881 that floating timbers down the River Dee ended for by then there were safer and alternatives means to move the area’s forests.

Just a final word on wood. Apparently the best timber comes from felled trees while wind-blown trees tended not to have the same quality – I imagine but don’t know that a weaker, more sickly tree is easier blown over. When major changes were being made to the land in Scotland during the 18th century under estate owners such as Farquharson on Deeside and most famously Archibald Grant on Donside at Paradise Woods new species of trees were introduced here from abroad. It is thought the first larches brought to these islands, at the beginning of the 18th century, were taken, possibly as seed, from their native Russia and certainly a muckle larch estimated to be some 150 years old was blown down at Invercauld near Braemar in the great gale of 1879. It was bought by David Gray, a cartwright from Aberdeen, who used one of its sides to make a large wagon two feet deep to carry traction engines.

 

 

October 22, 2017

Who owns this landscape? The Braemar poacher who would not be a rich man’s flunkey.

The year is 1843 and on the 25th of August a party of gunmen come upon a corpse; cold and stiff on the moors of Glencairney at Creagan Sgor in the wilds of Glenbuchat, a pointer dog docile at its side.

“Brave Sandy, art thou dead?” Word spread like wildfire through the Highlands.

Sandy – Alexander Davidson – a poacher, famed, renowned, notorious and, aye, a dancer of great reputation had lain down one last time never again to rise up at first light and set out over the springy heather to claim his dinner.  

Sandy was a mountaineer – a mountain man – whose home was the purple heather-clad hills of Scotland. He rejected the habiliments (clothing) of the Sassenach preferring ‘the garb of Old Gaul’ which he would close about him at night under the shelter of a rock or thicket to sleep the sleep of the just, his dog Charlie a quiet and attentive guard.

deer stalking 2

It’s easy to romanticise the poacher of the past and in truth there is a difference between those who took an animal from need and those men and women who take to the hills for the thrill of the kill, a handsome payout for a saddle of venison from a none-too-fussy restaurant owner or in other parts of the world those who indifferently help wipe out whole species for the sheer fun of it or slaughter to satisfy a yearning for horn for remedies or decoration – and I accept some of that is done by very poor people who have few alternatives to scrape a living.  

I like to photograph the graceful roe deer I encounter near here and hate to hear blasts from rifles I know are targeting these little creatures and shake my head when I come across their tiny hooves and discarded hides at a roadside. I’m fairly sure I know someone round here who does this, and it isn’t from want.

Poacher and Dancer

Alexander Davidson was born at Mill of Inver by Crathie (close to Balmoral) in 1792 and as a child was put to learn the art of gamekeeping possibly with Farquharson of Finzean*. Farquharson was a reluctant politician preferring to while away his time taking pot-shots at game on his lands. He was great friends with Lord Kennedy, a fellow ‘sportsman’ by choice who one October (of many) was ‘much amused with a wild boar hunt’ at which he shot both tusks off a fine specimen eventually felled by volleys of shots from his gentlemen companions ‘but so tenacious was he (the boar not Lord Kennedy) of life, that he did not yield it until after receiving six shots through the head and body.’

In a normal week of ‘sport’ Kennedy, Farquaharson and their gentrified mob would bravely slaughter several ‘very fine red deer’ from the safe end of a rifle and at the end of a good season would go on to celebrate at a grand ball in Braemar’s Fife Arms Inn.

Sandy Davidson also loved the thrill of a chase and kill but he had the misfortune to have been born into poverty and not upon a soft bed belonging to a family whose lands and titles came to them because of battles fought long ago or ‘arrangements’ between similarly fortunate families. Having grown up knowing these people Sandy developed a healthy loathing of toadyism and proclaimed he was not designed to doff the cap to the gentry, “sooner than be in any way a flunkey, I’d rather go and beg my bread” – admirable sentiments which upped my opinion of the man, albeit he was a poacher. And being something of a Sabbatarian, though lapsed due to his way of life on the muirs, Sandy Davidson objected to being ordered out to shoot on a Sunday by the laird so turned his back on paid employment as a gamie. Having to live somehow, Sandy – Roch Sanie – turned to smuggling of which opportunities were ample up Deeside and Donside – for venison but mainly for whisky and while his new occupation was fraught with more dangers than that of a rich man’s flunky it was very lucrative and did not involve humiliating himself in the service of another man who regarded himself superior.  

Sandy was fit, well-built and handsome with a ‘finely chiselled face’ and ‘hairy as an ox.’ In summer he dressed himself in a kilt, cotton shirt and thin tartan coat with Forfar brogues on his feet and when winter came he changed into trousers; a style of clothing he adopted out of patriotism to Scotland he explained and possibly for that same reason he generally spoke the native Gaelic although his English was very good. Gaelic was the language of the glens up Deeside until the ’45 and the Union of Parliaments determinedly set about undermining it by insisting on English being spoken in schools until most traces of it, bar place names, were near completely eliminated.   

Sandy was also renowned as a dancer; a graceful dancer with great lightness of feet and wouldn’t that be an advantage in a poacher? His Highland reels and other dances won him prizes at Highland Games and competitions around Scotland including the Caledonian Hunt Club in Edinburgh, an organisation designed to preserve Highland culture – dance and games – after decades of attempts by government to snuff it out.

At a time when Deeside’s forests provided vast amounts of timber for building and ships felled tree trunks were dragged to the banks of the River Dee strapped together in great rafts and floated down river with men on board to provide timber for Aberdeen’s shipbuilding yards. Sandy Davidson leased a section of forest from the Earl of Fife at Glen Derry and hired men to help with the treacherous river journey but this attempt to earn a legal living came to nought when the Earl of Fife was made bankrupt and failed to pay Sandy.

Having been burned once too often by the titled and wealthy estate owners Sandy picked up his bag and gun and for 20 years roamed the Highlands as a ‘free forester’ of ancient times claiming privilege of the unalienable right of a free-born Scot.

Each March found him fishing the best salmon pools on the rivers Dee and Spey and fearlessly he would walk into the water, up to his neck, irrespective of the cold and wait till he caught something or it became clear he would catch nothing.

Charlie was trained to remain quiet at the approach of strangers for the last thing Sandy Davidson wanted was to alert a gamie of his hiding place when he was in possession of a bag filled with hare or fowl. But one time Charlie did his job too well and Sandy was discovered fast asleep in the heather by a laird who demanded his name.

“My name is Alexander Davidson; what is your name?”

“My name,” replied the other, “is George MacPherson Grant of Ballindalloch, and I require you to follow me.”

Sandy was duly taken to court and fined £5. In retaliation Sandy made sure he poached the moors of Ballindalloch thoroughly after that.

He was polite and his manner encouraged the gentry to treat him with more care than they might otherwise but their laws were there to protect their property so they wouldn’t let him away with taking anything that had a price. On his ‘annual tour’ around estates he would sometimes approach a big house and ask permission to cross the land, to keep to a straight line and only kill what he required. Any laird who refused him could expect him to take his revenge in bagging as many animals and birds as he was able for cross the estate he would irrespective of an officious owner.

Said to be fearless, generous and kind-hearted Sandy Davidson became the stuff of legend.

His foot was foremost in the dance,

His laugh the loudest rang;

Nae e’e could match his mirthful glance,

Nane sung so sweet a sang.

 from Norman MacCaig ‘s A Man in Assynt

Despite tensions in his relationship with lairds several had a sneaking regard for him and invited him to entertain their guests with his dancing; his notoriety no doubt adding to his attraction.

Many a chase on a muir ended with him slipping into a bog, a moss-pot, his nose all that remained above the water till a perplexed gamie gave up the chase. But he did not always evade them and whenever he was overcome he offered no resistance but would go with the laird’s lackey for another appearance before the law. The last time this happened Sandy Davidson was apprehended near Dufftown and taken by his pursuers to Elgin via every public house along the way.  

This “perfect child of nature – as complete a Hawkeye of the old country as the times would admit of” had no home but everywhere was his home across the broad bonny face of the Highlands. One day his gun would ring out in Perthshire, another in the wilds of Lochaber, or on the muirs under the black shadow of the Cairngorms, around Inchrory where the Avon** and Don gather water or at Strathspey and the hills of Moray and Inverness.

Like Walter Scott’s Bertram he possessed:

“The steady brain, the sinewy limb,

To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim;

The iron frame, inured to bear

Each dire inclemency of air,

Nor less confirmed to undergo

Fatigue’s chill faint, and famine’s throe.”

 

In 1820 Farquharson of Finzean and Lord Kennedy had a £50 bet – £50 in 1820 was worth around £1500 in today’s value – with Davidson that he would not run without clothing from Barclay Street in Stonehaven to the gate of Inchmarlo near Banchory, a distance of around 20 miles, within a given time. Davidson had almost made it but the men had paid a posse of women under the stewardship of a Mrs Duncan to guard the Brig o’ Feugh at Banchory to prevent Davidson crossing. Duncan was paid a generous 20 shillings and the others something less to fill their aprons with stones and other missiles to chuck at the exhausted man as he attempted to run over the bridge. Mrs Duncan was also armed with a heavy knotty stick she intended to use against Sandy Davidson. As Davidson neared the brig and paused to catch his breath he noticed the trap and at the same time his enemies spotted him and began pelting him with their stones but bounding with renewed vigour the fleet-footed Davidson evaded them and crossed to the other side of the river. Later Mrs Duncan complained Sandy Davidson to be “not a man but a beast” whether from his hirsute appearance or from peak because he had foiled her efforts who knows. At any rate Sandy Davidson reached Inchmarlo within the given time and pocketed the £50.

Brig o Feugh

Behind occasional sport of this kind Davidson’s chosen lifestyle was fraught with danger. He had to go out of his way to make himself into a character to evade the tyranny of Britain’s Game Laws passed by members of parliament who as landowners created laws to benefit themselves and preserve their property rights including the wildlife that passed across the lands they claimed as theirs. Their lackeys, game keepers and river ghillies, rarely shied away from carrying out their duties irrespective of whether a rabbit or bird was being taken to prevent a family starving. For those caught a hefty fine awaited and for any who repeated the crime the prospect of transportation somewhere across the oceans. Magistrates and sheriffs fulfilled their roles to serve the wealthy, their own people, and rarely extended sympathy to the impoverished and desperate brought before them.  

Temptation must have been great for a parent living close to land teeming with food denied to them wholly on grounds they were the property of one family and were wanted for sport, a pastime, for their exclusive enjoyment. Out of necessity many risked capture and the courts to take something for the pot, and sometimes more, from under the noses of the gentry and were loudly and soundly condemned by the great and the good who regarded poaching as the nursery of robbers and murderers and poachers as desperate characters who infested the hills.

As for Sandy Davidson he lived a charmed life in many ways. He refused to kowtow to those accidentally privileged whose fortune was to be born with political rights they could use to enhance their own interests at the expense of the rest of the population.

John Stuart Blackie

John Stuart Blackie

 

Radical, humanitarian and Scottish nationalist John Stuart Blackie commented in the mid-1800s on how far removed were the privileged few from the morality of the New Testament. He was writing about the hypocrisy of the landed interests who trotted into church on a Sunday to sing psalms and pray about goodness and mercy who went back to their mansions to dine while their lackeys denied a starving child a mouthful of food. And Blackie implicated the church for its willingness to conspire with the ruling classes to maintain such inequality.

“A minister of sacred things,

He bound together, by higher ties than human law,

The men that shared his faith with awe;

He had his seat at power’s right hand,

And lords and ladies of the land

Did call him brother.”

 John Stuart Blackie’s The Cottage Manse

Sandy Davidson has long gone and so too has John Stuart Blackie but their sentiments that emerged from a different time have echoes today for here in Scotland the landed estate maintains its swagger as it endeavours to retain the privileges of power of a rotten system of elitism and inequality.

“Who owns this landscape? –

The millionaire who bought it or

the poacher staggering downhill in the early morning

with a deer on his back?”

 from Norman MacCaig’s A Man in Assynt

(Sandy Davidson 1791 – 1843)

*Finzean – pronounced Fingin

** Avon – pronounce An

See also for John Stuart Blackie – O Albin! O my country!

 

 

October 13, 2017

Around the World in a graveyard: Dunbennan Kirkyard by Huntly

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have a fascination with cemeteries or more accurately for the many stories that emerge from them which not only provide a local narrative but often a global one as well, as we’ll see.

Dunbennan Graveyard near Huntly

Dunbennan graveyard

It was sheer chance that we found ourselves at Dunbennan graveyard recently on an unfamiliar road just a short hop beyond Huntly, off the Inverness end of the cattle track that is the A96. Spotting a signpost to this graveyard too late to turn in we found a safe place to turn around and drove back to the narrow track (marginally worse than the A96)  past a farm to an open space where the cemetery lies, well-tended.

 

 

It was a bonnie and bright day and half the graveyard was in bright sunshine while the other half lay under the dappled shade of trees the cemetery’s trees.

 

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Memorial stones indicated that Huntly Legges were well travelled including to the Far East:

The second British protestant missionary who journeyed to China was Kennethmont man William Milne (Kennethmont – pron KE-NETHmont) a wee place near Huntly. Milne is quoted as saying:

Learning the Chinese language requires bodies of iron, lungs of brass, heads of oak, hands of spring steel, eyes of eagles, hearts of apostles, memories of angels, and lives of Methuselah.” 

I can’t offer you William’s descriptive turn of phrase – I can’t even offer you William Milne for he doesn’t belong in this cemetery but he sets the context for the Legges.

Milne helped found and was the first headteacher of the Anglo-Chinese College in Malacca in Malaysia in 1818 and this school was transferred to Hong Kong by Huntly man James Legge in 1843 where it was renamed the Theological Seminary of the London Missionary Society in China and stood at the junction of Staunton and Aberdeen Streets. In addition to providing western education the school printed and disseminated Bibles and religious tracts as might be expected of missionaries and the first Chinese newspaper, The Chinese Serial, was printed there in 1853.

chinese serial

The Chinese Serial

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The Legge family stone commemorates missionary and sinologist Dr James Legge’s toddler Emma Foulger Legge born in Hong Kong on the 23rd August 1850 and died on 19th November 1853.

 “So it seemed good in Thy sicht”

James Legge was a writer and translator of China’s most famous books including The Four Books and Five Classics. He was born in 1815, the youngest of four brothers, sons of Elspet Cruickshank and Ebenezer Legge, a prosperous Huntly merchant. As a boy James became an enthusiastic bird watcher and would search out bird nests (not to destroy them we are assured.) The story goes he was first taught to read by a blind woman in Huntly and from her he learnt to develop his phenomenal memory. James’ early education was at Huntly Parish School and then at the age of 13 he went away to Aberdeen Grammar School where be became very proficient in Latin. The youngster took part in a large demonstration on Aberdeen’s Broad Hill when the House of Lords rejected the Reform Bill and during the meeting a heavy shower or rain drove him and others to seek shelter under the wooden platform set up for speakers. As crowds packed in the platform collapsed and Legge was knocked momentarily unconscious and when the boy came round, dazed and confused, he ran down the hill across the beach and straight into the sea where the cold water brought him to his senses enough to make a grab onto nets laid out by salmon fishers and pulling on them he worked his way back onto the sands where he was discovered still stupefied by boys from the Grammar School who helped him back home.

five classics

The accident did not stop James Legge from coming first in a contest for bursaries to the University where he was enrolled at 15 and where he proved himself one of King’s College, Aberdeen’s highest ever achievers. He won the illustrious Huttonian Prize, Aberdeen’s highest reward worth £15; half in cash and half in books in an examination in Greek, Latin, Mathematics, Natural Philosophy and Moral Philosophy which lasted till midnight over four days. The students were fortunately fortified by regular glasses of a good old port. At 19 James left the university and eventually underwent training as a missionary.

It was as a boy in Huntly he first encountered a Chinese tract by William Milne and who knows how much this might have influenced his decision to follow in his footsteps to the Far East. Such a journey would have been a huge undertaking for himself and his wife, Mary Isabella Morison, not only the long journey across unfamiliar lands but the strange and difficult language and customs they would find there. Both made great efforts to learn the language and Mary was as enthusiastic as James, it seems, for she started up a school there for Chinese girls.

;egge's first wife Mary Isabella Morison

Legge’s first wife Mary Isabella Morison

Life did not prove easy for the couple and soon they lost two babies then Mary, too, became very ill and the Legges returned home – along with three young Chinese men working with James. They were back in Hong Kong in 1848 where Mary died in childbirth. At this point the Legge’s three surviving daughters were sent home to Scotland to be educated and here 3-year old Emma died and Legge took a second wife, Hannah Mary.

 

 

 

James and daughter Helen

James Legge with daughter Helen

Legge’s world was filled with sorrow and tests of faith. The slaughter of thousands of civilians by British troops at Guangzhou during the Opium Wars when trade was opened up to foreign merchants with the British forcing their influence on import duties appalled him. He despaired at the barbarity of British forces in Guangzhou when Lord Elgin ordered the town be captured at any cost resulting in thousands of deaths and the destruction of many Chinese boats in the port as well as the payment of reparations to Britain.

The Chinese were as hostile towards foreigners as the British and when in 1871 Legge tried to buy property to set up a missionary base in the village of Poklo, home of one of his closest Chinese associates and a Protestant convert, Che Kam Kong, local fury was unleashed and Che Kam Kong was kidnapped, tortured and killed and his body cut up and thrown into a river. So affected by his friend’s death was James Legge he wrote the first personal testimony to a Chinese Christian by a foreigner.  

He returned to Scotland several times including in 1867 when he set up home in Dollar in Clackmannanshire from where he wrote inviting the Chinese writer Wang Tao to follow him there to help in the translation of Chinese works. Wang Tao did so, travelling first around Europe before settling in Dollar for a time where he compiled the first travel book on Europe by a Chinese writer. When in Britain he gave the first speech in Chinese to Oxford University – on the subject of the importance of east/west cultural dialogue. Wang Tao and Legge, sometimes accompanied by Legge’s daughter Mary, toured around Scotland to Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen, Huntly, of course, Stirling Castle, Glasgow, Alva, Tillycoutrie and other places in between. He and Legge also collaborated on The Sacred Books of China. The Text of Confucianism, The Book of Change; Shu Ching Book of History and many more.

Legge and chinese

James Legge and his three best pupils

Another  prominent Chinese who collaborated with Legge was Hong Rengan. A leader of the Taiping Rebellion who had also converted to Christianity and worked with Legge on translations of several Chinese classics. Both of them wrote and published the Chinese Serial – first Chinese language newspaper in Hong Kong.   

When Legge was in Britain Hong Rengan, against Legge’s instructions, returned to Nanjing from Hong Kong, in the guise of a pedlar – not one of the leaders of the rebellion, along with his cousin, Hong Xiuquan. Hong Rengan encouraged the adoption of Protestantism in China and was keen to open up his country, its infrastructure including railways and banking.  Sometimes referred to as the first Chinese nationalist he is mentioned in the writings of the Kuomintang and the Communist Party of China. In 1864 Hong Rengan fled Taiping during a continuing power struggle but was caught and sentenced to death.

Legge’s time in China drew criticism from both the Chinese and British. He was accused of being too compromising towards Chinese religions specially his conviction that Mencius’ doctrine of human nature was compatible with the Bible and was condemned for the translations he did of Chinese texts so attributing to them a significance they did not deserve in the eyes of many British and that his time would have been better promoting Protestantism. James’ appreciation of Chinese ideas and literature earned its own pejorative term of Leggism among the multitudes of racists of the time.

James Legge is regarded as the most important sinologist of the 19thc century and apart from British royalty he was the first person to be depicted on a Hong Kong postage stamp – in 1894.

He was not universally popular including among his fellow missionaries for the respect he had for the Chinese people, its literature and culture over his 33 years as a missionary in Malacca and China but I’m glad I stumbled across his name for he sounds like a great man.

 P1080293

And to Australia…

Other Legges migrated from Strathbogie (Huntly) to Australia. In 1817 James Legge’s mother, Elspet Cruickshank was buried at just 36 years of age and a tablet stone was provided by her sons George, John, William and James to commemorate her and three of their siblings who died as young children, Elspet, Ebenezer and Isabella.

 

Dunbenn’s gravestones reveal a high level of education among the people of Strathbogie including several medical students who died while studying and medicine was a profession with its own risks, mixing with people carrying all kinds of infections.

Seventeen year old student George Sellar died in February of 1879 while surely carrying the hopes of his blacksmith father who made agricultural machinery and tools not only for sale locally but for export to Australia.

Several Sellars lie in Dunbennan including Barbara Ingram (Scots women retained their maiden names after marriage and I’ve long abhorred that English practice of addressing married women as Mrs – husband’s full name as if she was a mere chattel) who died in August 1812 (recorded on her stone as Agast – an excellent example of the phonetic Doric creeping into memorials – wish there were more like it.)

George Andrew

George Andrew MA, MD, Brigade Surgeon, Lieut. Colonel, Army Medical Staff survived his time as a medical student to enjoy an illustrious career as a doctor. He spent most of his life abroad but returned to Scotland when he became ill and died at the age of 59 years at his brother’s home at 37 Westburn Road, Aberdeen on the 19th of October 1899.

Born at Huntly in 1840 he attended the parish school and then, like James Legge, he also was sent to the Grammar School in Aberdeen supported by a bursary for four years. Again like James Legge he proved to be a very capable scholar at Aberdeen University, gaining prizes in most of his classes. After graduating in medicine he joined the army as a surgeon with the 6th Regiment which took him to Ireland, Afghanistan, Gibraltar, India and Africa – to the Gold Coast where the regiment fought in the Ashanti wars in which the Ashanti people attempted to hold back the determined and ruthless steamroller that was the British Empire, unsuccessfully.

Teuton-Sinking

SS Teuton sinking at the Cape of Good Hope

 To South Africa with a wink to Hong Kong.

When the Royal Mail ship SS Teuton foundered on rocks on the 30th August 1881 while steaming towards Port Elizabeth in South Africa from Plymouth in England many of the over 200 passengers and crew were drowned, including 21-year old William Fraser a wright from Huntly.

Elder berries

Elder berries

The ship went down off Quion Point at the Cape of Good Hope disappearing beneath the water at lightning speed with children, women and men dragged down – 16 year old Lizzie Ross was the sole survivor of the ship’s 95 women and children passengers.  

SS Teuton had been built at Denny & Bros at Dumbarton in 1869 and launched as the Glenartney for, here’s the Hong Kong connection, Jardine Matheson the British trading house set up in China in the 1830s in Guangzhou (Canton) where decades later James Legge was appalled at the brutal determination of the British to impose trade on its terms with the Chinese. Jardine Matheson was established by Scotsmen William Jardine and James Matheson and became notorious for trading in smuggled tea, cotton and opium. A branch of Jardine Matheson opened in Japan as Glover and Co., by another Scot the entrepreneur, Fraserburgh man Thomas Blake Glover. The Glenartney was sold on and renamed Teuton as a passenger ship used by Britain’s thousands of 19th century economic migrants.

Geddes

To America

We all know that countless thousands of Scots were among the British migrants flooding abroad in pursuit of a better life, some under duress and others willingly. From their adopted home in New Orleans John and Magdalene Geddes sent back money to pay for the erection of a memorial to their brother James who died at just 14 years of age in April 1838 and for their parents, Alexander a stone mason in Strathbogie and Isabella their mother.

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“They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their deaths”

As for Magdalene she died in New Orleans of yellow fever on 31 August 1855 aged 41 years during a time when deadly infections such as cholera, smallpox, malaria and yellow fever were rife there with as high as sixty percent mortality. The 1850s proved a dangerous time to live in New Orleans and it was said people were dying faster than graves could be dug. New Orleans’ swamp areas were home to disease-carrying insects such as mosquitoes, carriers of yellow fever and the density of housing and gutters running with sewage meant highly contagious diseases spread rapidly. So many dead were packed into every available space, side by side and on top of one another, it was not unusual to see some swollen corpses uncovered by heavy rains rotting under hot sun. Immigrants such as Magdalene were among the worst affected by epidemics having little resistance to infection. And in an echo of our times, perhaps, there were those who regarded that as benefit – stemming the tide of immigration. John Geddes survived into his 70th year, dying in 1883.

Still in America –

Alexander Gordon was a crofter at Thristliford (what a wonderful name) who passed away in 1865 at Inchtammach. His wife Isabella Tevendale survived him dying in 1888 at Suifoot, Clatt, near Alford. Their son Alexander died the same year as his mother in March, aged 66 years, at Montezuma, Poweshiek County, Iowa in the USA (on the stone it’s recorded as Mountezuma. Younger Alexander was an infantry volunteer with the 28th Iowa Vol. Inf. in the American Civil War and was captured on 3rd April 1864 at Sabine Cross Roads at the Battle of Mansfield, Louisiana – part of the Red River Campaign when Union forces attempted to occupy the state capital of Shreveport and kept a prisoner for 13 months. He is buried at Iowa.

 

Lingering in America for a moment 18th century Bishop Petrie the son of a Forgue farmer he was born in 1730 is buried at Dunbennan. From his first charge was at Wartle he moved to Meikle-Folla – where the chapel adopted his name as the Bishop Petrie’s Cathedral. This itinerant bishop turned up in Ross and Argyll and in 1784 he was one of the Scottish bishops who consecrated Dr Seabury, the first American Episcopal bishop.

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A lovely old memorial dappled by lichen beautifully inscribed by mason James Cameron from Huntly. It commemorated his eldest son Theodore who died at just five years and 2 months on 25th November 1777. James’ daughter Mary died in 1805 at 24 years and other children are recorded here but it is impossible to decipher details given the state of the stone. A son, also Theodore, fought with the West India Regiment and died at the age of 30 on 6 October 1808. James’ wife, Espet died at 42 while James lived on till 70yrs

Samuel Seabury was consecrated bishop on 14th November 1784 by Robert Kilgour, Bishop of Aberdeen and Primus of Scotland; Arthur Petrie then Bishop of Ross and Moray; John Skinner, coadjustor bishop of Aberdeen at his house in Longacre in Aberdeen. The chair used in Seabury’s consecration is preserved in Keith’s Holy Trinity Episcopal Church.

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The Scottish consecration of the American bishop caused jitters in Britain’s government in London fearing a resurrection of the Jacobite movement but Seabury wasn’t of that persuasion.

“Gentle reader, mourn for Arthur Petrie, whom this stone, erected by the piety of his brethren, covers. As Bishop of Moray he was learned, devout, and faithful. After fifty-five years of life, bearing a much-loved and highly-honoured name, and ten of sacred labour as a bishop, alas! too soon not to return – he departed. Yet spare your tears—he always cherished the joys of a better life. Now has he the rewards of peace. He died on April 19th, 1787, in the fifty-sixth year of his age and the eleventh of his episcopate of Ross and Moray.

“May he rest in peace.”

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September 24, 2017

Edinburgh’s Snowball Riot, Police Brutality and the Youth with Red Whiskers

On the morning of Monday 30th January 1860 what came to be described as a very serious snowball riot broke out between university students and police in Edinburgh.

It all began as students were arriving for morning classes and found firemen attempting to clear deep snow from the university quadrangle by hosing it down. One or two of the young students playfully sent a few snowballs in the direction of the firemen who in turn turned their hoses on the students and drenched them with water. Snow versus water fights ensued and with the arrival of more students the contest grew. The police were called and they turned up in force, both uniformed and plain-clothed, and soon they, too, were embroiled in battle. It was not yet 10 o’clock in the morning but as the hours went on so the battle turned into a veritable war which lasted until 4 o’clock in the afternoon during which time heads and windows were broken and shopkeepers shuttered up for fear of damage to their premises.

9 (2)

Edinburgh firemen

 

The first arrest came at 1 o’clock when a student called Lewis was apprehended by the police and as he was being led away a great struggle ensued with Lewis’ fellow students attempting to free him. By this stage hundreds of students were pelting anyone and everyone with snowballs but mostly the police.

Ignoring the initial order to interfere as little as possible to prevent an outbreak of a conflict between town and gown policemen ran at students hitting out with their heavy wooden batons. The increasingly vicious spectacle attracted an enormous crowd so that most of the South Bridge and Nicolson Street became blocked with spectators.

It was later claimed in a 5-day trial held in the wake of the riot that many students had been repeatedly struck by police batons even when down on the ground. Recognising they were out-armed a call went up among the students present of “Sticks. Sticks” and several ran to a toy shop and a general dealer re-emerging with walking sticks which they flourished in the faces of the police.

When a policeman, Sergeant Auld, was attacked by a student apparently with a stick one of the students was identified as the assailant and surrounded by ten constables as around one hundred students yelled and hooted, “Down with the police” and attempted to rescue their companion but were fought back by baton-wielding constables who knocked many down to the ground and continued to strike them so that several youths had blood streaming from wounds. The noise was deafening with spectators joining in on both sides – “as if the whole street was fighting” said one eyewitness. Two or three students were badly injured and helped into a druggist shop to have wounds dressed and several police were sent home with injuries.

Police reinforcements arrived to contain or beat back the students but the young men’s anger and determination was unrelenting. Each arrest was met with cries of “To the rescue” and “Down with the police” as they pelted the police all the harder with snow.
With over 50 police constables and over 100 students as well as enormous numbers of bystanders from the town sometimes participating in the affray there were fears for public safety. Eventually the police succeeded in driving back the youths into the college grounds and off the street but there in the quadrangle the firemen’s unfinished work had left considerable accumulations of snow to provide further ammunition for their cause. Fresh snowballs were soon flying thick and fast with the police unable to stop them.
Magistrates and professors from the university who tried to restore order were ignored. Students were angry. They shouted “Away with the police” and “Retire” but the battle continued until around 4pm when eventually the police withdrew, to the nearby School of Arts and so ended the riot.

Students congregated in small knots in and around the college as the police left the scene to discuss the day’s events and the arrest of fourteen of their number charged with mobbing and rioting and assaulting police officers as well as a charge of snowballing.
After an initial appearance in the Sheriff Court on 4th February the case was deferred until the 10th.

***

snob

In the days following the snowballing riot it emerged students involved in the episode wrote to the Lord Provost offering to pay for any damaged property while around Edinburgh opinion was divided over responsibility for the episode; a flurry of letters to local newspapers elicited views on both sides.

There was a references to “idle lads and boys” and police who were ignorant of their duty to move on trouble-makers more concerned were they in catching drunks and spying on publicans. It was clear this writer, who signed himself A. Citizen, had his own cause in mind and indeed he spelled out some of it in his letter in which he complained that the police didn’t pay attention when he reported a policeman to his superiors for failing in his duty and urged that the police be taken out of the hands of the Town Council.

Another correspondent who described himself as An Eyewitness condemned university professors who were sympathetic to the students and those condemning “blackguard policemen” for he had seen with his own eyes a lady with an infant in her arms hit by a mass of hardened slush. While he agreed participating in a fair ‘snowball bicker’ was a healthful pastime when it came to disturbing the peace and destroying private property not to mention endangering the lives and limbs of citizens it was a different matter and he made an offer to police constable number 61 to prosecute the individual who pelted him with ice.

Another wrote “Until the Bailies, or somebody, can succeed in passing a bill to alter young human nature, and to stop snow from falling, there will, whenever youths congregate and snow lies, be some innocent snowballing” and he went on to complain of the decision to send in the police and close the college gates so confining crowds into a small area with police marching up and down as though encouraging the students to react. He described how a student bystander was beaten by the police, knocked down and further struck about the head to his severe injury and claimed that this was not an isolated example of the brutality and ruffiansim of the police that day but he doubted any such claims would be allowed to be heard in court although “it cannot be a policeman’s duty to thump a person and break his head” he concluded.

A correspondent who identified himself as Medicus placed blame for the disturbance at the door of the police and magistrates on grounds it was the actions of the police entering the private college quadrangle that initiated trouble with their ostentatious parading and display of batons. It was this behaviour, he said, which produced a response from students; recognised by members of the public who shouted “Shame” at the police. Medicus wrote, “Men who have a right to be angry are generally those who are truly brave. The police on Monday had no cause to be angry, and hence acted like cowards. They were present, not to put down a riot, but to create one; and in this they succeeded most effectually…” and he complained of the press exaggerating the matter and siding with the police to place the entire blame on the students. The press, he noted, made out that snowballs were filled with stones but there were no stones in the quadrangle and the allegation was not true. Neither was it true that members of the public were targeted and he finished by further condemnation of the “obnoxious presence of police.”

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9 (1)
The fourteen students put on trial at Edinburgh police court on February 16th were: Didymus Clark, John Swanson, Arthur McShedden, John Hop, William Kennedy, Nicol Carter, John McLeod, John Dunn, Alfred Lewis, George Phipps, Henry Nicolson, Alex. Tod, Archibald Hamilton and Samuel Swabey.

A crowded courtroom heard how Mr McLellan, First-Lieutenant of Police, ordered a group of uniformed and plain-clothes men to attend the college on the morning of the 30th January. It emerged that McLellan had a rare talent for observation for he was able to confirm in court that all of those students who appeared there were guilty of violence and of repeatedly attacking the police while chanting “Rascals, Rascals” while not one policeman exceeded his duties.

The Sheriff shared McLellan’s view of the battle (which lasted ten times longer than Culloden) and made no secret of his belief in the students’ guilt and in his opinion the police were largely innocent from the outset. Sheriff Hallard’s role as a police magistrate presumably did not influence his views in any way.

Police witnesses appeared one after the other all with matching stories. The violence came from students and any actions on the part of the police was justified as self-defence. One policeman claimed from the witness box that he saw a particular student buy a walking stick which he then used to strike out at the police and when confronted with the information that this student always used a stick to help walk the police witness altered his story and accused the student of swearing at him.

Another police witness, constable 161, denied threatening a student who was writing down his police number by telling him, “We’ll teach you to take our numbers again.” When pressed about a student seized by the hair this officer claimed the student annoyed and interrupted him and other constables on the way to the station.

Police constable Kavanagh confirmed he was an Irishman and knew how to handle a shillelagh. He was accused of striking a good many people but he could not say how many or on which part of their bodies he had hit them. “I daresay you went straight to the poll,” it was put to him amidst laughter.

It emerged the most badly injured students had been repeatedly hit over the head by batons. It was said that Sergeant Auld had been struck with a stick or baton. Kavanagh was asked to look his baton and say whether marks on it had been there before the snowballing affray.

Kavanagh – “They were there when I got it I think.”
Police solicitor – “I knew an Irishman who put a nick on his pistol every time he shot a man with it” to laughter in court.
To more laughter it was said that police batons were said to “poke people about.”
Kavanagh denied the police had been given any orders over how to behave that morning at which point he was asked if it was his mother Mrs Malone who gave his instructions to which he plied, “No.”

And so the trial continued as a kind of farce. When pressed as to why the student Swabey was arrested and charged with the assault of Sergeant Auld it was said he was seen with a stick and had used very bad language towards the police. Asked what kind of bad language the police witness replied, “Bobbies,” to loud laughter. It was put that was a compliment, after Sir Robert Peel, to more laughter, but the witness complained “Sir, he called us a lot of b—-s, again to laughter. He then claimed Swabey attacked another policeman and when it was put to him the police gave out as much as they took the police witness denied it saying the police got the worst of it.

“How so?” he was asked.
Witness – “Because we were retreating at the same time. (Laughter)
Police defence – “Did you retreat and not strike back?”
Witness – “We did.”
Police defence – “Very patiently?”
Witness – “Yes.”
Police defence – “And you retreated, like “the King of France, with twenty thousand men marching up the hill, and then marching back again? (Laughter) Job himself, I should say, could not exceed your patience.”
Witness – “No, he could not.” (Laughter)

And so it went on. Of the injured and bleeding students no policeman was able to recognise who among their ranks beat them but every student who attacked a police constable was identified and all police action was justified as self-defence.
The police brought out a police surgeon said to have been passing the college and witnessed the disturbance who overheard the police asking people to move on with no aggression whatsoever. However, this evidence was challenged by the other side with witnesses for the students offering very different accounts – of “much excited” police chasing them, beating and dragging students away. It was reported that even bystanders with hands in their pockets were assaulted by police batons and constables highly excited and dancing about wielding their heavy truncheons. Evidence was given of a policeman hitting a little boy who got in his way and of a woman pushed in the ribs with a baton and knocked down.

Swabey, the student accused of hitting Sergeant Auld, had been hit so hard without provocation, it was said, the blow could be heard across the street. Witnesses spoke of Swabey falling down and being struck again and again on the head till unconscious with blood streaming from his wounds. Others told how a young student was pinned down by two policemen while another two continually struck him with batons.

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i (2)

All of the students but one were found guilty of mobbing and rioting but not proven of assaulting the police. They were each fined £1 or 3 days in prison while Swabey, found guilty of assaulting Sergeant Auld, was fined £5 or 10 days imprisonment. The case against student Dunn had been dropped despite him squaring up to a policeman and the case against him technically proven according to the Sheriff who recommended the case against him be dropped.

Following the trial a meeting of the students condemned its conduct. They were astonished that anyone could read the evidence and come to the Sheriff’s conclusion of student guilt alone. Short of charging the Sheriff with dishonesty or incompetence it was stated he began the court case apparently convinced of the students’ guilt. And so it appears he did.

Over the question of the identification of Swabey as Auld’s attacker Sheriff Hallard was in no doubt. That five or six constables identified Swabey as Auld’s attacker encouraged the Sheriff to fine him more than the rest despite strong evidence that Swabey had been standing at the College gates while Sergeant Auld was assaulted in the doorway of a Mr Imrie’s shop – even evidence from Auld, himself, that he had been attacked by a man with red whiskers when Swabey had none made no difference to the judgement. There was a student there with red whiskers who was seen wielding a stick, a John Mackenzie , but he did not come forward and it was Swabey the police insisted was responsible.

At a meeting of students they spoke of pressing the Home Secretary to launch an investigation into the conduct of the police and arranged for a subscription be opened to pay the students’ fines, complaining £5 was far too large a fine even if Swabey had knocked down five policemen. They ended their meeting with three groans for Sheriff Hallard to cries of “No, No” and three enthusiastic cheers for Swabey.

Towards the end of the year what remained from the Snowball fine fund was given to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary.

Perhaps with the snowball riot in mind the snows that fell that winter were cleared by the town authorities when over 400,000 carloads of snow were driven away from the centre of Edinburgh