Robert Gordon of Straloch, poet, mathematician, antiquary and geographer, was born on the 14th of September, 1580.
Robert Gordon of Straloch is remembered primarily for his cartography of Scotland and a funny wee letter in ‘Olde Inglis’, which Charles I wrote to him in 1641, when Gordon was sixty-one and ‘weel kent’ by reputation as a man of learning and substance. Indeed, some time shortly after his death in 1661, he was described as “One of the most worthy and learned Gentlemen of our Nation.” By the time he got the letter from King Charles, Robert Gordon had established a scholastic reputation and been involved in events surrounding the struggles and strife between the King and the National Covenanters. That suggests he played a substantial role in public life in post-Reformation Scotland, but details of that aspect of his own life and times are not readily available. Nevertheless, during his long career, he became an eminent cartographer and also published writings on the ancient history of Scotland and a family history of the Gordons.
The letter from Charles, which is often quoted, states in part, “to reveis the saidis cairtiss.” The purpose of the letter is a matter of dispute, but only in terms of detail as to the extent of the ‘reveis’ (revision) needed. The essential instruction was to provide input regarding Scotland to the noteworthy Jean Blaeu of Amsterdam, who was the publisher of a World Atlas. However, it seems the Dutchman wasn’t seeking an editorial revision of plates that he had already engraved from the work of Timothy Pont; rather, he was looking for Gordon to fill gaps in his coverage of Scotland. That may well have been because after Blaeu obtained Pont’s surviving original maps from Sir James Balfour, a number went missing during the printing process. The volume on which Gordon worked was completed in 1648 and it was subsequently published in 1654 under the title ‘Theatrum Scotiae’ as the fifth volume of Blaeu’s huge world atlas ‘Theatrum Orbis Terrarum sive Atlas Novus’, which became known as the ‘Atlas Major’. Keeping it in the family, Robert Gordon was assisted by his son, James Gordon of Rothiemay. A map of Fife, which appeared in Blaeu’s ‘Theatrum Scotiae’, was specifically credited to James Gordon. Even by modern standards the cartography in ‘Theatrum Scotiae’ is impressive, which suggests that Gordon accomplished his task very well. However, he can’t take all the glory, because Blaue formally credited thirty-six of the maps of Scotland in that fifth volume to Pont. Between Gordon and Pont, Scotland then became the best mapped country in the world.
Robert Gordon didn’t stop with his work for Blaeu as he completed an immense volume of work, a lot of which has survived and can be seen in the National Library of Scotland. Gordon’s ambitions, whatever his motivation, led him to produce at least the sixty-five extant manuscript maps held by the National Library, most of which bear no relation to either the maps published by Blaeu or to the gaps in his coverage. So it seems Gordon initiated his own map-making task and set about depicting Scotland quite independently of Blaeu. It is probably the case that his interest in Scotland and its history as evidenced elsewhere in his writings, led him to complete the cartographic exercise as a means of further illustrating the country and its environs, having been motivated in the first place by Blaue’s request and the King’s letter suggesting he get involved. His undoubted interest in the constitution and antiquities of Scotland is also evidenced by his prefixing an introduction in Blaeu’s atlas, which gives a comprehensive view of those aspects of the country.
What is mildly confusing is the seeming contradiction between statements in some biographies and the fact that Gordon was sixty-one when given the task of assisting Blaeu. On the one hand he is credited with being the first to make geographical surveys of Scotland by actual survey and measurement; quoted as being “a tedious and laborious process never undertaken by any of his predecessors.” On the other hand, he is supposed to have come into contact with Pont’s work relatively late in his life i.e., after Charles’ 1641 letter. If that was indeed the case, it’s hard to believe that Gordon would have set about surveying Scotland ‘on the ground’ at such an advanced age. It seems more likely that he developed his cartographic expertise prior to 1641, which is what led to him being asked by the King, in such capacity, to contribute to Blaeu’s atlas in the first place by editing Pont’s surviving work and supplying replacements for the lost maps.
Robert Gordon was born at Pitlurg in Aberdeenshire on the 14th of September, 1580. He was educated at the Marischal College of the University of Aberdeen, where he was its first graduate and he also studied at the University of Paris. His family was closely associated with the Gordon Earls of Huntly and he was the progenitor of the Gordons of Straloch, having purchased or acquired through marriage the estate, which lies near Inverurie. He later inherited his elder brother's estate of Pitlurg when John Gordon died without an heir and these landed possessions gave him the income he needed to pursue his academic interests.
Robert Gordon died on the 18th of August, 1661, and he was laid to rest in the family burial place in Newmachar. Before he died, he passed Pont's surviving maps into the care of his son James, with instructions “to be countable therfore to the publique, but because they are all imperfect, that they be weil corrected [before] any use [be] made of them.” Sometime shortly before James’ death in 1686, he in turn passed the carefully hoarded collection of Pont’s manuscript maps, together with the output of his own and his father’s activities, including textual and topographic descriptions of Scotland, to Sir Robert Sibbald.
Incidently, Robert Gordon was the grandfather of his namesake, who was the founder of Robert Gordon Hospital, which was the forerunner of Aberdeen’s Robert Gordon College, which is just a private co-educational day school.
Monday, 13 September 2010
Robert Millar
Robert Millar, cyclist, was born on the 13th of September, 1958.
For many British cycling fans, Scotland’s Robert Millar is the United Kingdom's greatest ever professional road cyclist. There is no doubt that, in years to come, someone will equal or surpass Millar’s achievements, but apart from Tom Simpson, there has been no rider who has come close to comparison with Millar. There has been no rider quite like Millar either as he was as unique a personality as he was a cycling legend. Millar’s performances in the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia and the Vuelta de Espana were the inspiration for countless numbers of aspiring British cyclists in the 1980s and 90s. Today, providing an element of nostalgia for those who attempted to follow in his footsteps or for those who are still dreaming, there are many videos of his famous rides to be seen on YouTube.
Robert Millar became the first and so far, the only Briton ever to achieve a final podium finish in the Tour de France. That accolade came by virtue of his having won the ‘King of the Mountains’ competition in the 1984 Tour de France, in which he also finished fourth overall. For three glorious weeks in that 1984 ‘Tour’, Robert Millar danced his way up climb after climb to secure the red and white polka-dot jersey. He remains the only rider from an English speaking country to have won the Tour de France ‘King of the Mountains’ polka-dot jersey and the only Briton to have won a Tour de France classification in the hundred-years-old history of cycling's premier event. His fourth place in the 1984 ‘le Tour’ was also, until recently when it was equaled by Bradley Wiggins, the highest finishing position by a British cyclist. Billy Bilsland, Millar's first trainer and a man who, like Millar, rode for the French Peugeot team on the Continent, has been unequivocal in stating Millar’s place in the pantheon of Scotland's sporting greats. According to Bilsland, “Robert Millar is the most successful Scottish athlete ever.”
Robert Charles Millar was born in Glasgow on the 13th of September, 1958, and was brought up in Shawlands in the City’s south side. After making his mark on the UK amateur cycling scene, he moved to Paris in 1979, when he was offered a place in the top French amateur team, Athletic Club Boulogne-Billancourt (ACBB). At that time, Millar was part of the first wave of English-speaking cyclists that took the European world of cycling by storm. It was a group that included the American, Greg LeMond, Irishmen Stephen Roche and Sean Kelly, and Australia's Phil Anderson. Millar became a success in his first year on the circuit, winning the Merlin Plage, which is a trophy for the best amateur of the season. That win brought him to the attention of the Peugeot professional team, whom he soon joined. Then, in 1983, when still only twenty-four, he signalled notice of his ability by winning stage ten of the Tour de France in the Pyrenean Mountains from Pau to Bagneres de Luchon, finishing well ahead of the Peloton with his trademark Peugeot cycling cap firmly placed on his curly head. When he was interviewed by an English journalist after his first ever-professional victory, Millar described looking around with about three kilometers to go and seeing Pedro Delgado bearing down on him so, in his own words, he “put [himself] on the rivet again” to secure the victory. Commenting about the ubiquitous hat, he also said, “At five hundred metres, I took the hat out for publicity, put it on, nice like and put the arms up; always have to remember that.”
When Millar won the mountain stage in the 1983 ‘Tour’ he was of an age when most riders are considered insufficiently mature to even compete in the world's most gruelling sporting event. That statement of intent, if you like, led to Millar being considered by many to be a possible future ‘Tour’ winner. However, that was not to be and it’s fair to say that Millar, despite his phenomenal prowess, was not team leader material. His successes came from a focus on winning stages and shorter tours. His crowning glory was the 1984 Tour de France, in which he won one stage, a summit finish at the Pyrenean ski station of Guzet Neige, on his way to fourth place and the ‘King of the Mountains’ classification. And Millar’s love affair with the Pyrenees was consolidated when he returned to the stage winner’s podium for the third time in his career. That came when he ‘summited’ first at Superbagneres ski station, in the 1989 ‘Tour’. Millar also achieved the highest finish by a Briton in the Giro d'Italia, in which he finished second in 1987, also winning the King of the Mountains classification.
Millar’s lack of a ‘Tour’ win plays in the minds of his many fans, who idolise him to this day. That is because of his second place in the 1985 Vuelta de Espana. Although the fans’ angst is because he finished second rather than first, it is the manner of his defeat that rankles. On the second last day of the tour, wearing the race leader's yellow jersey and with a seemingly unassailable lead of more than six minutes, Millar punctured. That incident was the catalyst for an attack by two Spanish riders, Pedro Delgado and Jose Recio. Somehow, over a distance of just sixty kilometers, that pair managed to build up a lead of seven minutes, which made Delgado the race leader on the road. The tragedy for Millar was that he wasn’t made aware of the lead that his rival had developed. Ruiz Cabestany had even leaned across to the Scot and shaken hands with him, because he believed he was going to win his first major tour. Millar’s French manager seems to have been somewhat incompetent as he signally failed to keep Millar up to date with events on the road or to attempt to do anything about the situation until it was too late. It didn’t help that the other riders the Peloton were mostly Spanish and had no inclination to help an ‘Extranjero’ against their countryman, the ever controversial Delgado. The fuel for the conspiracy theory and the label of the ‘stolen Vuelta’ stems from the idea that Millar's Peugeot team mates were unable to help him, because they were delayed at a level crossing, waiting for a train that never came. Interestingly, Ruiz Cabestany also said that he knew all the time that Millar was going to lose the Vuelta, but he had to keep his mouth shut. Millar’s own take on the affair is pragmatic, “Delgado didn’t win,” he has stated, “I lost.”
Since his retirement from professional cycling, Robert Millar has kept a low profile, but he does surface from time to time. He pens the odd article for ‘Rouleur’ cycling magazine, which means that those issues become tantamount to collectors’ editions, and he can be found in the odd blog post under the pseudonym ‘gotheteeshirt2’ on the pro race forum of bikeradar.com
For many British cycling fans, Scotland’s Robert Millar is the United Kingdom's greatest ever professional road cyclist. There is no doubt that, in years to come, someone will equal or surpass Millar’s achievements, but apart from Tom Simpson, there has been no rider who has come close to comparison with Millar. There has been no rider quite like Millar either as he was as unique a personality as he was a cycling legend. Millar’s performances in the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia and the Vuelta de Espana were the inspiration for countless numbers of aspiring British cyclists in the 1980s and 90s. Today, providing an element of nostalgia for those who attempted to follow in his footsteps or for those who are still dreaming, there are many videos of his famous rides to be seen on YouTube.
Robert Millar became the first and so far, the only Briton ever to achieve a final podium finish in the Tour de France. That accolade came by virtue of his having won the ‘King of the Mountains’ competition in the 1984 Tour de France, in which he also finished fourth overall. For three glorious weeks in that 1984 ‘Tour’, Robert Millar danced his way up climb after climb to secure the red and white polka-dot jersey. He remains the only rider from an English speaking country to have won the Tour de France ‘King of the Mountains’ polka-dot jersey and the only Briton to have won a Tour de France classification in the hundred-years-old history of cycling's premier event. His fourth place in the 1984 ‘le Tour’ was also, until recently when it was equaled by Bradley Wiggins, the highest finishing position by a British cyclist. Billy Bilsland, Millar's first trainer and a man who, like Millar, rode for the French Peugeot team on the Continent, has been unequivocal in stating Millar’s place in the pantheon of Scotland's sporting greats. According to Bilsland, “Robert Millar is the most successful Scottish athlete ever.”
Robert Charles Millar was born in Glasgow on the 13th of September, 1958, and was brought up in Shawlands in the City’s south side. After making his mark on the UK amateur cycling scene, he moved to Paris in 1979, when he was offered a place in the top French amateur team, Athletic Club Boulogne-Billancourt (ACBB). At that time, Millar was part of the first wave of English-speaking cyclists that took the European world of cycling by storm. It was a group that included the American, Greg LeMond, Irishmen Stephen Roche and Sean Kelly, and Australia's Phil Anderson. Millar became a success in his first year on the circuit, winning the Merlin Plage, which is a trophy for the best amateur of the season. That win brought him to the attention of the Peugeot professional team, whom he soon joined. Then, in 1983, when still only twenty-four, he signalled notice of his ability by winning stage ten of the Tour de France in the Pyrenean Mountains from Pau to Bagneres de Luchon, finishing well ahead of the Peloton with his trademark Peugeot cycling cap firmly placed on his curly head. When he was interviewed by an English journalist after his first ever-professional victory, Millar described looking around with about three kilometers to go and seeing Pedro Delgado bearing down on him so, in his own words, he “put [himself] on the rivet again” to secure the victory. Commenting about the ubiquitous hat, he also said, “At five hundred metres, I took the hat out for publicity, put it on, nice like and put the arms up; always have to remember that.”
When Millar won the mountain stage in the 1983 ‘Tour’ he was of an age when most riders are considered insufficiently mature to even compete in the world's most gruelling sporting event. That statement of intent, if you like, led to Millar being considered by many to be a possible future ‘Tour’ winner. However, that was not to be and it’s fair to say that Millar, despite his phenomenal prowess, was not team leader material. His successes came from a focus on winning stages and shorter tours. His crowning glory was the 1984 Tour de France, in which he won one stage, a summit finish at the Pyrenean ski station of Guzet Neige, on his way to fourth place and the ‘King of the Mountains’ classification. And Millar’s love affair with the Pyrenees was consolidated when he returned to the stage winner’s podium for the third time in his career. That came when he ‘summited’ first at Superbagneres ski station, in the 1989 ‘Tour’. Millar also achieved the highest finish by a Briton in the Giro d'Italia, in which he finished second in 1987, also winning the King of the Mountains classification.
Millar’s lack of a ‘Tour’ win plays in the minds of his many fans, who idolise him to this day. That is because of his second place in the 1985 Vuelta de Espana. Although the fans’ angst is because he finished second rather than first, it is the manner of his defeat that rankles. On the second last day of the tour, wearing the race leader's yellow jersey and with a seemingly unassailable lead of more than six minutes, Millar punctured. That incident was the catalyst for an attack by two Spanish riders, Pedro Delgado and Jose Recio. Somehow, over a distance of just sixty kilometers, that pair managed to build up a lead of seven minutes, which made Delgado the race leader on the road. The tragedy for Millar was that he wasn’t made aware of the lead that his rival had developed. Ruiz Cabestany had even leaned across to the Scot and shaken hands with him, because he believed he was going to win his first major tour. Millar’s French manager seems to have been somewhat incompetent as he signally failed to keep Millar up to date with events on the road or to attempt to do anything about the situation until it was too late. It didn’t help that the other riders the Peloton were mostly Spanish and had no inclination to help an ‘Extranjero’ against their countryman, the ever controversial Delgado. The fuel for the conspiracy theory and the label of the ‘stolen Vuelta’ stems from the idea that Millar's Peugeot team mates were unable to help him, because they were delayed at a level crossing, waiting for a train that never came. Interestingly, Ruiz Cabestany also said that he knew all the time that Millar was going to lose the Vuelta, but he had to keep his mouth shut. Millar’s own take on the affair is pragmatic, “Delgado didn’t win,” he has stated, “I lost.”
Since his retirement from professional cycling, Robert Millar has kept a low profile, but he does surface from time to time. He pens the odd article for ‘Rouleur’ cycling magazine, which means that those issues become tantamount to collectors’ editions, and he can be found in the odd blog post under the pseudonym ‘gotheteeshirt2’ on the pro race forum of bikeradar.com
Sunday, 12 September 2010
Sir William Alexander
Sir William Alexander, Earl of Stirling, Earl of Devon, 1st Viscount Canada, scholar, poet, courtier, coloniser, and statesman, died on the 12th of September, 1640.
William Alexander rose from his position as a lowly aristocrat in the Scotland of James VI to become an influential and notable member of the Courts of King James I of England (a.k.a. James VI of Scotland) and his son, Charles I & I. Under the patronage of both Kings, he was knighted and granted lands and titles and privileges, but died in poverty. To be more accurate, he died in debt, which is not so emotive an expression; it conveys more of the circumstances. His great tragedy was that he was unable to make the most of his ‘empire’ of Nova Scotia before it was taken from him in a deal with the French involving the dowry of the wife of King Charles I. He might have been a great courtier and statesman, but he wasn’t a successful coloniser. Maybe he was too much the poet to be successful in more practical matters. He both sought after and deserved the favours he received from both Kings and in the context of his life and times, he should be remembered for his achievements, rather than his disappointments in Canada. If your sympathies lie with Scottish Presbyterians, you’ll no like Alexander. If you favour the idea of James VI & I and his successors selling Scotland short, you’ll no like Alexander. If you give him his due, he’s worth a wee mention in the panoply of great Scots.
William Alexander was born in the village of Menstrie in Clackmannanshire sometime between 1567 and 1570; the probabilities are that he was born in 1567 or not later than 1568, because he had to have been a few years older than the Earl of Argyle, who was born before 1571. Although he was born into a very junior aristocratic family, it claimed descent from a son of Somerled, Lord of the Isles, and Margaret, daughter of Robert II. Wee Willie went to Stirling Grammar School and attended the Universities of Glasgow and Leiden. Having then gained repute as a scholar, he accompanied Archibald, the 7th Earl of Argyle, as tutor to the Earl on the so-called ‘Grand Tour’. It was the Earl who introduced Alexander to the Court of King James VI and as a result, in 1607, he was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber Extraordinary and Tutor to Prince Henry. James was known as ‘The most learned fool in Europe’ and his patronage of Alexander says much about the two men. In 1612, after the untimely death of Henry, Alexander fulfilled a similar role to the future Charles I & I. Sometime after 1603, when ‘Shauchlin’ Jamie Saxt’ became James VI & I, Alexander followed his Monarch and Patron to London in what was the only successful, albeit peaceful and acrimonious, invasion of England by Scots. Alexander had gained the favour of James VI & I through his intellect and scholarship, and by means of his poetical works.
Alexander was a poet before he crossed the border. His first public poem, published in 1603, was the rhyming tragedy entitled ‘The Tragedie of Darius’. His motives can be deduced from the dedication: ‘To the most excellent, high and mightie Prince James the 6, King of Scots, my dreade Soveraigne,’ and his description: ‘I present to thy favourable viewe and censure the first essay of my rude and unskilfull Muse in a tragicall poem.’ All told, he wrote four of these classical ‘Monarchicke Tragedies’: ‘Crœsus’, ‘Darius’, ‘The Alexandræan’, and Julius Caesar. They are dialogues rather than plays or dramas and, according to critics, contain some fine passages in the soliloquies, notably one in ‘Darius’, which perhaps gave something to Shakespeare's ‘Tempest’. His earliest effort, which didn’t appear in print until 1604, was written during his ‘Tour’ with Argyll. It was a miscellany of Elizabethan love sonnets, songs and elegies called ‘Avrora’. Some of its ‘fancies’ are said to be autobiographical and speak of a lost love who preferred an older man, which is perhaps why it was left out of his 1637 collected works.
In 1614, Sir William published ‘Doomes-day, or The Great day of the Lords Judgement’. It was an ambitious production, which won him the praise of contemporary writers, such as William Drummond of Hawthornden, and Michael Drayton, the poet of ‘Agincourt’ who called Alexander “a man of men”. His good friend, Drummond, said of him, “I estimed of him befor I was acquent with him, because of his workes.” In its ultimate form, that poem embraced twelve books or ‘houres’ and contained over 1,375 eight-lined stanzas. James VI & I wrote a sonnet about Doomes-day, perhaps slyly betraying his true feelings in its heading: “The Complainte of the Muses to Alexander vpon himselfe, for his ingratitude towardes them, by hurting them with his hard hammered wordes, fitter to be vsed vpon his Mineralles.” Whatever else Alexander was, he wasn’t a sycophant, as ‘A Parænesis to the Prince’ proves. It is anything but a panegyric and contains some audacious counsel and an assertion that ‘wicked princes’ may be dethroned: “And in all ages it was ever seene, What vertue rais'd, by vice hath ruin'd been.”
The other thing Alexander is famous for is collaborating with James VI & I in the King’s translation of ‘The Psalms of King David’. James was intent on producing a metrical version of the Psalms to replace that of Sternhold and Hopkins, but his end result did not go down well as it was published after the King’s death and became associated with Archbishop Laud’s detested ‘Service Book’. Charles I granted Alexander the sole right, for thirty-one years of “printing or causing to be printed these Psalmes… whereof oure late deare father was author.” James VI & I had commanded Alexander to submit translations, but preferred his own. The printing licence didn’t earn Alexander any substantial sums, despite his attempts, after the King’s death, to improve James’ inharmonious efforts.
Apart from his literary efforts, Alexander’s main claim to fame is his unsuccessful attempt to establish a Scottish colony in Nova Scotia, a name he coined and now part of Canada. The venture proved a costly failure in which he lost much of his personal fortune. However, it cannot be regarded as a complete failure as long as its citizen’s pride in the name survives. One of his more interesting roles was ‘Master of Requests for Scotland’ in which his duty was to dissuade “rapacious and beggarly” Scots who came south in search of pickings from the London Court. In 1619, an edict was passed on his recommendation, which allowed for only “gentlemen of good qualitie” to enter England and all “vagrant persones who come to England to cause trouble or bring discredit on their country” to be apprehended and sent home ‘tae think again’. In effect, Alexander ruled Scotland for his King with an iron will and consummate ability, albeit a blinkered patriotism in what were troubled times. Alexander ‘The Secretar’ was not popular, but he was an Episcopalian and naturally went against the Covenanting majority in the land of his birth. Sir William Alexander died in London on the 12th of September, 1640. His remains were taken to Scotland and interred in ‘Bowie's yle’ in the High Kirk, in Stirling.
William Alexander rose from his position as a lowly aristocrat in the Scotland of James VI to become an influential and notable member of the Courts of King James I of England (a.k.a. James VI of Scotland) and his son, Charles I & I. Under the patronage of both Kings, he was knighted and granted lands and titles and privileges, but died in poverty. To be more accurate, he died in debt, which is not so emotive an expression; it conveys more of the circumstances. His great tragedy was that he was unable to make the most of his ‘empire’ of Nova Scotia before it was taken from him in a deal with the French involving the dowry of the wife of King Charles I. He might have been a great courtier and statesman, but he wasn’t a successful coloniser. Maybe he was too much the poet to be successful in more practical matters. He both sought after and deserved the favours he received from both Kings and in the context of his life and times, he should be remembered for his achievements, rather than his disappointments in Canada. If your sympathies lie with Scottish Presbyterians, you’ll no like Alexander. If you favour the idea of James VI & I and his successors selling Scotland short, you’ll no like Alexander. If you give him his due, he’s worth a wee mention in the panoply of great Scots.
William Alexander was born in the village of Menstrie in Clackmannanshire sometime between 1567 and 1570; the probabilities are that he was born in 1567 or not later than 1568, because he had to have been a few years older than the Earl of Argyle, who was born before 1571. Although he was born into a very junior aristocratic family, it claimed descent from a son of Somerled, Lord of the Isles, and Margaret, daughter of Robert II. Wee Willie went to Stirling Grammar School and attended the Universities of Glasgow and Leiden. Having then gained repute as a scholar, he accompanied Archibald, the 7th Earl of Argyle, as tutor to the Earl on the so-called ‘Grand Tour’. It was the Earl who introduced Alexander to the Court of King James VI and as a result, in 1607, he was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber Extraordinary and Tutor to Prince Henry. James was known as ‘The most learned fool in Europe’ and his patronage of Alexander says much about the two men. In 1612, after the untimely death of Henry, Alexander fulfilled a similar role to the future Charles I & I. Sometime after 1603, when ‘Shauchlin’ Jamie Saxt’ became James VI & I, Alexander followed his Monarch and Patron to London in what was the only successful, albeit peaceful and acrimonious, invasion of England by Scots. Alexander had gained the favour of James VI & I through his intellect and scholarship, and by means of his poetical works.
Alexander was a poet before he crossed the border. His first public poem, published in 1603, was the rhyming tragedy entitled ‘The Tragedie of Darius’. His motives can be deduced from the dedication: ‘To the most excellent, high and mightie Prince James the 6, King of Scots, my dreade Soveraigne,’ and his description: ‘I present to thy favourable viewe and censure the first essay of my rude and unskilfull Muse in a tragicall poem.’ All told, he wrote four of these classical ‘Monarchicke Tragedies’: ‘Crœsus’, ‘Darius’, ‘The Alexandræan’, and Julius Caesar. They are dialogues rather than plays or dramas and, according to critics, contain some fine passages in the soliloquies, notably one in ‘Darius’, which perhaps gave something to Shakespeare's ‘Tempest’. His earliest effort, which didn’t appear in print until 1604, was written during his ‘Tour’ with Argyll. It was a miscellany of Elizabethan love sonnets, songs and elegies called ‘Avrora’. Some of its ‘fancies’ are said to be autobiographical and speak of a lost love who preferred an older man, which is perhaps why it was left out of his 1637 collected works.
In 1614, Sir William published ‘Doomes-day, or The Great day of the Lords Judgement’. It was an ambitious production, which won him the praise of contemporary writers, such as William Drummond of Hawthornden, and Michael Drayton, the poet of ‘Agincourt’ who called Alexander “a man of men”. His good friend, Drummond, said of him, “I estimed of him befor I was acquent with him, because of his workes.” In its ultimate form, that poem embraced twelve books or ‘houres’ and contained over 1,375 eight-lined stanzas. James VI & I wrote a sonnet about Doomes-day, perhaps slyly betraying his true feelings in its heading: “The Complainte of the Muses to Alexander vpon himselfe, for his ingratitude towardes them, by hurting them with his hard hammered wordes, fitter to be vsed vpon his Mineralles.” Whatever else Alexander was, he wasn’t a sycophant, as ‘A Parænesis to the Prince’ proves. It is anything but a panegyric and contains some audacious counsel and an assertion that ‘wicked princes’ may be dethroned: “And in all ages it was ever seene, What vertue rais'd, by vice hath ruin'd been.”
The other thing Alexander is famous for is collaborating with James VI & I in the King’s translation of ‘The Psalms of King David’. James was intent on producing a metrical version of the Psalms to replace that of Sternhold and Hopkins, but his end result did not go down well as it was published after the King’s death and became associated with Archbishop Laud’s detested ‘Service Book’. Charles I granted Alexander the sole right, for thirty-one years of “printing or causing to be printed these Psalmes… whereof oure late deare father was author.” James VI & I had commanded Alexander to submit translations, but preferred his own. The printing licence didn’t earn Alexander any substantial sums, despite his attempts, after the King’s death, to improve James’ inharmonious efforts.
Apart from his literary efforts, Alexander’s main claim to fame is his unsuccessful attempt to establish a Scottish colony in Nova Scotia, a name he coined and now part of Canada. The venture proved a costly failure in which he lost much of his personal fortune. However, it cannot be regarded as a complete failure as long as its citizen’s pride in the name survives. One of his more interesting roles was ‘Master of Requests for Scotland’ in which his duty was to dissuade “rapacious and beggarly” Scots who came south in search of pickings from the London Court. In 1619, an edict was passed on his recommendation, which allowed for only “gentlemen of good qualitie” to enter England and all “vagrant persones who come to England to cause trouble or bring discredit on their country” to be apprehended and sent home ‘tae think again’. In effect, Alexander ruled Scotland for his King with an iron will and consummate ability, albeit a blinkered patriotism in what were troubled times. Alexander ‘The Secretar’ was not popular, but he was an Episcopalian and naturally went against the Covenanting majority in the land of his birth. Sir William Alexander died in London on the 12th of September, 1640. His remains were taken to Scotland and interred in ‘Bowie's yle’ in the High Kirk, in Stirling.
Saturday, 11 September 2010
The Battle of Stirling Bridge
William Wallace led his troops to victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge on the 11th of September, 1297.
Sir William Wallace is one of the most recognised figures of Scottish history. His deeds as ‘Braveheart’ took place over a very short period of time and he only fought two major battles against the English invaders. Wallace’s record was 1:1, but the battle he won was a magnificent result. Scotland at the time was without its King as John Balliol was held prisoner in the Tower of London after having lost the Battle of Dunbar, in 1295. Thereafter, the country was governed as an English province by John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey. Some Scottish Nobles made a half-hearted attempt at resisting the proxy rule of the English King, Edward I, but that came to nothing at the debacle of Irvine on the 1st of July, 1297, without a single blow being struck for freedom. By then, in stark contrast to his countrymen and in the words of one English chronicler, William Wallace had “raised his head.” Wallace was motivated more by patriotism than by thought of personal gain and by midsummer had led his guerilla army in a revolt on behalf of their King. Wallace’s actions were uncoordinated and sporadic, however, his uprising was mirrored in the north by Sir Andrew de Moray. Between the two of them and by the end of August, 1297, they had captured Inverness, Elgin, Banff, Aberdeen, Irvine, and Fife, to leave most of the country north of the Forth in Scottish hands. They were jointly acknowledged, by their followers at least, as ‘Commanders of the Army of the Kingdom of Scotland and the Community of the Realm’.
Much has been made of the ‘inactivity’ of the Scottish Nobles, but many of them were caught between a rock and a hard place. Some, like Alexander Comyn and the Earl of Buchan, were held captive, under honour, in England. When these two were released on condition that they quelled the revolt of Wallace and Moray, the best that can be said is that they procrastinated on Scotland’s behalf. They sent letters to Edward, expressing loyalty and hopes of success, then did nothing but watch and wait. Other Scottish Nobles were either serving with Edward I in Flanders, captive in England or hamstrung by hostages. Two characters did get involved. They were James the Steward and the Earl of Lennox, who had been hovering around wondering which side to support. They approached de Warenne on his way to Stirling and offered to parley with Wallace and Moray, but on the 10th of September, they returned with the news that Wallace had refused to yield. These two ‘nobles’ then promised to contribute sixty men to the English cause. However, to give them some small credit, upon the following day they returned with only a handful of men, claiming that they were unable to persuade any more of Wallace’s men to defect. In a final prelude, the Earl of Surrey offered Wallace and Moray the opportunity to surrender, sending two Dominican friars to invite Wallace to accept the King's peace, with a promise of generous treatment. The result was an emphatic ‘no’ in the form of William Wallace’s first recorded speech. “Tell your people that we have not come here to gain peace, but are prepared for battle, to avenge and deliver our country. Let them come up when they like, and they will find us ready to meet them even to their beards,” he retorted.
The Battle of Stirling Bridge took place on the 11th of September, 1297, by the original wooden bridge on the north bank of the River Forth at Stirling, in the shadow of Abbey Craig. The bridge was the only effective means of crossing the Forth, other than the fords upstream at Cambuskenneth and Kildean, which were only passable at low-tide. Another Scottish Knight who couldn’t make up his mind which side he was on was Sir Richard Lundie. He had joined the English after the capitulation at Irvine and, on the day of the battle, had astutely offered to lead an advance force of five hundred Knights and a small body of infantry over the ‘Ford of Drip’, to thus protect the main army whilst it crossed Stirling Bridge. Lundie is quoted as stating, “My Lords, if we go on to the bridge we are dead men.” He was ignored, either on the grounds that it was unwise to divide the forces or because of English arrogance. It was probably the latter and the Treasurer, Hugh de Cressingham, was the major culprit. In an officious, foot stamping temper, Cressingham demanded that de Warrene not drag out the business any longer and “waste out King’s revenues for nothing.” Surrey responded to his entreaty, “advance and carry out our duty as we are bound to do,” by ordering, “Let us attack forthwith; o’er the Forth!”
The main problem of the English was that they could cross the bridge only a couple of Knights at a time. Amongst the notable figures that made it across were Cressingham, Sir Richard de Waldegrave, the constable of Stirling, and the Yorkshireman, Sir Marmaduke Thweng. Significantly, as the ‘Chronicle of Hemingburgh’ put it, Wallace and Moray were disciplined enough to wait until “as many of the enemy had come over as they believed they could overcome.” They seemed to have learned from the indiscipline of Dunbar. At eleven o’clock, after several hundred Knights, around half of the infantry and all three hundred of de Warrene’s archers had crossed, the infinitely patient William Wallace gave the signal to attack; the single blast of a horn. The Scots spearmen came down from the high ground and smashed into the English vanguard. The ferocity and speed of the attack drove the infantry and archers towards the loop of the Forth, southeast of the causeway and the bridge. The majority were cut to pieces, including the armored Knights on their heavy horses as they floundered in the marshy ground either side of the causeway. Some attempted to throw off their armour and swim the river, but few made it. In an hour, the slaughter was complete. Five thousand foot soldiers, the Welsh archers and over one hundred Knights had been either killed or drowned attempting to escape, whilst their comrades to the south had been powerless to help.
Sir Marmaduke Thweng was one of the fortunate ones. He managed to fight his way through the thicket of spears back across the bridge. Neither he nor Surrey hung around after that. Surrey had the bridge destroyed and took off for Berwick and the south, with his tail between his legs. The Battle of Stirling Bridge was the first major Scottish victory in the Wars of Independence. Its place in history is secure as it shattered the myth of English invincibility and placed Scotland back under native control. Several comments deserve to be made about the aftermath of the battle. Amongst the dead lay the portly Cressingham. Legend has it that his body was flayed and from his skin a baldric – a wide, ornamented belt worn over the shoulder to support a sword – was fashioned for Wallace. The Scots suffered some casualties, but none who was mourned more than de Moray. He was mortally wounded during the battle and died some months later. After the battle, Sir Richard Lundie changed sides once again and was with Wallace the following year at the Battle of Falkirk. Those other two Scots of dubious character, James, the High Steward of Scotland, and Malcolm, the Earl of Lennox, having observed the carnage to the north of Stirling Bridge, surreptitiously withdrew and afterwards salved their consciences by bravely attacking the English baggage train and killing some cooks and bottle washers. And finally, the site of the bridge has since been identified by archaeologists. It has been designated as a historic monument by Historic Scotland.
Sir William Wallace is one of the most recognised figures of Scottish history. His deeds as ‘Braveheart’ took place over a very short period of time and he only fought two major battles against the English invaders. Wallace’s record was 1:1, but the battle he won was a magnificent result. Scotland at the time was without its King as John Balliol was held prisoner in the Tower of London after having lost the Battle of Dunbar, in 1295. Thereafter, the country was governed as an English province by John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey. Some Scottish Nobles made a half-hearted attempt at resisting the proxy rule of the English King, Edward I, but that came to nothing at the debacle of Irvine on the 1st of July, 1297, without a single blow being struck for freedom. By then, in stark contrast to his countrymen and in the words of one English chronicler, William Wallace had “raised his head.” Wallace was motivated more by patriotism than by thought of personal gain and by midsummer had led his guerilla army in a revolt on behalf of their King. Wallace’s actions were uncoordinated and sporadic, however, his uprising was mirrored in the north by Sir Andrew de Moray. Between the two of them and by the end of August, 1297, they had captured Inverness, Elgin, Banff, Aberdeen, Irvine, and Fife, to leave most of the country north of the Forth in Scottish hands. They were jointly acknowledged, by their followers at least, as ‘Commanders of the Army of the Kingdom of Scotland and the Community of the Realm’.
Much has been made of the ‘inactivity’ of the Scottish Nobles, but many of them were caught between a rock and a hard place. Some, like Alexander Comyn and the Earl of Buchan, were held captive, under honour, in England. When these two were released on condition that they quelled the revolt of Wallace and Moray, the best that can be said is that they procrastinated on Scotland’s behalf. They sent letters to Edward, expressing loyalty and hopes of success, then did nothing but watch and wait. Other Scottish Nobles were either serving with Edward I in Flanders, captive in England or hamstrung by hostages. Two characters did get involved. They were James the Steward and the Earl of Lennox, who had been hovering around wondering which side to support. They approached de Warenne on his way to Stirling and offered to parley with Wallace and Moray, but on the 10th of September, they returned with the news that Wallace had refused to yield. These two ‘nobles’ then promised to contribute sixty men to the English cause. However, to give them some small credit, upon the following day they returned with only a handful of men, claiming that they were unable to persuade any more of Wallace’s men to defect. In a final prelude, the Earl of Surrey offered Wallace and Moray the opportunity to surrender, sending two Dominican friars to invite Wallace to accept the King's peace, with a promise of generous treatment. The result was an emphatic ‘no’ in the form of William Wallace’s first recorded speech. “Tell your people that we have not come here to gain peace, but are prepared for battle, to avenge and deliver our country. Let them come up when they like, and they will find us ready to meet them even to their beards,” he retorted.
The Battle of Stirling Bridge took place on the 11th of September, 1297, by the original wooden bridge on the north bank of the River Forth at Stirling, in the shadow of Abbey Craig. The bridge was the only effective means of crossing the Forth, other than the fords upstream at Cambuskenneth and Kildean, which were only passable at low-tide. Another Scottish Knight who couldn’t make up his mind which side he was on was Sir Richard Lundie. He had joined the English after the capitulation at Irvine and, on the day of the battle, had astutely offered to lead an advance force of five hundred Knights and a small body of infantry over the ‘Ford of Drip’, to thus protect the main army whilst it crossed Stirling Bridge. Lundie is quoted as stating, “My Lords, if we go on to the bridge we are dead men.” He was ignored, either on the grounds that it was unwise to divide the forces or because of English arrogance. It was probably the latter and the Treasurer, Hugh de Cressingham, was the major culprit. In an officious, foot stamping temper, Cressingham demanded that de Warrene not drag out the business any longer and “waste out King’s revenues for nothing.” Surrey responded to his entreaty, “advance and carry out our duty as we are bound to do,” by ordering, “Let us attack forthwith; o’er the Forth!”
The main problem of the English was that they could cross the bridge only a couple of Knights at a time. Amongst the notable figures that made it across were Cressingham, Sir Richard de Waldegrave, the constable of Stirling, and the Yorkshireman, Sir Marmaduke Thweng. Significantly, as the ‘Chronicle of Hemingburgh’ put it, Wallace and Moray were disciplined enough to wait until “as many of the enemy had come over as they believed they could overcome.” They seemed to have learned from the indiscipline of Dunbar. At eleven o’clock, after several hundred Knights, around half of the infantry and all three hundred of de Warrene’s archers had crossed, the infinitely patient William Wallace gave the signal to attack; the single blast of a horn. The Scots spearmen came down from the high ground and smashed into the English vanguard. The ferocity and speed of the attack drove the infantry and archers towards the loop of the Forth, southeast of the causeway and the bridge. The majority were cut to pieces, including the armored Knights on their heavy horses as they floundered in the marshy ground either side of the causeway. Some attempted to throw off their armour and swim the river, but few made it. In an hour, the slaughter was complete. Five thousand foot soldiers, the Welsh archers and over one hundred Knights had been either killed or drowned attempting to escape, whilst their comrades to the south had been powerless to help.
Sir Marmaduke Thweng was one of the fortunate ones. He managed to fight his way through the thicket of spears back across the bridge. Neither he nor Surrey hung around after that. Surrey had the bridge destroyed and took off for Berwick and the south, with his tail between his legs. The Battle of Stirling Bridge was the first major Scottish victory in the Wars of Independence. Its place in history is secure as it shattered the myth of English invincibility and placed Scotland back under native control. Several comments deserve to be made about the aftermath of the battle. Amongst the dead lay the portly Cressingham. Legend has it that his body was flayed and from his skin a baldric – a wide, ornamented belt worn over the shoulder to support a sword – was fashioned for Wallace. The Scots suffered some casualties, but none who was mourned more than de Moray. He was mortally wounded during the battle and died some months later. After the battle, Sir Richard Lundie changed sides once again and was with Wallace the following year at the Battle of Falkirk. Those other two Scots of dubious character, James, the High Steward of Scotland, and Malcolm, the Earl of Lennox, having observed the carnage to the north of Stirling Bridge, surreptitiously withdrew and afterwards salved their consciences by bravely attacking the English baggage train and killing some cooks and bottle washers. And finally, the site of the bridge has since been identified by archaeologists. It has been designated as a historic monument by Historic Scotland.
Friday, 10 September 2010
Mungo Park
Mungo Park, the Scottish explorer of Africa, was born on the 10th of September, 1771.
Mungo Park is famous for having determined the course of the River Niger in Africa. Unfortunately, he died trying to find its source. His first trip to Africa was as assistant surgeon on an expedition to Sumatra, under the direction of the botanist, Sir Joseph Banks. Following that successful trip, Park set off on an expedition to the unexplored territory of the Gambia. That arduous exploration was undertaken for pure scientific discovery and, unlike many of Park’s contemporaries, without regard for the establishment of trade routes. Park managed to explore the upper reaches of the Niger and map its progress, alone and on foot, before being taken prisoner by tribesmen and subsequently escaping. He went back to Africa in 1805, at the head of a government expedition to complete his exploration of the Niger. His team was decimated by fever and dysentery, and only eleven of the original party reached the Niger alive. In the end, Park and all of his European companions died on the river.
Mungo Park was born on the 10th of September, 1771, on the farm of Fowlshiels on the River Yarrow, near Selkirk, which his father rented from the 3rd Duke of Buccleuch. Mungo was the seventh of thirteen children and, notwithstanding his family’s limited resources, he and his siblings had the benefit of a private tutor, for whom his father was able to pay. He also attended the Grammar School in Selkirk, where he was known for his remarkable application and perseverance, and regularly maintained the place of ‘dux’ or head of his class. His father had thought him suitable for the Church, but Mungo was having none of that; he wanted to be a Doctor. So, he was apprenticed to Thomas Anderson, a surgeon in Selkirk and, for three sessions between 1789 and 1791, he attended medical studies at the University of Edinburgh, where he obtained a surgical diploma. He also developed an interest in Botany and was encouraged by a brother-in-law, James Dickson, who later became celebrated as one of the finest of botanists.
With a medical diploma tucked under his arm and a desire for fame and fortune, Mungo Park went to London in search of employment. Dickson, who was then working at a nursery in Hammersmith, introduced Park to Sir Joseph Banks, a famed English botanist and explorer who had circumnavigated the world with Captain James Cook. Banks was also president of the Royal Society and, in 1792, was planning an expedition to Sumatra. Parks impressed him and was immediately appointed to the post of assistant surgeon aboard an East India Company ship, the ‘Worcester’. On that trip to Benkulen, in Sumatra, Park made scientific observations and collected samples, about which he presented a paper to the Linnaean Society, after his return to London in 1794.
In 1795, the African Association or more properly, ‘The Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa’, appointed Mungo Park to explore the course of the River Niger. Park set off from the River Gambia and reached a British trading station called Pisania, where obtained equipment and a guide. Park must have cut a strange figure in the middle of Africa, carrying an umbrella and sporting a tall hat. The hat was somewhat practical, though, as that was where he kept his notes safe throughout the journey. He was also accompanied by two slaves and off he went, into the interior, crossing the upper Senegal basin and the semi-desert region of Kaarta.
At a meeting with local tribesmen, Park was forced to give up his umbrella and his best blue coat. Shortly after, having reached Ludamar, he was taken prisoner by a Moorish chief. His slave, Demba, was sold, but after four months captivity, Park and Johnson, the other slave, managed to escape. Park refused to give up the expedition and went on alone, relying on the kindness of African villagers. He reached the Niger on the 20th or 21st of July, 1796, at Segu (Ségou), becoming the first European to view its waters. On his return journey, he fell ill at Kamalia and owed his life to a native with whom he stayed for seven months. Eventually, on the 22nd of December, 1797, he reached England once more. He had been thought to be dead, but his news of the Niger evoked great public enthusiasm and he became a celebrity. He put his notes to good use when his diary was published, in 1799, as ‘Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa’. Park’s unaffected style rendered the work extremely popular and it is still worth a read; it is an acknowledged classic of its genre. With the £1000 royalties from his successful book, Park married and ‘retired’ to practice medicine in Peebles, but soon got itchy feet.
The lure of Africa called again in 1804, when Park was invited to head a government expedition to complete his exploration of the Niger. On the 31st of January, 1805, he set off with a team, which consisted of thirty-five soldiers from the Royal Africa Corps, four or five officers, including his brother-in-law Alexander Anderson, and four boat builders from Portsmouth. He had taken leave of his friend, Sir Walter Scott, quoting a favourable proverb, "Freits (omens) follow those that look to them." The omens for Park were not good. In total, forty Europeans travelled with Park, but the trip was blighted by the rainy season and his team decimated by fever and dysentery. Only eleven of the original party reached the Niger and by the 19th of November, 1805, only five remained alive. Park sent back a native guide called Isaaco with some correspondence. "I shall," he wrote, "set sail for the east with the fixed resolution to discover the termination of the Niger or perish in the attempt." And that is exactly what he did. He set off down stream from Segu in a converted canoe, which he christened H.M.S. ‘Joliba’, the native name for the Niger. With him were Lieutenant Martyn, three soldiers, a guide and three slaves, the remnants of his crew.
When Isaaco reached Laidley in the Gambia, news had already reached the coast, suggesting that Park was dead. During his one thousand mile journey on the Niger, the ‘Joliba’ had been attacked several times by natives, but repulsed by firearms, and had negotiated many rapids. Tragically, however, at the Bussa rapids, not far below Yauri, the boat got stuck on a rock and was attacked by hostile natives, armed with bows and arrows, and throwing spears. Park, Martyn, and the surviving soldiers, dived into the river and were drowned. The sole survivor was one of the slaves, who told the story of Mungo Park’s final moments. Isaaco was sent back to discover the truth, but all he found was Park's munitions belt. The irony was, that having avoided contact with local Muslim's by keeping to the center of the river, Park and his men were in turn mistaken for Muslim raiders and attacked. His death took several years to be confirmed, but his papers were eventually recovered and published, in 1815, as ‘The Journal of a Mission to the Interior of Africa’.
There stands a statue in memory of Mungo Park in the High Street, in Selkirk.
Mungo Park is famous for having determined the course of the River Niger in Africa. Unfortunately, he died trying to find its source. His first trip to Africa was as assistant surgeon on an expedition to Sumatra, under the direction of the botanist, Sir Joseph Banks. Following that successful trip, Park set off on an expedition to the unexplored territory of the Gambia. That arduous exploration was undertaken for pure scientific discovery and, unlike many of Park’s contemporaries, without regard for the establishment of trade routes. Park managed to explore the upper reaches of the Niger and map its progress, alone and on foot, before being taken prisoner by tribesmen and subsequently escaping. He went back to Africa in 1805, at the head of a government expedition to complete his exploration of the Niger. His team was decimated by fever and dysentery, and only eleven of the original party reached the Niger alive. In the end, Park and all of his European companions died on the river.
Mungo Park was born on the 10th of September, 1771, on the farm of Fowlshiels on the River Yarrow, near Selkirk, which his father rented from the 3rd Duke of Buccleuch. Mungo was the seventh of thirteen children and, notwithstanding his family’s limited resources, he and his siblings had the benefit of a private tutor, for whom his father was able to pay. He also attended the Grammar School in Selkirk, where he was known for his remarkable application and perseverance, and regularly maintained the place of ‘dux’ or head of his class. His father had thought him suitable for the Church, but Mungo was having none of that; he wanted to be a Doctor. So, he was apprenticed to Thomas Anderson, a surgeon in Selkirk and, for three sessions between 1789 and 1791, he attended medical studies at the University of Edinburgh, where he obtained a surgical diploma. He also developed an interest in Botany and was encouraged by a brother-in-law, James Dickson, who later became celebrated as one of the finest of botanists.
With a medical diploma tucked under his arm and a desire for fame and fortune, Mungo Park went to London in search of employment. Dickson, who was then working at a nursery in Hammersmith, introduced Park to Sir Joseph Banks, a famed English botanist and explorer who had circumnavigated the world with Captain James Cook. Banks was also president of the Royal Society and, in 1792, was planning an expedition to Sumatra. Parks impressed him and was immediately appointed to the post of assistant surgeon aboard an East India Company ship, the ‘Worcester’. On that trip to Benkulen, in Sumatra, Park made scientific observations and collected samples, about which he presented a paper to the Linnaean Society, after his return to London in 1794.
In 1795, the African Association or more properly, ‘The Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa’, appointed Mungo Park to explore the course of the River Niger. Park set off from the River Gambia and reached a British trading station called Pisania, where obtained equipment and a guide. Park must have cut a strange figure in the middle of Africa, carrying an umbrella and sporting a tall hat. The hat was somewhat practical, though, as that was where he kept his notes safe throughout the journey. He was also accompanied by two slaves and off he went, into the interior, crossing the upper Senegal basin and the semi-desert region of Kaarta.
At a meeting with local tribesmen, Park was forced to give up his umbrella and his best blue coat. Shortly after, having reached Ludamar, he was taken prisoner by a Moorish chief. His slave, Demba, was sold, but after four months captivity, Park and Johnson, the other slave, managed to escape. Park refused to give up the expedition and went on alone, relying on the kindness of African villagers. He reached the Niger on the 20th or 21st of July, 1796, at Segu (Ségou), becoming the first European to view its waters. On his return journey, he fell ill at Kamalia and owed his life to a native with whom he stayed for seven months. Eventually, on the 22nd of December, 1797, he reached England once more. He had been thought to be dead, but his news of the Niger evoked great public enthusiasm and he became a celebrity. He put his notes to good use when his diary was published, in 1799, as ‘Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa’. Park’s unaffected style rendered the work extremely popular and it is still worth a read; it is an acknowledged classic of its genre. With the £1000 royalties from his successful book, Park married and ‘retired’ to practice medicine in Peebles, but soon got itchy feet.
The lure of Africa called again in 1804, when Park was invited to head a government expedition to complete his exploration of the Niger. On the 31st of January, 1805, he set off with a team, which consisted of thirty-five soldiers from the Royal Africa Corps, four or five officers, including his brother-in-law Alexander Anderson, and four boat builders from Portsmouth. He had taken leave of his friend, Sir Walter Scott, quoting a favourable proverb, "Freits (omens) follow those that look to them." The omens for Park were not good. In total, forty Europeans travelled with Park, but the trip was blighted by the rainy season and his team decimated by fever and dysentery. Only eleven of the original party reached the Niger and by the 19th of November, 1805, only five remained alive. Park sent back a native guide called Isaaco with some correspondence. "I shall," he wrote, "set sail for the east with the fixed resolution to discover the termination of the Niger or perish in the attempt." And that is exactly what he did. He set off down stream from Segu in a converted canoe, which he christened H.M.S. ‘Joliba’, the native name for the Niger. With him were Lieutenant Martyn, three soldiers, a guide and three slaves, the remnants of his crew.
When Isaaco reached Laidley in the Gambia, news had already reached the coast, suggesting that Park was dead. During his one thousand mile journey on the Niger, the ‘Joliba’ had been attacked several times by natives, but repulsed by firearms, and had negotiated many rapids. Tragically, however, at the Bussa rapids, not far below Yauri, the boat got stuck on a rock and was attacked by hostile natives, armed with bows and arrows, and throwing spears. Park, Martyn, and the surviving soldiers, dived into the river and were drowned. The sole survivor was one of the slaves, who told the story of Mungo Park’s final moments. Isaaco was sent back to discover the truth, but all he found was Park's munitions belt. The irony was, that having avoided contact with local Muslim's by keeping to the center of the river, Park and his men were in turn mistaken for Muslim raiders and attacked. His death took several years to be confirmed, but his papers were eventually recovered and published, in 1815, as ‘The Journal of a Mission to the Interior of Africa’.
There stands a statue in memory of Mungo Park in the High Street, in Selkirk.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
The Battle of Flodden Field
The Battle of Flodden Field, otherwise known as the Battle of Branxton Moor, was fought on the 9th of September, 1513.
In the late afternoon of Friday the 9th of September, 1513, two of the largest medieval armies ever assembled came together for a scrap. King James IV of Scotland, in the blue and white corner, brought 34,000 men to the fray. His opponent, Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, who was deputising for England’s Henry VIII, was backed-up by 26,000 men-at-arms in the white and red corner. A mere three hours later, the contest was over and everywhere was red. The battle was the heaviest defeat ever experienced by a Scottish army, with the slaughter of the King and the ‘flower’ of his Scottish nobility. At least twelve Earls, fifteen Lords, three-hundred Knights and an estimated tally of ten thousand Scots lay dead on the field of carnage at the foot of Branxton Hill.
That was the Battle of Flodden Field, commemorated in the ‘The Flowers of the Forest’, now an evocative pipe tune, by the poetess, Jane Elliot:
"We’ll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away."
In 1502, after fighting off the aggression of King Henry VII of England, James IV signed the ‘Treaty of Perpetual Peace’ and married Henry's daughter, Margaret Tudor. However, that peace lasted only ten years, until 1513, when Henry VIII crossed the Channel and invaded France, taking advantage of the situation caused by the Wars of the League of Cambrai and the Holy League. James had to decide whether to support Scotland’s ally, Louis XII of France, through the ‘Auld Alliance’, which he had renewed the year before, in 1512, or honour the ‘Treaty of Perpetual Peace’. The Queen of France appealed to James’ chivalrous instincts by sending him – ‘her true Knight’ – a letter and a ring, with a plea urging him to attack England. Ever the gentleman, James declared for war.
Issuing a challenge to Henry VIII, James IV summoned the whole force of his Kingdom and crossed the Border on the 22nd of August, 1513. On the 5th of September, he demolished Ford Castle and marched over to the western side of the River Till, where he set up camp on the top of Flodden Edge. Surrey sent a messenger to James, challenging the Scots to meet them in battle on Milfield Plain, but the Scots weren’t so daft as to vacate their advantageous position. Then, on the morning of Friday, the 9th of September, 1513, the English vanguard crossed the river at Twizell Bridge, and the rearguard further south by a ford at Heaton Castle, which no longer exists. All the while, James IV watched and waited and somebody recorded the scene for Sir Walter Scott to write about over two hundred and fifty years later in the sixth canto of ‘Marmion, a Tale of Flodden Field’:
"From Flodden ridge,
The Scots beheld the English host
Leave Barmoor Wood, their evening post
And headfu’ watched them as they crossed
The Till by Twizell Bridge."
For some reason, best known to himsel’, James decided against attacking the English army when most vulnerable. Instead, he created a smoke screen diversion and had his army move to the adjacent Branxton Hill. This was a clever tactical move as it denied Surrey an advantage and meant that the English would have to fight their way uphill. Disappointingly for James and using local knowledge, the English forces easily negotiated the marsh of the Pallinsburn and assembled at the foot of Branxton to the jeers of the Scots. At four o' clock in the afternoon, the Scots opened fire on the apparently vulnerable English, but James’ engineers were too inexperienced to deploy their massive cannon with an effective trajectory. The English fired back with more success, and James might have thought to himself, "Impertinent expletives!" He promptly ordered his left, under the leadership of Lord Home and the Earl of Huntly, to attack on the English extreme right wing, which had given signs of being a bit disorganised. Off went the Borderers, charging down the hill, and tore into Edmund Howard's men, most of whom fled. Those who remained suffered badly until Lord Dacre appeared and engaged Hume’s Scots. By that time, the rest of the English right was under attack from the Scottish Lords, Crawford and Errol.
King James was impatient to get involved and in a moment of seemingly irrational impulse, led his centre charging down the hill towards the Earl of Surrey. At the foot of the hill, the English stood their ground and greeted the charge with an onslaught of arrows. The Scots’ advantage on the high ground, and the idea of the English clambering up to exhaustion and death, was obviously forgotten. At the foot of the hill, the Scottish charge ran into a boggy area, which severely hampered its momentum. Meanwhile, the English right, under Edward Stanley, marched his men to the top of the hill and before he marched them down again, he had taken out James IV’s Highlanders, commanded by the Earl of Lennox and Argyle with his Campbells. At that time, the King of Scots, on foot and surrounded by pikemen and his Flowers of Chivarly, in a press of steel, arrows raining upon them, desperately sought to come to grips with Surrey. Cutting their way towards the English banners, foot by foot, swords and pikes flailing and prodding, it looked like they might reach their objective, less than a hundred feet away. But it was not to be, James was felled by a blow that nearly severed his head from his shoulders. He died in excellent company, tragically so for Scotland.
There at the foot of Brankston Hill, Scotland’s brief participation in the Wars of the League of Cambrai and the Holy League ended. In such a manner perished the Flower of Scotland and in effect, a whole generation of Scottish nobility. The death toll included twelve Earls, the Chancellor of Scotland and fourteen other Lords of Parliament, many Clan Chiefs, the Bishop of the Isles, the Dean of Glasgow Cathedral, and James’s natural son, Alexander, Archbishop of St Andrews. As a result of just two hours’ fighting on that single afternoon, ten thousand Scots, noble and commoner alike, were thrown into pits and happit wi’ red Border clay. For long afterwards it was said that there wasn’t a family in Scotland that didn’t have reason to mourn Branxton. Nothing on such a scale involving the death of Scottish fighting men was seen again until the First World War. Today, a large granite cross marks the battle on the summit of Pipers Hill at the northern edge of the battlefield. It bears the inscription: "To the Brave of Both Nations."
In the late afternoon of Friday the 9th of September, 1513, two of the largest medieval armies ever assembled came together for a scrap. King James IV of Scotland, in the blue and white corner, brought 34,000 men to the fray. His opponent, Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, who was deputising for England’s Henry VIII, was backed-up by 26,000 men-at-arms in the white and red corner. A mere three hours later, the contest was over and everywhere was red. The battle was the heaviest defeat ever experienced by a Scottish army, with the slaughter of the King and the ‘flower’ of his Scottish nobility. At least twelve Earls, fifteen Lords, three-hundred Knights and an estimated tally of ten thousand Scots lay dead on the field of carnage at the foot of Branxton Hill.
That was the Battle of Flodden Field, commemorated in the ‘The Flowers of the Forest’, now an evocative pipe tune, by the poetess, Jane Elliot:
"We’ll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away."
In 1502, after fighting off the aggression of King Henry VII of England, James IV signed the ‘Treaty of Perpetual Peace’ and married Henry's daughter, Margaret Tudor. However, that peace lasted only ten years, until 1513, when Henry VIII crossed the Channel and invaded France, taking advantage of the situation caused by the Wars of the League of Cambrai and the Holy League. James had to decide whether to support Scotland’s ally, Louis XII of France, through the ‘Auld Alliance’, which he had renewed the year before, in 1512, or honour the ‘Treaty of Perpetual Peace’. The Queen of France appealed to James’ chivalrous instincts by sending him – ‘her true Knight’ – a letter and a ring, with a plea urging him to attack England. Ever the gentleman, James declared for war.
Issuing a challenge to Henry VIII, James IV summoned the whole force of his Kingdom and crossed the Border on the 22nd of August, 1513. On the 5th of September, he demolished Ford Castle and marched over to the western side of the River Till, where he set up camp on the top of Flodden Edge. Surrey sent a messenger to James, challenging the Scots to meet them in battle on Milfield Plain, but the Scots weren’t so daft as to vacate their advantageous position. Then, on the morning of Friday, the 9th of September, 1513, the English vanguard crossed the river at Twizell Bridge, and the rearguard further south by a ford at Heaton Castle, which no longer exists. All the while, James IV watched and waited and somebody recorded the scene for Sir Walter Scott to write about over two hundred and fifty years later in the sixth canto of ‘Marmion, a Tale of Flodden Field’:
"From Flodden ridge,
The Scots beheld the English host
Leave Barmoor Wood, their evening post
And headfu’ watched them as they crossed
The Till by Twizell Bridge."
For some reason, best known to himsel’, James decided against attacking the English army when most vulnerable. Instead, he created a smoke screen diversion and had his army move to the adjacent Branxton Hill. This was a clever tactical move as it denied Surrey an advantage and meant that the English would have to fight their way uphill. Disappointingly for James and using local knowledge, the English forces easily negotiated the marsh of the Pallinsburn and assembled at the foot of Branxton to the jeers of the Scots. At four o' clock in the afternoon, the Scots opened fire on the apparently vulnerable English, but James’ engineers were too inexperienced to deploy their massive cannon with an effective trajectory. The English fired back with more success, and James might have thought to himself, "Impertinent expletives!" He promptly ordered his left, under the leadership of Lord Home and the Earl of Huntly, to attack on the English extreme right wing, which had given signs of being a bit disorganised. Off went the Borderers, charging down the hill, and tore into Edmund Howard's men, most of whom fled. Those who remained suffered badly until Lord Dacre appeared and engaged Hume’s Scots. By that time, the rest of the English right was under attack from the Scottish Lords, Crawford and Errol.
King James was impatient to get involved and in a moment of seemingly irrational impulse, led his centre charging down the hill towards the Earl of Surrey. At the foot of the hill, the English stood their ground and greeted the charge with an onslaught of arrows. The Scots’ advantage on the high ground, and the idea of the English clambering up to exhaustion and death, was obviously forgotten. At the foot of the hill, the Scottish charge ran into a boggy area, which severely hampered its momentum. Meanwhile, the English right, under Edward Stanley, marched his men to the top of the hill and before he marched them down again, he had taken out James IV’s Highlanders, commanded by the Earl of Lennox and Argyle with his Campbells. At that time, the King of Scots, on foot and surrounded by pikemen and his Flowers of Chivarly, in a press of steel, arrows raining upon them, desperately sought to come to grips with Surrey. Cutting their way towards the English banners, foot by foot, swords and pikes flailing and prodding, it looked like they might reach their objective, less than a hundred feet away. But it was not to be, James was felled by a blow that nearly severed his head from his shoulders. He died in excellent company, tragically so for Scotland.
There at the foot of Brankston Hill, Scotland’s brief participation in the Wars of the League of Cambrai and the Holy League ended. In such a manner perished the Flower of Scotland and in effect, a whole generation of Scottish nobility. The death toll included twelve Earls, the Chancellor of Scotland and fourteen other Lords of Parliament, many Clan Chiefs, the Bishop of the Isles, the Dean of Glasgow Cathedral, and James’s natural son, Alexander, Archbishop of St Andrews. As a result of just two hours’ fighting on that single afternoon, ten thousand Scots, noble and commoner alike, were thrown into pits and happit wi’ red Border clay. For long afterwards it was said that there wasn’t a family in Scotland that didn’t have reason to mourn Branxton. Nothing on such a scale involving the death of Scottish fighting men was seen again until the First World War. Today, a large granite cross marks the battle on the summit of Pipers Hill at the northern edge of the battlefield. It bears the inscription: "To the Brave of Both Nations."
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
Alexander 'Primus' Monro
Alexander Monro (Primus), physician, anatomist and co-founder of Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, was born on the 8th of September, 1697.
Alexander Monro or Alexander Primus, as he is usually called, was the first in a long line (as long as three) of the Monro family who held the Chair of Anatomy at Edinburgh for one hundred and twenty-eight years. He became the first Professor of Anatomy and Surgery at the newly founded University of Edinburgh in 1720 and, along with Lord Provost Drummond, was a founding father of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, which was designed by William Adam. He was responsible for fulfilling his father’s dream of establishing Edinburgh as a major centre of medical teaching and research to rival Paris and Leiden (Leyden). Alexander Primus did much to make medicine accessible by lecturing in English, rather than in Latin as was the norm at the time. He was a brilliant teacher and demonstrator who never used notes in his lectures, and his international reputation attracted students from all parts of Britain, Europe and the North American Colonies.
18th Century anatomy was a bit of a ‘grey area’ and marked more by advances in the field of description than by major new discoveries. Funnily enough, anatomy was seen as more academic than surgery, which suffered from the effects of prejudice. Surgery was perceived to be a manual craft (I’m sure Sweeney Todd would agree) rather than an intellectual discipline and consisted of just a few lectures grudgingly appended to the University’s Anatomy course. Alexander Primus was the pre-eminent character in the furtherance of anatomy. His extraordinary industry, remarkable accuracy of observation, and inquiring mind often led him to conclusions that were correct, but which were only verified by later sophistications. He was also a gifted technician who advanced many new ideas in surgical instruments and dressings, including the use of preserving fluid, which secret he had learned from the Dutch anatomist, Frederik Ruysch. Monro’s major work was ‘The Anatomy of the Human Bones’, which remained a standard reference for over a century as it continued to be reprinted until as late as 1828. By that time it had been given the extremely long title of ‘The Anatomy of the Human Bones with an Anatomical Treatise of the Nerves, and Account of the Reciprocal Motions of the Heart and a Description of the Human Lacteal Sac and Duct’ – pause for breath. It went through nineteen English editions and appeared in several translations. In his lifetime he published two books and fifty-three separate papers, all of which were collected in a single volume by his son, Alexander Secundus (the third Alexander was called Tertius, just in case you were wondering). Primus also edited the six volumes of ‘Medical Essays and Observations’ for the ‘Society for the Improvement of Medical Knowledge’. These too became a standard work of reference in many editions and several languages.
Alexander Monro, Primus, was born on the 8th of September, 1697. He was the son of a military surgeon, John Monro, who settled in Edinburgh in 1700. Alexander entered Edinburgh University in 1710, where he studied classics (Latin and Greek) and Philosophy for three years. He also learned French, arithmetic, and bookkeeping, under private tuition, and received instruction in fencing, dancing, music, and painting. Ah, the life of a gentleman. Thankfully, for posterity, he didn’t graduate in arts, but decided on a medical career. He was apprenticed to his father in 1713 and also attended local medical courses, which, frankly, didn’t amount to much. Between 1717 and 1719, Alexander went to London, Paris and Leiden, where he studied all manner of disciplines associated with medical science. He attended lectures and demonstrations by a raft of eminent personages of the day on many subjects such as physics and anatomy. He also performed operations and was instructed in midwifery and bandaging; all very practical. Monro captured some of the flavour of his time in London in his ‘commonplace book’ and used that in the writing of his autobiography. He claimed that he was "furnished with more [bodies] than with the utmost Application he could make use of." He did not explain the source of such abundance, but you should realise that this was the era of the Barber-Surgeons’ Company and the practice of grave robbing.
In 1719, Alexander Monro went back to Edinburgh, where soon after his return he was admitted to the Incorporation of Surgeons of Edinburgh. On the 29th of January, 1721, as a result of strenuous politicking, particularly by his father, he was named Professor of Anatomy in the University. He began teaching in the winter of 1721, but it wasn’t until 1725 that he was given a room at the University. That room, where he lectured for nearly forty years, was on the ground floor sunk below street level, with poor light, which Monro complained was never adequate. His duties included a yearly public dissection before the College of Surgeons and his course on anatomy and surgery, which consisted of over one hundred lectures between October and May. Monro developed an ‘Edinburgh manner’ of anatomy, using few cadavers and relying on other methods such as the use of animals, dead and alive. Perhaps that was because of the continuing suspicions of body snatching, which were probably justified. He once wrote that there was "a general Prejudice of the People to dissections of human Bodies, who foolishly believed that he [Monro] stole living People to dissect them alive." As a matter of fact, his move into the University in 1725 was triggered by a violent mob having attacked the Surgeons’ Hall. It seems that in delivering a lecture on anatomy, the aesthetics of the presentation were critical. Monro’s instructions emphasise the "Prettyest preparation", rather than the most practical and ghoulishly wrote that "a little fresh blood rubbed on a part naturally red but too pale in the particular Subject we are then dissecting has frequently wonderfull good Effect."
Notwithstanding how Monro’s life and times might be perceived today, the Faculty of Medicine in the University of Edinburgh was responsible for the rapid development of systematic medical teaching on a sound scientific basis and Alexander Monro was the prime mover. But that wasn’t why he was called ‘Primus’. After Monro’s son Alexander had taken his M. D. in 1755, the father was given the epithet of ‘Primus’ to make the distinction between the two and the dynasty was established. Alexander ‘Primus’ Monro died from cancer on the 10th of July, 1767, at his home in Covenant Close, Edinburgh, and he was buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard.
Alexander Monro or Alexander Primus, as he is usually called, was the first in a long line (as long as three) of the Monro family who held the Chair of Anatomy at Edinburgh for one hundred and twenty-eight years. He became the first Professor of Anatomy and Surgery at the newly founded University of Edinburgh in 1720 and, along with Lord Provost Drummond, was a founding father of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, which was designed by William Adam. He was responsible for fulfilling his father’s dream of establishing Edinburgh as a major centre of medical teaching and research to rival Paris and Leiden (Leyden). Alexander Primus did much to make medicine accessible by lecturing in English, rather than in Latin as was the norm at the time. He was a brilliant teacher and demonstrator who never used notes in his lectures, and his international reputation attracted students from all parts of Britain, Europe and the North American Colonies.
18th Century anatomy was a bit of a ‘grey area’ and marked more by advances in the field of description than by major new discoveries. Funnily enough, anatomy was seen as more academic than surgery, which suffered from the effects of prejudice. Surgery was perceived to be a manual craft (I’m sure Sweeney Todd would agree) rather than an intellectual discipline and consisted of just a few lectures grudgingly appended to the University’s Anatomy course. Alexander Primus was the pre-eminent character in the furtherance of anatomy. His extraordinary industry, remarkable accuracy of observation, and inquiring mind often led him to conclusions that were correct, but which were only verified by later sophistications. He was also a gifted technician who advanced many new ideas in surgical instruments and dressings, including the use of preserving fluid, which secret he had learned from the Dutch anatomist, Frederik Ruysch. Monro’s major work was ‘The Anatomy of the Human Bones’, which remained a standard reference for over a century as it continued to be reprinted until as late as 1828. By that time it had been given the extremely long title of ‘The Anatomy of the Human Bones with an Anatomical Treatise of the Nerves, and Account of the Reciprocal Motions of the Heart and a Description of the Human Lacteal Sac and Duct’ – pause for breath. It went through nineteen English editions and appeared in several translations. In his lifetime he published two books and fifty-three separate papers, all of which were collected in a single volume by his son, Alexander Secundus (the third Alexander was called Tertius, just in case you were wondering). Primus also edited the six volumes of ‘Medical Essays and Observations’ for the ‘Society for the Improvement of Medical Knowledge’. These too became a standard work of reference in many editions and several languages.
Alexander Monro, Primus, was born on the 8th of September, 1697. He was the son of a military surgeon, John Monro, who settled in Edinburgh in 1700. Alexander entered Edinburgh University in 1710, where he studied classics (Latin and Greek) and Philosophy for three years. He also learned French, arithmetic, and bookkeeping, under private tuition, and received instruction in fencing, dancing, music, and painting. Ah, the life of a gentleman. Thankfully, for posterity, he didn’t graduate in arts, but decided on a medical career. He was apprenticed to his father in 1713 and also attended local medical courses, which, frankly, didn’t amount to much. Between 1717 and 1719, Alexander went to London, Paris and Leiden, where he studied all manner of disciplines associated with medical science. He attended lectures and demonstrations by a raft of eminent personages of the day on many subjects such as physics and anatomy. He also performed operations and was instructed in midwifery and bandaging; all very practical. Monro captured some of the flavour of his time in London in his ‘commonplace book’ and used that in the writing of his autobiography. He claimed that he was "furnished with more [bodies] than with the utmost Application he could make use of." He did not explain the source of such abundance, but you should realise that this was the era of the Barber-Surgeons’ Company and the practice of grave robbing.
In 1719, Alexander Monro went back to Edinburgh, where soon after his return he was admitted to the Incorporation of Surgeons of Edinburgh. On the 29th of January, 1721, as a result of strenuous politicking, particularly by his father, he was named Professor of Anatomy in the University. He began teaching in the winter of 1721, but it wasn’t until 1725 that he was given a room at the University. That room, where he lectured for nearly forty years, was on the ground floor sunk below street level, with poor light, which Monro complained was never adequate. His duties included a yearly public dissection before the College of Surgeons and his course on anatomy and surgery, which consisted of over one hundred lectures between October and May. Monro developed an ‘Edinburgh manner’ of anatomy, using few cadavers and relying on other methods such as the use of animals, dead and alive. Perhaps that was because of the continuing suspicions of body snatching, which were probably justified. He once wrote that there was "a general Prejudice of the People to dissections of human Bodies, who foolishly believed that he [Monro] stole living People to dissect them alive." As a matter of fact, his move into the University in 1725 was triggered by a violent mob having attacked the Surgeons’ Hall. It seems that in delivering a lecture on anatomy, the aesthetics of the presentation were critical. Monro’s instructions emphasise the "Prettyest preparation", rather than the most practical and ghoulishly wrote that "a little fresh blood rubbed on a part naturally red but too pale in the particular Subject we are then dissecting has frequently wonderfull good Effect."
Notwithstanding how Monro’s life and times might be perceived today, the Faculty of Medicine in the University of Edinburgh was responsible for the rapid development of systematic medical teaching on a sound scientific basis and Alexander Monro was the prime mover. But that wasn’t why he was called ‘Primus’. After Monro’s son Alexander had taken his M. D. in 1755, the father was given the epithet of ‘Primus’ to make the distinction between the two and the dynasty was established. Alexander ‘Primus’ Monro died from cancer on the 10th of July, 1767, at his home in Covenant Close, Edinburgh, and he was buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard.
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