Allan Ramsay Jnr, artist and portrait painter, died on the 10th of August, 1784.
Allan Ramsay was the leading portrait painter of his day and, in many people's eyes, the greatest portrait painter of the 18th Century. He was the master of the direct informal portrait, being instrumental in formulating a native Scottish style of painting as his father had done for poetry. His subjects included the historian, Edward Gibbon, the Scottish philosopher, David Hume, and the Jacobite heroine, Flora MacDonald, who turns out to be rather attractive. However, not all those who sat for him were overjoyed with the results. The French philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau, was sulkily unimpressed by his portrait, but “ye cannae mak a silk purse oot o’ a coo’s lug.”
During his prime period, Ramsey had a virtual monopoly on court painting, becoming the official painter to George III, in 1760, and ‘Principal Painter-in-Ordinary’, in 1767. Of course, this aroused a bit of envy amongst the artistic types, with one such rival, Joshua Reynolds, tritely commenting that Ramsay was “not a good painter.” The National Portrait Galleries in London and Edinburgh have examples of his work.
Ramsey was part of the intellectual society of the ‘Scottish Enlightenment’ and was a friend of Dr Johnson. He was also the founder, in 1754, of the ‘Select Society’ of Edinburgh, the aims of which were to promote "literary discussions, philosophical enquiry, and improvement in public speaking." The founding membership reads like a ‘Who’s Who’ of the period, including: David Hume, the celebrated historian and philosopher, Dr. Adam Smith, distinguished writer on morals and political economy, Alexander Wedderburn, Earl of Rosslyn and distinguished lawyer, and Dr. Alexander Carlyle, an accomplished Presbyterian divine.
Allan Ramsay, the eldest son of the Scottish poet of the same name, was born in Edinburgh on the 13th of October, 1713. He was encouraged by his father, who had always interested in the visual arts and, in 1729, had helped to found the Academy of St. Luke, named after the patron saint of painting. Allan Ramsay Snr was the artist’s first portraiture subject at St. Luke’s, but it seems he also studied decorating and house-painting under James Norie, a friend of his father. We’re not talking Dulux here mind; more the decorative frieze kind of painting. During his early days as an artist, Ramsay studied in London at the studio of Hans Hysing (Hyffidg), the Swedish portrait painter, and at the Academy in St. Martin's Lane, run by Hogarth. Thereafter, he went to Italy, where he studied the Old Masters and copied works by his teachers.
There are some gems worth repeating from a letter his father wrote to the artist, John Smibert, in 1736. He wrote, "My son Allan has been pursuing your science since he was a dozen years auld” and “[he] has since been painting here like a Raphael.” Commenting in his son’s imminent departure for Italy, he added, “[he] sets out for the seat of the beast beyond the Alps within a month hence” and “I’m sweer to part with him, but canna stem the current which flows from the advice of his patrons and his own inclination.” During the two years of 1736 and 1738, Ramsay studied at the French Academy in Rome, under Francesco Imperiali and Vlenghels, and with Francesco Solimena in Naples. The Baroque subject matter of most of his teachers' paintings were not much of an influence, with those guys being into religious and historical themes, but they had plenty to teach in terms of style, technique and colour. In France, Ramsay displayed an aptitude for painting nudes and was described as a "diligent and observant student, rapidly gaining anatomical knowledge” – and who wouldn’t be?
Ramsay was also a correspondent of Voltaire and the aforementioned Rousseau, and a writer of poetry and essays. In ‘On Ridicule’, from 1753, he wrote that truth was “the leading and inseparable principle in all works of art”. William Anderson, in ‘The Scottish Nation: Biographical History of the People of Scotland’, wrote that during the 1740s and ’50s Ramsay can be seen “equally successful in a style of polished elegance on the one hand and of extreme simplicity on the other.” In his ‘Dialogue on Taste’, of 1755, Ramsay wrote about poetry, and rejected the "absurd metaphysics" of Spenser and his like, suggesting that "instead of representations of truth and the real existence of things", those guys were writing about the exploits of impossible beings in an impossible world. No doubt something of his attitude to the place of simple realism in painting may be inferred from those remarks. Experts would agree that Ramsay's portraits should be celebrated for their resemblance to nature and their unstudied simplicity.
After his return from Rome, Ramsay divided his time between Edinburgh and London, and set about enhancing his reputation as a portrait painter. He was elected a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, in 1743, and was introduced to George III, whose portrait he painted both in whole length and in profile. Later, in March of 1767, he was appointed principal painter to the King. Around the time he was sixty-two. Poor Ramsay shattered his right arm in some kind of an accident and was thereafter unable to paint. A tragedy for the man, but he compensated by retiring to Rome in 1775, where he amused himself with literary pursuits. Then, in 1784, sensing his end, he decided that he wasn’t going to be buried in Rome. Allan Ramsay determined to return to his native Scotland, but he never made it. He got as far as Dover, where he died on the 10th of August, 1784.
Showing posts with label Artists and Writers and Poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Artists and Writers and Poets. Show all posts
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Robert Burns
Scotland’s national poet, the Bard, Robert Burns, died in Dumfries on the 21st of July, 1796.
Burns’ Night is on the 25th of January, but Burns’ Day? The 21st of July should really be known as Burns’ Night, because that’s when he departed this mortal coil for the Forever-evernight. And the January date should be re-christened Burns’ Day, don’t you think? In the sense that Burns’ Night with its ‘Burns Supper’ is a celebration of the life and poetry of Robert Burns, it could be held at any time – as if an excuse was needed. In fact, the first celebrations were held by Burns’ friends on the anniversary of his death and it wasn’t until the first Burns Club, ‘The Mother Club’, was founded in Greenock that the first ‘Burns Supper’ was held on the date of his birth. At least, they thought it was his birthday. Until they checked the Ayr Parish Records in 1803, they thought he was born on the 29th of January, when in actual fact, he was born on the 25th of January, 1759. Since then, tradition schedules the ‘suppers’ in January, which is probably for the best as haggis isn’t really a dish for the summer.
Rabbie Burns, the Ploughman Poet, is regarded by Scots as our national poet and, apart from reigning Kings and Queens, is one of the few personages to be known simply by designation – the Bard. He is celebrated home and away, near and far, in many countries throughout the world. Many folks no doubt sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at New Year’s Eve who may not know its connection with Burns, but they aye ken his poems and songs in one way or another. He is the best known of the many poets who have written in the Scots language, although much of his writing is also in English.
One of my favourite Burn’s poems is ‘MacPherson’s Farewell’ or MacPherson’s Lament’. That tells the story of the execution, in 1700, of James MacPherson, who became the last man to be hanged in Banff. Apart from being a fiddler of renown, MacPherson’s fame rests not on the manner of his life, but on the way he died. When stepping up to the gallows, he read a farewell poem and played a wee bit tune of his own. Then, dramatically, he offered his fiddle to anyone who could play. When no one took up his offer, he smashed the instrument over the hangman’s head and leapt off the ladder. Poor MacPherson suffered his fate, despite a reprieve being on the way, because the magistrates had put the town clock forward by a quarter of an hour. Here’s a verse that’s been attributed to Burns:
“There's some come here to see me hanged
And some to buy my fiddle
But before that I do part wi' her
I'll brak her thro’ the middle.”
Here’s a favoured stanza from my 1974 Collins edition of ‘Poems and Songs of Robert Burns’:
“Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I’ve dar’d his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!”
Burns lived in an age that has been called the second ‘golden age’ of Scotland; the first being in the 15th Century, when Scots wrote some wonderful poetry. That age, let’s say the hundred years between 1730 and 1830, is also known as the ‘Scottish Enlightenment’ and produced such great poets, artists, philosophers, men of letters, scientists, engineers and architects as Robert Tannahill, Henry Raeburn, Adam Ferguson, Adam Smith, David Hume, Walter Scott, John Gibson Lockhart, John Playfair, Robert Adam, and Robert Stevenson. Men like these were responsible for making 18th Century Edinburgh the most distinguished intellectual centre in Europe. No wonder that Burns was inspired; there was something in the ‘watter’.
The social, cultural and political forces in Scotland at the time were shaped by events like the Union of the Parliaments, in 1707, and the Jacobite Rebellion, of 1745-6. Sir Walter Scott drew upon the character of the Scottish landscape and people, restoring some semblance of self worth and inspiring a fresh identity in a nation whose culture had been submerged by over two hundred years of neglect, which began when Jamie Saxt ‘shauchled ower the border’ in 1606 on his way to London. Burns shared a similar role, but perhaps more deliberately, more idealistically, more sympathetically rooted in the concerns of common folk; certainly less wistful than Scott’s aristocratic romances. Burns belonged to a nation that had lost its independence, but it was the manner of the loss that galled as can be read in ‘Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation’. Here’s a taste of his view of that noble disgrace; no complacent reflection for Burns, rather an impassioned outpouring of patriotic outrage:
“What force or guile could not subdue
Thro’ many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor’s wages.”
I don’t know why Scotland produced so many important men of science and the arts, but there must be something in the idea that they were stimulated to a form of subconscious retaliation. Martial conflict was out of the question, but Scotland could win the battle for preeminence. Scotland undoubtedly put the ‘Great’ into Britain and Burns was one of those responsible. He wasn’t a great philosopher like David Hume, nor a scientist such as James Hutton, but his brand of philosophy has stood the test of time just the same. His contribution to the arts is no less valid, nor should it be valued any less, than say, Adam Smith’s ‘invention’ of economics. Robert Burns was peculiarly responsible for a revival of Scottish-ness, helping to rediscover Scotland’s traditions, its literature and its folksongs, and developing those sources in his own unique style.
Here’s my plagiarism at work in a tribute to Burns, written in 1974:
‘Lines written on a beer mat’
Wae worth thy power, thou curs’d drink!
Rerr cure to a’ my woe and grief,
For now that I have lost my lass,
It’s due to her I raise this glass!
I see ahead the road to addiction
Aided by this cursed affection.
I’ve seen the barman’s sardonic smile,
At my drunken, begging wile;
As for a dram I’ve vainly sought,
To crush this nagging in my gut.
It’s due to thee I leave this much lov’d shore
Ne’er, perhaps, to greet old Scotia more.
Burns’ Night is on the 25th of January, but Burns’ Day? The 21st of July should really be known as Burns’ Night, because that’s when he departed this mortal coil for the Forever-evernight. And the January date should be re-christened Burns’ Day, don’t you think? In the sense that Burns’ Night with its ‘Burns Supper’ is a celebration of the life and poetry of Robert Burns, it could be held at any time – as if an excuse was needed. In fact, the first celebrations were held by Burns’ friends on the anniversary of his death and it wasn’t until the first Burns Club, ‘The Mother Club’, was founded in Greenock that the first ‘Burns Supper’ was held on the date of his birth. At least, they thought it was his birthday. Until they checked the Ayr Parish Records in 1803, they thought he was born on the 29th of January, when in actual fact, he was born on the 25th of January, 1759. Since then, tradition schedules the ‘suppers’ in January, which is probably for the best as haggis isn’t really a dish for the summer.
Rabbie Burns, the Ploughman Poet, is regarded by Scots as our national poet and, apart from reigning Kings and Queens, is one of the few personages to be known simply by designation – the Bard. He is celebrated home and away, near and far, in many countries throughout the world. Many folks no doubt sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at New Year’s Eve who may not know its connection with Burns, but they aye ken his poems and songs in one way or another. He is the best known of the many poets who have written in the Scots language, although much of his writing is also in English.
One of my favourite Burn’s poems is ‘MacPherson’s Farewell’ or MacPherson’s Lament’. That tells the story of the execution, in 1700, of James MacPherson, who became the last man to be hanged in Banff. Apart from being a fiddler of renown, MacPherson’s fame rests not on the manner of his life, but on the way he died. When stepping up to the gallows, he read a farewell poem and played a wee bit tune of his own. Then, dramatically, he offered his fiddle to anyone who could play. When no one took up his offer, he smashed the instrument over the hangman’s head and leapt off the ladder. Poor MacPherson suffered his fate, despite a reprieve being on the way, because the magistrates had put the town clock forward by a quarter of an hour. Here’s a verse that’s been attributed to Burns:
“There's some come here to see me hanged
And some to buy my fiddle
But before that I do part wi' her
I'll brak her thro’ the middle.”
Here’s a favoured stanza from my 1974 Collins edition of ‘Poems and Songs of Robert Burns’:
“Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I’ve dar’d his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!”
Burns lived in an age that has been called the second ‘golden age’ of Scotland; the first being in the 15th Century, when Scots wrote some wonderful poetry. That age, let’s say the hundred years between 1730 and 1830, is also known as the ‘Scottish Enlightenment’ and produced such great poets, artists, philosophers, men of letters, scientists, engineers and architects as Robert Tannahill, Henry Raeburn, Adam Ferguson, Adam Smith, David Hume, Walter Scott, John Gibson Lockhart, John Playfair, Robert Adam, and Robert Stevenson. Men like these were responsible for making 18th Century Edinburgh the most distinguished intellectual centre in Europe. No wonder that Burns was inspired; there was something in the ‘watter’.
The social, cultural and political forces in Scotland at the time were shaped by events like the Union of the Parliaments, in 1707, and the Jacobite Rebellion, of 1745-6. Sir Walter Scott drew upon the character of the Scottish landscape and people, restoring some semblance of self worth and inspiring a fresh identity in a nation whose culture had been submerged by over two hundred years of neglect, which began when Jamie Saxt ‘shauchled ower the border’ in 1606 on his way to London. Burns shared a similar role, but perhaps more deliberately, more idealistically, more sympathetically rooted in the concerns of common folk; certainly less wistful than Scott’s aristocratic romances. Burns belonged to a nation that had lost its independence, but it was the manner of the loss that galled as can be read in ‘Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation’. Here’s a taste of his view of that noble disgrace; no complacent reflection for Burns, rather an impassioned outpouring of patriotic outrage:
“What force or guile could not subdue
Thro’ many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor’s wages.”
I don’t know why Scotland produced so many important men of science and the arts, but there must be something in the idea that they were stimulated to a form of subconscious retaliation. Martial conflict was out of the question, but Scotland could win the battle for preeminence. Scotland undoubtedly put the ‘Great’ into Britain and Burns was one of those responsible. He wasn’t a great philosopher like David Hume, nor a scientist such as James Hutton, but his brand of philosophy has stood the test of time just the same. His contribution to the arts is no less valid, nor should it be valued any less, than say, Adam Smith’s ‘invention’ of economics. Robert Burns was peculiarly responsible for a revival of Scottish-ness, helping to rediscover Scotland’s traditions, its literature and its folksongs, and developing those sources in his own unique style.
Here’s my plagiarism at work in a tribute to Burns, written in 1974:
‘Lines written on a beer mat’
Wae worth thy power, thou curs’d drink!
Rerr cure to a’ my woe and grief,
For now that I have lost my lass,
It’s due to her I raise this glass!
I see ahead the road to addiction
Aided by this cursed affection.
I’ve seen the barman’s sardonic smile,
At my drunken, begging wile;
As for a dram I’ve vainly sought,
To crush this nagging in my gut.
It’s due to thee I leave this much lov’d shore
Ne’er, perhaps, to greet old Scotia more.
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
A. J. Cronin
A. J. Cronin, physician and novelist, was born on the 19th of July, 1896.
Archibald Joseph Cronin – better known simply as A. J. Cronin – was one of the most commercially successful Scottish writers of the 20th Century. An accomplished storyteller, his novels often combined a powerful portrayal of working-class life with social commentary and criticism. His humanism and social realism also made him popular in the Soviet Union and many of his books were adapted for films or television programs. He is fondly remembered as the creator of the hugely popular character, Dr. Finlay, serialised on television in the 1960s. He also achieved acclaim as the author of the novels, ‘Hatter’s Castle’, ‘The Keys to the Kingdom’, ‘The Stars Look Down’, ‘A Pocketful of Rye’ and ‘The Citadel’.
Archibald Joseph Cronin was born on the 19th of July, 1896, at Cardross, in Dunbartonshire. He was an only child and, despite family poverty and his father’s early death, Cronin received an education at Dunbarton Academy, where he excelled in writing English prose. Notwithstanding his ability in the arts, in 1914, he won a scholarship to study medicine at Glasgow University. His studies were interrupted by the First World War and so he enlisted in the Royal Navy. He served as a surgeon’s assistant with the rank of Sub-Lieutenant and afterwards, in 1919, returned to Glasgow University. He graduated MB, ChB, in 1919, and MD, in 1925, gaining a diploma in Public Health in London along the way. At one time, he worked as a ship's surgeon on a liner bound for India and then served in various hospitals.
He moved to Wales, in 1921, and set up in practice in South Wales. Later, in 1924, he was appointed Medical Inspector of Mines for Great Britain. He was distressed by the damaging effects of the mines, not just on the workers' health, but also on the living conditions in the Welsh valleys and became ever more exasperated at the neglect of the employers and the incompetence of the medical staff. His protests eventually cost him his job and he left to set up a practice in London’s Harley Street.
The year of 1926 was a significant one for Cronin, when he suffered from lung disease, probably contracted in the mining valleys, and spent three months recuperating in the invigorating air of the Highlands. It was during that time that he wrote his first novel, ‘Hatter's Castle’, which became an immediate success when it was published the following year. That story of a family brought to ruin by the bigotry of hat-maker James Brodie, who was fixated on the pretentious delusion that he was of noble birth, was the catalyst for Cronin turning to full time writing. He never returned to medicine.
Perhaps his most influential book was ‘The Citadel’, which was published in 1937. In that book, he drew on his medical background and experiences in South Wales and Harley Street to highlight the huge inequalities that existed in health provision in Britain at the time. The story chronicled the ruination of a Welsh mining community by a combination of greed and incompetence, and the heroic struggle of a young Scottish doctor to alleviate suffering. It wasn’t autobiographical, but it certainly drew on his personal experiences.
‘The Citadel’ is often credited as the inspiration for the National Health Service, which was introduced in the years following the Second World War. His influence didn’t stop there as many believe his novels were an important factor in bringing about the landslide victory of the Labour Party in the General Election of 1945. Obviously, he had caught the mood of the people with his realistic stories of working-class life. Cronin’s popularity stemmed from his ability to construct detailed, realistic drama out of mundane events, based on keen observation and experience. Perhaps this quote sums up his qualities of observation, “Nothing is more limiting than a closed circle of acquaintanceship where every avenue of conversation has been explored and social exchanges are fixed in a known routine”. An excruciatingly familiar experience for many.
In the 1939, Cronin moved to Connecticut in the USA with his wife and three sons and it was there he wrote ‘The Keys of the Kingdom’, which was published in 1942. Some of his works had religious themes in addition to the familiar struggle against adversity, also drawing on his own experiences, That book was the story of a Roman Catholic missionary in China, Father Francis Chisholm, who advocated ecumenical cooperation between all Christians. It was filmed by 20th Century-Fox, starring Gregory Peck and with a screenplay by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Peck was nominated for an ‘Oscar’ for his performance. Nearly half of Cronin’s thirty or so novels were adapted into films. ‘The Citadel’, which made Cronin famous in the United States, starred Robert Donat.
In his autobiographical book ‘Adventures In Two Worlds’, Cronin further examined his religious beliefs. After his Catholic father died, his Protestant mother brought him up as a Catholic and at Dunbarton Academy, Cronin had been subjected to anti-Catholic prejudice. The theme of ecumenical cooperation in ‘The Keys of the Kingdom’ stemmed from his disgust for bigotry and that spirit of conciliation marked all of his books dealing with questions of faith. On that subject, he once spoke of "A feeling of social inferiority... a sort of spiritual wound deriving from my religion”.
For me, A. J. Cronin will always be remembered because of his novella ‘Country Doctor’, which spawned the character of Dr. Finlay and inspired the 1960s BBC TV series, ‘Doctor Finlay’s Casebook’, which was broadcast from 1962 to 1971. Dr Finlay also featured in a BBC Radio series that ran throughout the 1970s. The television series was recreated by Scottish Television and PBS, in 1993, but this wasn’t a patch on the original, which remains a classic. Dr. Finlay practised in the fictional town of ‘Tannochbrae’.
In 1946, for health reasons, Cronin made his home in Switzerland, where he carried on writing until he died of acute bronchitis, on the 6th of January, 1981. He was buried in La Tour-de-Peilz, Montreux, Vaud, Switzerland.
Archibald Joseph Cronin – better known simply as A. J. Cronin – was one of the most commercially successful Scottish writers of the 20th Century. An accomplished storyteller, his novels often combined a powerful portrayal of working-class life with social commentary and criticism. His humanism and social realism also made him popular in the Soviet Union and many of his books were adapted for films or television programs. He is fondly remembered as the creator of the hugely popular character, Dr. Finlay, serialised on television in the 1960s. He also achieved acclaim as the author of the novels, ‘Hatter’s Castle’, ‘The Keys to the Kingdom’, ‘The Stars Look Down’, ‘A Pocketful of Rye’ and ‘The Citadel’.
Archibald Joseph Cronin was born on the 19th of July, 1896, at Cardross, in Dunbartonshire. He was an only child and, despite family poverty and his father’s early death, Cronin received an education at Dunbarton Academy, where he excelled in writing English prose. Notwithstanding his ability in the arts, in 1914, he won a scholarship to study medicine at Glasgow University. His studies were interrupted by the First World War and so he enlisted in the Royal Navy. He served as a surgeon’s assistant with the rank of Sub-Lieutenant and afterwards, in 1919, returned to Glasgow University. He graduated MB, ChB, in 1919, and MD, in 1925, gaining a diploma in Public Health in London along the way. At one time, he worked as a ship's surgeon on a liner bound for India and then served in various hospitals.
He moved to Wales, in 1921, and set up in practice in South Wales. Later, in 1924, he was appointed Medical Inspector of Mines for Great Britain. He was distressed by the damaging effects of the mines, not just on the workers' health, but also on the living conditions in the Welsh valleys and became ever more exasperated at the neglect of the employers and the incompetence of the medical staff. His protests eventually cost him his job and he left to set up a practice in London’s Harley Street.
The year of 1926 was a significant one for Cronin, when he suffered from lung disease, probably contracted in the mining valleys, and spent three months recuperating in the invigorating air of the Highlands. It was during that time that he wrote his first novel, ‘Hatter's Castle’, which became an immediate success when it was published the following year. That story of a family brought to ruin by the bigotry of hat-maker James Brodie, who was fixated on the pretentious delusion that he was of noble birth, was the catalyst for Cronin turning to full time writing. He never returned to medicine.
Perhaps his most influential book was ‘The Citadel’, which was published in 1937. In that book, he drew on his medical background and experiences in South Wales and Harley Street to highlight the huge inequalities that existed in health provision in Britain at the time. The story chronicled the ruination of a Welsh mining community by a combination of greed and incompetence, and the heroic struggle of a young Scottish doctor to alleviate suffering. It wasn’t autobiographical, but it certainly drew on his personal experiences.
‘The Citadel’ is often credited as the inspiration for the National Health Service, which was introduced in the years following the Second World War. His influence didn’t stop there as many believe his novels were an important factor in bringing about the landslide victory of the Labour Party in the General Election of 1945. Obviously, he had caught the mood of the people with his realistic stories of working-class life. Cronin’s popularity stemmed from his ability to construct detailed, realistic drama out of mundane events, based on keen observation and experience. Perhaps this quote sums up his qualities of observation, “Nothing is more limiting than a closed circle of acquaintanceship where every avenue of conversation has been explored and social exchanges are fixed in a known routine”. An excruciatingly familiar experience for many.
In the 1939, Cronin moved to Connecticut in the USA with his wife and three sons and it was there he wrote ‘The Keys of the Kingdom’, which was published in 1942. Some of his works had religious themes in addition to the familiar struggle against adversity, also drawing on his own experiences, That book was the story of a Roman Catholic missionary in China, Father Francis Chisholm, who advocated ecumenical cooperation between all Christians. It was filmed by 20th Century-Fox, starring Gregory Peck and with a screenplay by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Peck was nominated for an ‘Oscar’ for his performance. Nearly half of Cronin’s thirty or so novels were adapted into films. ‘The Citadel’, which made Cronin famous in the United States, starred Robert Donat.
In his autobiographical book ‘Adventures In Two Worlds’, Cronin further examined his religious beliefs. After his Catholic father died, his Protestant mother brought him up as a Catholic and at Dunbarton Academy, Cronin had been subjected to anti-Catholic prejudice. The theme of ecumenical cooperation in ‘The Keys of the Kingdom’ stemmed from his disgust for bigotry and that spirit of conciliation marked all of his books dealing with questions of faith. On that subject, he once spoke of "A feeling of social inferiority... a sort of spiritual wound deriving from my religion”.
For me, A. J. Cronin will always be remembered because of his novella ‘Country Doctor’, which spawned the character of Dr. Finlay and inspired the 1960s BBC TV series, ‘Doctor Finlay’s Casebook’, which was broadcast from 1962 to 1971. Dr Finlay also featured in a BBC Radio series that ran throughout the 1970s. The television series was recreated by Scottish Television and PBS, in 1993, but this wasn’t a patch on the original, which remains a classic. Dr. Finlay practised in the fictional town of ‘Tannochbrae’.
In 1946, for health reasons, Cronin made his home in Switzerland, where he carried on writing until he died of acute bronchitis, on the 6th of January, 1981. He was buried in La Tour-de-Peilz, Montreux, Vaud, Switzerland.
Thursday, 14 July 2011
John Gibson Lockhar
John Gibson Lockhart, author, biographer, editor and critic, was born on the 14th of July, 1794.
John Gibson Lockhart was co-editor of ‘Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine’, which he helped transform into one of the leading periodicals of its day, and became editor of the ‘Quarterly Review’. He was the son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott, but was also a noted novelist in his own right, writing, amongst other works, a story about the temptation of a widowed rural minister who has an affair with a married woman. Perhaps nothing out of the ordinary these days, ‘Adam Blair’ caused quite a stir in the 19th Century and has since appeared on the list of one hundred best Scottish books of all time. However, Lockhart is best known as a biographer and the author of the definitive, seven volume ‘Memoirs of the Life of Scott’, although he also wrote noted biographies of Burns and Napoleon.
John Gibson Lockhart was born on the 14th of July, 1794, in the Manse of Cambusnethan in Lanarkshire, where his father was the Church of Scotland Minister. The family moved to Glasgow, in 1796, where John attended grade school and Glasgow High School. He had to be removed from school before he was twelve, however, that was only because of ill-health and, when he recovered, he was sent to Glasgow University. At University, from 1805, he displayed so much precocious talent, especially in Greek, that he was offered a Snell Exhibition scholarship to Oxford. So he was not quite fourteen when he entered Balliol College, in 1808, where he read French, Italian, German and Spanish. In 1813, he graduated with a first in classics and returned to Glasgow, where he lived whilst studying law in Edinburgh. He was called to the bar in 1816.
Lockhart's true vocation lay in literary work and, in 1816, he travelled to Germany on behalf of the publisher, William Blackwood, who paid him an advance for a translation of Schlegel's ‘Lectures on the History of Literature’. On his return to Scotland, Lockhart settled in Edinburgh and, together with John Wilson (Christopher North) and James Hogg, became a contributing editor to ‘Blackwood's Magazine’. The ‘Maga’ was the Tories answer to the Whig party’s ‘Edinburgh Review’ and its popularity escalated with their caustic and aggressive articles. Lockhart’s biographer, Andrew Lang, refutes the view that Lockhart was responsible for the virulent articles on Coleridge and on ‘The Cockney School of Poetry’ of Keats and his friends. He may have written the later, August 1818, article on Keats, but in any case, he showed an appreciation of Coleridge and Wordsworth.
There is no doubt that the reputation of the newly founded ‘Maga’ was established almost overnight, due to Lockhart and his mates. In October, 1817, Lockhart published the ‘Chaldee Manuscripts’, which were a bitter satire of Edinburgh society and his 1819 ‘Peter's Letters to His Kinsfolk’ continued that theme. He also contributed many excellent translations of Spanish ballads, which were also published separately, in 1823.
In 1818, Lockhart met and formed a warm friendship with Sir Walter Scott, whose daughter, Sophia, he married in 1820. That same year, he became embroiled in an unfortunate series of events that led to the death of John Scott, who was the editor of ‘London Magazine’. Scott had written a series of articles attacking ‘Blackwood's Magazine’ and had accused Lockhart of being chiefly responsible for its extravagances. Letters were exchanged and a meeting between Lockhart and Scott was proposed, but after some delays and complicated negotiations, Jonathan Henry Christie and Scott fought a duel in which the latter was sadly killed.
Over the next several years, Lockhart then turned his attention to writing a series of successful novels, including the noteworthy ‘Adam Blair’, the full title of which was ‘Some Passages in the Life of Adam Blair, Minister of Gospel at Cross Meikle’. In 1822, he edited Peter Motteux's edition of ‘Don Quixote’, to which he prefixed a life of Cervantes, which set him on the path of biography. He moved to London, in 1825, to become editor of John Murray's ‘Quarterly Review’ as successor to Sir John Taylor Coleridge. Three years later, he published ‘A Life of Robert Burns’, quickly followed by ‘A Life of Napoleon Bonaparte’. In London, he established his literary position and was quite rightly recognized as a brilliant editor.
He wrote an amusing but virulent article on Tennyson's ‘Poems’ in the ‘Quarterly’ and continued to write for ‘Blackwoods’. His biography of Burns was produced for ‘Constable's Miscellany’ and ‘Napoleon’ opened a series called ‘Murray's Family Library’. Unquestionably, however, his piece de resistance was his ‘Life of Sir Walter Scott’, published in seven volumes between 1837 and 1838. It was praised by Carlyle in a contribution to the ‘London and Westminster Review’ and has been called, after James Boswell's ‘Samuel Johnson’, the most admirable biography in the English language. As a contribution to Scott’s straightened circumstances, Lockhart gave up the proceeds to the benefit of Scott's creditors.
Today, when church scandals are ‘ten a penny’, it’s hard to imagine Lockhart’s ‘Adam Blair’ causing a great uproar, but in 1822, it was heavily criticised for its portrayal of a widowed Minister’s affair with a married woman. It is certainly worth a read as its vivid descriptions of nature provide a powerful subtext and mirror the Minister’s repressed emotions. The novel was based on a true story; that of a local Minister who was deposed in 1746, the year of Culloden, but went on to marry his mistress and be accepted back into the Church. However, there is no such obvious ending to ‘Adam Blair’ of which Lockhart wrote, “I have told a true story. I hope the days are yet far distant when it shall be doubted in Scotland that such things might have been”.
John Gibson Lockhart died at Abbotsford on the 25th of November, 1854, and was buried in Dryburgh Abbey next to Sir Walter Scott. A two volume biography of Lockhart was published by Andrew Lang in 1896.
John Gibson Lockhart was co-editor of ‘Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine’, which he helped transform into one of the leading periodicals of its day, and became editor of the ‘Quarterly Review’. He was the son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott, but was also a noted novelist in his own right, writing, amongst other works, a story about the temptation of a widowed rural minister who has an affair with a married woman. Perhaps nothing out of the ordinary these days, ‘Adam Blair’ caused quite a stir in the 19th Century and has since appeared on the list of one hundred best Scottish books of all time. However, Lockhart is best known as a biographer and the author of the definitive, seven volume ‘Memoirs of the Life of Scott’, although he also wrote noted biographies of Burns and Napoleon.
John Gibson Lockhart was born on the 14th of July, 1794, in the Manse of Cambusnethan in Lanarkshire, where his father was the Church of Scotland Minister. The family moved to Glasgow, in 1796, where John attended grade school and Glasgow High School. He had to be removed from school before he was twelve, however, that was only because of ill-health and, when he recovered, he was sent to Glasgow University. At University, from 1805, he displayed so much precocious talent, especially in Greek, that he was offered a Snell Exhibition scholarship to Oxford. So he was not quite fourteen when he entered Balliol College, in 1808, where he read French, Italian, German and Spanish. In 1813, he graduated with a first in classics and returned to Glasgow, where he lived whilst studying law in Edinburgh. He was called to the bar in 1816.
Lockhart's true vocation lay in literary work and, in 1816, he travelled to Germany on behalf of the publisher, William Blackwood, who paid him an advance for a translation of Schlegel's ‘Lectures on the History of Literature’. On his return to Scotland, Lockhart settled in Edinburgh and, together with John Wilson (Christopher North) and James Hogg, became a contributing editor to ‘Blackwood's Magazine’. The ‘Maga’ was the Tories answer to the Whig party’s ‘Edinburgh Review’ and its popularity escalated with their caustic and aggressive articles. Lockhart’s biographer, Andrew Lang, refutes the view that Lockhart was responsible for the virulent articles on Coleridge and on ‘The Cockney School of Poetry’ of Keats and his friends. He may have written the later, August 1818, article on Keats, but in any case, he showed an appreciation of Coleridge and Wordsworth.
There is no doubt that the reputation of the newly founded ‘Maga’ was established almost overnight, due to Lockhart and his mates. In October, 1817, Lockhart published the ‘Chaldee Manuscripts’, which were a bitter satire of Edinburgh society and his 1819 ‘Peter's Letters to His Kinsfolk’ continued that theme. He also contributed many excellent translations of Spanish ballads, which were also published separately, in 1823.
In 1818, Lockhart met and formed a warm friendship with Sir Walter Scott, whose daughter, Sophia, he married in 1820. That same year, he became embroiled in an unfortunate series of events that led to the death of John Scott, who was the editor of ‘London Magazine’. Scott had written a series of articles attacking ‘Blackwood's Magazine’ and had accused Lockhart of being chiefly responsible for its extravagances. Letters were exchanged and a meeting between Lockhart and Scott was proposed, but after some delays and complicated negotiations, Jonathan Henry Christie and Scott fought a duel in which the latter was sadly killed.
Over the next several years, Lockhart then turned his attention to writing a series of successful novels, including the noteworthy ‘Adam Blair’, the full title of which was ‘Some Passages in the Life of Adam Blair, Minister of Gospel at Cross Meikle’. In 1822, he edited Peter Motteux's edition of ‘Don Quixote’, to which he prefixed a life of Cervantes, which set him on the path of biography. He moved to London, in 1825, to become editor of John Murray's ‘Quarterly Review’ as successor to Sir John Taylor Coleridge. Three years later, he published ‘A Life of Robert Burns’, quickly followed by ‘A Life of Napoleon Bonaparte’. In London, he established his literary position and was quite rightly recognized as a brilliant editor.
He wrote an amusing but virulent article on Tennyson's ‘Poems’ in the ‘Quarterly’ and continued to write for ‘Blackwoods’. His biography of Burns was produced for ‘Constable's Miscellany’ and ‘Napoleon’ opened a series called ‘Murray's Family Library’. Unquestionably, however, his piece de resistance was his ‘Life of Sir Walter Scott’, published in seven volumes between 1837 and 1838. It was praised by Carlyle in a contribution to the ‘London and Westminster Review’ and has been called, after James Boswell's ‘Samuel Johnson’, the most admirable biography in the English language. As a contribution to Scott’s straightened circumstances, Lockhart gave up the proceeds to the benefit of Scott's creditors.
Today, when church scandals are ‘ten a penny’, it’s hard to imagine Lockhart’s ‘Adam Blair’ causing a great uproar, but in 1822, it was heavily criticised for its portrayal of a widowed Minister’s affair with a married woman. It is certainly worth a read as its vivid descriptions of nature provide a powerful subtext and mirror the Minister’s repressed emotions. The novel was based on a true story; that of a local Minister who was deposed in 1746, the year of Culloden, but went on to marry his mistress and be accepted back into the Church. However, there is no such obvious ending to ‘Adam Blair’ of which Lockhart wrote, “I have told a true story. I hope the days are yet far distant when it shall be doubted in Scotland that such things might have been”.
John Gibson Lockhart died at Abbotsford on the 25th of November, 1854, and was buried in Dryburgh Abbey next to Sir Walter Scott. A two volume biography of Lockhart was published by Andrew Lang in 1896.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Robert Chambers
Robert Chambers, author, journal editor, naturalist and publisher, was born on the 10th of July, 1802.
Robert Chambers was co-founder, with his brother William, of W. & R. Chambers, a highly influential firm of book publishers in 19th Century Edinburgh. The brothers were responsible for the publication of the well known ‘Chambers Encyclopaedia’ and ‘Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal’. Robert was the principle author of several works, including the ‘Life and Works of Robert Burns’ and ‘The Book of Days: A Miscellany of Popular Antiquities in Connection with the Calendar, Including Anecdote, Biography, & History, Curiosities of Literature and Oddities of Human Life and Character’, which is a bit like this blog, except with a longer title. Whilst his brother was also a politician, Robert was active in scientific circles and is now, but was not then, known as the author of the controversial book ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation’.
‘Vestiges’ was the pioneering work on the theory of evolution and so controversial that Robert’s authorship was not acknowledged until after his death. Integrating research in the burgeoning sciences of anthropology, geology, astronomy, biology, economics, and chemistry, it described the evolution of the universe, from planets to people, being driven by a self developing force, which acted according to natural laws. It reached a huge popular audience and was widely read, and not just by the social and intellectual elite. Of course, it sparked debate about natural law, setting the stage for the controversy over Darwin's ‘Origin’.
Robert Chambers was born in Peebles on the 10th of July, 1802, at a time when Britain was at war with the French. His family was relatively prosperous at first, however, his father’s business suffered dramatically as a result of extending credit to French prisoners-of-war. They reneged on the repayment, which led to straitened circumstances and denied Robert a chance at University and a career in the Church. In a sense, Robert educated himself, through becoming an avid reader. He was born with a deformity in his feet and an attempt at its correction left him lame. Consequently, he was less active than most young boys and wasn’t able to take part in sports. So Robert sought an alternative pastime, which involved reading everything on which he could lay hands.
He was well served by a small circulating library in Peebles, Elders Library in the High Street and his father’s copy of ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’. By the age of twelve, his future career looked certain as he was to write later, "Books, not playthings, filled my hands in childhood. At twelve I was deep, not only in poetry and fiction, but in encyclopedias". By the age of sixteen, Robert had opened a bookstall in Leith Walk, with his brother William. Their entire stock consisted of the remnants of his father’s library, a few cheap Bibles and their schoolbooks.
Despite such modest beginnings, they did well enough, helped by the future politician’s business acumen. An early success for the embryonic publishers came as a result of being offered £10 worth of books from an Edinburgh book fair, with the money only having to be repaid once they had sold the books. Thankfully, the books sold well and the profits were given to the purchase of a small, second hand printing press. The firm of W. & R. Chambers, publishers at large, Edinburgh, Scotland, was off and printing.
A first, inspired success came from printing, binding and publishing 750 copies of ‘The Songs of Robert Burns’. They also printed more mundane stuff, but Robert’s literary and scientific interests led to his first attempts at writing, which the brothers duly published. ‘Traditions of Edinburgh’ was published in 1824, which brought Robert to the attention of Sir Walter Scott. Numerous works followed, which Robert either wrote, contributed to or edited. Five volumes of ‘A History of the Rebellions in Scotland from 1638 to 1745’ was published as were ‘The Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen’, the ‘Cyclopedia of English Literature’, and the ‘Life and Works of Robert Burns’.
The successful ‘Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal’ appeared weekly from 1832, which contained many articles written by Robert. These were on subjects as diverse as history, religion, language and science. It seems to make sense, that after having been denied a formal, higher education, Robert and William turned their business into an educational publishing house. The topic sheets published as ‘Chambers’ Instruction for the People’ were an example. Dealing with subjects such as science and mathematics, they were widely sold at home and abroad. The theme continued with the first part of ‘Chambers’ Encyclopedia’, which appeared in 1859. It was published in 520 parts, between 1859 and 1868, and edited by Dr. Andrew Findlater. In 1867, Chambers’ first dictionary appeared and by the end of the 19th Century, W. & R. Chambers was one of the largest English language publishers in the world.
Robert was the more literary and intellectual of the brothers and became interested in geology, again, despite having little formal scientific training. That interest led to his greatest achievement, which predated Darwin’s ‘On the Origin of Species’ by fifteen years. Published in 1844, his 400-page ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation’ offered a comprehensive account of the history and evolution of the Earth, from the formation of the Solar System, right through the development of plants and animals to the origins of mankind. It received a lot of flack, not least because it rejected the myths of Genesis in the Bible, which is no doubt why he published anonymously, in order not to damage the business.
It was written in an attractive and accessible style to appeal to the widest possible readership and as a result, became a ‘best seller’. Charles Darwin called it "that strange, unphilosophical, but capitally-written book," and noted that a few people suspected him of being the author. Thomas Henry Huxley, hardly surprisingly, called it a “notorious work of fiction". During Robert’s lifetime, only seven people knew that he was the author and it wasn’t until 1884, long after his death and when the 12th edition was in print, that the truth emerged. He deserves much credit and praise alongside his more famous contemporary, Charlie is my Darwin.
Robert Chambers died on the 17th of March, 1871, at his house in St. Andrews. He was honored by being buried in St. Regulus Tower, St. Andrews.
Robert Chambers was co-founder, with his brother William, of W. & R. Chambers, a highly influential firm of book publishers in 19th Century Edinburgh. The brothers were responsible for the publication of the well known ‘Chambers Encyclopaedia’ and ‘Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal’. Robert was the principle author of several works, including the ‘Life and Works of Robert Burns’ and ‘The Book of Days: A Miscellany of Popular Antiquities in Connection with the Calendar, Including Anecdote, Biography, & History, Curiosities of Literature and Oddities of Human Life and Character’, which is a bit like this blog, except with a longer title. Whilst his brother was also a politician, Robert was active in scientific circles and is now, but was not then, known as the author of the controversial book ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation’.
‘Vestiges’ was the pioneering work on the theory of evolution and so controversial that Robert’s authorship was not acknowledged until after his death. Integrating research in the burgeoning sciences of anthropology, geology, astronomy, biology, economics, and chemistry, it described the evolution of the universe, from planets to people, being driven by a self developing force, which acted according to natural laws. It reached a huge popular audience and was widely read, and not just by the social and intellectual elite. Of course, it sparked debate about natural law, setting the stage for the controversy over Darwin's ‘Origin’.
Robert Chambers was born in Peebles on the 10th of July, 1802, at a time when Britain was at war with the French. His family was relatively prosperous at first, however, his father’s business suffered dramatically as a result of extending credit to French prisoners-of-war. They reneged on the repayment, which led to straitened circumstances and denied Robert a chance at University and a career in the Church. In a sense, Robert educated himself, through becoming an avid reader. He was born with a deformity in his feet and an attempt at its correction left him lame. Consequently, he was less active than most young boys and wasn’t able to take part in sports. So Robert sought an alternative pastime, which involved reading everything on which he could lay hands.
He was well served by a small circulating library in Peebles, Elders Library in the High Street and his father’s copy of ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’. By the age of twelve, his future career looked certain as he was to write later, "Books, not playthings, filled my hands in childhood. At twelve I was deep, not only in poetry and fiction, but in encyclopedias". By the age of sixteen, Robert had opened a bookstall in Leith Walk, with his brother William. Their entire stock consisted of the remnants of his father’s library, a few cheap Bibles and their schoolbooks.
Despite such modest beginnings, they did well enough, helped by the future politician’s business acumen. An early success for the embryonic publishers came as a result of being offered £10 worth of books from an Edinburgh book fair, with the money only having to be repaid once they had sold the books. Thankfully, the books sold well and the profits were given to the purchase of a small, second hand printing press. The firm of W. & R. Chambers, publishers at large, Edinburgh, Scotland, was off and printing.
A first, inspired success came from printing, binding and publishing 750 copies of ‘The Songs of Robert Burns’. They also printed more mundane stuff, but Robert’s literary and scientific interests led to his first attempts at writing, which the brothers duly published. ‘Traditions of Edinburgh’ was published in 1824, which brought Robert to the attention of Sir Walter Scott. Numerous works followed, which Robert either wrote, contributed to or edited. Five volumes of ‘A History of the Rebellions in Scotland from 1638 to 1745’ was published as were ‘The Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen’, the ‘Cyclopedia of English Literature’, and the ‘Life and Works of Robert Burns’.
The successful ‘Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal’ appeared weekly from 1832, which contained many articles written by Robert. These were on subjects as diverse as history, religion, language and science. It seems to make sense, that after having been denied a formal, higher education, Robert and William turned their business into an educational publishing house. The topic sheets published as ‘Chambers’ Instruction for the People’ were an example. Dealing with subjects such as science and mathematics, they were widely sold at home and abroad. The theme continued with the first part of ‘Chambers’ Encyclopedia’, which appeared in 1859. It was published in 520 parts, between 1859 and 1868, and edited by Dr. Andrew Findlater. In 1867, Chambers’ first dictionary appeared and by the end of the 19th Century, W. & R. Chambers was one of the largest English language publishers in the world.
Robert was the more literary and intellectual of the brothers and became interested in geology, again, despite having little formal scientific training. That interest led to his greatest achievement, which predated Darwin’s ‘On the Origin of Species’ by fifteen years. Published in 1844, his 400-page ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation’ offered a comprehensive account of the history and evolution of the Earth, from the formation of the Solar System, right through the development of plants and animals to the origins of mankind. It received a lot of flack, not least because it rejected the myths of Genesis in the Bible, which is no doubt why he published anonymously, in order not to damage the business.
It was written in an attractive and accessible style to appeal to the widest possible readership and as a result, became a ‘best seller’. Charles Darwin called it "that strange, unphilosophical, but capitally-written book," and noted that a few people suspected him of being the author. Thomas Henry Huxley, hardly surprisingly, called it a “notorious work of fiction". During Robert’s lifetime, only seven people knew that he was the author and it wasn’t until 1884, long after his death and when the 12th edition was in print, that the truth emerged. He deserves much credit and praise alongside his more famous contemporary, Charlie is my Darwin.
Robert Chambers died on the 17th of March, 1871, at his house in St. Andrews. He was honored by being buried in St. Regulus Tower, St. Andrews.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Sir Henry Raeburn
Sir Henry Raeburn, the renowned Edinburgh artist noted for his portraits of Sir Walter Scott and other notables, died on the 8th of July, 1823.
Despite being less well known than he should have been outside Scotland during his own lifetime, Sir Henry Raeburn is now recognised as a world class portrait painter. He was certainly the leading Scottish portrait painter during the late 18th and early 19th Centuries. He worked almost exclusively as a portraitist and the demand for his work was sufficient to sustain a career wholly in Scotland. Alongside Sir David Wilkie, Raeburn is considered the founder of the 'Scottish School' of painting.
The painting for which he is latterly best known is one that itself was almost unknown until purchased by the National Gallery of Scotland. It is another painting with a long name; his portrait of ‘The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch’, which most folks would recognise as ‘The Skating Minister’. It is one of Scotland's best known paintings and a kind of Scottish cultural icon.
However, a new book, 'Context, Reception and Reputation' (Edinburgh University Press, January, 2013), by Dr Stephen Lloyd, a past Senior Curator for the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, which has contributions from leading academics and art historians, strongly suggests that the painting was not by Raeburn. Lloyd points to X-ray evidence, which reveals that the painting lacks the white lead paint Raeburn typically used for his faces and that, therefore, the work is “utterly alien” to his technique. Lloyd, supported by Pierre Rosenburg, one of the foremost authorities on French painting and a former director of the Louvre, is convinced the work is by French emigre artist, Henri-Pierre Danloux.
Raeburn painted many of the most prominent Scots of his day, including Sir Walter Scott and his work did much to define Scottish society in a period of enlightenment and intellectual distinction. His approach was often to paint directly on the canvas without preliminary drawings and he also experimented with lighting effects. Maybe he experimented with white lead free paint once or twice.
Henry Raeburn was born in Stockbridge, which is now in Edinburgh, on the 4th of March, 1756. He was orphaned at an early age and brought up under the general supervision of his elder brother William. He went on to be educated at Heriot's Hospital in Edinburgh, now George Heriot's School. At the age of fifteen, he left school to begin an apprenticeship under James Gilliland, an Edinburgh goldsmith and jeweller. Raeburn demonstrated considerable skill painting decoration on ivory insets in jewellery and from that inauspicious beginning it was only a short step to the production of portrait miniatures, which were fashionable at the time. Henry’s first efforts were of his friends and using water colours, before he moved on to the use of oils.
Raeburn was almost entirely self-taught, but he showed considerable talent. Via his employer, that talent came to the attention of David Martin, who was then Edinburgh's leading portrait painter and who, for a period during 1775, encouraged Raeburn's work and helped him by lending him portraits to copy. With Martin’s guidance, Raeburn began to develop his personal style and progressed from painting miniatures to full portraiture. A portrait of George Chalmers, painted in 1776, is Raeburn’s earliest known portrait, and its faulty drawing and incorrect perspective suggest his lack of formal training. However, within a fairly short period of time, Raeburn was earning a good living as a portrait artist.
In 1778, he married Anne Leslie, the widow of John Leslie, 11th Earl of Rothes, who was twelve years his senior and a mother of three. It is said that he married her within a month of meeting her after being commissioned to paint her portrait. Whatever the truth, his wife was wealthy and having married into financial security, he was able to devote his time entirely to improving his artistic skill and concentrating on his career as an artist. Some years later, in 1784, he travelled to London. Either he was on his way to a tour of Italy, to gain a better understanding of the history and breadth of art, or he was influenced so to do by the English artist Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he met in London. Reynolds’ works were already familiar to him and he undoubtedly exerted some influence. It appears Raeburn was convinced to study in Italy on Reynold’s advice and that Sir Joshua also gave him letters of introduction to many eminent people in the Italian art scene. He spent his time in Rome, between 1785 and 1786, developing his technique.
Raeburn and his wife returned to Edinburgh in 1786/7, where he set up a studio in George Street. He developed from bust-sized figures to full length portraits and his reputation spread. In marked contrast to many of his Scottish contemporaries, who perhaps felt they had to move south to develop successful careers, Raeburn spent most all of his life in Edinburgh, apart from his educational Italian interlude and the occasional trip to London. So, although he was never as well known outside Scotland as his skill deserved, he became hugely influential amongst his contemporaries. In 1798, he moved into a studio at 32 York Place, in the centre of Edinburgh, where the high windows that he installed to give him as much daylight as possible are there to this day.
Raeburn spent the next thirty years painting a variety of prominent and influential Scots men and women. By about 1790, he had completed the portrait of his wife and the double portrait of Sir John and Lady Clerk of Penicuik in which he experimented with unusual lighting from behind those sitters’ heads. That was the first of his paintings to be exhibited in London, where it was shown at Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery, in 1792. The background is the estate at Penicuik and the landscape that inspired Ramsay's ‘The Gentle Shepherd’. All told, Raeburn painted over 700 portraits of wealthy and not so wealthy patrons, including four portraits of Sir Walter Scott. Amongst his famous sitters were philosophers Adam Ferguson, Thomas Reid and David Hume, the geologist James Hutton and his advocate, the mathematician John Playfair, fiddler Neil Gow and many others. He also painted two Highland chieftains, ‘MacDonell of Glengarry’ and ‘The McNab’, both of which embody the romantic ideals of his time, no doubt influenced by Scott.
Raeburn was elected president of the Society of Artists in Edinburgh, in 1812, and in 1815, the same year as the Battle of Waterloo, he became a full member of the Royal Scottish Academy and of the Royal Academy in London. He was knighted at Hopetoun House by King George IV during his visit to Scotland in 1822 and, shortly before his death, was appointed His Majesty's Limner for Scotland. Sir Henry Raeburn died intestate at his home of St Bernards in Edinburgh, on the 8th of July, 1823. The inventory of his estate, which was administered by his son Henry, lists many payments owing by the rich and famous for their portraits.
He is best represented in the National Gallery of Scotland, which contains, amongst many others, his self-portrait and portraits of Sir John Sinclair, Mrs. James Campbell, Dr. Alexander Adam, and Lord Newton. The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Frick Collection in New York City and the Huntington Art Gallery in San Marino, California, have examples of his work. The University of Edinburgh also has a major collection.
Despite being less well known than he should have been outside Scotland during his own lifetime, Sir Henry Raeburn is now recognised as a world class portrait painter. He was certainly the leading Scottish portrait painter during the late 18th and early 19th Centuries. He worked almost exclusively as a portraitist and the demand for his work was sufficient to sustain a career wholly in Scotland. Alongside Sir David Wilkie, Raeburn is considered the founder of the 'Scottish School' of painting.
The painting for which he is latterly best known is one that itself was almost unknown until purchased by the National Gallery of Scotland. It is another painting with a long name; his portrait of ‘The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch’, which most folks would recognise as ‘The Skating Minister’. It is one of Scotland's best known paintings and a kind of Scottish cultural icon.
However, a new book, 'Context, Reception and Reputation' (Edinburgh University Press, January, 2013), by Dr Stephen Lloyd, a past Senior Curator for the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, which has contributions from leading academics and art historians, strongly suggests that the painting was not by Raeburn. Lloyd points to X-ray evidence, which reveals that the painting lacks the white lead paint Raeburn typically used for his faces and that, therefore, the work is “utterly alien” to his technique. Lloyd, supported by Pierre Rosenburg, one of the foremost authorities on French painting and a former director of the Louvre, is convinced the work is by French emigre artist, Henri-Pierre Danloux.
Raeburn painted many of the most prominent Scots of his day, including Sir Walter Scott and his work did much to define Scottish society in a period of enlightenment and intellectual distinction. His approach was often to paint directly on the canvas without preliminary drawings and he also experimented with lighting effects. Maybe he experimented with white lead free paint once or twice.
Henry Raeburn was born in Stockbridge, which is now in Edinburgh, on the 4th of March, 1756. He was orphaned at an early age and brought up under the general supervision of his elder brother William. He went on to be educated at Heriot's Hospital in Edinburgh, now George Heriot's School. At the age of fifteen, he left school to begin an apprenticeship under James Gilliland, an Edinburgh goldsmith and jeweller. Raeburn demonstrated considerable skill painting decoration on ivory insets in jewellery and from that inauspicious beginning it was only a short step to the production of portrait miniatures, which were fashionable at the time. Henry’s first efforts were of his friends and using water colours, before he moved on to the use of oils.
Raeburn was almost entirely self-taught, but he showed considerable talent. Via his employer, that talent came to the attention of David Martin, who was then Edinburgh's leading portrait painter and who, for a period during 1775, encouraged Raeburn's work and helped him by lending him portraits to copy. With Martin’s guidance, Raeburn began to develop his personal style and progressed from painting miniatures to full portraiture. A portrait of George Chalmers, painted in 1776, is Raeburn’s earliest known portrait, and its faulty drawing and incorrect perspective suggest his lack of formal training. However, within a fairly short period of time, Raeburn was earning a good living as a portrait artist.
In 1778, he married Anne Leslie, the widow of John Leslie, 11th Earl of Rothes, who was twelve years his senior and a mother of three. It is said that he married her within a month of meeting her after being commissioned to paint her portrait. Whatever the truth, his wife was wealthy and having married into financial security, he was able to devote his time entirely to improving his artistic skill and concentrating on his career as an artist. Some years later, in 1784, he travelled to London. Either he was on his way to a tour of Italy, to gain a better understanding of the history and breadth of art, or he was influenced so to do by the English artist Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he met in London. Reynolds’ works were already familiar to him and he undoubtedly exerted some influence. It appears Raeburn was convinced to study in Italy on Reynold’s advice and that Sir Joshua also gave him letters of introduction to many eminent people in the Italian art scene. He spent his time in Rome, between 1785 and 1786, developing his technique.
Raeburn and his wife returned to Edinburgh in 1786/7, where he set up a studio in George Street. He developed from bust-sized figures to full length portraits and his reputation spread. In marked contrast to many of his Scottish contemporaries, who perhaps felt they had to move south to develop successful careers, Raeburn spent most all of his life in Edinburgh, apart from his educational Italian interlude and the occasional trip to London. So, although he was never as well known outside Scotland as his skill deserved, he became hugely influential amongst his contemporaries. In 1798, he moved into a studio at 32 York Place, in the centre of Edinburgh, where the high windows that he installed to give him as much daylight as possible are there to this day.
Raeburn spent the next thirty years painting a variety of prominent and influential Scots men and women. By about 1790, he had completed the portrait of his wife and the double portrait of Sir John and Lady Clerk of Penicuik in which he experimented with unusual lighting from behind those sitters’ heads. That was the first of his paintings to be exhibited in London, where it was shown at Boydell's Shakespeare Gallery, in 1792. The background is the estate at Penicuik and the landscape that inspired Ramsay's ‘The Gentle Shepherd’. All told, Raeburn painted over 700 portraits of wealthy and not so wealthy patrons, including four portraits of Sir Walter Scott. Amongst his famous sitters were philosophers Adam Ferguson, Thomas Reid and David Hume, the geologist James Hutton and his advocate, the mathematician John Playfair, fiddler Neil Gow and many others. He also painted two Highland chieftains, ‘MacDonell of Glengarry’ and ‘The McNab’, both of which embody the romantic ideals of his time, no doubt influenced by Scott.
Raeburn was elected president of the Society of Artists in Edinburgh, in 1812, and in 1815, the same year as the Battle of Waterloo, he became a full member of the Royal Scottish Academy and of the Royal Academy in London. He was knighted at Hopetoun House by King George IV during his visit to Scotland in 1822 and, shortly before his death, was appointed His Majesty's Limner for Scotland. Sir Henry Raeburn died intestate at his home of St Bernards in Edinburgh, on the 8th of July, 1823. The inventory of his estate, which was administered by his son Henry, lists many payments owing by the rich and famous for their portraits.
He is best represented in the National Gallery of Scotland, which contains, amongst many others, his self-portrait and portraits of Sir John Sinclair, Mrs. James Campbell, Dr. Alexander Adam, and Lord Newton. The Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Frick Collection in New York City and the Huntington Art Gallery in San Marino, California, have examples of his work. The University of Edinburgh also has a major collection.
Friday, 24 June 2011
Horatio MacCulloch
Horatio MacCulloch R. S. A., the celebrated landscape painter, died on the 24th of June, 1867.
The admirable Horatio McCulloch was Scotland’s most famous Victorian landscape artist whose paintings of Glencoe, Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond are probably his best known. Named after, you guessed it, Horatio Nelson, McCulloch became a sought after artist who established an international following for his epic Highland landscapes and who was a regular contributor to the exhibitions of the Royal Scottish Academy. The subjects of his numerous landscapes were taken almost exclusively from Scottish scenery and he frequently travelled to the Highlands to paint romanticised, dramatic landscapes, executed on large canvases, which appealed greatly to the Victorian taste.
McCulloch was influenced by the Nasmyth tradition of landscape painting and the natural, free style of Thomson of Duddingston. McCulloch applied a similar approach to his Highland landscapes. However, he ultimately formed his own style by planting his easel in the open air and making nature his studio. His paintings have a certain poetic feeling and he was credited, along with Landseer, for creating the Victorian image of the Scottish Highlands. He was essentially an oil-painter who felt nature was too substantial to be adequately represented by washes of thin pigments and, in consequence, his infrequent watercolours are nowhere near as good as his oils. He can be said be to landscape painting in Scotland what Raeburn is to portraiture and Wilkie to domestic art.
Horatio McCulloch was born in Glasgow, in 1806. At that time in Glasgow, training and exhibition facilities for artists were sadly lacking and he began working life as an apprentice to a house painter. Horatio also gained experience, whilst still a teenager, working as a scene painter at the Theatre Royal, Glasgow. However, McCulloch was able to study easel painting for a year, under the guidance of John Knox, a Glasgow landscapist of some repute who added to his means of living by teaching drawing and painting. Later, McCulloch worked for a time in Cumnock, near Glasgow, where he painted ornamental pictures on the lids of snuff boxes.
MacCulloch practiced his embryonic talents through painting subjects by the banks of the Kelvin and Cart rivers, which were at that time, scenes of unpolluted pastoral beauty. McCulloch then followed his muse to Edinburgh, in 1825, where he was employed by Lizars, the Edinburgh engravers, to colour the illustrations in Selby’s ‘Ornithology’ and ‘British Birds’, and Lizars’s ‘Anatomy’. During that period, when he began working from nature, McCulloch became greatly influenced by the Nasmyth tradition of landscape painting and the watercolours of H. W. Williams. McCulloch was also influenced by the Reverend John Thomson of Duddingston, an accomplished amateur artist.
Three years later, in 1827, McCulloch returned to his native city, where he spent the next decade establishing his reputation as a talented and accomplished landscape artist. He was employed to produce several large pictures for the decoration of a public hall in St George’s Place and he also did more work as a theatrical scene-painter. In 1828, McCulloch had his first work exhibited in Glasgow, at the Dilettanti Society in Argyle Arcade, quickly followed by sell out exhibitions in Edinburgh and London, in 1829 and 1830. Ironically, it was around this time that the Theatre Royal in Glasgow was destroyed by fire.
In the 1830s, a commission from the Lord Provost of Glasgow, James Lumsden, helped established McCulloch’s reputation within Scotland. Then, in 1838, he moved back to Edinburgh where he spent most of the rest of his life. In 1839, McCulloch who by this time was a very sought after artist, went on tours of England and Wales. Between 1839 and 1843, according to an RSA announcement, “Mr McCulloch [was] engaged on assignments.” One of these took him to Rothesay, in 1841, and Bute, in 1831, where he painted ‘St Blane’s Church’, a picture which is now owned and displayed by Bute Museum. Another painting by McCulloch, entitled ‘View of Loch Fad, Isle of Bute, with Arran in the Distance’, was probably painted during that same visit.
His famous works, ‘Glencoe’ (1864) and ‘Loch Katrine’ (1866), are held by Glasgow Art Gallery and the Perth Museum and Art Gallery, respectively. Other celebrated paintings include, are the ‘Cuchulin Mountains’, ‘Lowland River’, ‘Loch Maree’, ‘A Dream of the Highlands’, ‘Highland Loch’, ‘Views in Cadzow Forest’, ‘Loch-an-Eilan’, ‘Mist on the Mountains’, ‘Sun Rising through the Mist’, ‘Sundown on Loch Achray’, ‘Quiet River’, ‘Kilchurn Castle’, ‘Knock Castle’, ‘Highland Stronghold’ and ‘Loch Lomond’.
McCulloch’s very grand ‘Highland Deer-Forest’, which was purchased by the Glasgow Art Union, was exhibited in London, where the Times’ critic spoke of it as being equal to the work of the great Turner. One of his friends, John Wilson (a.k.a. Christopher North), also paid an eloquent tribute to the genius and merits of MacCulloch, in a public speech.
MacCulloch first figured in the Royal Scottish Academy’s exhibition, in 1829, and year by year, he was a regular exhibitor. He was elected to the Royal Scottish Academy as an Associate, in 1838, and as a full Academician four years later. He also sent paintings to the Royal Academy of London, in 1843 and 1852, where the “gloomy poetic feeling” of his ‘Loch Coruiskin’ attracted attention. Thanks to engravings by William Miller and William Forrest, MacCulloch’s paintings are probably more popular in Scotland than those of any other landscape painter.
MacCulloch died as a consequence of an attack of paralysis, his third, on the 24th of June, 1867, after lying unconscious for a day and a half. His last picture was exhibited, unfinished, at the Royal Scottish Academy the following year. He is buried in Warriston Cemetery, Edinburgh, where there is a monument to his memory.
The admirable Horatio McCulloch was Scotland’s most famous Victorian landscape artist whose paintings of Glencoe, Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond are probably his best known. Named after, you guessed it, Horatio Nelson, McCulloch became a sought after artist who established an international following for his epic Highland landscapes and who was a regular contributor to the exhibitions of the Royal Scottish Academy. The subjects of his numerous landscapes were taken almost exclusively from Scottish scenery and he frequently travelled to the Highlands to paint romanticised, dramatic landscapes, executed on large canvases, which appealed greatly to the Victorian taste.
McCulloch was influenced by the Nasmyth tradition of landscape painting and the natural, free style of Thomson of Duddingston. McCulloch applied a similar approach to his Highland landscapes. However, he ultimately formed his own style by planting his easel in the open air and making nature his studio. His paintings have a certain poetic feeling and he was credited, along with Landseer, for creating the Victorian image of the Scottish Highlands. He was essentially an oil-painter who felt nature was too substantial to be adequately represented by washes of thin pigments and, in consequence, his infrequent watercolours are nowhere near as good as his oils. He can be said be to landscape painting in Scotland what Raeburn is to portraiture and Wilkie to domestic art.
Horatio McCulloch was born in Glasgow, in 1806. At that time in Glasgow, training and exhibition facilities for artists were sadly lacking and he began working life as an apprentice to a house painter. Horatio also gained experience, whilst still a teenager, working as a scene painter at the Theatre Royal, Glasgow. However, McCulloch was able to study easel painting for a year, under the guidance of John Knox, a Glasgow landscapist of some repute who added to his means of living by teaching drawing and painting. Later, McCulloch worked for a time in Cumnock, near Glasgow, where he painted ornamental pictures on the lids of snuff boxes.
MacCulloch practiced his embryonic talents through painting subjects by the banks of the Kelvin and Cart rivers, which were at that time, scenes of unpolluted pastoral beauty. McCulloch then followed his muse to Edinburgh, in 1825, where he was employed by Lizars, the Edinburgh engravers, to colour the illustrations in Selby’s ‘Ornithology’ and ‘British Birds’, and Lizars’s ‘Anatomy’. During that period, when he began working from nature, McCulloch became greatly influenced by the Nasmyth tradition of landscape painting and the watercolours of H. W. Williams. McCulloch was also influenced by the Reverend John Thomson of Duddingston, an accomplished amateur artist.
Three years later, in 1827, McCulloch returned to his native city, where he spent the next decade establishing his reputation as a talented and accomplished landscape artist. He was employed to produce several large pictures for the decoration of a public hall in St George’s Place and he also did more work as a theatrical scene-painter. In 1828, McCulloch had his first work exhibited in Glasgow, at the Dilettanti Society in Argyle Arcade, quickly followed by sell out exhibitions in Edinburgh and London, in 1829 and 1830. Ironically, it was around this time that the Theatre Royal in Glasgow was destroyed by fire.
In the 1830s, a commission from the Lord Provost of Glasgow, James Lumsden, helped established McCulloch’s reputation within Scotland. Then, in 1838, he moved back to Edinburgh where he spent most of the rest of his life. In 1839, McCulloch who by this time was a very sought after artist, went on tours of England and Wales. Between 1839 and 1843, according to an RSA announcement, “Mr McCulloch [was] engaged on assignments.” One of these took him to Rothesay, in 1841, and Bute, in 1831, where he painted ‘St Blane’s Church’, a picture which is now owned and displayed by Bute Museum. Another painting by McCulloch, entitled ‘View of Loch Fad, Isle of Bute, with Arran in the Distance’, was probably painted during that same visit.
His famous works, ‘Glencoe’ (1864) and ‘Loch Katrine’ (1866), are held by Glasgow Art Gallery and the Perth Museum and Art Gallery, respectively. Other celebrated paintings include, are the ‘Cuchulin Mountains’, ‘Lowland River’, ‘Loch Maree’, ‘A Dream of the Highlands’, ‘Highland Loch’, ‘Views in Cadzow Forest’, ‘Loch-an-Eilan’, ‘Mist on the Mountains’, ‘Sun Rising through the Mist’, ‘Sundown on Loch Achray’, ‘Quiet River’, ‘Kilchurn Castle’, ‘Knock Castle’, ‘Highland Stronghold’ and ‘Loch Lomond’.
McCulloch’s very grand ‘Highland Deer-Forest’, which was purchased by the Glasgow Art Union, was exhibited in London, where the Times’ critic spoke of it as being equal to the work of the great Turner. One of his friends, John Wilson (a.k.a. Christopher North), also paid an eloquent tribute to the genius and merits of MacCulloch, in a public speech.
MacCulloch first figured in the Royal Scottish Academy’s exhibition, in 1829, and year by year, he was a regular exhibitor. He was elected to the Royal Scottish Academy as an Associate, in 1838, and as a full Academician four years later. He also sent paintings to the Royal Academy of London, in 1843 and 1852, where the “gloomy poetic feeling” of his ‘Loch Coruiskin’ attracted attention. Thanks to engravings by William Miller and William Forrest, MacCulloch’s paintings are probably more popular in Scotland than those of any other landscape painter.
MacCulloch died as a consequence of an attack of paralysis, his third, on the 24th of June, 1867, after lying unconscious for a day and a half. His last picture was exhibited, unfinished, at the Royal Scottish Academy the following year. He is buried in Warriston Cemetery, Edinburgh, where there is a monument to his memory.
Thursday, 16 June 2011
The Reverend John Skinner
The Reverend John Skinner, poet, theologian and Episcopalian minister, died on the 16th of June, 1807.
The Reverend John Skinner was the author of several popular Scotch poems and songs. The list includes ‘John o’ Badenyon’ and ‘Ewie wi’ the Crookit Horn’, although he is perhaps best known for his song ‘Tullochgorum’. That latter was complemented by Scotland’s very own Robert Burns in a letter sent to Skinner as, “the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw.” Skinner was also the author of the ‘Ecclesiastical History of Scotland’, and many other theological works. According to his biographer, The Rev. William Walker, M.A., of Monymusk, “[Skinner] had in him a vein of true poetry, which, if freely worked out in his own native dialect, would have raised him to a high place on the roll of Northern poets.” It is less well known that Skinner also wrote Latin, both in prose and verse, with remarkable purity.
John Skinner was born at Balfour, in the parish of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, on the 3rd of October, 1721. From an early age, he displayed the marks of talent and, when he was thirteen, his superior scholarship got him a considerable bursary to go to Marischal College, in Aberdeen. After leaving the College, he became Assistant Teacher to the Schoolmaster of Kenmay and later, to the Schoolmaster of Monymusk. He made friends with Lady Grant of Monymusk House, whose library consisted of several thousands of well selected works from every department of literature. Skinner was allowed access to these volumes and they significantly contributed to his intellectual improvement.
In the late 1730s, he forsook the Presbyterian establishment in which he had been reared and adopted the principles of the Scottish Episcopal Church. He then spent two years in Shetland as Preceptor or Tutor to a son of the Sinclairs of Scalloway, after which he began his studies for the Church, reading for his orders at Meldrum. Skinner was ordained as Deacon by Bishop Dunbar of Peterhead on the 13th of August, 1742, and in November, 1742, was appointed Minister at Longside, near Linshart in Buchan, where he remained without a wish to “change his place” until retiring to Aberdeen in 1807. In Skinner’s day, there were no Very Reverend Deans or Lord Bishops in Scotland and so he never took such title, being content with that of Reverend.
Skinner was no Jacobite and although he was willing to subscribe to the oath of allegiance, he suffered for the Jacobitism of his Church. His Chapel was one of those that were burnt by ‘The Campbells’; the soldiers of the ruthless ‘Butcher’ Cumberland who were egged on by the same local persecutor Skinner lampooned in his sermons. In 1753, Skinner was jailed in Aberdeen for six months for the offence of ministering to a gathering of more than four people. Skinner used to officiate to his own family within his house, while the people stood outside and listened through the open windows.
Earlier, in 1746, Skinner’s first religious publication appeared, which was a pamphlet entitled, ‘A Preservative against Presbytery’. It was designed to reassure the minds of his people who feared the total extirpation of Scottish Episcopacy. Over the next decade, he published several dissertations and pamphlets in vindication of Episcopacy and then, in 1788, he published his ‘Ecclesiastical History of Scotland’. This was a detailed account of the affairs of the Episcopal Church, from the time of the Reformation up to the death of Charles Stuart, when its Ministers consented to acknowledge the existing dynasty. Skinner dedicated this work to his son the Bishop in elegant Latin, ‘Ad Filium et Episcopum’. He was also asked by Bishop Gleig to contribute to the ‘Encyclopaedia Britannica’, which he did with materials on ‘The Origin of Language’, ‘Episcopacy’ and ‘The Wisdom of the Egyptians’.
The song, ‘Tullochgorum’, which Burns so enjoyed, was suggested by a Mrs Montgomery, who was the wife of the Inland Revenue Officer in Ellon. As there were many Scottish airs like ‘The Reel o’ Tullochgorum’ that lacked words, she thought Skinner would be able to write a few verses to accompany the popular tune. Not an easy task, if you listen to the piece, and quite an achievement I’d say. Burns, on his Highland Tour, unwittingly passed only four miles from Skinner’s home, but the two didn’t meet, which, when he later found out how near he’d been, was a great disappointment to Burns.
Skinner subsequently wrote Burns a long verse epistle, to which Burns answered on the 25th of October, 1787, that it was “by far the finest poetic compliment I ever got in plain dull prose.” Burns asked Skinner to send him three songs for inclusion in ‘Johnston’s Miscellany’, in the second volume of which Burns arranged for ‘Tullochgorum’, ‘John of Badenyon’ and ‘Ewie wi’ the Crookit Horn’ to be included. Skinner received a copy on the 14th of February, 1788, “as a mark of the veneration I have long had, and shall ever have, for your character.”
Here’s the opening verse of ‘Tullochgorum’…
And gie’s a song, the lady cry’d, and lay your disputes a’ aside
What signifies’t for folks to chide for what was done before them
Let Whig and Tory a’ agree
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory
Whig and Tory a’ agree to drop their Whig-malorum
Let Whig and Tory all agree to spend the night in mirth and glee
And cheerful sing alang wi’ me the Reel o’ Tullochgorum
In latter life, Skinner was presented with the ‘Freedom of the City’ of Old Aberdeen. The Reverend John Skinner died in Aberdeen on the 16th of June, 1807, in the house of his son the Bishop, with whom he had been staying. He was buried in the Kirkyard in Longside, where there is a monument erected to his memory.
Check him out on Amazon books...
Tullochgorum, and John o Badenyon, etc
The Reverend John Skinner was the author of several popular Scotch poems and songs. The list includes ‘John o’ Badenyon’ and ‘Ewie wi’ the Crookit Horn’, although he is perhaps best known for his song ‘Tullochgorum’. That latter was complemented by Scotland’s very own Robert Burns in a letter sent to Skinner as, “the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw.” Skinner was also the author of the ‘Ecclesiastical History of Scotland’, and many other theological works. According to his biographer, The Rev. William Walker, M.A., of Monymusk, “[Skinner] had in him a vein of true poetry, which, if freely worked out in his own native dialect, would have raised him to a high place on the roll of Northern poets.” It is less well known that Skinner also wrote Latin, both in prose and verse, with remarkable purity.
John Skinner was born at Balfour, in the parish of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, on the 3rd of October, 1721. From an early age, he displayed the marks of talent and, when he was thirteen, his superior scholarship got him a considerable bursary to go to Marischal College, in Aberdeen. After leaving the College, he became Assistant Teacher to the Schoolmaster of Kenmay and later, to the Schoolmaster of Monymusk. He made friends with Lady Grant of Monymusk House, whose library consisted of several thousands of well selected works from every department of literature. Skinner was allowed access to these volumes and they significantly contributed to his intellectual improvement.
In the late 1730s, he forsook the Presbyterian establishment in which he had been reared and adopted the principles of the Scottish Episcopal Church. He then spent two years in Shetland as Preceptor or Tutor to a son of the Sinclairs of Scalloway, after which he began his studies for the Church, reading for his orders at Meldrum. Skinner was ordained as Deacon by Bishop Dunbar of Peterhead on the 13th of August, 1742, and in November, 1742, was appointed Minister at Longside, near Linshart in Buchan, where he remained without a wish to “change his place” until retiring to Aberdeen in 1807. In Skinner’s day, there were no Very Reverend Deans or Lord Bishops in Scotland and so he never took such title, being content with that of Reverend.
Skinner was no Jacobite and although he was willing to subscribe to the oath of allegiance, he suffered for the Jacobitism of his Church. His Chapel was one of those that were burnt by ‘The Campbells’; the soldiers of the ruthless ‘Butcher’ Cumberland who were egged on by the same local persecutor Skinner lampooned in his sermons. In 1753, Skinner was jailed in Aberdeen for six months for the offence of ministering to a gathering of more than four people. Skinner used to officiate to his own family within his house, while the people stood outside and listened through the open windows.
Earlier, in 1746, Skinner’s first religious publication appeared, which was a pamphlet entitled, ‘A Preservative against Presbytery’. It was designed to reassure the minds of his people who feared the total extirpation of Scottish Episcopacy. Over the next decade, he published several dissertations and pamphlets in vindication of Episcopacy and then, in 1788, he published his ‘Ecclesiastical History of Scotland’. This was a detailed account of the affairs of the Episcopal Church, from the time of the Reformation up to the death of Charles Stuart, when its Ministers consented to acknowledge the existing dynasty. Skinner dedicated this work to his son the Bishop in elegant Latin, ‘Ad Filium et Episcopum’. He was also asked by Bishop Gleig to contribute to the ‘Encyclopaedia Britannica’, which he did with materials on ‘The Origin of Language’, ‘Episcopacy’ and ‘The Wisdom of the Egyptians’.
The song, ‘Tullochgorum’, which Burns so enjoyed, was suggested by a Mrs Montgomery, who was the wife of the Inland Revenue Officer in Ellon. As there were many Scottish airs like ‘The Reel o’ Tullochgorum’ that lacked words, she thought Skinner would be able to write a few verses to accompany the popular tune. Not an easy task, if you listen to the piece, and quite an achievement I’d say. Burns, on his Highland Tour, unwittingly passed only four miles from Skinner’s home, but the two didn’t meet, which, when he later found out how near he’d been, was a great disappointment to Burns.
Skinner subsequently wrote Burns a long verse epistle, to which Burns answered on the 25th of October, 1787, that it was “by far the finest poetic compliment I ever got in plain dull prose.” Burns asked Skinner to send him three songs for inclusion in ‘Johnston’s Miscellany’, in the second volume of which Burns arranged for ‘Tullochgorum’, ‘John of Badenyon’ and ‘Ewie wi’ the Crookit Horn’ to be included. Skinner received a copy on the 14th of February, 1788, “as a mark of the veneration I have long had, and shall ever have, for your character.”
Here’s the opening verse of ‘Tullochgorum’…
And gie’s a song, the lady cry’d, and lay your disputes a’ aside
What signifies’t for folks to chide for what was done before them
Let Whig and Tory a’ agree
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory
Whig and Tory a’ agree to drop their Whig-malorum
Let Whig and Tory all agree to spend the night in mirth and glee
And cheerful sing alang wi’ me the Reel o’ Tullochgorum
In latter life, Skinner was presented with the ‘Freedom of the City’ of Old Aberdeen. The Reverend John Skinner died in Aberdeen on the 16th of June, 1807, in the house of his son the Bishop, with whom he had been staying. He was buried in the Kirkyard in Longside, where there is a monument erected to his memory.
Check him out on Amazon books...
Tullochgorum, and John o Badenyon, etc
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Thomas Campbell
Thomas Campbell, a wonderful Scottish poet, died on the 15th of June, 1844.
Thomas Campbell was one of Britain’s most popular poets. Although he was active during the height of the so called ‘Romantic Period’, he preferred the classical poetry of the 18th Century. Nevertheless, like many another writer and thinker of his day, he enthused over the themes of liberty, equality and brotherhood from the American and French Revolutions. His major work, ‘The Pleasures of Hope’, embodies the kind of humanitarian idealism he shared with the great Romantics. Campbell was also a biographer, travel writer and magazine editor, and a vociferous champion of the struggle for Polish independence.
Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow, on the 27th of July, in 1777, the youngest of eleven children. He received his early education at Glasgow High (Grammar?) School, but had to pay his own way in order to attend Glasgow University. Thomas attended five six-month sessions there, between the autumn of 1791 and May 1796. He supported himself by private teaching and writing, and also spent the holidays as a paid tutor in the western Highlands.
Whilst at Glasgow University, Campbell attained considerable distinction for writing verses and so his vocation was determined. His aptitude was plain to see, but his addiction to literary composition and poetry was so strong that it was unlikely that he was going to end up following any ‘pedestrian’ profession. However, in May, 1797, he went to Edinburgh to attend lectures on law and whilst there, he also found work as a compiler of books. Amongst his contemporaries in Edinburgh was Sir Walter Scott, with whom he later became both a friend and a friendly rival. Campbell was also a contemporary of Wordsworth and Coleridge, with whom his literary legacy certainly stands comparison.
In 1799, ‘The Pleasures of Hope’ was published. It is described as “a rhetorical and didactic poem in the taste of his time”, and its instant popularity owed much to the fact that it dealt with such topics as the French Revolution, the partition of Poland and Negro slavery. It remained an immensely popular piece throughout the 19th Century and is still a good read. Campbell appears to have been a little careless as he blithely disposed of the copyright, however, the publishers generously gave him a donation for each new edition of two thousand copies. In 1803, they also permitted him to publish a quarto subscription copy.
In June, 1800, Campbell rather aimlessly headed off to the Continent. He paid a visit to Hamburg and made his way to Regensburg, which was taken by the French three days after his arrival, whereupon he found refuge in a Scottish Monastery. Some of his best poems, ‘Hohenlinden’, ‘Ye Mariners of England’ and ‘The Soldier's Dream’, belong to that German tour. However, his means were soon exhausted and he was reduced to extreme poverty before eventually being able to return to Edinburgh.
Campbell’s ‘Hohenlinden’, perhaps one of the grandest battle pieces ever written, was described thus by a contemporary critic; “In a few verses, flowing like a choral melody, the poet brings before us the silent midnight scene of engagement, wrapped in the snows of winter, the sudden arming for the battle, the press and shout of charging squadrons, the flashing of artillery, and the final scene of death.” Now, that’s a poem you’ve just got to read. Here’s a wee extract…
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
In 1803, Campbell went to live in London, where, for a time, he stayed with the celebrated Scottish engineer, Thomas Telford, who later willed him a legacy of £4000. Campbell also received a government pension, which was given as a tribute for the noble nationalistic strains of ‘Ye Mariners of England’ and the ‘Battle of the Baltic’. Seems like poetry and literature wasn’t such a bad occupational choice in the days before mass production of books. Campbell wasn’t very organised and agonised over each piece of work, however, his poems were popular and every now and again a new one appeared.
In 1819, he published his critical study, ‘Specimens of the British Poets’, which contains a selection of short biographies, and which he spent over fifteen years in writing. The following year, he became editor of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’ in which many of his minor poems appeared. One of these, ‘The Last Man’, is arguably one of his greatest conceptions.
Campbell’s sympathy for the Poles, earlier exhibited in ‘The Pleasures of Hope’, found a practical expression in his foundation of the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland. He also played a major role in the founding of the University of London and was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University in 1826, 1827 and 1828. The third time, after he lost the vote to Sir Walter Scott, he won a second poll held because Scott declined to accept the post. Interestingly, he served that third term despite the University authorities considering his third election to have been ‘illegal’.
Thomas Campbell died in Boulogne, France, on the 15th of June, in 1844, and he was buried in Poets’ Corner, in Westminster Abbey.
Thomas Campbell was one of Britain’s most popular poets. Although he was active during the height of the so called ‘Romantic Period’, he preferred the classical poetry of the 18th Century. Nevertheless, like many another writer and thinker of his day, he enthused over the themes of liberty, equality and brotherhood from the American and French Revolutions. His major work, ‘The Pleasures of Hope’, embodies the kind of humanitarian idealism he shared with the great Romantics. Campbell was also a biographer, travel writer and magazine editor, and a vociferous champion of the struggle for Polish independence.
Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow, on the 27th of July, in 1777, the youngest of eleven children. He received his early education at Glasgow High (Grammar?) School, but had to pay his own way in order to attend Glasgow University. Thomas attended five six-month sessions there, between the autumn of 1791 and May 1796. He supported himself by private teaching and writing, and also spent the holidays as a paid tutor in the western Highlands.
Whilst at Glasgow University, Campbell attained considerable distinction for writing verses and so his vocation was determined. His aptitude was plain to see, but his addiction to literary composition and poetry was so strong that it was unlikely that he was going to end up following any ‘pedestrian’ profession. However, in May, 1797, he went to Edinburgh to attend lectures on law and whilst there, he also found work as a compiler of books. Amongst his contemporaries in Edinburgh was Sir Walter Scott, with whom he later became both a friend and a friendly rival. Campbell was also a contemporary of Wordsworth and Coleridge, with whom his literary legacy certainly stands comparison.
In 1799, ‘The Pleasures of Hope’ was published. It is described as “a rhetorical and didactic poem in the taste of his time”, and its instant popularity owed much to the fact that it dealt with such topics as the French Revolution, the partition of Poland and Negro slavery. It remained an immensely popular piece throughout the 19th Century and is still a good read. Campbell appears to have been a little careless as he blithely disposed of the copyright, however, the publishers generously gave him a donation for each new edition of two thousand copies. In 1803, they also permitted him to publish a quarto subscription copy.
In June, 1800, Campbell rather aimlessly headed off to the Continent. He paid a visit to Hamburg and made his way to Regensburg, which was taken by the French three days after his arrival, whereupon he found refuge in a Scottish Monastery. Some of his best poems, ‘Hohenlinden’, ‘Ye Mariners of England’ and ‘The Soldier's Dream’, belong to that German tour. However, his means were soon exhausted and he was reduced to extreme poverty before eventually being able to return to Edinburgh.
Campbell’s ‘Hohenlinden’, perhaps one of the grandest battle pieces ever written, was described thus by a contemporary critic; “In a few verses, flowing like a choral melody, the poet brings before us the silent midnight scene of engagement, wrapped in the snows of winter, the sudden arming for the battle, the press and shout of charging squadrons, the flashing of artillery, and the final scene of death.” Now, that’s a poem you’ve just got to read. Here’s a wee extract…
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
In 1803, Campbell went to live in London, where, for a time, he stayed with the celebrated Scottish engineer, Thomas Telford, who later willed him a legacy of £4000. Campbell also received a government pension, which was given as a tribute for the noble nationalistic strains of ‘Ye Mariners of England’ and the ‘Battle of the Baltic’. Seems like poetry and literature wasn’t such a bad occupational choice in the days before mass production of books. Campbell wasn’t very organised and agonised over each piece of work, however, his poems were popular and every now and again a new one appeared.
In 1819, he published his critical study, ‘Specimens of the British Poets’, which contains a selection of short biographies, and which he spent over fifteen years in writing. The following year, he became editor of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’ in which many of his minor poems appeared. One of these, ‘The Last Man’, is arguably one of his greatest conceptions.
Campbell’s sympathy for the Poles, earlier exhibited in ‘The Pleasures of Hope’, found a practical expression in his foundation of the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland. He also played a major role in the founding of the University of London and was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University in 1826, 1827 and 1828. The third time, after he lost the vote to Sir Walter Scott, he won a second poll held because Scott declined to accept the post. Interestingly, he served that third term despite the University authorities considering his third election to have been ‘illegal’.
Thomas Campbell died in Boulogne, France, on the 15th of June, in 1844, and he was buried in Poets’ Corner, in Westminster Abbey.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Charles Rennie Mackintosh was born on the 7th of June, 1868.
In the late 1890s, Glasgow School of Art was one of the leading art academies in Europe, with its reputation in architecture and the decorative arts at an all time high. That was primarily down to one talented man, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the celebrated architect, painter and designer. Rennie’s reputation quickly spread beyond his native city and he was regarded as one of the foremost British figures in the art nouveau movement, and as the principal exponent of the ‘Glasgow Style’. No, that’s not a contradiction in terms, despite what anyone from Edinburgh might say.
Few designers can claim to have created a unique and individual style that is so instantly recognisable. Charles Rennie Mackintosh is famous as a designer of chairs, but he was also an architect who designed schools, offices, churches, tearooms and homes. He was an interior designer and decorator, an exhibition designer, a designer of furniture, metalwork, textiles and stained glass and, in his latter years, a watercolourist. Without doubt, Mackintosh had a distinctive style. With a spirit of romanticism, he mixed together traditional Scottish forms, the English arts and crafts tradition, Art Nouveau, and simple styles reminiscent of Japanese, to produce his own unique brand of progressive modernism.
Mackintosh was born in the Townhead area of Glasgow on the 7th of June, 1868. Charlie was one of eleven children, and after his junior education at Reid’s Public School and Allan Glen’s Institution, he was apprenticed to a local architect, called John Hutchison. However, in 1889, he transferred to the larger, more established city practice of Honeyman and Keppie, where he later became a partner. In 1883, Mackintosh also enrolled for evening classes at the Glasgow School of Art, where he pursued various drawing programmes, under the watchful eye of the headmaster, Francis Newbery.
Mackintosh’s talents flourished and in the School’s library, he consulted the latest architecture and design journals, gaining an excellent knowledge of his contemporaries, both at home and abroad. He won numerous student prizes and competitions, including the prestigious Alexander Thomson Travelling Studentship, in 1890, which allowed him to undertake an architectural tour of Italy.
Mackintosh’s projects for Honeyman and Keppie during the early 1890s included his design for the Glasgow Herald Building, which incorporated cutting-edge technology, such as a hydro-pneumatic lift and fire-resistant diatomite concrete flooring. However, it was in 1896 that Mackintosh gained his most substantial commission, which was to prove to be his ‘Meisterwerk’. That was to design a new building for the Glasgow School of Art; his former school.
Significantly, the building was constructed in two distinct phases, due to a lack of money, between 1897-99 and 1907-09. Stylistically, the building was a combination of Scotland’s earlier baronial tradition and twentieth century materials and technology. The most dramatic interior was the new Library, which was a complex space of timber posts and beams, completed in 1909. Its construction drew upon traditional Japanese domestic interiors, but ultimately the building was an eclectic mix of styles and influences.
Mackintosh’s originality of style quickly gained him admirers in Germany and Austria, where he contributed to the 8th Vienna Secession. He also participated in international exhibitions in Turin and Moscow. In 1900, he famously entered an open competition to design ‘ein Haus eines Kunstfreundes’ (a house for an art lover), put forward by a German design journal, ‘Zeitschrift fur Innendekoration’. He didn’t win the competition, but his architectural designs were of such a high standard that they were later reproduced as a portfolio of prints. The following year, he designed a music room at Carl-Ludwigstrasse, in Vienna, for Fritz Warndorfer, a supporter of the Secession Movement and later of the ‘Wiener Werkstätte’.
Throughout his career Mackintosh relied on just a few patrons and supporters, one of these being the Glasgow businesswoman, Catherine Cranston. His series of tearoom interiors, which were designed and furnished between 1896 and 1917, provided him with a virtual freedom to experiment. Mackintosh was responsible for their ‘total design’ and provided the tearooms with furniture, including the famous and instantly recognisable high-back chairs, light fittings, wall decorations and even, equally recognisable to folks the world over, the cutlery. Miss Cranston’s Willow tea rooms were designed in 1903 and you can still visit them in Sauchiehall Street or you can book a table in the August 1997 recreation, in Buchanan Street.
Mackintosh often worked in partnership with his friend and colleague at Honeyman and Keppie, Herbert MacNair. Together with two fellow students from the Glasgow School of Art, the sisters Margaret and Frances Macdonald, this artistic alliance became known as ‘The Four’. The group produced innovative, and at times controversial, graphics and decorative art designs, which made an important contribution to the development and recognition of what became known as the ‘Glasgow Style’.
Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald married in 1900, but they moved to London, in 1914, in search of the recognition Mackintosh felt he deserved. For some reason, perhaps because he demanded total control of both the interior and exterior design, he was never really commercially successful, despite his contemporary celebrity status. He was also reputedly obstinate and incapable of compromise. These days, Glasgow loves Charles Rennie Mackintosh – as it should.
In 1923, Mackintosh moved to Port Vendres in the south of France, where the last years of his life were spent painting. However, he died in London from cancer of the tongue, on the 10th of December, 1928.
In the late 1890s, Glasgow School of Art was one of the leading art academies in Europe, with its reputation in architecture and the decorative arts at an all time high. That was primarily down to one talented man, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the celebrated architect, painter and designer. Rennie’s reputation quickly spread beyond his native city and he was regarded as one of the foremost British figures in the art nouveau movement, and as the principal exponent of the ‘Glasgow Style’. No, that’s not a contradiction in terms, despite what anyone from Edinburgh might say.
Few designers can claim to have created a unique and individual style that is so instantly recognisable. Charles Rennie Mackintosh is famous as a designer of chairs, but he was also an architect who designed schools, offices, churches, tearooms and homes. He was an interior designer and decorator, an exhibition designer, a designer of furniture, metalwork, textiles and stained glass and, in his latter years, a watercolourist. Without doubt, Mackintosh had a distinctive style. With a spirit of romanticism, he mixed together traditional Scottish forms, the English arts and crafts tradition, Art Nouveau, and simple styles reminiscent of Japanese, to produce his own unique brand of progressive modernism.
Mackintosh was born in the Townhead area of Glasgow on the 7th of June, 1868. Charlie was one of eleven children, and after his junior education at Reid’s Public School and Allan Glen’s Institution, he was apprenticed to a local architect, called John Hutchison. However, in 1889, he transferred to the larger, more established city practice of Honeyman and Keppie, where he later became a partner. In 1883, Mackintosh also enrolled for evening classes at the Glasgow School of Art, where he pursued various drawing programmes, under the watchful eye of the headmaster, Francis Newbery.
Mackintosh’s talents flourished and in the School’s library, he consulted the latest architecture and design journals, gaining an excellent knowledge of his contemporaries, both at home and abroad. He won numerous student prizes and competitions, including the prestigious Alexander Thomson Travelling Studentship, in 1890, which allowed him to undertake an architectural tour of Italy.
Mackintosh’s projects for Honeyman and Keppie during the early 1890s included his design for the Glasgow Herald Building, which incorporated cutting-edge technology, such as a hydro-pneumatic lift and fire-resistant diatomite concrete flooring. However, it was in 1896 that Mackintosh gained his most substantial commission, which was to prove to be his ‘Meisterwerk’. That was to design a new building for the Glasgow School of Art; his former school.
Significantly, the building was constructed in two distinct phases, due to a lack of money, between 1897-99 and 1907-09. Stylistically, the building was a combination of Scotland’s earlier baronial tradition and twentieth century materials and technology. The most dramatic interior was the new Library, which was a complex space of timber posts and beams, completed in 1909. Its construction drew upon traditional Japanese domestic interiors, but ultimately the building was an eclectic mix of styles and influences.
Mackintosh’s originality of style quickly gained him admirers in Germany and Austria, where he contributed to the 8th Vienna Secession. He also participated in international exhibitions in Turin and Moscow. In 1900, he famously entered an open competition to design ‘ein Haus eines Kunstfreundes’ (a house for an art lover), put forward by a German design journal, ‘Zeitschrift fur Innendekoration’. He didn’t win the competition, but his architectural designs were of such a high standard that they were later reproduced as a portfolio of prints. The following year, he designed a music room at Carl-Ludwigstrasse, in Vienna, for Fritz Warndorfer, a supporter of the Secession Movement and later of the ‘Wiener Werkstätte’.
Throughout his career Mackintosh relied on just a few patrons and supporters, one of these being the Glasgow businesswoman, Catherine Cranston. His series of tearoom interiors, which were designed and furnished between 1896 and 1917, provided him with a virtual freedom to experiment. Mackintosh was responsible for their ‘total design’ and provided the tearooms with furniture, including the famous and instantly recognisable high-back chairs, light fittings, wall decorations and even, equally recognisable to folks the world over, the cutlery. Miss Cranston’s Willow tea rooms were designed in 1903 and you can still visit them in Sauchiehall Street or you can book a table in the August 1997 recreation, in Buchanan Street.
Mackintosh often worked in partnership with his friend and colleague at Honeyman and Keppie, Herbert MacNair. Together with two fellow students from the Glasgow School of Art, the sisters Margaret and Frances Macdonald, this artistic alliance became known as ‘The Four’. The group produced innovative, and at times controversial, graphics and decorative art designs, which made an important contribution to the development and recognition of what became known as the ‘Glasgow Style’.
Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald married in 1900, but they moved to London, in 1914, in search of the recognition Mackintosh felt he deserved. For some reason, perhaps because he demanded total control of both the interior and exterior design, he was never really commercially successful, despite his contemporary celebrity status. He was also reputedly obstinate and incapable of compromise. These days, Glasgow loves Charles Rennie Mackintosh – as it should.
In 1923, Mackintosh moved to Port Vendres in the south of France, where the last years of his life were spent painting. However, he died in London from cancer of the tongue, on the 10th of December, 1928.
Friday, 3 June 2011
James Thomson
The poet James Thomson died on the 3rd of June, 1882.
James Thomson was a Scottish poet who was known as the ‘poet of doom’ and may have been the man who coined the phrase, “We’re doomed!” Of course, that expression was made popular, very much later, by Private Fraser of ‘Dad’s Army’ fame. James Thomson wrote under the pen-name ‘Bysshe Vanolis’ or ‘BV’. The pseudonym ‘BV’ was used to distinguish him from another James Thomson; the fellow Scot who wrote ‘Rule Britannia’. Thomson’s short life can be loosely compared to that of Edgar Allan Poe. There are similarities in that Thomson is most remembered for his scenes of horror and, like Poe, he suffered from a melancholy resulting from the early death of a lover, and he also died in middle age as a result of substance abuse.
Thomson’s most famous work is the somberly intense epic, ‘The City of Dreadful Night’, which is very much an expression of bleak pessimism in a de-humanised, uncaring, urban environment. ‘The City of Dreadful Night’ was inspired by Thomson’s own experiences whilst living in London, where he was raised as an orphan in an asylum. It was fuelled by his melancholy and driven by his insomnia as Thomson wandered the fog-bound streets at night, lonely as a shadow. Apart from the fog, London hasn’t changed much.
James Thomson was born in Port-Glasgow, Renfrewshire, on the 23rd of November, 1834. On the death of his mother when he was seven James was sent to the Caledonian Orphan Asylum. Then, in 1850, he went to the model school of the Military Asylum, in Chelsea. From there, he became an assistant army schoolmaster at the garrison in Ballincollig, near Cork, in Ireland. It was whilst there that he encountered the one brief happiness of his life, when he met the armourer’s daughter, who was a girl of exceptional beauty and a cultivated mind. They fell in love. Two years later he received the tragic news of her fatal illness and death; in truth, a blow from which he never recovered. Thereafter, his life was one of gloom and doom, misery and disappointment.
Thomson’s earliest publication was in Tait’s ‘Edinburgh Magazine’ of July, 1858, under the signature ‘Crepusculus’. Later his work appeared in the ‘National Reformer’, including, in 1863, the powerful and sonorous verses of ‘To our Ladies of Death’ and, in 1874, after four years in gestation, his chief work, the sombre and ultra-imaginative ‘City of Dreadful Night’. That can be considered a precursor to both T. S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land’ and to some extent, the more recent ‘Lanark’, by another Scot, Alasdair Gray. The landscape of the ‘City’ in Thomson’s poem, which is not identified, appears as a projection of the unconscious mind. Its de-humanised population consists of phantoms and outcasts, such as drunks and tramps who wear “tragic masks of stone.” The only thing offered in this existence is “the certitude of Death.” In Thomson’s imaginary realm, there are no joys or blessings, only the stark reality and grim necessity of living, before the arrival of death brings a blessed oblivion, without fear of waking.
The poem is filled with wonderfully dark images and characters, such as the atheist preacher who brings the news that there is no God…
“The man speaks sooth, alas! The man speaks sooth:
We have no personal life beyond the grave;
There is no God; Fate knows nor wrath nor ruth:
Can I find here the comfort which I crave?”
From 1866, to the end of his life, except for two short trips abroad, Thomson lived in a single room, first in Pimlico and then in Bloomsbury. He became an alchoholic, which was aggravated by his gloomy nature, but perhaps the attacks of delirium tremens helped create his most vivid poetic imagery. In 1869, ‘Fraser’s Magazine’ published his long poem (most of them were long – check out the ‘City of Dreadful Night’), ‘Sunday up the River’, on the advice of Charles Kingsley.
In 1872, Thomson went to America and in the following year he ended up in Spain, for a couple of months, under a commission from the ‘New York World’ as its special correspondent with the ‘Carlists’, during which he saw little real fighting. His best-known book, ‘The City of Dreadful Night, and other Poems’, was published in April, 1880, and at once attracted wide attention. He then produced ‘Vane’s Story, and other Poems’, and ‘Essays and Phantasies’. All of his best work was produced between the years of 1855 and 1875.
According to poetry snobs, Thomson holds such a unique position as a poet that any effort at classification is difficult. He did produce some lighter work, such as ‘Sunday up the River’ and ‘Sunday at Hampstead’, but these are considered “less interesting.” Perhaps, his major poems can be compared to those of Thomas De Quincey, the author of ‘Suspiria de Profundis’, which is a collection of short essays in psychological or prose fantasy. The pessimistic nature of Thomson’s output wasn’t a literary affectation, nor was it assumed, it stemmed from the man and much of his revelations were, like the poem ‘Insomnia’, distinctly biographical.
James Thomson died at University College Hospital, in Gower Street, on the 3rd of June, 1882, and he was buried in unconsecrated ground at Highgate cemetery.
As another example of Thomson’s work, here’s a verse I like from ‘A Polish Insurgent’…
“They do not know us, my Mother!
They know not our love, our hate!
And how we would die with each other,
Embracing proud and elate,
Rather than live apart
In peace with shame in the heart.”
James Thomson was a Scottish poet who was known as the ‘poet of doom’ and may have been the man who coined the phrase, “We’re doomed!” Of course, that expression was made popular, very much later, by Private Fraser of ‘Dad’s Army’ fame. James Thomson wrote under the pen-name ‘Bysshe Vanolis’ or ‘BV’. The pseudonym ‘BV’ was used to distinguish him from another James Thomson; the fellow Scot who wrote ‘Rule Britannia’. Thomson’s short life can be loosely compared to that of Edgar Allan Poe. There are similarities in that Thomson is most remembered for his scenes of horror and, like Poe, he suffered from a melancholy resulting from the early death of a lover, and he also died in middle age as a result of substance abuse.
Thomson’s most famous work is the somberly intense epic, ‘The City of Dreadful Night’, which is very much an expression of bleak pessimism in a de-humanised, uncaring, urban environment. ‘The City of Dreadful Night’ was inspired by Thomson’s own experiences whilst living in London, where he was raised as an orphan in an asylum. It was fuelled by his melancholy and driven by his insomnia as Thomson wandered the fog-bound streets at night, lonely as a shadow. Apart from the fog, London hasn’t changed much.
James Thomson was born in Port-Glasgow, Renfrewshire, on the 23rd of November, 1834. On the death of his mother when he was seven James was sent to the Caledonian Orphan Asylum. Then, in 1850, he went to the model school of the Military Asylum, in Chelsea. From there, he became an assistant army schoolmaster at the garrison in Ballincollig, near Cork, in Ireland. It was whilst there that he encountered the one brief happiness of his life, when he met the armourer’s daughter, who was a girl of exceptional beauty and a cultivated mind. They fell in love. Two years later he received the tragic news of her fatal illness and death; in truth, a blow from which he never recovered. Thereafter, his life was one of gloom and doom, misery and disappointment.
Thomson’s earliest publication was in Tait’s ‘Edinburgh Magazine’ of July, 1858, under the signature ‘Crepusculus’. Later his work appeared in the ‘National Reformer’, including, in 1863, the powerful and sonorous verses of ‘To our Ladies of Death’ and, in 1874, after four years in gestation, his chief work, the sombre and ultra-imaginative ‘City of Dreadful Night’. That can be considered a precursor to both T. S. Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land’ and to some extent, the more recent ‘Lanark’, by another Scot, Alasdair Gray. The landscape of the ‘City’ in Thomson’s poem, which is not identified, appears as a projection of the unconscious mind. Its de-humanised population consists of phantoms and outcasts, such as drunks and tramps who wear “tragic masks of stone.” The only thing offered in this existence is “the certitude of Death.” In Thomson’s imaginary realm, there are no joys or blessings, only the stark reality and grim necessity of living, before the arrival of death brings a blessed oblivion, without fear of waking.
The poem is filled with wonderfully dark images and characters, such as the atheist preacher who brings the news that there is no God…
“The man speaks sooth, alas! The man speaks sooth:
We have no personal life beyond the grave;
There is no God; Fate knows nor wrath nor ruth:
Can I find here the comfort which I crave?”
From 1866, to the end of his life, except for two short trips abroad, Thomson lived in a single room, first in Pimlico and then in Bloomsbury. He became an alchoholic, which was aggravated by his gloomy nature, but perhaps the attacks of delirium tremens helped create his most vivid poetic imagery. In 1869, ‘Fraser’s Magazine’ published his long poem (most of them were long – check out the ‘City of Dreadful Night’), ‘Sunday up the River’, on the advice of Charles Kingsley.
In 1872, Thomson went to America and in the following year he ended up in Spain, for a couple of months, under a commission from the ‘New York World’ as its special correspondent with the ‘Carlists’, during which he saw little real fighting. His best-known book, ‘The City of Dreadful Night, and other Poems’, was published in April, 1880, and at once attracted wide attention. He then produced ‘Vane’s Story, and other Poems’, and ‘Essays and Phantasies’. All of his best work was produced between the years of 1855 and 1875.
According to poetry snobs, Thomson holds such a unique position as a poet that any effort at classification is difficult. He did produce some lighter work, such as ‘Sunday up the River’ and ‘Sunday at Hampstead’, but these are considered “less interesting.” Perhaps, his major poems can be compared to those of Thomas De Quincey, the author of ‘Suspiria de Profundis’, which is a collection of short essays in psychological or prose fantasy. The pessimistic nature of Thomson’s output wasn’t a literary affectation, nor was it assumed, it stemmed from the man and much of his revelations were, like the poem ‘Insomnia’, distinctly biographical.
James Thomson died at University College Hospital, in Gower Street, on the 3rd of June, 1882, and he was buried in unconsecrated ground at Highgate cemetery.
As another example of Thomson’s work, here’s a verse I like from ‘A Polish Insurgent’…
“They do not know us, my Mother!
They know not our love, our hate!
And how we would die with each other,
Embracing proud and elate,
Rather than live apart
In peace with shame in the heart.”
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Sir David Wilkie
Sir David Wilkie, the Scottish painter, died on the 1st of June, 1841.
Sir David Wilkie was a celebrity in his day and if he’d been born a century later, he might’ve been mobbed by screaming teenagers like the Beatles were. When one of his paintings was exhibited in 1822, it generated so much interest that crowd control measures had to be employed. Maybe a closer comparison, in terms of Wilkie’s star status and occupation, would be David Bailey, the famous photographer from the 1960s. Wilkie is perhaps best known for his historical and religious pictures, but he was also a successful painter of portraits and other subjects. Wilkie was greatly admired by Sir Walter Scott, whom he painted several times; returning the favour in his own way. Wilkie’s most famous works include paintings with long titles, such as ‘Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Gazette of the Battle of Waterloo’ and his colourful portrait of George IV.
In 1817, Wilkie painted the first of his several portraits of Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, which now hangs in the Scottish National Gallery. Wilkie developed a talent for depicting scenes from everyday life, although he later chose more historical subjects, like ‘The Preaching of John Knox before the Lords of Congregation, 10 June 1559’. He might have changed his style, but he didn’t change the habit of giving his pictures long titles. Art experts would say that the homely simplicity of Wilkie’s compositions stood in marked contrast to the artificial and contrived nature of the then contemporary genre of painting. In fact, Wilkie’s arrival signalled a turning-point in British Art. Together with Sir Henry Raeburn, Wilkie was hailed as the founder of a new ‘Scottish School’ of painting. Wilkie also collaborated, with Abraham Raimbach, on popular print versions of his paintings, which brought both men considerable financial success.
David Wilkie was born in the manse at Cults, near Pitlessie, in Fife, on the 18th of November, 1785. Davie showed considerable artistic talent from an early age and, in 1799, his father agreed, albeit reluctantly, to his studying to become a painter. With the help of the influential local laird, the Earl of Leven, Wilkie gained admission to the Trustees’ Academy in Edinburgh, where he studied under John Graham. He gained an early reputation for his ability to draw characters and became well known for visiting markets and fairs, sketching people and scenes that caught his attention.
In 1804, Wilkie began work on his first major painting, ‘Pitlessie Fair’, which portrayed a mere 140 characters, including neighbours and relatives. The following year, he sold this painting for £25 and, together with the income he had made from portrait commissions, he had earned enough to move to London to attend the Royal Academy. Two of his early works, the ‘Village Politicians’ and ‘The Blind Fiddler’ (1806; oil on panel), which now hangs in the Tate Gallery, attracted considerable interest and he became known as ‘the Scottish Teniers’ (after the Flemish painter). A later work, ‘The Village Festival’, which now hangs in the National Gallery, was first sold by Wilkie for 800 guineas. By 1811, Wilkie was a full member of the Royal Academy and considered to be amongst the greatest artists of his day.
In 1822, Wilkie began work on ‘The Entry of George IV into the Palace of Holyroodhouse’, which was to record the first visit of a reigning British monarch to Scotland since 1650. He took several sittings and a sabbatical to Europe before he completed the portrait. I guess he had to steel himself to trim the King’s rigging a wee bit. In the end, the Royal subject is flatteringly portrayed in subdued lighting, in order to tone down the livid scarlet tartan of his kilt. This painting, which is well worth seeing, hangs in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, in Edinburgh. Another reason for Wilkie’s quitting to the continent appears to have been the tragic deaths of his mother and two brothers, in 1824. Wilkie was always frail of health and he was badly shaken by these bereavements, and by the financial collapse of his printsellers, Heath & Robinson. He recovered sufficiently, after three years travelling and convalescing and painting in Italy and Spain, to be able to return and complete King’s portrait, in 1828.
Wilkie’s sojourn in Europe was the catalyst for a change of style, which wasn’t so well received by his popular following or several critics. But the King, who owed him a favour you might say, remained an admirer and, in 1830, appointed Wilkie to the honourary post of ‘Painter in Ordinary to the King’, to add to an earlier title, ‘His Majesty's Limner for Scotland’. Wilkie retained that post under both William IV (from whom he got his Knighthood) and Queen Victoria. A Spanish influence can be detected in Wilkie’s most important later works, such as the painting with the longest name ever, ‘The Preaching of John Knox before the Lords of the Congregation, 10 June 1559’, which he exhibited in 1832. That is now owned by the National Trust, and resides in Petworth House, Sussex.
Wilkie was a great friend of Sir Walter Scott and provided sketches for his Waverley Novels. In a letter of thanks, Scott wrote [that] “you, who are beset by the sin of modesty, will be least of all men aware what a tower of strength your name must be in a work of this nature, which, if successful, will go a great way to counterbalance some very severe losses which I sustained.” This was a reference to the collapse of Hurst & Robinson, a misfortune in which the two men shared. Wilkie responded by assuring Scott that he would be delighted to “assist in the illustration of the great work, which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which your noble spirit is at this time beset.” Wilkie was certainly moved by Scott’s writing and, in reference to a passage in chapter ten of ‘The Antiquary’, where Steenie Mucklebackit’s mourning family present “a scene which our Wilkie alone could have painted”, he responded to Scott’s praise thus; “…you took me up, and claimed me, the humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman.”
In 1840, Sir David Wilkie embarked on a major tour of the Middle East. On his way back to Britain, he was taken ill on board ship off Malta and died on the morning of the 1st of June, 1841. He was buried at sea in the Bay of Gibraltar. There is a memorial to Wilkie in the Kirkyard at Cults.
Sir David Wilkie was a celebrity in his day and if he’d been born a century later, he might’ve been mobbed by screaming teenagers like the Beatles were. When one of his paintings was exhibited in 1822, it generated so much interest that crowd control measures had to be employed. Maybe a closer comparison, in terms of Wilkie’s star status and occupation, would be David Bailey, the famous photographer from the 1960s. Wilkie is perhaps best known for his historical and religious pictures, but he was also a successful painter of portraits and other subjects. Wilkie was greatly admired by Sir Walter Scott, whom he painted several times; returning the favour in his own way. Wilkie’s most famous works include paintings with long titles, such as ‘Chelsea Pensioners Reading the Gazette of the Battle of Waterloo’ and his colourful portrait of George IV.
In 1817, Wilkie painted the first of his several portraits of Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, which now hangs in the Scottish National Gallery. Wilkie developed a talent for depicting scenes from everyday life, although he later chose more historical subjects, like ‘The Preaching of John Knox before the Lords of Congregation, 10 June 1559’. He might have changed his style, but he didn’t change the habit of giving his pictures long titles. Art experts would say that the homely simplicity of Wilkie’s compositions stood in marked contrast to the artificial and contrived nature of the then contemporary genre of painting. In fact, Wilkie’s arrival signalled a turning-point in British Art. Together with Sir Henry Raeburn, Wilkie was hailed as the founder of a new ‘Scottish School’ of painting. Wilkie also collaborated, with Abraham Raimbach, on popular print versions of his paintings, which brought both men considerable financial success.
David Wilkie was born in the manse at Cults, near Pitlessie, in Fife, on the 18th of November, 1785. Davie showed considerable artistic talent from an early age and, in 1799, his father agreed, albeit reluctantly, to his studying to become a painter. With the help of the influential local laird, the Earl of Leven, Wilkie gained admission to the Trustees’ Academy in Edinburgh, where he studied under John Graham. He gained an early reputation for his ability to draw characters and became well known for visiting markets and fairs, sketching people and scenes that caught his attention.
In 1804, Wilkie began work on his first major painting, ‘Pitlessie Fair’, which portrayed a mere 140 characters, including neighbours and relatives. The following year, he sold this painting for £25 and, together with the income he had made from portrait commissions, he had earned enough to move to London to attend the Royal Academy. Two of his early works, the ‘Village Politicians’ and ‘The Blind Fiddler’ (1806; oil on panel), which now hangs in the Tate Gallery, attracted considerable interest and he became known as ‘the Scottish Teniers’ (after the Flemish painter). A later work, ‘The Village Festival’, which now hangs in the National Gallery, was first sold by Wilkie for 800 guineas. By 1811, Wilkie was a full member of the Royal Academy and considered to be amongst the greatest artists of his day.
In 1822, Wilkie began work on ‘The Entry of George IV into the Palace of Holyroodhouse’, which was to record the first visit of a reigning British monarch to Scotland since 1650. He took several sittings and a sabbatical to Europe before he completed the portrait. I guess he had to steel himself to trim the King’s rigging a wee bit. In the end, the Royal subject is flatteringly portrayed in subdued lighting, in order to tone down the livid scarlet tartan of his kilt. This painting, which is well worth seeing, hangs in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, in Edinburgh. Another reason for Wilkie’s quitting to the continent appears to have been the tragic deaths of his mother and two brothers, in 1824. Wilkie was always frail of health and he was badly shaken by these bereavements, and by the financial collapse of his printsellers, Heath & Robinson. He recovered sufficiently, after three years travelling and convalescing and painting in Italy and Spain, to be able to return and complete King’s portrait, in 1828.
Wilkie’s sojourn in Europe was the catalyst for a change of style, which wasn’t so well received by his popular following or several critics. But the King, who owed him a favour you might say, remained an admirer and, in 1830, appointed Wilkie to the honourary post of ‘Painter in Ordinary to the King’, to add to an earlier title, ‘His Majesty's Limner for Scotland’. Wilkie retained that post under both William IV (from whom he got his Knighthood) and Queen Victoria. A Spanish influence can be detected in Wilkie’s most important later works, such as the painting with the longest name ever, ‘The Preaching of John Knox before the Lords of the Congregation, 10 June 1559’, which he exhibited in 1832. That is now owned by the National Trust, and resides in Petworth House, Sussex.
Wilkie was a great friend of Sir Walter Scott and provided sketches for his Waverley Novels. In a letter of thanks, Scott wrote [that] “you, who are beset by the sin of modesty, will be least of all men aware what a tower of strength your name must be in a work of this nature, which, if successful, will go a great way to counterbalance some very severe losses which I sustained.” This was a reference to the collapse of Hurst & Robinson, a misfortune in which the two men shared. Wilkie responded by assuring Scott that he would be delighted to “assist in the illustration of the great work, which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which your noble spirit is at this time beset.” Wilkie was certainly moved by Scott’s writing and, in reference to a passage in chapter ten of ‘The Antiquary’, where Steenie Mucklebackit’s mourning family present “a scene which our Wilkie alone could have painted”, he responded to Scott’s praise thus; “…you took me up, and claimed me, the humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman.”
In 1840, Sir David Wilkie embarked on a major tour of the Middle East. On his way back to Britain, he was taken ill on board ship off Malta and died on the morning of the 1st of June, 1841. He was buried at sea in the Bay of Gibraltar. There is a memorial to Wilkie in the Kirkyard at Cults.
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Robert Tannahill
On the 17th of May, 1810, Robert Tannahill, known as the ‘Paisley Poet’, who was also a songwriter and playright, drowned himself in a Paisley canal.
In his day, Robert Tannahill held a place second only to Robert Burns in the pantheon of Scottish writers. That should be the precursor to a wonderful story of achievement. Instead, the tale of Robert Tannahill is a depressing story. Like many others of his generation, Tannahill drew inspiration in terms of style and substance from his near-contemporary, Robert Burns. Burns was the ‘ploughman poet’, drawing on his rural experiences, whereas Tannahill was the ‘weaver poet’, whose life and times are intrinsically linked to the Industrial Revolution. Nevertheless, his nostalgic view of the Scottish landscape is far more idyllic than anything Burns wrote. Surely that was Tannahill’s antidote to the harsh and noisy urban scenes of 19th Century Paisley. Sadly for Robert Tannahill, the antidote, was to be ineffective.
Since his death, widespread knowledge of Tannahill’s work has much diminished. However, these days, his name is kept alive and honoured in the name of the band of musicians known as ‘The Tannahill Weavers’. Tannahill’s reputation at the height of his popularity was as ‘The Paisley Poet’, yet it is mostly his songs that have survived into the modern day. You may recognise the tunes and lyrics when you hear them, but you’re less likely to associate them with Robert Tannahill. Just think of these two for a start: ‘Are ye sleeping Maggie’ and ‘Gloomy winter’s noo awa’’ of which the following is the first verse:
“Gloomy Winter’s noo awa’; soft the westlin breezes blaw.
Among the birks o’ Stanley Shaw the mavis sings fu’ cheerie O.
Sweet the crawflowers early bell decks Gleniffer’s dewy dell.
Blooming like your bonny sel’, my ain my airtless dearie O.”
Some of Tannahill’s best work was inspired by his walks on the Gleniffer Braes. Amongst the most famous of these works are ‘Thou Bonnie Wood o’ Craigie-lea’ and, obviously, the ‘The Braes o’ Gleniffer’. As a songwriter and poet, Tannahill explored themes of love and friendship, but many of his poems are of battles or heroic figures. The folly of the Napoleonic Wars affected him deeply as is seen in his writing.
Robert Tannahill was born in Castle Street, Paisley on the 3rd of June, 1774, but soon after his birth the family moved to a thatched cottage, which his father had built, in nearby Queen Street. This cottage became both family home and weaving shop and today is a meeting place for the Paisley Tannahill Club. Robert received a basic education, but he read widely and showed an early interest in poetry. When he was twelve years old, he left school and became an apprentice weaver to his father. In between times, he was able to continue his self education and also learned to play the flute.
Robert Tannahill started writing verses whilst still at school and these were generally about some odd character about the place, or any unusual event. After school-hours, he and his mates used to offer each other riddles or, as we say in Scotland, “speer guesses”. Here’s one attributed to young Tannahill, in rhyme as was his wont:
“My colour’s brown, my shape’s uncouth,
On ilka side I hae a mouth;
And, strange to tell, I will devour
My bulk of meat in half an hour.”
The answer to this riddle turns out to be “the big, brown, unshapely nose of a well-known character, who took large quantities of snuff.”
After his father’s untimely death, Tannahill started to publish his poems and, in some cases, lyrics to existing folk tunes. The first of his poems that appeared in print was in praise of Ferguslee wood. That was one of his favourite haunts, and often rang to the notes of his flute in the summer evenings as he wandered lonely as a cloud. The poem was sent to a Glasgow periodical and immediately published. The request for further submissions delighted Tannahill and that was his first sign of success after previous efforts had been rejected. His work also appeared in a number of journals, including the ‘Scots Magazine’.
The first edition of his ‘Poems and Songs’ appeared in 1807 and all nine hundred copies of that 175-page volume were sold by subscription within a few weeks, making a profit of twenty pounds. By that time, he had become well known and several of his songs quite fashionable. It is recorded in some biographies that once, whilst on one of his walks, he came upon a girl, in an adjoining field, who was singing one of his songs and that he was more pleased at this evidence of his popularity than at any tribute, which had ever been paid to him. You’d think, then, that he’d nothing to worry about, but melancholy was lurking around the corner.
It seems Tannahill was a bit of a perfectionist as he felt his first, published foray needed correcting. Tannahill even went to the length of re-writing all his pieces and intended to publish a second edition. Unfortunately, however, during that time, poor Robert suffered from depression and it seems he showed all the classic signs of that illness. It’s clear that he was on the edge of a mental and physical breakdown. Things came to a head when the reworked, second edition of his Poems was presented to publishers in Edinburgh and Greenock, and Tannahill was turned down by both. If only they had realised.
Those rejections were the final straw for Tannahill and he set about destroying everything that he’d written. All his songs, many of which had never been printed, and all those that had been corrected and amended, he threw into the fire. Robert Tannahill’s last desperate act was suicide. Robert Tannahill was found dead in a culvert at the Candren Burn, in Paisley, in the early hours of the morning of the 17th of May, 1810. Tannahill was buried in an unmarked grave in what is now Castlehead Kirkyard, but in 1866, after public outcry, a granite monument was erected beside his grave.
In his day, Robert Tannahill held a place second only to Robert Burns in the pantheon of Scottish writers. That should be the precursor to a wonderful story of achievement. Instead, the tale of Robert Tannahill is a depressing story. Like many others of his generation, Tannahill drew inspiration in terms of style and substance from his near-contemporary, Robert Burns. Burns was the ‘ploughman poet’, drawing on his rural experiences, whereas Tannahill was the ‘weaver poet’, whose life and times are intrinsically linked to the Industrial Revolution. Nevertheless, his nostalgic view of the Scottish landscape is far more idyllic than anything Burns wrote. Surely that was Tannahill’s antidote to the harsh and noisy urban scenes of 19th Century Paisley. Sadly for Robert Tannahill, the antidote, was to be ineffective.
Since his death, widespread knowledge of Tannahill’s work has much diminished. However, these days, his name is kept alive and honoured in the name of the band of musicians known as ‘The Tannahill Weavers’. Tannahill’s reputation at the height of his popularity was as ‘The Paisley Poet’, yet it is mostly his songs that have survived into the modern day. You may recognise the tunes and lyrics when you hear them, but you’re less likely to associate them with Robert Tannahill. Just think of these two for a start: ‘Are ye sleeping Maggie’ and ‘Gloomy winter’s noo awa’’ of which the following is the first verse:
“Gloomy Winter’s noo awa’; soft the westlin breezes blaw.
Among the birks o’ Stanley Shaw the mavis sings fu’ cheerie O.
Sweet the crawflowers early bell decks Gleniffer’s dewy dell.
Blooming like your bonny sel’, my ain my airtless dearie O.”
Some of Tannahill’s best work was inspired by his walks on the Gleniffer Braes. Amongst the most famous of these works are ‘Thou Bonnie Wood o’ Craigie-lea’ and, obviously, the ‘The Braes o’ Gleniffer’. As a songwriter and poet, Tannahill explored themes of love and friendship, but many of his poems are of battles or heroic figures. The folly of the Napoleonic Wars affected him deeply as is seen in his writing.
Robert Tannahill was born in Castle Street, Paisley on the 3rd of June, 1774, but soon after his birth the family moved to a thatched cottage, which his father had built, in nearby Queen Street. This cottage became both family home and weaving shop and today is a meeting place for the Paisley Tannahill Club. Robert received a basic education, but he read widely and showed an early interest in poetry. When he was twelve years old, he left school and became an apprentice weaver to his father. In between times, he was able to continue his self education and also learned to play the flute.
Robert Tannahill started writing verses whilst still at school and these were generally about some odd character about the place, or any unusual event. After school-hours, he and his mates used to offer each other riddles or, as we say in Scotland, “speer guesses”. Here’s one attributed to young Tannahill, in rhyme as was his wont:
“My colour’s brown, my shape’s uncouth,
On ilka side I hae a mouth;
And, strange to tell, I will devour
My bulk of meat in half an hour.”
The answer to this riddle turns out to be “the big, brown, unshapely nose of a well-known character, who took large quantities of snuff.”
After his father’s untimely death, Tannahill started to publish his poems and, in some cases, lyrics to existing folk tunes. The first of his poems that appeared in print was in praise of Ferguslee wood. That was one of his favourite haunts, and often rang to the notes of his flute in the summer evenings as he wandered lonely as a cloud. The poem was sent to a Glasgow periodical and immediately published. The request for further submissions delighted Tannahill and that was his first sign of success after previous efforts had been rejected. His work also appeared in a number of journals, including the ‘Scots Magazine’.
The first edition of his ‘Poems and Songs’ appeared in 1807 and all nine hundred copies of that 175-page volume were sold by subscription within a few weeks, making a profit of twenty pounds. By that time, he had become well known and several of his songs quite fashionable. It is recorded in some biographies that once, whilst on one of his walks, he came upon a girl, in an adjoining field, who was singing one of his songs and that he was more pleased at this evidence of his popularity than at any tribute, which had ever been paid to him. You’d think, then, that he’d nothing to worry about, but melancholy was lurking around the corner.
It seems Tannahill was a bit of a perfectionist as he felt his first, published foray needed correcting. Tannahill even went to the length of re-writing all his pieces and intended to publish a second edition. Unfortunately, however, during that time, poor Robert suffered from depression and it seems he showed all the classic signs of that illness. It’s clear that he was on the edge of a mental and physical breakdown. Things came to a head when the reworked, second edition of his Poems was presented to publishers in Edinburgh and Greenock, and Tannahill was turned down by both. If only they had realised.
Those rejections were the final straw for Tannahill and he set about destroying everything that he’d written. All his songs, many of which had never been printed, and all those that had been corrected and amended, he threw into the fire. Robert Tannahill’s last desperate act was suicide. Robert Tannahill was found dead in a culvert at the Candren Burn, in Paisley, in the early hours of the morning of the 17th of May, 1810. Tannahill was buried in an unmarked grave in what is now Castlehead Kirkyard, but in 1866, after public outcry, a granite monument was erected beside his grave.
Monday, 9 May 2011
James Matthew Barrie
James Matthew Barrie, journalist, playwright and novelist, was born on the 9th of May, 1860.
James Matthew Barrie became world famous with his play and story about Peter Pan, the boy who refuses to grow up and creates his own world of Red Indians, Captain Hook and Tinkerbell, the fairy. As the conceited leader of the ‘Lost Boys of Never Land’, Peter seeks to dodge forever the world of adulthood. There’s an element of ‘autobiography’ about the story of Peter, but there was far more to Barrie’s career than Peter Pan. Barrie also created the fictional ‘Admirable Crichton’ (as opposed to the real life Scottish polymath) and several of his plays appeared on the big screen as well as the stage. Barrie socialised with other such great figures of literature as G.B. Shaw, who did not like his pipe smoking, and H.G. Wells. With some of his friends, including Jerome K. Jerome, Arthur Conan Doyle, and P.G. Wodehouse, Barrie founded a cricket club, called Allahakbarries. Amusingly, Doyle was the only member of that motley crew who could actually play cricket. Barrie’s penthouse, at Adelphi Terrace, was also visited by ministers, duchesses, and movie stars, such as Charlie Chaplin.
James Matthew Barrie was born on the 9th of May, 1860, in the village of Kirriemuir, in north east Scotland. He was the ninth of ten children and the third son. Jamie, as he was called, was inspired by tales of pirates from his mother, who read her children adventure stories in the evenings. Before her marriage, Margaret belonged to a religious sect called the ‘Auld Lichts’, and many of her stories from that time later inspired Barrie’s work. After going to school in Kirriemuir and Forfar, James was taken to Glasgow by his elder brother Alexander. Then they moved to Dumfries, where he became interested in theatre and devoured works by such authors as Jules Verne and James Fenimore Cooper. He put on his own plays at Dumfries Academy and was determined to be a writer, but the family wanted him to go to Edinburgh University to get a degree. He agreed to go and, after four years grind, he received his M.A. in 1882.
During that time in Edinburgh, Barrie also managed to write articles for a city newspaper. He then worked as a journalist for the ‘Nottingham Journal’, before moving to London, with empty pockets, in 1885, as a freelance writer. He sold his writings, mostly humorous, to fashionable magazines, such as ‘The Pall Mall Gazette’. In 1888, Barie gained his first fame with ‘Auld Licht Idylls’, sketches of Scottish life inspired by his mother’s stories, which critics praised for its originality and humour. His early stories were set in a fictionalised version of Kirriemuir, which he called Thrums. These were published in the ‘St. James Gazette’, the editor of which wrote to him, saying “I like that Scotch thing. Any more of those?” These stories were followed by ‘When a Man’s Single’ and ‘A Window in Thrums’.
Barrie’s melodramatic novel, ‘The Little Minister’, which became a huge success, was dramatised in film and, afterwards, Barrie wrote quite a lot for the theater. However, many successful novels followed and James was thrilled when Robert Louis Stevenson wrote to him, from Samoa. Two of Barrie’s best plays, ‘Quality Street’, about two sisters who start a school “for genteel children”, and ‘The Admirable Crichton’, in which a butler saves a family after a shipwreck, were produced in London, in 1902, and also later filmed. In the same year, Peter Pan first appeared by name, in Barrie’s adult novel ‘The Little White Bird’.
Barrie’s internationally famous Peter Pan was first performed at the Duke of York’s Theatre, London, in 1904, but the play had to wait several years for a definitive printed version and it did not appear as a narrative story until 1911. The tale was entitled ‘Peter and Wendy’ and Barrie donated his rights in the book to Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children. In the novel’s epilogue, Peter visits a grown-up Wendy.
Peter Pan evolved gradually from the stories that Barrie told to Sylvia Llewelyn Davies’s five young sons. She was the daughter of the novelist, George du Maurier, and a motherly figure, with whom Barrie formed a long friendship. Her husband, Arthur, was not overly happy about Barrie’s invasion of the family, however, when Sylvia and Arthur died, Barrie became the unofficial guardian of their sons. In reality, he was perhaps more a sixth brother than an adoptive father. It is also said the material for Peter Pan came out of the stories Barrie spun for the Gordon boys, sons of a local solicitor, whose family were then living at Moat Brae, in Dumfries.
Barrie wrote two more fantasy plays, ‘Dear Brutus’ and ‘Mary Rose’, which is the story of a mother who is searching for her lost child and eventually becomes a ghost. This theme and the character of Wendy in Peter Pan, owes much to the influence of Barrie’s mother. His mother fell into depression when Barrie was seven and his brother David, who had been her favorite child, died in an accident. Barrie tried to take his place in her affections by dressing up in the dead boy’s clothes. A somewhat obsessive relationship grew between mother and son, and this seemed to mark the rest of his life. Peter Pan may also be a tribute to his brother, David, who never got the chance to grow up.
In 1894, Barrie married the actress, Mary Ansell. The marriage was childless and ended in divorce, in 1909. According to Janet Dunbar’s biography, published in1970, Barrie was impotent; he told Mary, “Boys can’t love.” Much has been made of this in recent times, in which there has been a tendency to ‘point the finger’ at many figures from the past, but who cares? In recognition of his real achievements and true contributions, Barrie received several honours, including a baronetcy, in 1913, the Order of Merit, in 1922, and the Freedom of Dumfries, in 1924. He gained the Rectorship of St. Andrews University, to which he delivered a moving address on courage, in 1922, and the Chancellorship of Edinburgh University, in 1930.
James Matthew Barrie died on the 19th of June, 1937, and his grave is in Kirriemuir cemetery. Barrie’s birthplace at No. 4, Brechin Road, is maintained as a museum by the National Trust for Scotland.
James Matthew Barrie became world famous with his play and story about Peter Pan, the boy who refuses to grow up and creates his own world of Red Indians, Captain Hook and Tinkerbell, the fairy. As the conceited leader of the ‘Lost Boys of Never Land’, Peter seeks to dodge forever the world of adulthood. There’s an element of ‘autobiography’ about the story of Peter, but there was far more to Barrie’s career than Peter Pan. Barrie also created the fictional ‘Admirable Crichton’ (as opposed to the real life Scottish polymath) and several of his plays appeared on the big screen as well as the stage. Barrie socialised with other such great figures of literature as G.B. Shaw, who did not like his pipe smoking, and H.G. Wells. With some of his friends, including Jerome K. Jerome, Arthur Conan Doyle, and P.G. Wodehouse, Barrie founded a cricket club, called Allahakbarries. Amusingly, Doyle was the only member of that motley crew who could actually play cricket. Barrie’s penthouse, at Adelphi Terrace, was also visited by ministers, duchesses, and movie stars, such as Charlie Chaplin.
James Matthew Barrie was born on the 9th of May, 1860, in the village of Kirriemuir, in north east Scotland. He was the ninth of ten children and the third son. Jamie, as he was called, was inspired by tales of pirates from his mother, who read her children adventure stories in the evenings. Before her marriage, Margaret belonged to a religious sect called the ‘Auld Lichts’, and many of her stories from that time later inspired Barrie’s work. After going to school in Kirriemuir and Forfar, James was taken to Glasgow by his elder brother Alexander. Then they moved to Dumfries, where he became interested in theatre and devoured works by such authors as Jules Verne and James Fenimore Cooper. He put on his own plays at Dumfries Academy and was determined to be a writer, but the family wanted him to go to Edinburgh University to get a degree. He agreed to go and, after four years grind, he received his M.A. in 1882.
During that time in Edinburgh, Barrie also managed to write articles for a city newspaper. He then worked as a journalist for the ‘Nottingham Journal’, before moving to London, with empty pockets, in 1885, as a freelance writer. He sold his writings, mostly humorous, to fashionable magazines, such as ‘The Pall Mall Gazette’. In 1888, Barie gained his first fame with ‘Auld Licht Idylls’, sketches of Scottish life inspired by his mother’s stories, which critics praised for its originality and humour. His early stories were set in a fictionalised version of Kirriemuir, which he called Thrums. These were published in the ‘St. James Gazette’, the editor of which wrote to him, saying “I like that Scotch thing. Any more of those?” These stories were followed by ‘When a Man’s Single’ and ‘A Window in Thrums’.
Barrie’s melodramatic novel, ‘The Little Minister’, which became a huge success, was dramatised in film and, afterwards, Barrie wrote quite a lot for the theater. However, many successful novels followed and James was thrilled when Robert Louis Stevenson wrote to him, from Samoa. Two of Barrie’s best plays, ‘Quality Street’, about two sisters who start a school “for genteel children”, and ‘The Admirable Crichton’, in which a butler saves a family after a shipwreck, were produced in London, in 1902, and also later filmed. In the same year, Peter Pan first appeared by name, in Barrie’s adult novel ‘The Little White Bird’.
Barrie’s internationally famous Peter Pan was first performed at the Duke of York’s Theatre, London, in 1904, but the play had to wait several years for a definitive printed version and it did not appear as a narrative story until 1911. The tale was entitled ‘Peter and Wendy’ and Barrie donated his rights in the book to Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children. In the novel’s epilogue, Peter visits a grown-up Wendy.
Peter Pan evolved gradually from the stories that Barrie told to Sylvia Llewelyn Davies’s five young sons. She was the daughter of the novelist, George du Maurier, and a motherly figure, with whom Barrie formed a long friendship. Her husband, Arthur, was not overly happy about Barrie’s invasion of the family, however, when Sylvia and Arthur died, Barrie became the unofficial guardian of their sons. In reality, he was perhaps more a sixth brother than an adoptive father. It is also said the material for Peter Pan came out of the stories Barrie spun for the Gordon boys, sons of a local solicitor, whose family were then living at Moat Brae, in Dumfries.
Barrie wrote two more fantasy plays, ‘Dear Brutus’ and ‘Mary Rose’, which is the story of a mother who is searching for her lost child and eventually becomes a ghost. This theme and the character of Wendy in Peter Pan, owes much to the influence of Barrie’s mother. His mother fell into depression when Barrie was seven and his brother David, who had been her favorite child, died in an accident. Barrie tried to take his place in her affections by dressing up in the dead boy’s clothes. A somewhat obsessive relationship grew between mother and son, and this seemed to mark the rest of his life. Peter Pan may also be a tribute to his brother, David, who never got the chance to grow up.
In 1894, Barrie married the actress, Mary Ansell. The marriage was childless and ended in divorce, in 1909. According to Janet Dunbar’s biography, published in1970, Barrie was impotent; he told Mary, “Boys can’t love.” Much has been made of this in recent times, in which there has been a tendency to ‘point the finger’ at many figures from the past, but who cares? In recognition of his real achievements and true contributions, Barrie received several honours, including a baronetcy, in 1913, the Order of Merit, in 1922, and the Freedom of Dumfries, in 1924. He gained the Rectorship of St. Andrews University, to which he delivered a moving address on courage, in 1922, and the Chancellorship of Edinburgh University, in 1930.
James Matthew Barrie died on the 19th of June, 1937, and his grave is in Kirriemuir cemetery. Barrie’s birthplace at No. 4, Brechin Road, is maintained as a museum by the National Trust for Scotland.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
William Soutar
The poet, William Soutar, was born in Perth, on the 28th of April, 1898.
William Soutar was probably the finest poet that Perth has ever produced and certainly one of the finest Scottish poets of the 19th Century. He was a poet and writer of national stature who wrote in both English and Scots, but it is for his Scottish poetry that he will surely be remembered for a very long time. He kept a journal from an early age and selections from it were published after his death, under the title ‘The Diaries of a Dying Man’. Significantly, it was not until illness disabled him that Soutar began his sustained work as a poet. During thirteen bed-bound years he continued to write, composing poetry, escaping through his imagination, and holding court to his many visitors and fellow writers, dressed in a jacket and bow tie. Many of Soutar’s poems recall tall stories of the old worthies he could no longer visit and some of his most evocative concern his home town of Perth and the surrounding countryside.
John Soutar was born in Perth on the 28th of April, 1898 and, between 1912 and 1916, he was a pupil at Perth Academy, where he excelled in the classroom and on the sports field. He was a popular character in his year and his literary skills were beginning to show through as the school magazine, the ‘Young Barbarian’, published some of his poems. At the beginning of 1917, he joined the Navy and served in the Atlantic and the North Sea. After demobilization in April, 1919, he entered Edinburgh University with a view to studying medicine. However, he was quickly disenchanted and changed to reading English Literature. His first volume of poetry, ‘Gleanings of an Undergraduate’, was published in 1923, within a year of his graduation.
Towards the end of his time in the Navy, he had begun to suffer from the early symptoms of the genetic disease that so afflicted his life. He was granted an invalidity discharge and spent his last days in the Service on leave. Later, and tragically, Soutar was diagnosed as having ankylosing spondilitis and, from November, 1930, he was permanently confined to bed. William Soutar was lovingly cared for by his parents, in his home at 27 Wilson Street, Perth, until his death, incidentally, from tuberculosis, on the 15th of October, 1943.
Writing about his life, in 1937, when he was already permanently confined to bed, Soutar told of his time at Perth Academy: “That was my eighteenth year while yet the shadow of war was unacknowledged. Then I was one of the fleetest at the Academy; one of the strongest; first in my year at most things; I was writing poetry; I was in love; I was popular both in the classroom and the playing field. I never reached this condition of living fullness again except in brief moments.”
This sonnet of Soutar’s, entitled ‘The Halted Moment’ and written in Scots in 1943, has been favourably compared to William Wordsworth of ‘golden daffodils’ fame. According to the website at www.williamsoutar.com this poem “might well have brought a gasp of envy from Wordsworth.”
“Wha hasna turn’d inby a sunny street
And fund alang its length nae folk were there;
And heard his step fa’ steadily and clear
Nor wauken ocht but schedows at his feet.
Shuther to shuther in the reemlin heat
The houses seem’d to hearken and to stare;
But a’ were doverin whaur they stude and were
Like wa’s ayont the echo o’ time's beat.
Wha hasna thocht whan atween stanes sae still,
That had been biggit up for busyness,
He has come wanderin into a place
Lost, and forgotten, and unchangeable;
And thocht the far-off traffic sounds to be
The weary waters o’ mortality.”
Soutar was an associate of Hugh MacDiarmid’s, whom the latter affectionately satirised in ‘The Thistle Looks at a Drunk Man’. Indeed, MacDiarmid described Soutar as being in the vanguard of the top fifty contemporary Scottish poets. Soutar was most definitely a partisan of the revival of poetry written in Scots, producing rhythmically compelling verse, notable for its imaginative range. Soutar’s extensive prose journals are represented by the aforementioned ‘Diaries of a Dying Man’ (1954), which were edited by A. Scott, who also produced a biography, entitled ‘Still Life’ and which was published in 1958. Soutar’s reputation as a writer of prose is indubitably enhanced by Joy Hendry’s assessment of ‘Dying Man’ with her comment that “Soutar’s diary writings put him into the rank of the great diarists of the world.” Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch.
Further praise comes from the introduction to ‘Into a Room: Selected Poems of William Soutar’, which was published in 2000 by Carl MacDougall and Douglas Gifford. It states that Soutar “is one of the greatest poets Scotland has produced.” Many of Soutar’s best loved poems are about Perth, known itself as ‘Yon Toun’. Favourites include; ‘The Deuchny Wuds’, ‘The Bogle Brig’ and ‘Whan Gowdan are the Carse-lands’. Soutar is also remembered for his ‘Bairnrhymes’, which are children’s poems that first appeared in ‘Seeds in the Wind, in 1933. Those short, somewhat whimsical, often humorous, children’s poems, such as ‘Bawsy Broon’ or ‘The Three Puddocks’, were written in Scots and are also known as ‘Bairnsangs’ or ‘Whigmaleeries’. They are deceptively simple pieces, but many of them deserve a second look between the lines.
Soutar’s father, who was a master joiner, adapted a downstairs room into a bedroom with a huge window so that his son had a view overlooking the back garden and out beyond to Craigie Hill. Notwithstanding his condition, Soutar derived inspiration from his environment as in his poem, ‘Cosmos’, where he wrote poignantly, “There is a universe within this room.” That house, where William Soutar lived and composed his poetry, is now known as ‘The Soutar House’ and is the abode of a ‘Writer in Residence’. It is used for readings and community events.
William Soutar was probably the finest poet that Perth has ever produced and certainly one of the finest Scottish poets of the 19th Century. He was a poet and writer of national stature who wrote in both English and Scots, but it is for his Scottish poetry that he will surely be remembered for a very long time. He kept a journal from an early age and selections from it were published after his death, under the title ‘The Diaries of a Dying Man’. Significantly, it was not until illness disabled him that Soutar began his sustained work as a poet. During thirteen bed-bound years he continued to write, composing poetry, escaping through his imagination, and holding court to his many visitors and fellow writers, dressed in a jacket and bow tie. Many of Soutar’s poems recall tall stories of the old worthies he could no longer visit and some of his most evocative concern his home town of Perth and the surrounding countryside.
John Soutar was born in Perth on the 28th of April, 1898 and, between 1912 and 1916, he was a pupil at Perth Academy, where he excelled in the classroom and on the sports field. He was a popular character in his year and his literary skills were beginning to show through as the school magazine, the ‘Young Barbarian’, published some of his poems. At the beginning of 1917, he joined the Navy and served in the Atlantic and the North Sea. After demobilization in April, 1919, he entered Edinburgh University with a view to studying medicine. However, he was quickly disenchanted and changed to reading English Literature. His first volume of poetry, ‘Gleanings of an Undergraduate’, was published in 1923, within a year of his graduation.
Towards the end of his time in the Navy, he had begun to suffer from the early symptoms of the genetic disease that so afflicted his life. He was granted an invalidity discharge and spent his last days in the Service on leave. Later, and tragically, Soutar was diagnosed as having ankylosing spondilitis and, from November, 1930, he was permanently confined to bed. William Soutar was lovingly cared for by his parents, in his home at 27 Wilson Street, Perth, until his death, incidentally, from tuberculosis, on the 15th of October, 1943.
Writing about his life, in 1937, when he was already permanently confined to bed, Soutar told of his time at Perth Academy: “That was my eighteenth year while yet the shadow of war was unacknowledged. Then I was one of the fleetest at the Academy; one of the strongest; first in my year at most things; I was writing poetry; I was in love; I was popular both in the classroom and the playing field. I never reached this condition of living fullness again except in brief moments.”
This sonnet of Soutar’s, entitled ‘The Halted Moment’ and written in Scots in 1943, has been favourably compared to William Wordsworth of ‘golden daffodils’ fame. According to the website at www.williamsoutar.com this poem “might well have brought a gasp of envy from Wordsworth.”
“Wha hasna turn’d inby a sunny street
And fund alang its length nae folk were there;
And heard his step fa’ steadily and clear
Nor wauken ocht but schedows at his feet.
Shuther to shuther in the reemlin heat
The houses seem’d to hearken and to stare;
But a’ were doverin whaur they stude and were
Like wa’s ayont the echo o’ time's beat.
Wha hasna thocht whan atween stanes sae still,
That had been biggit up for busyness,
He has come wanderin into a place
Lost, and forgotten, and unchangeable;
And thocht the far-off traffic sounds to be
The weary waters o’ mortality.”
Soutar was an associate of Hugh MacDiarmid’s, whom the latter affectionately satirised in ‘The Thistle Looks at a Drunk Man’. Indeed, MacDiarmid described Soutar as being in the vanguard of the top fifty contemporary Scottish poets. Soutar was most definitely a partisan of the revival of poetry written in Scots, producing rhythmically compelling verse, notable for its imaginative range. Soutar’s extensive prose journals are represented by the aforementioned ‘Diaries of a Dying Man’ (1954), which were edited by A. Scott, who also produced a biography, entitled ‘Still Life’ and which was published in 1958. Soutar’s reputation as a writer of prose is indubitably enhanced by Joy Hendry’s assessment of ‘Dying Man’ with her comment that “Soutar’s diary writings put him into the rank of the great diarists of the world.” Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch.
Further praise comes from the introduction to ‘Into a Room: Selected Poems of William Soutar’, which was published in 2000 by Carl MacDougall and Douglas Gifford. It states that Soutar “is one of the greatest poets Scotland has produced.” Many of Soutar’s best loved poems are about Perth, known itself as ‘Yon Toun’. Favourites include; ‘The Deuchny Wuds’, ‘The Bogle Brig’ and ‘Whan Gowdan are the Carse-lands’. Soutar is also remembered for his ‘Bairnrhymes’, which are children’s poems that first appeared in ‘Seeds in the Wind, in 1933. Those short, somewhat whimsical, often humorous, children’s poems, such as ‘Bawsy Broon’ or ‘The Three Puddocks’, were written in Scots and are also known as ‘Bairnsangs’ or ‘Whigmaleeries’. They are deceptively simple pieces, but many of them deserve a second look between the lines.
Soutar’s father, who was a master joiner, adapted a downstairs room into a bedroom with a huge window so that his son had a view overlooking the back garden and out beyond to Craigie Hill. Notwithstanding his condition, Soutar derived inspiration from his environment as in his poem, ‘Cosmos’, where he wrote poignantly, “There is a universe within this room.” That house, where William Soutar lived and composed his poetry, is now known as ‘The Soutar House’ and is the abode of a ‘Writer in Residence’. It is used for readings and community events.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
John Galt
John Galt, the Scottish novelist, died on the 11th of April, 1839.
John Galt was Samuel Coleridge’s favourite novelist, which is as good a recommendation as any. Perhaps Galt’s greatest novel is ‘Annals of the Parish’, which is on the list of the ‘100 Best Scottish Books of all Time’ and certainly deserving of Coleridge’s praise. Galt’s greatest skills as a writer stemmed from acute observations of human psychology, a philosophical approach to history, and his ability to faithfully reproduce an authentic and distinctly Scottish voice. Quite often, Galt used the Scots tongue for dialogue and sometimes even for narrative. He saw the Scots as having a distinct advantage over their English cousins in terms of vocabulary – after all, they had both English and native Scots upon which to draw. A great achievement of Galt’s lies in his retelling of Scotland’s history, in the period between 1760 and 1820, through a series of thirteen innovative and very entertaining novels. Those were known collectively as the ‘Tales of the West’ and offer an all-embracing view of life in Scotland at the time – a human history.
Galt began writing around the age of twenty-four, experimenting in verse before realising, like many of us, that he was really an inferior poet. In 1813, he conceived the idea of writing a novel based on the observations of a parish minister. At first, he could find no enlightened publisher that would accept a book set in the west of Scotland. However, once Sir Walter Scott entered the scene and transformed Scottish literature, Galt found an outlet for his ‘Scottish stories’. Once published, there was no holding him back.
Galt called his first stories, quite appropriately, his ‘theoretical histories’. They were written in the 1820s and the first of them, ‘The Ayrshire Legates’ was serialised in Blackwood’s Magazine, in 1820-21. Galt’s voluminous output includes: ‘The Steamboat’; ‘Annals of the Parish’; ‘Sir Andrew Wylie’; ‘The Gathering of the West’; ‘The Provost’; ‘The Entail’; ‘Ringan Gilhaize’; ‘The Last of the Lairds’; and the ironic political novels, ‘The Member’; and ‘The Radical’, which were both published much later in his career. In addition to being a star contributor to Blackwood’s Magazine, Galt also wrote an acclaimed biography of his friend Lord Byron, whom he had met whilst travelling on the Mediterranean in 1809. Galt’s ‘The Life of Byron’ (that’s By-ron, not Brian) was published in1830; the first biography of the poet.
John Galt was born in Irvine on the 2nd of May, 1779. John received his early education at Irvine and Greenock, and found his first employment as a clerk in a mercantile office. In 1804, Galt trotted off to London, where he published anonymously and advisedly so, a poem called ‘The Battle of Largs’. In London, Galt made unsuccessful attempts to succeed in business and also entered Lincoln’s Inn, but never made it to the bar. Thirsty then, he obtained a commission to investigate whether Napoleon’s Berlin and Milan decrees could be evaded. Those decrees of Bonaparte’s were part of the diminutive dictator’s continental system; his plan to defeat the British by waging economic warfare. Galt was also employed by the Glasgow merchant, Kirkman Finlay, on similar business, probing for cracks in the Bonaparte regime and it was during his time on the Continent that Galt met and travelled with Byron.
Much of Galt’s fiction draws from the west of Scotland where he spent his youth. It appears he was a sickly child and spent much of his time soaking up local and traditional tales. Such apparent idleness was well spent as he developed his gift for storytelling and ear for regional dialect. Some of his later novels were set in North America, of which he had personal experience, and were amongst the first to be located there. Despite critical literary success, Galt also had business aspirations and a profound desire to go to Canada. After becoming actively involved in political campaigning on behalf of the colony, off he sailed, in 1826. For two years, he devoted himself to developing the virgin territories of the colony, founding the townships of Guelph and Goderich. Unfortunately, he fell foul of bureaucracy and eventually he had to return to the United Kingdom, which he did in 1829, under charges of debt. He was imprisoned for a while, but afterwards, he happily returned to writing and the aforementioned political novels, drawing on his experiences – from a rich and varied well.
‘The Annals’ is Galt’s masterpiece of small-town Scottish life, an insightful character portrait and a wonderful, humorous observation of social change, coloured by local trivia. It is described in a review of the ‘100 Best Scottish Books of all Time’ as “more beautifully coloured than anything by Walter Scott.” The story is narrated by the simple, if rather worldly and vain, Reverend Micah Balwhidder, a Presbyterian minister in the Ayrshire town of Dalmailing. It spans the time of Burns and the Industrial Revolution, and charts this turbulent period of economic and social change through a rare vernacular beauty. Its characters, such as Mr Macskipnish, the owner of the dance school at Irville, are reminiscent of Dickens – except Galt was a predecessor.
If history was taught in schools by making pupils read books like ‘The Annals’ they wouldn’t find topics like the industrial revolution so dull an uninteresting. When you think about it, history is happening as we speak, and that’s the beauty of the book, history unfolds as the characters tell their stories. The combination of historical accuracy alongside sociological insight led Galt’s contemporary critic, John Wilson, to say, “(it was) not a book but a fact” – quite a compliment for a novel.
Another book worth looking up is ‘Ringan Gilhaize’, which was described by Sir George Douglas as “a neglected masterpiece”. In this novel, Galt addressed the psychology of the Scottish race and the tragedy of its then recent history involving the likes of the Covenanters. It deals with the themes of community, loyalty, religious and legal justice and violence as a begetter of violence. Those themes, which are just as prevalent and topical today, show that history continues to repeat itself; we just have a different technological and economic environment in which to play them out.
In his later years, Galt suffered a stroke, but he continued writing up until his death, which occurred on the 11th of April, 1839. He was buried in Greenock.
John Galt was Samuel Coleridge’s favourite novelist, which is as good a recommendation as any. Perhaps Galt’s greatest novel is ‘Annals of the Parish’, which is on the list of the ‘100 Best Scottish Books of all Time’ and certainly deserving of Coleridge’s praise. Galt’s greatest skills as a writer stemmed from acute observations of human psychology, a philosophical approach to history, and his ability to faithfully reproduce an authentic and distinctly Scottish voice. Quite often, Galt used the Scots tongue for dialogue and sometimes even for narrative. He saw the Scots as having a distinct advantage over their English cousins in terms of vocabulary – after all, they had both English and native Scots upon which to draw. A great achievement of Galt’s lies in his retelling of Scotland’s history, in the period between 1760 and 1820, through a series of thirteen innovative and very entertaining novels. Those were known collectively as the ‘Tales of the West’ and offer an all-embracing view of life in Scotland at the time – a human history.
Galt began writing around the age of twenty-four, experimenting in verse before realising, like many of us, that he was really an inferior poet. In 1813, he conceived the idea of writing a novel based on the observations of a parish minister. At first, he could find no enlightened publisher that would accept a book set in the west of Scotland. However, once Sir Walter Scott entered the scene and transformed Scottish literature, Galt found an outlet for his ‘Scottish stories’. Once published, there was no holding him back.
Galt called his first stories, quite appropriately, his ‘theoretical histories’. They were written in the 1820s and the first of them, ‘The Ayrshire Legates’ was serialised in Blackwood’s Magazine, in 1820-21. Galt’s voluminous output includes: ‘The Steamboat’; ‘Annals of the Parish’; ‘Sir Andrew Wylie’; ‘The Gathering of the West’; ‘The Provost’; ‘The Entail’; ‘Ringan Gilhaize’; ‘The Last of the Lairds’; and the ironic political novels, ‘The Member’; and ‘The Radical’, which were both published much later in his career. In addition to being a star contributor to Blackwood’s Magazine, Galt also wrote an acclaimed biography of his friend Lord Byron, whom he had met whilst travelling on the Mediterranean in 1809. Galt’s ‘The Life of Byron’ (that’s By-ron, not Brian) was published in1830; the first biography of the poet.
John Galt was born in Irvine on the 2nd of May, 1779. John received his early education at Irvine and Greenock, and found his first employment as a clerk in a mercantile office. In 1804, Galt trotted off to London, where he published anonymously and advisedly so, a poem called ‘The Battle of Largs’. In London, Galt made unsuccessful attempts to succeed in business and also entered Lincoln’s Inn, but never made it to the bar. Thirsty then, he obtained a commission to investigate whether Napoleon’s Berlin and Milan decrees could be evaded. Those decrees of Bonaparte’s were part of the diminutive dictator’s continental system; his plan to defeat the British by waging economic warfare. Galt was also employed by the Glasgow merchant, Kirkman Finlay, on similar business, probing for cracks in the Bonaparte regime and it was during his time on the Continent that Galt met and travelled with Byron.
Much of Galt’s fiction draws from the west of Scotland where he spent his youth. It appears he was a sickly child and spent much of his time soaking up local and traditional tales. Such apparent idleness was well spent as he developed his gift for storytelling and ear for regional dialect. Some of his later novels were set in North America, of which he had personal experience, and were amongst the first to be located there. Despite critical literary success, Galt also had business aspirations and a profound desire to go to Canada. After becoming actively involved in political campaigning on behalf of the colony, off he sailed, in 1826. For two years, he devoted himself to developing the virgin territories of the colony, founding the townships of Guelph and Goderich. Unfortunately, he fell foul of bureaucracy and eventually he had to return to the United Kingdom, which he did in 1829, under charges of debt. He was imprisoned for a while, but afterwards, he happily returned to writing and the aforementioned political novels, drawing on his experiences – from a rich and varied well.
‘The Annals’ is Galt’s masterpiece of small-town Scottish life, an insightful character portrait and a wonderful, humorous observation of social change, coloured by local trivia. It is described in a review of the ‘100 Best Scottish Books of all Time’ as “more beautifully coloured than anything by Walter Scott.” The story is narrated by the simple, if rather worldly and vain, Reverend Micah Balwhidder, a Presbyterian minister in the Ayrshire town of Dalmailing. It spans the time of Burns and the Industrial Revolution, and charts this turbulent period of economic and social change through a rare vernacular beauty. Its characters, such as Mr Macskipnish, the owner of the dance school at Irville, are reminiscent of Dickens – except Galt was a predecessor.
If history was taught in schools by making pupils read books like ‘The Annals’ they wouldn’t find topics like the industrial revolution so dull an uninteresting. When you think about it, history is happening as we speak, and that’s the beauty of the book, history unfolds as the characters tell their stories. The combination of historical accuracy alongside sociological insight led Galt’s contemporary critic, John Wilson, to say, “(it was) not a book but a fact” – quite a compliment for a novel.
Another book worth looking up is ‘Ringan Gilhaize’, which was described by Sir George Douglas as “a neglected masterpiece”. In this novel, Galt addressed the psychology of the Scottish race and the tragedy of its then recent history involving the likes of the Covenanters. It deals with the themes of community, loyalty, religious and legal justice and violence as a begetter of violence. Those themes, which are just as prevalent and topical today, show that history continues to repeat itself; we just have a different technological and economic environment in which to play them out.
In his later years, Galt suffered a stroke, but he continued writing up until his death, which occurred on the 11th of April, 1839. He was buried in Greenock.
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