Neil Miller Gunn (Neil M. Gunn), author, novelist, critic, and dramatist, died on the 15th of January, 1973.
The writer, Neil Miller Gunn, was and probably still is, better known as Neil M. Gunn, with not so many folks being aware of what for the ‘M’ stood. His productive period spanned a time of great upheaval and change, from the economic and political crises of the 1920s and 1930s, to the Second World War and its aftermath. Undoubtedly, his life and times, but also importantly, the tradition and heritage of the Highlands and Islands, shaped and influenced his creative writing and fuelled his unique inspiration and prose. Neil M. Gunn is certainly remembered as one of Scotland’s most distinguished novelists and many biographers argue that he was one of the most influential of his day. Indeed, he is rated alongside Lewis Grassic Gibbon (J. Leslie Mitchell – of ‘Sunset Song’ fame) as one of the two most important Scottish authors in the first half of the 20th Century. Furthermore, beyond the borders of Scotland, Gunn is often acknowledged as an important contributor to 20th Century British literature.
Neil Gunn was also one of the central figures of the ‘Scottish Literary Renaissance’, sharing the contemporary and political views, as expressed in his essays and fiction, of the likes of Hugh MacDiarmid, Edwin Muir, Eric Linklater and Naomi Mitchison. Those ‘Renaissance Artists of the Pen’ believed in a Scottish resurgence and revival, to be driven by economic and political independence, and supported by a vibrant, revitalising culture as expressed through literature and the Arts. Although, they weren’t naive enough to think books alone would affect a change and that, of course, led to their involvement in politics. However, above all, it is for his writing that Neil Gunn is best remembered.
Like MacDiarmid, Neil Gunn developed a lifelong commitment to Scottish nationalism, when he got involved with the National Party of Scotland (a forerunner of the Scottish National Party) back in the 1930s. And also like MacDiarmid, he was biased towards the ideals of socialism. Gunn managed to produce over twenty books in his career, several of which can be considered literary classics. Gunn’s fiction is primarily based in the Highland communities of his youth, and promotes the preservation of traditional life and customs, of which he was a fierce defender, despite never learning to speak or write Gaelic. Neither did he write in Scots or Lallans in the manner of MacDiarmid.
Gunn simply cannot be pigeonholed to any kind of quaint, nostalgic genre as his novels often convey a stark reality through their characters and settings. Notwithstanding that, their is redemption, which renders worthwhile the seeking out of his books, as according to a biography at www.neilgunn.org.uk “his novels reflect a search for meaning in troubled times, both past and present” thus reflecting his own era and that of the turbulent past. Involving the Clearances, reflections on Highland culture and the survival of its fishing and crofting communities, Gunn’s books are allegorical tales, encompassing elements of morality, philosophy, and metaphysical speculation – they are more than mere stories.
One of Neil Gunn’s most well known and widely read novels is about fish, more specifically, herring, which gives its title, ‘The Silver Darlings’. That epic novel, the first of a Highland trilogy, was widely acclaimed as a modern classic and is set during the fishing boom of the late 18th and early 19th Centuries. It was written in 1941, the year before his tale of eight years old Art and eighty years old Hector, unsurprisingly entitled, ‘Young Art and Old Hector’. It is a socio-political commentary as exemplified by Hector on the making of whisky; “This is our old native drink, made in this land from time immemorial. For untold centuries we had it as our cordial in life, distilled from the barley grown round our doors. In those times, because it was free, it was never abused. That is known. Deceit and abuse and drunkenness came in with the tax, for the folk had to evade the tax because they were poor.” Continuing the theme of ‘the old man and the boy’, Gunn wrote ‘The Green Isle of the Great Deep’ in 1944. That both preceded and presaged George Orwell’s ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’, curiously enough written in the Highland Islands. It is also an anti-Utopian novel, whose rural characters struggle against the pressures of a totalitarian state.
Neil Gunn was born in Dunbeath on the 8th of November, 1891. After attending primary school in Dunbeath until 1904, Neil moved to live with his older sister in St John’s Town of Dalry, in Kirkcudbrightshire. There, he studied privately until he passed his Civil Service exams, in 1907. After that, he moved to London, where worked for a number of years before joining His Majesty’s Customs and Excise and returning to Scotland, in 1911, which is kind of ironic, considering the views of his Hector. Gunn worked as an Excise Officer in the Highlands including, from 1921 until 1937, as ‘Officer in Residence’ at the Glen Mhor Distillery. Earlier, during the First World War, he was exempted from active service and seconded to a variety of tasks, such as routing ships around minefields. He became a full time writer in 1937, following the success of Highland River, which won him the prestigious James Tait Black Memorial Prize. Gunn’s career also extended to journalism and, throughout his career, he wrote articles for diverse journals such as ‘Scots Magazine’, ‘Anarchy Magazine’, ‘The Glasgow Herald’, ‘Saltire Review’, and ‘Scots Review’. His involvement in local politics saw him serve as a member of the Committee on Post-War Hospitals, in 1941, and the Commission of Inquiry into Crofting Conditions, in 1951.
In later years, Gunn became involved in broadcasting and also published a spiritual autobiography, entitled ‘Atom of Delight’, which led to him being referred to as ‘The Highland Zen Master’. His contribution to literature was recognised in 1948, through the award of an honorary doctorate from Edinburgh University and, after his death on the 15th of January, 1973, the Scottish Arts Council created the Neil Gunn Fellowship. Gunn is commemorated in Makars’ Court, outside The Writers’ Museum in Edinburgh’s Lawnmarket.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Friday, 14 January 2011
Greyfriars Bobby
Greyfriars Bobby died on the 14th of January, 1872.
Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier from Edinburgh that was turned into a bronze statue by a wicked witch, because it wouldn’t stop yapping and snapping at her heels. Nah, not really, there’s no such thing as a wicked witch that could turn a dog into a bronze statue. Even the god of the Old Testament could only manage pillars of salt. Anyway, you can tell Bobby was from Edinburgh, because if he’d been a “dug frae Glesga”, he’d be known as ‘Greyfriars Boaby’. And what’s with ‘Greyfriars’, surely it should be Greyfriar’s or Greyfriars’ – or Greyhaired Bobby?
Actually, there is a bronze statue of Greyfriars Bobby, which was erected in Edinburgh thanks to its having been funded by a very nice woman who was very much a lady rather than a witch; the philanthropist, Lady Angela Georgina Burdett-Coutts. The life size statue was created by William Brodie (no relation the infamous Deacon) in 1872, almost immediately after Bobby’s death, at the grand old age of sixteen, on the 14th of January, 1872. It was erected beyond the southern end of the George IV Bridge, near the National Museum of Scotland and unveiled, without much ceremony, in November, 1873. Bobby stands in front of the eponymous ‘Greyfriars Bobby’s Bar’, which is located near the main entrance to Greyfriars Kirkyard. He’s facing away from the pub at the apex formed by George IV Bridge (you’ll not notice a bridge per se; it’s the name of the road leading down from the Royal Mile towards the Museum) and Candlemaker Row, which leads back down towards the Grassmarket. So you can get a nice photo of Bobby with his Bar in the background. His monument is the smallest listed building in Edinburgh, with a category ‘A’ listing to boot.
The statue as it now stands isn’t the original, which had a two-tier drinking fountain – an upper fountain for two-legged hounds and a lower, dog-level fountain for man’s four-legged friends. The water supply to the fountain was cut off amidst health scares in 1975 and the water tables were filled-in with concrete. Later, in 1985, the whole red granite base was remodelled; something that was long overdue as vandals (or the Goths?) had been inspired to deface it. The nearby Greyfriars Kirkyard is a bit of a creepy landmark, where today’s Goths wouldn’t look out of place, and is the burial place for many a famous Scot, including wee Bobby. In fact, he’s buried just inside the gate and not too far from his master’s grave, because as it was consecrated ground, he couldn’t be buried within the cemetery. In 1981, the Duke of Gloucester unveiled a red granite stone, which had been erected on Bobby’s grave by The Dog Aid Society of Scotland. Incidentally, the inscription on the gravestone carries the legend, “Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all.”
So how come all this fuss about a wee dog? Plain old Bobby was born in late 1855, one of a number of pups in a litter cast by his mother on an old grain sack in the basement of a house in the Canongate. Soon after he was weaned, he came into the possession of John Gray, who had been a gardener, but after arriving in Edinburgh around 1850, with his wife, Jess, and son, John, he was unable to find such work and ended up joining the Edinburgh City Police as a night watchman. The alternative was the workhouse, which wouldn’t have been a nice thought. What is nice is the thought of Bobby accompanying John during the night, throughout the year, regardless of the weather. The two of them were a familiar sight, trudging around the cobbled streets of old Edinburgh and inseparable for the best part of two years; the night watchman and his faithful friend.
Then suddenly and tragically, albeit not too surprisingly, because he had contracted tuberculosis, on the 8th of February, 1858, John Gray died of tuberculosis and was buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard, adjacent to Greyfriars Kirk in Edinburgh’s Old Town. The years of nights on the damp Edinburgh streets had taken their toll on John Gray. Thereafter, Bobby became very well known in 19th Century Edinburgh as the dog who spent every day of the rest of his life ‘guarding’ the grave of his master. Bobby reputedly spent the next fourteen years sitting on John Gray’s grave.
Some more pragmatic versions of the story record that the otherwise devoted Bobby regularly left his post for meals. Those he got at the same coffee house that he had frequented with his now dead master, following along on the heels of Willie Dow, a local joiner and cabinet maker, whom he knew. Bobby also spent the colder nights and winters in nearby houses. Some say that folks would gather daily at the entrance to the Kirkyard, waiting for the one o’clock gun and the appearance of Bobby leaving the grave for his midday meal. The keeper of the Kirkyard tried often enough to evict Bobby from his station, but when he realised the dog was having none of that, he made a bit shelter adjacent to John Gray’s grave, using some sacking and a couple of flagstones. Yes, indeed, wee Bobby had undoubtedly touched the hearts of the local residents.
In 1867, almost a decade or so after Gray’s death, the Magistrates of Edinburgh passed a new bye-law, which required all dogs to be licensed or destroyed. Bobby was at risk, but there was a goodly soul at hand to come to his rescue. The Lord Provost at the time, Sir William Chambers – who was also a director of the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – decided to intervene and paid for a licence for Bobby. Chambers had the dog presented with a collar, with a brass inscription, which read, “Greyfriars Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 licensed”. These days, you can see Bobby’s collar and bowl at the Museum of Edinburgh in the Canongate.
Nobody asks what became of John Gray’s wife and son, Jess and John, and nobody thinks it’s odd that neither the two of them chose to look after Bobby and keep him fed. There’s no account of any attempts being made by either of them to drag Bobby away from Greyfriars, but who knows, maybe they couldn’t afford to keep the puir wee dog. In any case, neither Scotland’s Capital City nor its tourist visitors are likely to forget Edinburgh’s most famous and faithful dog – Greyfriars Bobby.
Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier from Edinburgh that was turned into a bronze statue by a wicked witch, because it wouldn’t stop yapping and snapping at her heels. Nah, not really, there’s no such thing as a wicked witch that could turn a dog into a bronze statue. Even the god of the Old Testament could only manage pillars of salt. Anyway, you can tell Bobby was from Edinburgh, because if he’d been a “dug frae Glesga”, he’d be known as ‘Greyfriars Boaby’. And what’s with ‘Greyfriars’, surely it should be Greyfriar’s or Greyfriars’ – or Greyhaired Bobby?
Actually, there is a bronze statue of Greyfriars Bobby, which was erected in Edinburgh thanks to its having been funded by a very nice woman who was very much a lady rather than a witch; the philanthropist, Lady Angela Georgina Burdett-Coutts. The life size statue was created by William Brodie (no relation the infamous Deacon) in 1872, almost immediately after Bobby’s death, at the grand old age of sixteen, on the 14th of January, 1872. It was erected beyond the southern end of the George IV Bridge, near the National Museum of Scotland and unveiled, without much ceremony, in November, 1873. Bobby stands in front of the eponymous ‘Greyfriars Bobby’s Bar’, which is located near the main entrance to Greyfriars Kirkyard. He’s facing away from the pub at the apex formed by George IV Bridge (you’ll not notice a bridge per se; it’s the name of the road leading down from the Royal Mile towards the Museum) and Candlemaker Row, which leads back down towards the Grassmarket. So you can get a nice photo of Bobby with his Bar in the background. His monument is the smallest listed building in Edinburgh, with a category ‘A’ listing to boot.
The statue as it now stands isn’t the original, which had a two-tier drinking fountain – an upper fountain for two-legged hounds and a lower, dog-level fountain for man’s four-legged friends. The water supply to the fountain was cut off amidst health scares in 1975 and the water tables were filled-in with concrete. Later, in 1985, the whole red granite base was remodelled; something that was long overdue as vandals (or the Goths?) had been inspired to deface it. The nearby Greyfriars Kirkyard is a bit of a creepy landmark, where today’s Goths wouldn’t look out of place, and is the burial place for many a famous Scot, including wee Bobby. In fact, he’s buried just inside the gate and not too far from his master’s grave, because as it was consecrated ground, he couldn’t be buried within the cemetery. In 1981, the Duke of Gloucester unveiled a red granite stone, which had been erected on Bobby’s grave by The Dog Aid Society of Scotland. Incidentally, the inscription on the gravestone carries the legend, “Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all.”
So how come all this fuss about a wee dog? Plain old Bobby was born in late 1855, one of a number of pups in a litter cast by his mother on an old grain sack in the basement of a house in the Canongate. Soon after he was weaned, he came into the possession of John Gray, who had been a gardener, but after arriving in Edinburgh around 1850, with his wife, Jess, and son, John, he was unable to find such work and ended up joining the Edinburgh City Police as a night watchman. The alternative was the workhouse, which wouldn’t have been a nice thought. What is nice is the thought of Bobby accompanying John during the night, throughout the year, regardless of the weather. The two of them were a familiar sight, trudging around the cobbled streets of old Edinburgh and inseparable for the best part of two years; the night watchman and his faithful friend.
Then suddenly and tragically, albeit not too surprisingly, because he had contracted tuberculosis, on the 8th of February, 1858, John Gray died of tuberculosis and was buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard, adjacent to Greyfriars Kirk in Edinburgh’s Old Town. The years of nights on the damp Edinburgh streets had taken their toll on John Gray. Thereafter, Bobby became very well known in 19th Century Edinburgh as the dog who spent every day of the rest of his life ‘guarding’ the grave of his master. Bobby reputedly spent the next fourteen years sitting on John Gray’s grave.
Some more pragmatic versions of the story record that the otherwise devoted Bobby regularly left his post for meals. Those he got at the same coffee house that he had frequented with his now dead master, following along on the heels of Willie Dow, a local joiner and cabinet maker, whom he knew. Bobby also spent the colder nights and winters in nearby houses. Some say that folks would gather daily at the entrance to the Kirkyard, waiting for the one o’clock gun and the appearance of Bobby leaving the grave for his midday meal. The keeper of the Kirkyard tried often enough to evict Bobby from his station, but when he realised the dog was having none of that, he made a bit shelter adjacent to John Gray’s grave, using some sacking and a couple of flagstones. Yes, indeed, wee Bobby had undoubtedly touched the hearts of the local residents.
In 1867, almost a decade or so after Gray’s death, the Magistrates of Edinburgh passed a new bye-law, which required all dogs to be licensed or destroyed. Bobby was at risk, but there was a goodly soul at hand to come to his rescue. The Lord Provost at the time, Sir William Chambers – who was also a director of the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – decided to intervene and paid for a licence for Bobby. Chambers had the dog presented with a collar, with a brass inscription, which read, “Greyfriars Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 licensed”. These days, you can see Bobby’s collar and bowl at the Museum of Edinburgh in the Canongate.
Nobody asks what became of John Gray’s wife and son, Jess and John, and nobody thinks it’s odd that neither the two of them chose to look after Bobby and keep him fed. There’s no account of any attempts being made by either of them to drag Bobby away from Greyfriars, but who knows, maybe they couldn’t afford to keep the puir wee dog. In any case, neither Scotland’s Capital City nor its tourist visitors are likely to forget Edinburgh’s most famous and faithful dog – Greyfriars Bobby.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
St. Kentigern - or St. Mungo
Saint Kentigern, founder of Glasgow, died on the 13th of January in the year AD603.
Here’s another guy with a shed load of names. He is variously known in Scotland and wider church circles as St. Kentigern or St. Mungo, and in Wales or Welsh as ‘Mwyn-gu’ or ‘Munghu’ (‘dear one’ in Cymric or Brythonic) or ‘Cynderyn Garthwys’, and by his mother as “my dear beloved son” – probably. St. Mungo’s mum features prominently in his early story, beyond the obvious reasons. According to the 1185 ‘Life of Kentigern’ by Jocelyn of Furness, the saint was born illegitimate at Culross in Fife in about AD518. His mum was called Thenaw (Thenew or Enoch) and was a daughter of a King of the Britons, called Lothus, from whom the province of Lothian derives its name. Mungo’s dad’s name is unknown, but in his book, ‘Druid Sacrifice’, Nigel Tranter has Mungo’s mum, Thanea, be the christian daughter of the 6th Century pagan King Loth of the Gododdin of Lodonia, niece to King Arthur, sister to Gawain ap Urien, and giving birth to Kentigern after being raped by Prince Owen ap Urien of Rheged, a man she had refused to marry.
In a tale written as only Tranter knows how. Thanea and the unborn Mungo are set adrift in a coracle with no oars and end up being washed up on the shores of Fife, where they are rescued by Saint Serf. Tranter didn’t make up the story about St. Serf, because it is oft repeated elsewhere that Mungo was brought up by St. Serf (or Servanus) at his monastery until he had reached manhood. But a perusal of Skene shows that the connection between the two saints involves an anachronism, as St. Serf didn’t arrive on the scene until the 7th Century, after Mungo’s death. Nevertheless, Mungo did grow up in a christian community of the Celtic Church at a time when most folks were pagans. Perhaps because there was some truth in the story of the fortunate, if not miraculous, rescue of his mother, Mungo became quite devout. As he grew up, his fellow pupils became jealous of him and, not unusually, even unto these enlightened days, he was picked on for being different. Eventually, he had enough and ran away to form his own religious community. You couldn’t really accuse him of petulance in the sense of, “He’s my god and I’m going alone!” but Mungo certainly appears to have been a single minded and determined kind of guy.
Mungo was also saintly and kind and, for a country full of pagans, he kept bumping into the odd saint, now and again, such as old St. Fergus of Kernach. It must’ve been a gey bump, for the aged monk upped and died. Nothing loth, Mungo hoisted the body onto a cart and yoked up a couple of wild bulls, then solemnly commanded them to “take him to the Lord.” Whereupon, the bulls (oxen) pitched up with the cart at a place called Cathures, which is where Mungo buried him and did the honours over his grave. That was round about the time Mungo was twenty-two and it’s about then he began to be called by his given name of Kentigern (meaning ‘head chief’ – not head chef!). He began his self-appointed missionary task at this Cathures on the Clyde and was welcomed, initially, by Roderick Hael, the christian King of Strathclyde. Roderick was christian enough to procure Kentigern’s consecration as a Bishop, which happy event occurred around AD540. So, for the next thirteen years or so, Kentigern lived an idyllic, albeit austere, life in a monastic cell at the confluence of the River Clyde and the Molendinar Burn. He laboured at converting the pagan locals and achieved much by his holy example and preaching. Over time, a large community of followers grew up around Mungo/Kentigern and the place began to be referred to as ‘Glasgu’ (‘dear family’) – ultimately corrupted to Glasgow, of course, but then you were way ahead.
Kentigern wandered near and far to bring the gospel of the lord to anyone who could be made to listen and from time to time, he got as far Hoddom, in Galloway, and the neighbouring Kingdom of Strathclyde, which included the area known as Cumbria. Around about AD553, Kentigern emigrated to Clwyd in North Wales in the face of opposition from a strong anti-Christian movement in Strathclyde. In Wales, he bumped into another saint, St. David, whom he met at Menevia. On the basis that he was going to be in Wales for some time, Kentigern (or ‘Cynderyn’) founded a monastery at Llanelwy, which, incidentally, is now Saint Asaph’s, because Mungo appointed Asaph to be his successor as ‘Superior’.
Unlike the warlike Columba, Kentigern was a truly peaceable bloke and didn’t stick around in Strathclyde and Galloway to fight his christian corner. But, in AD573, after the Battle of Arthuret, the christian cause was rekindled in Cumbria and Kentigern and his ‘disciples’ were invited back, by his former mentor, King Roderick. Instead of ‘Glasgu’, Kentigern settled his ‘see’ at Hoddam and spent the next eight years or so evangelising through the local districts and even down into Cumberland. Legend has it that on his travels (or travails) at that time, Kentigern encountered Merlin – either King Arthurs’ legendary Wizard or the historical ‘Myrddin Wyllt’ (or ‘Lailoken’) of ‘Peartnach’ (Partick) – but either way, he is said to have been converted and baptised by Kentigern shortly before his (Merlin’s) death, which he had self-prophesised.
Ultimately, however, Kentigern returned to ‘Glasgu’ in about AD581 and, a couple of years later, he bumped into yet another saint. On that occasion, it was quite a saint to bump into; no less a personage than the venerable Columba. According to legend, or the Catholic Encyclopaedia, the two saints, by now quite old in years and surely (or surly) candidates for ‘grumpy old man of the year’, “embraced and held long converse, and exchanged their pastoral staves.” Kentigern died on the 13th of January, AD603 and he was buried on the spot where the cathedral dedicated to his memory now stands in Glasgow. His remains are said to rest in the crypt.
Here’s another guy with a shed load of names. He is variously known in Scotland and wider church circles as St. Kentigern or St. Mungo, and in Wales or Welsh as ‘Mwyn-gu’ or ‘Munghu’ (‘dear one’ in Cymric or Brythonic) or ‘Cynderyn Garthwys’, and by his mother as “my dear beloved son” – probably. St. Mungo’s mum features prominently in his early story, beyond the obvious reasons. According to the 1185 ‘Life of Kentigern’ by Jocelyn of Furness, the saint was born illegitimate at Culross in Fife in about AD518. His mum was called Thenaw (Thenew or Enoch) and was a daughter of a King of the Britons, called Lothus, from whom the province of Lothian derives its name. Mungo’s dad’s name is unknown, but in his book, ‘Druid Sacrifice’, Nigel Tranter has Mungo’s mum, Thanea, be the christian daughter of the 6th Century pagan King Loth of the Gododdin of Lodonia, niece to King Arthur, sister to Gawain ap Urien, and giving birth to Kentigern after being raped by Prince Owen ap Urien of Rheged, a man she had refused to marry.
In a tale written as only Tranter knows how. Thanea and the unborn Mungo are set adrift in a coracle with no oars and end up being washed up on the shores of Fife, where they are rescued by Saint Serf. Tranter didn’t make up the story about St. Serf, because it is oft repeated elsewhere that Mungo was brought up by St. Serf (or Servanus) at his monastery until he had reached manhood. But a perusal of Skene shows that the connection between the two saints involves an anachronism, as St. Serf didn’t arrive on the scene until the 7th Century, after Mungo’s death. Nevertheless, Mungo did grow up in a christian community of the Celtic Church at a time when most folks were pagans. Perhaps because there was some truth in the story of the fortunate, if not miraculous, rescue of his mother, Mungo became quite devout. As he grew up, his fellow pupils became jealous of him and, not unusually, even unto these enlightened days, he was picked on for being different. Eventually, he had enough and ran away to form his own religious community. You couldn’t really accuse him of petulance in the sense of, “He’s my god and I’m going alone!” but Mungo certainly appears to have been a single minded and determined kind of guy.
Mungo was also saintly and kind and, for a country full of pagans, he kept bumping into the odd saint, now and again, such as old St. Fergus of Kernach. It must’ve been a gey bump, for the aged monk upped and died. Nothing loth, Mungo hoisted the body onto a cart and yoked up a couple of wild bulls, then solemnly commanded them to “take him to the Lord.” Whereupon, the bulls (oxen) pitched up with the cart at a place called Cathures, which is where Mungo buried him and did the honours over his grave. That was round about the time Mungo was twenty-two and it’s about then he began to be called by his given name of Kentigern (meaning ‘head chief’ – not head chef!). He began his self-appointed missionary task at this Cathures on the Clyde and was welcomed, initially, by Roderick Hael, the christian King of Strathclyde. Roderick was christian enough to procure Kentigern’s consecration as a Bishop, which happy event occurred around AD540. So, for the next thirteen years or so, Kentigern lived an idyllic, albeit austere, life in a monastic cell at the confluence of the River Clyde and the Molendinar Burn. He laboured at converting the pagan locals and achieved much by his holy example and preaching. Over time, a large community of followers grew up around Mungo/Kentigern and the place began to be referred to as ‘Glasgu’ (‘dear family’) – ultimately corrupted to Glasgow, of course, but then you were way ahead.
Kentigern wandered near and far to bring the gospel of the lord to anyone who could be made to listen and from time to time, he got as far Hoddom, in Galloway, and the neighbouring Kingdom of Strathclyde, which included the area known as Cumbria. Around about AD553, Kentigern emigrated to Clwyd in North Wales in the face of opposition from a strong anti-Christian movement in Strathclyde. In Wales, he bumped into another saint, St. David, whom he met at Menevia. On the basis that he was going to be in Wales for some time, Kentigern (or ‘Cynderyn’) founded a monastery at Llanelwy, which, incidentally, is now Saint Asaph’s, because Mungo appointed Asaph to be his successor as ‘Superior’.
Unlike the warlike Columba, Kentigern was a truly peaceable bloke and didn’t stick around in Strathclyde and Galloway to fight his christian corner. But, in AD573, after the Battle of Arthuret, the christian cause was rekindled in Cumbria and Kentigern and his ‘disciples’ were invited back, by his former mentor, King Roderick. Instead of ‘Glasgu’, Kentigern settled his ‘see’ at Hoddam and spent the next eight years or so evangelising through the local districts and even down into Cumberland. Legend has it that on his travels (or travails) at that time, Kentigern encountered Merlin – either King Arthurs’ legendary Wizard or the historical ‘Myrddin Wyllt’ (or ‘Lailoken’) of ‘Peartnach’ (Partick) – but either way, he is said to have been converted and baptised by Kentigern shortly before his (Merlin’s) death, which he had self-prophesised.
Ultimately, however, Kentigern returned to ‘Glasgu’ in about AD581 and, a couple of years later, he bumped into yet another saint. On that occasion, it was quite a saint to bump into; no less a personage than the venerable Columba. According to legend, or the Catholic Encyclopaedia, the two saints, by now quite old in years and surely (or surly) candidates for ‘grumpy old man of the year’, “embraced and held long converse, and exchanged their pastoral staves.” Kentigern died on the 13th of January, AD603 and he was buried on the spot where the cathedral dedicated to his memory now stands in Glasgow. His remains are said to rest in the crypt.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Brigadier-General Hugh Mercer
Hugh Mercer, an Aberdeenshire-born Brigadier-General in the American army, died on the 12th of January, 1777.
Many Scotsmen played a significant part in the American War of Independence, otherwise known as the Revolution that resulted in the separation of the North American Colonies. Four of George Washington’s Major-Generals and nine of his Brigadier-Generals were of Scots descent. Of his other Generals, twenty were of Scottish blood. Amongst those was Aberdeenshire’s Hugh Mercer, surgeon, Scottish Rebel, emigrant, exile, physician, indian fighter and American soldier, who became one of Washington’s Brigadier-Generals and a Revolutionary War hero.
Mercer’s military service and exploits spanned two continents and three separate armies. Beginning as a surgeon for the doomed Jacobite army at Culloden, Dr. Mercer became a wanted man and fled to freedom in America, where he took part in the ‘Seven Years’ War’ in the army of his former enemy, the Hanoverian George III. Later, after settling as a physician in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Mercer signed up for the third time, joining Washington’s Continental Army. Hugh Mercer became a friend to George Washington and one of his greatest Generals. Mercer was the man whose military genius conceived the plan for the crossing of the Delaware River and the capture of the Hessians at Trenton, in one of the definitive battles of the American War of Independence.
Mercer died from the bayonet wounds he received just prior to the Battle of Princeton, but historians and many biographers argue that, had it not been for his untimely death, Mercer would have gone on to have become an even greater leader than Washington proved to be; perhaps to rank as one of the greatest American heroes of all time. Trenton and Princeton were battles critical to American history as lacking those victories, Washington would have lost the War. According to Genevieve Bugay, Site Manager of the ‘Hugh Mercer Apothecary Shop in Fredericksburg as reported in the Press & Journal of the 29th of March, 2005, “Washington made [Mercer] a Brigadier-General at the start of the Revolutionary War and he was so highly respected as a soldier that many people feel he was as good a General as Washington, if not better.”
Undoubtedly, Hugh Mercer has hero status in America. Mercersburg, in Pennsylvania is named after him and there are Mercer Counties in his honour in seven US States. Statues of him have been erected in Philadelphia and his adopted city of Fredericksburg, where the aforementioned Hugh Mercer Apothecary Shop is preserved and run as a historic site. A monument to his memory was erected by the St. Andrew’s Society of Philadelphia in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Not bad for a wee loon frae rural Aberdeenshire, who having fled from persecution after on rebellion said in 1776 prior to another, “I am willing to serve my adopted country in any capacity she may need me.”
Hugh Mercer was born in the Manse of Pitsligo Parish Kirk, near the fishing village of Rosehearty, on the 17th of January, 1726. Hugh grew up Rosehearty and at the age of fifteen, went on to study medicine in Marischal College at the University of Aberdeen. In 1745, a year after graduating as a Doctor, Mercer joined Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army in which he served an assistant surgeon. He was present at the Battle of Culloden on the 16th of April, 1746, when the Jacobites were defeated, and as the survivors were being hunted down and killed, Mercer became a fugitive in his own land. He spent a year in hiding, on the run from Government soldiers, and eventually managed to buy passage on a ship sailing to America, where he pitched up in Pennsylvania, in March of 1747.
He practiced medicine in what is now Mercersburg, quite peacefully, for eight years until after the outbreak of the French and Indian wars in 1754. When General Braddock’s army was butchered by the French and Indians in 1755, Mercer tended the wounded and the following year, in a pragmatic move that had more to do with self preservation than any notion of loyalty, enlisted in the army of the same King he had sought to overthrow. Serving as a soldier instead of a surgeon, he was commissioned a Captain in a Pennsylvania regiment. He joined Lt. Col. Armstrong’s expedition of 1756, during which he took part in the raid on the Indian village of Kittanning, in the September. Captain Mercer was badly injured in the attack, but the heroic Scot set his own shattered arm and managed to trek one hundred miles, through fourteen days alone on foot and unaided, to the safety of Fort Shirley. He had been given up for dead and his survival made the headlines in the Pennsylvania Gazette. His bravery was recognised and he rose to the rank of Colonel.
It was during the Seven Years’ War that Mercer first met Washington and, in 1760, both men settled in Fredericksburg, which was recommended to Mercer as being “likely to afford a genteel subsistence in the [practice of Physick],” according to a letter he wrote in February of 1761. Mercer was described as “a physician of great merit and eminence” and in 1774, he purchased Ferry Farm, Washington’s childhood home. Shortly after, when the Colonies rebelled, Mercer ‘changed sides again’ and, by January, 1776, he had become a full Colonel and commander of the 3rd Virginia Regiment of the Line. Later, in June of 1776, at Washington’s personal request, Mercer was promoted to Brigadier-General. After the British captured Forts Washington and Lee, Mercer joined Washington in the retreat to New Jersey and, thanks in no small measure to Mercer, Washington’s men crossed the Delaware and, on the 26th of December, 1776, won the Battle of Trenton.
On the 3rd of January, 1777, the day after the Second Battle of Trenton, whilst leading the vanguard en route to Princeton, Mercer got into a fight with two British regiments and became isolated in an orange grove, with his horse shot from under him. Mercer was surrounded and mistaken for Washington by the British troops, but refused to surrender. Drawing his sabre, he stood his ground against the odds, but was mortally wounded, suffering a total of seven bayonet wounds and numerous blows to the head from musket butts. His men rallied, while he lay propped up against ‘the Mercer Oak’, before being carried to the field hospital. Despite the efforts of his medical colleague, Benjamin Rush, Mercer could not be saved. Hugh Mercer from Pitsligo died of his wounds, three thousand miles from home and on the 12th of January, 1777, nine days after the Patriots won the Battle of Princeton. His funeral in Philadelphia was attended by more than 30,000 mourners.
Many Scotsmen played a significant part in the American War of Independence, otherwise known as the Revolution that resulted in the separation of the North American Colonies. Four of George Washington’s Major-Generals and nine of his Brigadier-Generals were of Scots descent. Of his other Generals, twenty were of Scottish blood. Amongst those was Aberdeenshire’s Hugh Mercer, surgeon, Scottish Rebel, emigrant, exile, physician, indian fighter and American soldier, who became one of Washington’s Brigadier-Generals and a Revolutionary War hero.
Mercer’s military service and exploits spanned two continents and three separate armies. Beginning as a surgeon for the doomed Jacobite army at Culloden, Dr. Mercer became a wanted man and fled to freedom in America, where he took part in the ‘Seven Years’ War’ in the army of his former enemy, the Hanoverian George III. Later, after settling as a physician in Fredericksburg, Virginia, Mercer signed up for the third time, joining Washington’s Continental Army. Hugh Mercer became a friend to George Washington and one of his greatest Generals. Mercer was the man whose military genius conceived the plan for the crossing of the Delaware River and the capture of the Hessians at Trenton, in one of the definitive battles of the American War of Independence.
Mercer died from the bayonet wounds he received just prior to the Battle of Princeton, but historians and many biographers argue that, had it not been for his untimely death, Mercer would have gone on to have become an even greater leader than Washington proved to be; perhaps to rank as one of the greatest American heroes of all time. Trenton and Princeton were battles critical to American history as lacking those victories, Washington would have lost the War. According to Genevieve Bugay, Site Manager of the ‘Hugh Mercer Apothecary Shop in Fredericksburg as reported in the Press & Journal of the 29th of March, 2005, “Washington made [Mercer] a Brigadier-General at the start of the Revolutionary War and he was so highly respected as a soldier that many people feel he was as good a General as Washington, if not better.”
Undoubtedly, Hugh Mercer has hero status in America. Mercersburg, in Pennsylvania is named after him and there are Mercer Counties in his honour in seven US States. Statues of him have been erected in Philadelphia and his adopted city of Fredericksburg, where the aforementioned Hugh Mercer Apothecary Shop is preserved and run as a historic site. A monument to his memory was erected by the St. Andrew’s Society of Philadelphia in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Not bad for a wee loon frae rural Aberdeenshire, who having fled from persecution after on rebellion said in 1776 prior to another, “I am willing to serve my adopted country in any capacity she may need me.”
Hugh Mercer was born in the Manse of Pitsligo Parish Kirk, near the fishing village of Rosehearty, on the 17th of January, 1726. Hugh grew up Rosehearty and at the age of fifteen, went on to study medicine in Marischal College at the University of Aberdeen. In 1745, a year after graduating as a Doctor, Mercer joined Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army in which he served an assistant surgeon. He was present at the Battle of Culloden on the 16th of April, 1746, when the Jacobites were defeated, and as the survivors were being hunted down and killed, Mercer became a fugitive in his own land. He spent a year in hiding, on the run from Government soldiers, and eventually managed to buy passage on a ship sailing to America, where he pitched up in Pennsylvania, in March of 1747.
He practiced medicine in what is now Mercersburg, quite peacefully, for eight years until after the outbreak of the French and Indian wars in 1754. When General Braddock’s army was butchered by the French and Indians in 1755, Mercer tended the wounded and the following year, in a pragmatic move that had more to do with self preservation than any notion of loyalty, enlisted in the army of the same King he had sought to overthrow. Serving as a soldier instead of a surgeon, he was commissioned a Captain in a Pennsylvania regiment. He joined Lt. Col. Armstrong’s expedition of 1756, during which he took part in the raid on the Indian village of Kittanning, in the September. Captain Mercer was badly injured in the attack, but the heroic Scot set his own shattered arm and managed to trek one hundred miles, through fourteen days alone on foot and unaided, to the safety of Fort Shirley. He had been given up for dead and his survival made the headlines in the Pennsylvania Gazette. His bravery was recognised and he rose to the rank of Colonel.
It was during the Seven Years’ War that Mercer first met Washington and, in 1760, both men settled in Fredericksburg, which was recommended to Mercer as being “likely to afford a genteel subsistence in the [practice of Physick],” according to a letter he wrote in February of 1761. Mercer was described as “a physician of great merit and eminence” and in 1774, he purchased Ferry Farm, Washington’s childhood home. Shortly after, when the Colonies rebelled, Mercer ‘changed sides again’ and, by January, 1776, he had become a full Colonel and commander of the 3rd Virginia Regiment of the Line. Later, in June of 1776, at Washington’s personal request, Mercer was promoted to Brigadier-General. After the British captured Forts Washington and Lee, Mercer joined Washington in the retreat to New Jersey and, thanks in no small measure to Mercer, Washington’s men crossed the Delaware and, on the 26th of December, 1776, won the Battle of Trenton.
On the 3rd of January, 1777, the day after the Second Battle of Trenton, whilst leading the vanguard en route to Princeton, Mercer got into a fight with two British regiments and became isolated in an orange grove, with his horse shot from under him. Mercer was surrounded and mistaken for Washington by the British troops, but refused to surrender. Drawing his sabre, he stood his ground against the odds, but was mortally wounded, suffering a total of seven bayonet wounds and numerous blows to the head from musket butts. His men rallied, while he lay propped up against ‘the Mercer Oak’, before being carried to the field hospital. Despite the efforts of his medical colleague, Benjamin Rush, Mercer could not be saved. Hugh Mercer from Pitsligo died of his wounds, three thousand miles from home and on the 12th of January, 1777, nine days after the Patriots won the Battle of Princeton. His funeral in Philadelphia was attended by more than 30,000 mourners.
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
The Highland Society of Edinburgh
‘The Highland Society of Edinburgh’ was formed in 1784, however, its objectives weren’t defined until the following year, on the 11th of January, 1785.
What is today The Royal Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland was founded in Fortune’s Tontine Tavern, in Edinburgh, on the 9th of February, 1784, as ‘The Highland Society of Edinburgh’. The Society was formed for the improvement of the Highlands, a mere two years after the repeal of the ‘Dress Act’ of 1746 and at a time when there was renewed interest in Highland culture. The Society’s own fortunes improved three years later, in 1787, when it received its first Royal Charter as ‘The Highland Society of Scotland at Edinburgh’. Today, the Society, now based at the Royal Highland Centre near Ingliston, is intended for those people who “value, enjoy and support the rural areas and communities of Scotland.” It is also for those who enjoy “the finer products of Scotland’s land-based and allied industries.” And most certainly it is for everyone who “supports the very best standards in agriculture, forestry and stewardship of the countryside”, all of which are an essential part of Scotland’s heritage – and its future. In addition, the Society is responsible for organising its flagship enterprise and Scotland’s premier agricultural event; the annual Royal Highland Show.
In summary, the original objects of the Society, which were defined on the 11th of January, 1785, were to promote the regeneration of rural Scotland and its agricultural interests, with a focus on education and the study of the Gaelic culture. In detail, those objectives were:
1. An enquiry into the present state of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and the condition of their inhabitants.
2. An enquiry into the means of improvement of the Highlands by establishing towns and villages; by facilitating communication through different parts of the Highlands of Scotland; by roads and bridges, advancing agriculture and extending fisheries, introducing useful trades and manufactures; and by an exertion to unite the efforts of the proprietors, and call the attention of the Government towards the encouragement and production of these beneficial purposes.
3. The Society shall also pay a proper attention to the preservation of the language, poetry, and music of the Highlands.
In the Society’s first year, it did rather well on the cultural front as a Professor of Gaelic was elected and music competitions were held. The Society also supported the culture of the Highlands through the compilation of a Gaelic dictionary, which was published in 1828 after having taken fourteen years to compile at a cost of nearly £4,000. On the fisheries front, in 1786, an early report of a committee of the Society was passed to the House of Commons Fisheries Committee. That report led to an Act for the setting up of a company with the express purpose of founding coastal villages and towns in the Highlands and Islands. The Society’s early efforts on the agricultural front date from its very beginnings in 1785, when medals for essays on agricultural subjects were first offered. Not too much later, in 1790, on the initiative of the Society, the Chair of Agriculture at the University of Edinburgh was founded.
The Society held its first Show in December of 1822, on a modest, 1¼ acre site in the back garden of Queensberry House, which was then a barracks, in Edinburgh’s Canongate. That general show was the first open to competition from any part of Scotland, in which some number of cattle, between sixty and seventy-five, were exhibited. The 1,052 visitors and members who attended the show, paid one shilling each. The relative success of the show and other initiatives led, in 1834, to the Society’s title changing to ‘The Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland’, thanks to its second Royal Charter. By that time, fifty years after its formation, the society had become less of a Highland Society and more of an Agricultural Society, which is what it has remained. Certainly that was a significant change, but you can make up your own mind as to its appropriateness.
In the 19th Century, the Society made great progress. From 1823, it became Patron of the lectures of William Dick at the Edinburgh Veterinary School, where later, in 1840, Dick was installed as its first Professor of Veterinary Studies. Later, in 1856, the Society was granted the power to conduct examinations in agriculture. That, quite naturally, encouraged the improvement of land, and the development of machinery and implements. Prizes were also instituted for a wide variety of agricultural skills, from ploughing and the like, to breeding livestock and the production of agricultural produce – ‘neeps and tatties’. Sometime before the turn of the 20th Century, the Society benefitted from yet another Royal Charter; that one incorporating it as a charity. The Society then got its ‘Royal’ title as recently as 1948, on the occasion of the visit of George VI to the Society’s show in Inverness. The current Most Royal Personage, Queen Elizabeth I (of Scotland) & II (of England), accepted the role as Patron of the Society in 1984, its bi-Centennial year.
Today in Scotland as for much of its history, its rural industries are major contributors to the economy and character of the country. Throughout the highlands and islands, the lowlands and the borders, Scots folk produce a good proportion of the nation’s food and drink. They also manage the countryside and its conservation, which is often taken for granted, and provide access to sport and recreation for hundreds and thousands of Munro-baggers, and millions of others. Fortunately, according to its website, the Society continues to encourage advances in the spheres of education, science, technology and craftsmanship “as a means of building businesses and creating wider public knowledge and understanding of the land and its resources.” Long may it so do.
What is today The Royal Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland was founded in Fortune’s Tontine Tavern, in Edinburgh, on the 9th of February, 1784, as ‘The Highland Society of Edinburgh’. The Society was formed for the improvement of the Highlands, a mere two years after the repeal of the ‘Dress Act’ of 1746 and at a time when there was renewed interest in Highland culture. The Society’s own fortunes improved three years later, in 1787, when it received its first Royal Charter as ‘The Highland Society of Scotland at Edinburgh’. Today, the Society, now based at the Royal Highland Centre near Ingliston, is intended for those people who “value, enjoy and support the rural areas and communities of Scotland.” It is also for those who enjoy “the finer products of Scotland’s land-based and allied industries.” And most certainly it is for everyone who “supports the very best standards in agriculture, forestry and stewardship of the countryside”, all of which are an essential part of Scotland’s heritage – and its future. In addition, the Society is responsible for organising its flagship enterprise and Scotland’s premier agricultural event; the annual Royal Highland Show.
In summary, the original objects of the Society, which were defined on the 11th of January, 1785, were to promote the regeneration of rural Scotland and its agricultural interests, with a focus on education and the study of the Gaelic culture. In detail, those objectives were:
1. An enquiry into the present state of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, and the condition of their inhabitants.
2. An enquiry into the means of improvement of the Highlands by establishing towns and villages; by facilitating communication through different parts of the Highlands of Scotland; by roads and bridges, advancing agriculture and extending fisheries, introducing useful trades and manufactures; and by an exertion to unite the efforts of the proprietors, and call the attention of the Government towards the encouragement and production of these beneficial purposes.
3. The Society shall also pay a proper attention to the preservation of the language, poetry, and music of the Highlands.
In the Society’s first year, it did rather well on the cultural front as a Professor of Gaelic was elected and music competitions were held. The Society also supported the culture of the Highlands through the compilation of a Gaelic dictionary, which was published in 1828 after having taken fourteen years to compile at a cost of nearly £4,000. On the fisheries front, in 1786, an early report of a committee of the Society was passed to the House of Commons Fisheries Committee. That report led to an Act for the setting up of a company with the express purpose of founding coastal villages and towns in the Highlands and Islands. The Society’s early efforts on the agricultural front date from its very beginnings in 1785, when medals for essays on agricultural subjects were first offered. Not too much later, in 1790, on the initiative of the Society, the Chair of Agriculture at the University of Edinburgh was founded.
The Society held its first Show in December of 1822, on a modest, 1¼ acre site in the back garden of Queensberry House, which was then a barracks, in Edinburgh’s Canongate. That general show was the first open to competition from any part of Scotland, in which some number of cattle, between sixty and seventy-five, were exhibited. The 1,052 visitors and members who attended the show, paid one shilling each. The relative success of the show and other initiatives led, in 1834, to the Society’s title changing to ‘The Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland’, thanks to its second Royal Charter. By that time, fifty years after its formation, the society had become less of a Highland Society and more of an Agricultural Society, which is what it has remained. Certainly that was a significant change, but you can make up your own mind as to its appropriateness.
In the 19th Century, the Society made great progress. From 1823, it became Patron of the lectures of William Dick at the Edinburgh Veterinary School, where later, in 1840, Dick was installed as its first Professor of Veterinary Studies. Later, in 1856, the Society was granted the power to conduct examinations in agriculture. That, quite naturally, encouraged the improvement of land, and the development of machinery and implements. Prizes were also instituted for a wide variety of agricultural skills, from ploughing and the like, to breeding livestock and the production of agricultural produce – ‘neeps and tatties’. Sometime before the turn of the 20th Century, the Society benefitted from yet another Royal Charter; that one incorporating it as a charity. The Society then got its ‘Royal’ title as recently as 1948, on the occasion of the visit of George VI to the Society’s show in Inverness. The current Most Royal Personage, Queen Elizabeth I (of Scotland) & II (of England), accepted the role as Patron of the Society in 1984, its bi-Centennial year.
Today in Scotland as for much of its history, its rural industries are major contributors to the economy and character of the country. Throughout the highlands and islands, the lowlands and the borders, Scots folk produce a good proportion of the nation’s food and drink. They also manage the countryside and its conservation, which is often taken for granted, and provide access to sport and recreation for hundreds and thousands of Munro-baggers, and millions of others. Fortunately, according to its website, the Society continues to encourage advances in the spheres of education, science, technology and craftsmanship “as a means of building businesses and creating wider public knowledge and understanding of the land and its resources.” Long may it so do.
Monday, 10 January 2011
Thomas Erksine, 1st Baron Erskine of Restormel
Thomas Erksine, 1st Baron Erskine of Restormel and a Lord Chancellor, was born on the 10th of January, 1750.
Thomas, Lord Erskine, was a famous lawyer and politician who was, in his day, Britain's foremost advocate. He wasn’t much shakes as a politician, despite becoming Lord Chancellor, but he certainly shook up the legal fraternity with that in which he got involved. His speciality was the defence of people accused of treason and corruption and he was engaged in all the famous, political trials of his time. In addition, he is known as the first defender of animal rights. Thomas Erskine first won renown as an advocate by his defence of Lord Keppel and, in 1781, of his cousin, Lord George Gordon, in whose defence Erskine delivered a remarkable speech, which ‘blew out of the water’ the doctrine of constructive treason. Lord George, in his role as head of the Protestant Association, formed to secure the repeal of the 1778 Catholic Relief Act, was accused of high treason for instigating the so-called ‘Gordon Riots’ in 1780. Erskine got him acquitted on the grounds that he had no treasonable intent.
Erskine was also responsible for the introduction of the Libel Act in 1792, something which is overdue for an overhaul, by the way, but revolutionary in its day. The Libel Act, which laid down the principle that it is for the jury and not the judge to decide whether or not a publication is a libel, stemmed from Erskine’s first ‘special retainer’ in successful defence of Dr. William Davies Shipley, the Dean of St. Asaph, accused of seditious libel in 1784. Erskine obviously felt strongly about libel cases as, in 1789, he also defended a bookseller called John Stockdale, who was also charged with seditious libel after publishing a pamphlet in favour of Warren Hastings, a former Governor-General of India famously accused of corruption. Erskine’s speech in that trial is regarded as his greatest effort and a consummate specimen of the art of addressing a jury.
In 1794, Erskine defended John Thelwall, who was tried for treason with his fellow radicals, John Horne Tooke and Thomas Hardy, such that all three men were acquitted. More famously, Erskine also defended Thomas Paine, who was accused of high treason for his work, ‘The Rights of Man’. That case brought Erskine the opposition of both friend and foe, and cost him his position as Attorney General to the Prince of Wales, but Erskine defended his action by pronouncing that an advocate has no right, by refusing a brief, to convert himself into a judge. Paine’s book put forward the idea that popular political revolution is permissible when a government does not safeguard its people, their natural rights, and their national interests. By associating himself with Paine and the like, Erskine became regarded as the chief legal defender of popular liberties and constitutional rights.
Lord Russell once said of Erskine that he possessed “the tongue of Cicero and the soul of Hampden” and Erskine’s vanity was apparently so ridiculous that he was caricatured as ‘Baron Ego of Eye’ and otherwise known as ‘Clackmanan’. However, there is no doubt that Erskine was an unrivalled speaker in the law courts and considered to have been the greatest legal orator of his time. His speeches are said to have been “masterpieces of forensic eloquence”. Similarly, his speech in the House of Lords on the second reading of the 1808 Bill for preventing malicious and wanton cruelty to animals, Erskine famously stated, “I am to ask your Lordships, in the name of that God who gave to man his dominion over the lower world, to acknowledge and recognise that dominion to be a moral trust.”
Erskine was a strong Whig, the forerunners of today’s Liberal Democrat Party, but it is for his advocacy, rather than his politicking, that he deserves to be remembered. He sat in Parliament as M.P. for Portsmouth in 1783-4 and again from 1790-1806. Between 1806 and 1807, after he was raised to a peerage, Erskine served as Lord Chancellor in Baron Grenville’s ‘Ministry of All the Talents’. That was a ‘government of national unity’ not dissimilar to that which served during the Second World War, but despite its intention to form the strongest possible government of leading politicians from amongst all factions, it had comparatively little success. It failed to bring about peace with France, but it did manage to abolish the slave trade in Britain, which was a good thing.
Thomas Erskine was born in Edinburgh, the youngest son of the 10th Earl of Buchan. Thomas gained an education at the Royal High School of Edinburgh and the Grammar School of St. Andrews, before joining the Navy, in 1764, and serving as a midshipman. Four years later, after service in North America and the West Indies, he returned to the UK to discover that there was little immediate chance of moving on from his rank of acting Lieutenant. As a consequence, he quit the Navy and purchased a commission in with the 1st Royals. However, he fared no better in the Army, but thankfully for all those later charged with libel and treason, it did present Erskine with an opportunity to converse with fellow countryman, Judge William Murray, the 1st Earl of Mansfield, famous as a Scotsman who reformed English Law. That interview resulted in Erskine resolving to quit the army and study law, and his admission as a student of Lincolns Inn, in 1775. On the 13th of January, 1776, Erskine entered himself as a ‘gentleman commoner’ on the books of Trinity College, Cambridge, in order to expedite his call to the bar by two years, merely on account of graduating. Thus, he was called to the bar on the 3rd of July, 1778.
In 1783, Erskine received a patent of precedence, which was a grant to an individual, by letters patent, of a higher social or professional position than the precedence to which his ordinary rank entitles him. In the context of Erskine’s legal profession, that was significant as formerly, the rank of King’s Counsel not only precluded a Barrister from appearing against the Crown, but if he was a Member of Parliament, it meant that he had to give up his seat. The patent granted to Erskine as distinguished counsel, conferred upon him a rank similar to that of King’s Counsel, but without the penalty or preclusion. In 1802, Thomas Erskine was made Chancellor of the Duchy of Cornwall and, in 1806, created Baron Erskine of Restormel Castle, Cornwall. Thomas Erksine, 1st Baron Erskine of Restormel, died of pneumonia, caught on his way to Scotland to stay with his brother, the Earl of Buchan, at Almondell, in Linlithgowshire, on the 17th of November, 1823. He was buried in the family burial place at Uphall, in Linlithgow.
Thomas, Lord Erskine, was a famous lawyer and politician who was, in his day, Britain's foremost advocate. He wasn’t much shakes as a politician, despite becoming Lord Chancellor, but he certainly shook up the legal fraternity with that in which he got involved. His speciality was the defence of people accused of treason and corruption and he was engaged in all the famous, political trials of his time. In addition, he is known as the first defender of animal rights. Thomas Erskine first won renown as an advocate by his defence of Lord Keppel and, in 1781, of his cousin, Lord George Gordon, in whose defence Erskine delivered a remarkable speech, which ‘blew out of the water’ the doctrine of constructive treason. Lord George, in his role as head of the Protestant Association, formed to secure the repeal of the 1778 Catholic Relief Act, was accused of high treason for instigating the so-called ‘Gordon Riots’ in 1780. Erskine got him acquitted on the grounds that he had no treasonable intent.
Erskine was also responsible for the introduction of the Libel Act in 1792, something which is overdue for an overhaul, by the way, but revolutionary in its day. The Libel Act, which laid down the principle that it is for the jury and not the judge to decide whether or not a publication is a libel, stemmed from Erskine’s first ‘special retainer’ in successful defence of Dr. William Davies Shipley, the Dean of St. Asaph, accused of seditious libel in 1784. Erskine obviously felt strongly about libel cases as, in 1789, he also defended a bookseller called John Stockdale, who was also charged with seditious libel after publishing a pamphlet in favour of Warren Hastings, a former Governor-General of India famously accused of corruption. Erskine’s speech in that trial is regarded as his greatest effort and a consummate specimen of the art of addressing a jury.
In 1794, Erskine defended John Thelwall, who was tried for treason with his fellow radicals, John Horne Tooke and Thomas Hardy, such that all three men were acquitted. More famously, Erskine also defended Thomas Paine, who was accused of high treason for his work, ‘The Rights of Man’. That case brought Erskine the opposition of both friend and foe, and cost him his position as Attorney General to the Prince of Wales, but Erskine defended his action by pronouncing that an advocate has no right, by refusing a brief, to convert himself into a judge. Paine’s book put forward the idea that popular political revolution is permissible when a government does not safeguard its people, their natural rights, and their national interests. By associating himself with Paine and the like, Erskine became regarded as the chief legal defender of popular liberties and constitutional rights.
Lord Russell once said of Erskine that he possessed “the tongue of Cicero and the soul of Hampden” and Erskine’s vanity was apparently so ridiculous that he was caricatured as ‘Baron Ego of Eye’ and otherwise known as ‘Clackmanan’. However, there is no doubt that Erskine was an unrivalled speaker in the law courts and considered to have been the greatest legal orator of his time. His speeches are said to have been “masterpieces of forensic eloquence”. Similarly, his speech in the House of Lords on the second reading of the 1808 Bill for preventing malicious and wanton cruelty to animals, Erskine famously stated, “I am to ask your Lordships, in the name of that God who gave to man his dominion over the lower world, to acknowledge and recognise that dominion to be a moral trust.”
Erskine was a strong Whig, the forerunners of today’s Liberal Democrat Party, but it is for his advocacy, rather than his politicking, that he deserves to be remembered. He sat in Parliament as M.P. for Portsmouth in 1783-4 and again from 1790-1806. Between 1806 and 1807, after he was raised to a peerage, Erskine served as Lord Chancellor in Baron Grenville’s ‘Ministry of All the Talents’. That was a ‘government of national unity’ not dissimilar to that which served during the Second World War, but despite its intention to form the strongest possible government of leading politicians from amongst all factions, it had comparatively little success. It failed to bring about peace with France, but it did manage to abolish the slave trade in Britain, which was a good thing.
Thomas Erskine was born in Edinburgh, the youngest son of the 10th Earl of Buchan. Thomas gained an education at the Royal High School of Edinburgh and the Grammar School of St. Andrews, before joining the Navy, in 1764, and serving as a midshipman. Four years later, after service in North America and the West Indies, he returned to the UK to discover that there was little immediate chance of moving on from his rank of acting Lieutenant. As a consequence, he quit the Navy and purchased a commission in with the 1st Royals. However, he fared no better in the Army, but thankfully for all those later charged with libel and treason, it did present Erskine with an opportunity to converse with fellow countryman, Judge William Murray, the 1st Earl of Mansfield, famous as a Scotsman who reformed English Law. That interview resulted in Erskine resolving to quit the army and study law, and his admission as a student of Lincolns Inn, in 1775. On the 13th of January, 1776, Erskine entered himself as a ‘gentleman commoner’ on the books of Trinity College, Cambridge, in order to expedite his call to the bar by two years, merely on account of graduating. Thus, he was called to the bar on the 3rd of July, 1778.
In 1783, Erskine received a patent of precedence, which was a grant to an individual, by letters patent, of a higher social or professional position than the precedence to which his ordinary rank entitles him. In the context of Erskine’s legal profession, that was significant as formerly, the rank of King’s Counsel not only precluded a Barrister from appearing against the Crown, but if he was a Member of Parliament, it meant that he had to give up his seat. The patent granted to Erskine as distinguished counsel, conferred upon him a rank similar to that of King’s Counsel, but without the penalty or preclusion. In 1802, Thomas Erskine was made Chancellor of the Duchy of Cornwall and, in 1806, created Baron Erskine of Restormel Castle, Cornwall. Thomas Erksine, 1st Baron Erskine of Restormel, died of pneumonia, caught on his way to Scotland to stay with his brother, the Earl of Buchan, at Almondell, in Linlithgowshire, on the 17th of November, 1823. He was buried in the family burial place at Uphall, in Linlithgow.
Sunday, 9 January 2011
The first ever women’s golf tournament
The first women’s golf tournament was held at Musselburgh in Scotland on the 9th of January, 1811.
According to Robin Williams, golf was invented in Scotland. His version of the story goes something like this, with two guys taking a stroll on the sand dunes of St. Andrews. One says to the other, “I’ve got a great idea for a game, I want to knock a ball into a gopher hole.” “Oh, you mean like pool?” says the other guy. “Pool? Hell no, I don’t want it to be easy; we’re not gonna use a straight stick, man.” “So you mean like croquet?” asks the second guy again. “Croquet! Sod croquet! I’m gonna put the hole hundreds of yards away!” “Oh, you mean like on a bowling green?” persists the questioner. “A bowling green! No way! I’m gonna put shit in the way, like trees and bushes, and high grass so you can lose your ball. Then, right at the end, I’ll put a little flat, green piece, with a wee flag, waving in the breeze to give you hope, but then I’ll put a paddling pool and a sandbox in the way, just to blow your mind!” “And you’ll do this one time?” suggests his incredulous companion. “Hell no, I’m gonna do it eighteen fuckin’ times!”
Of course, golf wasn’t invented by Scots, not really, albeit the modern game originated in Scotland, where it was known as ‘gowf’ or ‘gouf’. There are lots or nations or peoples who could claim to have laid down the origins of the game of golf. The Persians played ‘chaugán’ and the Romans, for example, played ‘paganica’ with a bent stick and a stuffed leather ball. The game spread with the Roman Empire, getting as far as Scotland by the time of the Battle of Mons Graupius. According to a Ming Dynasty scroll from 1368, the Chinese appear to have played ‘chuiwan’ with a club and the aim of sinking a small ball into a hole. And in 1297, the Middle Dutch speaking descendents of the Frisians and Saxons, in what had become the Duchy of Utrecht – a Prince-Bishopric of the Holy Roman Empire – were recorded as having played ‘kolven’ (‘colf’ or ‘kolf’) with curved bats and a ball. According to Steven van Hengel’s book, ‘Early Golf’, the people of Loenen aan de Vecht played ‘kolf’ by trying to hit the door of Kronenburg Castle in as few strikes as possible, starting from the Court House.
Golf has been played in Scotland since at least the 15th Century; most certainly some time before its first written record, which was its prohibition in an Act of Parliament in 1457. As the Act of James II stated, “ye fut bawe and ye golf be utterly cryt done and not usyt” (sic), golf must’ve become very popular in prior years, if not for decades previously. James II saw golf – and football – becoming far too popular and he was concerned that folks were playing games instead of practicing archery, which he considered far more useful. James’ successors and namesakes, James III and James IV, also tried to ban golf, but later on, the latter was converted to the game. And, in 1603, James VI reputedly played golf at Musselburgh, prior to journeying south to become James I of England.
Musselburgh has another Royal connection to golf as Mary I, Queen of Scots, is said to have played on the Old Course of Musselburgh Links in 1567, prior her surrender to the Confederate Lords. Mary Stuart was a keen royal golfer and the first woman known to have been recorded as having played golf. The claim made on Mary’s behalf is derived from the record of a charge made by the Earl of Moray in ‘Articles’ in 1568, in which he accused Mary of having played golf at Seton House just a few days after the murder of her husband, Lord Darnley; a dastardly deed in which she was implicated. There is also a story that Mary I once lost a golf match to one of her ‘three Marys’, Mary Seton of Seton House, and that as a reward, she gave her Lady in Waiting a necklace. Interestingly, if height has any advantage in golf, both Mary’s had such benefit, with the Queen herself being over six feet tall. Mary Stuart is also credited with coining the term ‘caddy’, having brought the French tradition of an entourage of on-course assistants to Scotland and calling them ‘cadets’, after the French fashion.
Notwithstanding the claims of Mary I, the Old Course of Musselburgh Links is officially recognised by Guinness World Records as the oldest golf course in the world – dated 1672. The ‘official world record’ appears as: “The Musselburgh Links, The Old Golf Course in Musselburgh, Scotland, UK, is the oldest golf course in the world. Documentary evidence proves that golf was played on Musselburgh Links as early as 2 March 1672 although Mary, Queen of Scots reputedly played here in 1567.” The documentation is key as Mary surely played on Musselburgh in the 16th Century (why on earth would she and Mary Seton restricted themselves to the grounds of Seton House?), but there is no documentary record to prove it. The documentary evidence for 1672 comes from the account book of an Edinburgh lawyer, Sir John Foulis of Ravelston. Sir John, who also kept copious records of his golf on Leith Links, played golf at Musselburgh in 1672. He lost in a match with his friends as his notebook records for the 2nd of March, 1672: “Lost at Golfe at Musselboorgh wt. Gosfoord, Lyon etc. £3.5/-, For three Golfe balls 15/-, For a horse thyre thither, 18/- (sic).” There is a reference to Ravelston’s game in ‘The Golf Book of East Lothian’, compiled by John Kerr, the Minister of Direlton, and published in 1896.
Obviously Ravelston and his mates weren’t the first to play golf at Musselburgh, but apart from the story of Mary I, there is no evidence to point to exactly when the course was first played. In those days, golf wasn’t played with established greens, but holes and cut areas for putting would be organised at irregular intervals. Both greens and tees for commencing play were one entity and not separated as they are today. The old links course at Musselburgh was originally seven holes, with an eighth added in 1832 and a ninth, called the ‘Sea Hole’ and now played as the fifth, in 1870.
In 1791, it is recorded that fishwives from Musselburgh played golf on the links, and records show that during the 18th Century a women’s golf competition was held annually on New Years Day amongst the fisherwives of Musselburgh and Fisherrow. However, the earliest known reference recording a competition for women golfers dates from the 9th of January, 1811. The world’s first ever tournament for women was held over eighteen holes on a pitch ‘n’ put course at Musselburgh and the prize for the winner was a creel and a skull (a small fishing basket). The runners up prizes were ‘two fine, blue silk handkerchiefs from Barcelona’, all of which no doubt ensured a bumper entry from the hard working women who were ‘Ladies’ for a day, in competing for the ‘Creel Trophy’.
According to Robin Williams, golf was invented in Scotland. His version of the story goes something like this, with two guys taking a stroll on the sand dunes of St. Andrews. One says to the other, “I’ve got a great idea for a game, I want to knock a ball into a gopher hole.” “Oh, you mean like pool?” says the other guy. “Pool? Hell no, I don’t want it to be easy; we’re not gonna use a straight stick, man.” “So you mean like croquet?” asks the second guy again. “Croquet! Sod croquet! I’m gonna put the hole hundreds of yards away!” “Oh, you mean like on a bowling green?” persists the questioner. “A bowling green! No way! I’m gonna put shit in the way, like trees and bushes, and high grass so you can lose your ball. Then, right at the end, I’ll put a little flat, green piece, with a wee flag, waving in the breeze to give you hope, but then I’ll put a paddling pool and a sandbox in the way, just to blow your mind!” “And you’ll do this one time?” suggests his incredulous companion. “Hell no, I’m gonna do it eighteen fuckin’ times!”
Of course, golf wasn’t invented by Scots, not really, albeit the modern game originated in Scotland, where it was known as ‘gowf’ or ‘gouf’. There are lots or nations or peoples who could claim to have laid down the origins of the game of golf. The Persians played ‘chaugán’ and the Romans, for example, played ‘paganica’ with a bent stick and a stuffed leather ball. The game spread with the Roman Empire, getting as far as Scotland by the time of the Battle of Mons Graupius. According to a Ming Dynasty scroll from 1368, the Chinese appear to have played ‘chuiwan’ with a club and the aim of sinking a small ball into a hole. And in 1297, the Middle Dutch speaking descendents of the Frisians and Saxons, in what had become the Duchy of Utrecht – a Prince-Bishopric of the Holy Roman Empire – were recorded as having played ‘kolven’ (‘colf’ or ‘kolf’) with curved bats and a ball. According to Steven van Hengel’s book, ‘Early Golf’, the people of Loenen aan de Vecht played ‘kolf’ by trying to hit the door of Kronenburg Castle in as few strikes as possible, starting from the Court House.
Golf has been played in Scotland since at least the 15th Century; most certainly some time before its first written record, which was its prohibition in an Act of Parliament in 1457. As the Act of James II stated, “ye fut bawe and ye golf be utterly cryt done and not usyt” (sic), golf must’ve become very popular in prior years, if not for decades previously. James II saw golf – and football – becoming far too popular and he was concerned that folks were playing games instead of practicing archery, which he considered far more useful. James’ successors and namesakes, James III and James IV, also tried to ban golf, but later on, the latter was converted to the game. And, in 1603, James VI reputedly played golf at Musselburgh, prior to journeying south to become James I of England.
Musselburgh has another Royal connection to golf as Mary I, Queen of Scots, is said to have played on the Old Course of Musselburgh Links in 1567, prior her surrender to the Confederate Lords. Mary Stuart was a keen royal golfer and the first woman known to have been recorded as having played golf. The claim made on Mary’s behalf is derived from the record of a charge made by the Earl of Moray in ‘Articles’ in 1568, in which he accused Mary of having played golf at Seton House just a few days after the murder of her husband, Lord Darnley; a dastardly deed in which she was implicated. There is also a story that Mary I once lost a golf match to one of her ‘three Marys’, Mary Seton of Seton House, and that as a reward, she gave her Lady in Waiting a necklace. Interestingly, if height has any advantage in golf, both Mary’s had such benefit, with the Queen herself being over six feet tall. Mary Stuart is also credited with coining the term ‘caddy’, having brought the French tradition of an entourage of on-course assistants to Scotland and calling them ‘cadets’, after the French fashion.
Notwithstanding the claims of Mary I, the Old Course of Musselburgh Links is officially recognised by Guinness World Records as the oldest golf course in the world – dated 1672. The ‘official world record’ appears as: “The Musselburgh Links, The Old Golf Course in Musselburgh, Scotland, UK, is the oldest golf course in the world. Documentary evidence proves that golf was played on Musselburgh Links as early as 2 March 1672 although Mary, Queen of Scots reputedly played here in 1567.” The documentation is key as Mary surely played on Musselburgh in the 16th Century (why on earth would she and Mary Seton restricted themselves to the grounds of Seton House?), but there is no documentary record to prove it. The documentary evidence for 1672 comes from the account book of an Edinburgh lawyer, Sir John Foulis of Ravelston. Sir John, who also kept copious records of his golf on Leith Links, played golf at Musselburgh in 1672. He lost in a match with his friends as his notebook records for the 2nd of March, 1672: “Lost at Golfe at Musselboorgh wt. Gosfoord, Lyon etc. £3.5/-, For three Golfe balls 15/-, For a horse thyre thither, 18/- (sic).” There is a reference to Ravelston’s game in ‘The Golf Book of East Lothian’, compiled by John Kerr, the Minister of Direlton, and published in 1896.
Obviously Ravelston and his mates weren’t the first to play golf at Musselburgh, but apart from the story of Mary I, there is no evidence to point to exactly when the course was first played. In those days, golf wasn’t played with established greens, but holes and cut areas for putting would be organised at irregular intervals. Both greens and tees for commencing play were one entity and not separated as they are today. The old links course at Musselburgh was originally seven holes, with an eighth added in 1832 and a ninth, called the ‘Sea Hole’ and now played as the fifth, in 1870.
In 1791, it is recorded that fishwives from Musselburgh played golf on the links, and records show that during the 18th Century a women’s golf competition was held annually on New Years Day amongst the fisherwives of Musselburgh and Fisherrow. However, the earliest known reference recording a competition for women golfers dates from the 9th of January, 1811. The world’s first ever tournament for women was held over eighteen holes on a pitch ‘n’ put course at Musselburgh and the prize for the winner was a creel and a skull (a small fishing basket). The runners up prizes were ‘two fine, blue silk handkerchiefs from Barcelona’, all of which no doubt ensured a bumper entry from the hard working women who were ‘Ladies’ for a day, in competing for the ‘Creel Trophy’.
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