John Claudius Loudon, botanist, city and landscape planner, garden and cemetery designer, author and garden magazine editor, was born on the 8th of April, 1783.
That the ‘father of the English garden’ was born in Scotland shouldn’t be too surprising. The Scots have always been an example to the English. Why else, over the centuries, would they have coveted the land and its rule? John Claudius Loudon was the Scottish born pioneer of horticulture and gardening, without whom the modern garden may not ever have materialised. If not for Loudon, we probably wouldn’t have had the pleasure of watching Charlie Dimmock on our TV screens or the decidedly dissimilar pleasure of gardening with Alan Titchmarsh. Loudon was the Titschmarsh of his day, and his work as a journalist and author of articles and books on the pleasures of growing plants and visiting parks made gardening accessible to people at all levels of society. However, the first horticulturist of his day was more than a ‘C-list’ celebrity.
Loudon was born the son of a farmer, in Cambuslang, and allowed his budding talent for gardening to grow, making flower beds in a wee garden patch his father had given him. With that beginning, his desire to be a landscape gardener was cultivated and, from the age of fifteen, he was employed as a draughtsman and assistant to a landscape gardener. He also studied chemistry, botany and agriculture, for four years, at the University of Edinburgh. Later, he established one of the earliest agricultural colleges, at Great Tew Park, in Oxfordshire, which he ran until 1811. In that endeavour, one biography described Loudon as the “Triptolemus of England” – Triptolemus being the character from Greek mythology who taught the Greeks how to plant and reap crops.
In 1803, Loudon headed down to London to introduce “more of the picturesque” into the English landscape. He promptly established his own landscape gardening practice and it was also at this time that he started to write. His first book, published in 1804, was the heftily titled, ‘Observations on the Formation and Management of Useful and Ornamental Plantations, on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening and on Gaining and Embanking Land from Rivers or the Sea’. Not for him the short sharp title, almost getting the entire introduction on the dust jacket. Later on, in 1822, Loudon published his great work, ‘Encyclopaedia of Gardening’, which was so popular, due to its all encompassing comprehensive nature that it went through nine editions. Then, in 1826, Loudon founded his successful periodical, ‘The Gardener’s Magazine’. Initially published quarterly, it continued for nineteen years, by which time it had become a monthly journal.
Loudon was the first major advocate of the provision of public parks for 19th Century England. Amongst his works devoted to the parks cause was an extremely far sighted design for a ‘green belt’ proposal for London, which he introduced in an article called ‘Breathing Places for the Metropolis’, written in 1829. Throughout most of his career he conducted a crusade for more public open spaces, chiefly through his prolific output of articles, books, and magazines. To complement his gardening talents, Loudon was also responsible for introducing improvements in the design of greenhouses and invented solar heating systems. In addition, he also developed plans for better housing for industrial workers.
In 1831, Loudon undertook the planning of the Birmingham Botanical Garden. Here, Loudon’s views on what he termed the ‘gardenesque’ style of planting began to take shape. The inclusion of correctly labelled exotic trees and shrubs was known as the ‘Principle of Recognition’. He undertook various landscape design and construction projects, all of which were in stark contrast to the relative uniformity of style of the so called ‘natural’ landscapes designed by Lancelot Brown and others. Loudon was particularly scathing of Brown and once wrote, “Wherever his levelling hand has appeared, adieu to every natural beauty! See everything give way to one uniform system of smoothing, levelling and clumping of the most tiresome monotony.” So much for the capabilities of Brown.
When he gave up the farm at Great Tew Park, the money he had made enabled Loudon to travel to Europe, where he visited Sweden, Russia and Germany, amongst other countries. Unfortunately, by the time he returned after a year, in 1814, Loudon’s fortune had been lost through risky speculation. So he went back to square one and revived his interests in landscape gardening and writing. That return triggered arguably his greatest work – ‘Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum’ – in which he published, in 1838, an illustrated account of all the trees, wild or cultivated, that grow in Great Britain. Sadly, however, that production wasn’t as successful as it deserved to be. Loudon had financed the publication at his own risk and was in debt to the printer, stationer and wood-engraver to the tune of £10,000.
Loudon tried to ensure that everyone had the chance to enjoy plants and a pleasant environment. Today, there are only a few of his gardens that have survived in their original form. Nevertheless, his significant contribution was that he truly took gardening to the masses and helped encourage the diversity of plant material within gardens that continues today. His influence lives on in many large parks and gardens as it does in the gardens of suburban villas throughout the land.
Throughout his life, poor Loudon was plagued by illness, which at times he ameliorated by taking opium; not an uncommon practice in those days. As early as 1806, he was afflicted by rheumatic fever, which left him with an anchylosed knee and a contracted left arm. By 1826, he was suffering from arthritis and that year he endured a terrible setback when an arm had to be amputated at the shoulder after a botched operation for a fracture. Undaunted, the indomitable Loudon continued to work and when he could no longer draw or write, he resorted to hiring draughtsmen and amanuensis to prepare his more complex plans. Determined to the very last, Loudon began his final project, the municipal cemetery at Southampton, despite suffering from the advanced stages of lung cancer. After a round trip to Bath and Oxford, late in 1843, he returned to London, where his doctor confirmed his imminent demise. John Claudius Loudon died of lung cancer, on the 14th of December, 1843. Loudon was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery.
Friday, 8 April 2011
Thursday, 7 April 2011
James 'Jim' Clark
James ‘Jim’ Clark, Formula One racing driver, died in an accident at the Hockenheimring circuit, in Germany, on the 7th of April, 1968.
Jim Clark may have been the most naturally talented driver to have graced Formula One. When the sport he loved took Clark's life, the racing world mourned the loss of one of its best loved champions. Nearly invincible in a racing car, he was always an unassuming and reluctant hero. Clark was a driving genius and few champions were as dominant. Fewer still are remembered so fondly.
His early introduction to driving was not unusual in Scotland, or any other farming community, come to that. It is legal (it certainly was at any rate), for those under the age of seventeen, to be allowed to drive farm tractors on private farm land and Jim was no exception. He got his driver's license on his 17th birthday, by which time he was working full time on his father’s farm.
His introduction to professional racing came about after Lotus founder Colin Chapman saw him race at Brands Hatch, with his first races for Team Lotus taking place in 1960. His first two seasons introduced him to the carnage of Formula One with the deaths of both team mates and adversaries, which nearly put him off the sport forever. However, he was persuaded to stay on by Chapman, whose brilliance as a designer was to be equalled by the genius of his star driver.
Clark won the World Championship for Chapman’s Lotus, in 1963, when he stormed to victory in seven of the championship races, and again, in 1965, when he won six of the 10 races. His dominance was only interrupted by mechanical problems, being twice deprived of the title, in 1962 and 1964, by oil leaks. He nearly left Lotus after a less than competitive 1966 season, however the Clark and Chapman partnership returned to form in 1967, albeit Clark didn’t win the title that year.
A victory in the first Grand Prix in the year of his tragic accident, 1968, brought Clark’s total of victories to 25, eclipsing the legendary Juan Manuel Fangio’s record. By then he had achieved thirty-three Grand Prix pole positions, from a total of seventy-two races, more than any other driver. He also competed in the Indianapolis 500 a total of five times, winning it once, and becoming the first Briton to do so, in 1965.
His total of career wins has since been surpassed by only five drivers (Jackie Stewart, Nigel Mansell, Alain Prost, Michael Schumacher and Aryton Senna), all of whom benefited from a much longer season (quite apart from the fact that Clark invariably didn’t race Formula One in May, preferring instead, to go to Indianapolis). Statistically, Clark remains one of the all time best, more than forty years after his death. Perhaps the single fact that illustrates Clark’s dominance is that only once did he finish second; in other words, if he made it to the flag, he invariably made it before anybody else.
Jim Clark was thirty-two when he was killed at the wheel of his Lotus-Cosworth, during a Formula Two race at Hockenheim. His car left the track at 170mph, somersaulted through the air and collided with a tree on a remote part of the German track. He sustained a broken neck and a fractured skull, and was dead before he reached hospital.
The cause of the accident has never been satisfactorily explained, although experts have suggested it could have been a fault in the steering mechanism or rear axle suspension. The only witness to the accident was a track marshal who said, “I was horror struck. Everything happened so fast. The car skidded off to the left and seemed to dive through the fence only 10 yards from me. It went skidding and somersaulting across the grass and hit a tree with a tremendous thump. The car seemed to be in a thousand pieces.”
Fellow Scot, Jackie Stewart, said at the time, “Jimmy's death is probably the most tragic thing in my experience of motor racing – probably in the history of motor-racing. Jimmy was not only a famous driver, he was an international personality, loved by all his fiercest rivals.”
James Clark was born in Kilmany, in Fife, in March, 1936, and brought up on the family farm in the Berwickshire hills, near the border with England. His roots were a world away from international motorsport, a subject he first read about in books and magazines when he went to a private school, in Edinburgh, at the age of thirteen. This heritage played an important role throughout his life as on his gravestone, according to his wish, he is commemorated first as a farmer, then as a racing driver.
James Clark was buried in the village of Chirnside, in Berwickshire, and a life size statue of him in racing overalls stands in memoriam in the village of his birth. He was made an OBE, for his services to motor racing, in 1964.
Jim Clark may have been the most naturally talented driver to have graced Formula One. When the sport he loved took Clark's life, the racing world mourned the loss of one of its best loved champions. Nearly invincible in a racing car, he was always an unassuming and reluctant hero. Clark was a driving genius and few champions were as dominant. Fewer still are remembered so fondly.
His early introduction to driving was not unusual in Scotland, or any other farming community, come to that. It is legal (it certainly was at any rate), for those under the age of seventeen, to be allowed to drive farm tractors on private farm land and Jim was no exception. He got his driver's license on his 17th birthday, by which time he was working full time on his father’s farm.
His introduction to professional racing came about after Lotus founder Colin Chapman saw him race at Brands Hatch, with his first races for Team Lotus taking place in 1960. His first two seasons introduced him to the carnage of Formula One with the deaths of both team mates and adversaries, which nearly put him off the sport forever. However, he was persuaded to stay on by Chapman, whose brilliance as a designer was to be equalled by the genius of his star driver.
Clark won the World Championship for Chapman’s Lotus, in 1963, when he stormed to victory in seven of the championship races, and again, in 1965, when he won six of the 10 races. His dominance was only interrupted by mechanical problems, being twice deprived of the title, in 1962 and 1964, by oil leaks. He nearly left Lotus after a less than competitive 1966 season, however the Clark and Chapman partnership returned to form in 1967, albeit Clark didn’t win the title that year.
A victory in the first Grand Prix in the year of his tragic accident, 1968, brought Clark’s total of victories to 25, eclipsing the legendary Juan Manuel Fangio’s record. By then he had achieved thirty-three Grand Prix pole positions, from a total of seventy-two races, more than any other driver. He also competed in the Indianapolis 500 a total of five times, winning it once, and becoming the first Briton to do so, in 1965.
His total of career wins has since been surpassed by only five drivers (Jackie Stewart, Nigel Mansell, Alain Prost, Michael Schumacher and Aryton Senna), all of whom benefited from a much longer season (quite apart from the fact that Clark invariably didn’t race Formula One in May, preferring instead, to go to Indianapolis). Statistically, Clark remains one of the all time best, more than forty years after his death. Perhaps the single fact that illustrates Clark’s dominance is that only once did he finish second; in other words, if he made it to the flag, he invariably made it before anybody else.
Jim Clark was thirty-two when he was killed at the wheel of his Lotus-Cosworth, during a Formula Two race at Hockenheim. His car left the track at 170mph, somersaulted through the air and collided with a tree on a remote part of the German track. He sustained a broken neck and a fractured skull, and was dead before he reached hospital.
The cause of the accident has never been satisfactorily explained, although experts have suggested it could have been a fault in the steering mechanism or rear axle suspension. The only witness to the accident was a track marshal who said, “I was horror struck. Everything happened so fast. The car skidded off to the left and seemed to dive through the fence only 10 yards from me. It went skidding and somersaulting across the grass and hit a tree with a tremendous thump. The car seemed to be in a thousand pieces.”
Fellow Scot, Jackie Stewart, said at the time, “Jimmy's death is probably the most tragic thing in my experience of motor racing – probably in the history of motor-racing. Jimmy was not only a famous driver, he was an international personality, loved by all his fiercest rivals.”
James Clark was born in Kilmany, in Fife, in March, 1936, and brought up on the family farm in the Berwickshire hills, near the border with England. His roots were a world away from international motorsport, a subject he first read about in books and magazines when he went to a private school, in Edinburgh, at the age of thirteen. This heritage played an important role throughout his life as on his gravestone, according to his wish, he is commemorated first as a farmer, then as a racing driver.
James Clark was buried in the village of Chirnside, in Berwickshire, and a life size statue of him in racing overalls stands in memoriam in the village of his birth. He was made an OBE, for his services to motor racing, in 1964.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
The Declaration of Arbroath
The ‘The Declaration of Arbroath’ was sealed by Robert the Bruce and the Earls and Barons of Scotland on the 6th of April, 1320.
After defeating Edward II at the Battle of Bannockburn, the people in Scotland might have hoped for some peace and quiet. They surely deserved it. Robert the Bruce, on the other hand, believed the best form of defence was offence, and he made sure the English were kept under pressure. He made frequent raids and invasions, down into the heart of England as far as Yorkshire, on occasion. Along with his brother, he also invaded Ireland, albeit Edward Bruce commanded most of that campaign. In such manner, under the leadership of the Bruces, Thomas Randolph and James Douglas, the First Scottish War of Independence continued. In fact, it continued up until the time of Bruce’s death, when the Second Scottish War of Independence began. Nope, there wasn’t much peace and quiet in those days. The only respite folks got was when they were laid to rest, if they were lucky enough to have that privilege.
Apart from the fighting, much like happens today, there was also a propaganda war. However, things moved a bit more slowly in the 14th Century as there was no Internet and letters often took weeks, if not months, to deliver. From 1308, when Bruce was crowned in Scone, several letters were written to the Pope. One very important letter is commonly referred to as ‘The Declaration of Arbroath’, however, it is more accurate to refer to that famous document as a ‘Letter from the Barons of Scotland to Pope John XXII’. The letter was written in Latin, the language of the European Church, and is dated the 6th of April, 1320. It was most probably inscribed by skilled clerics in the scriptorium of the Abbey of Arbroath as with many official documents, but without a doubt, under the direction of the Abbot of Arbroath. That tonsured cleric, Bernard de Linton, was also the Chancellor of Scotland and the head of the Bruce’s administration.
The Scots were at a disadvantage in relation to the influential power of the Pope, who was more interested in Edward II supporting yet another Crusade to the Holy Land. Any sign of concession or compliance from the English and the Pope was likely to side with them; never mind the rights and wrongs of any dispute. The notion of Papal infallibility had its advantages – for the Pope, that is. And that notion helped folks to conveniently ignore the fact that the Papacy’s spiritual integrity was already compromised at the time, due to the seat of the Pope having been moved from Rome to Avignon. A further complication arose because Pope John XXII had already excommunicated Robert the Bruce, in 1308. That followed, not unreasonably, Bruce’s murder of The Red Comyn, a rival to the throne, on the altar steps of a Franciscan priory in Dumfries, in 1306. In addition, prompted by the English King, the Pope had also excommunicated all the people of Scotland. “This of excommunication,” as Nigel Tranter might have written, was taken very seriously in 1320 – it was a bad thing for 14th Century Scotland and its people.
The Scottish Barons’ letter had several motives or objectives. It was intended to abate papal hostility i.e., get the Pope off their backs. It tried to explain and justify why they were still fighting England, when all Christian Princes were supposed to be united in crusade against the Muslims. A primary goal was to persuade the Pope to lift the sentence of excommunication, not only on the Bruce, but on the population as a whole. It also sought to have the Pope pronounce that Scotland was a nation in its own right, wholly independent from England. It demanded that everyone recognise the Scots as an independent and united people. And finally, its other primary purpose was to have the world universally accept that Robert the Bruce was rightfully King of the Scots. The letter was sealed by eight Earls and thirty-eight of the Barons of Scotland. Intriguingly, it sets out a long, contrived history of Scotland as an independent state and cleverly tries to persuade the Pope of the legitimacy of the ancient nation’s case.
The ‘united’ part was a bit of a stretch, considering the divisions and squabbling for the right to the throne at the time of the Interregnum and the intervention of Edward I. Nevertheless, the Declaration was ahead of its time as it sets out that the King (previously regarded [by Normans anyway] as appointed by God) could be driven out if he did not uphold the freedom of the country. In addition, the Scots clergy had produced, not only one of the most eloquent expressions of nationhood, but a prototype of contractual kingship in Europe. It later became a model for the American Declaration of Independence, probably because of its famous passage about fighting for ‘liberty alone’.
A favourite passage is the ingenious section that sets out Scotland’s ancient origins and heritage. It includes: “…we know …the Scots …journeyed from Greater Scythia by way of the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Pillars of Hercules, and dwelt for a long course of time in Spain …Thence they came, twelve hundred years after the coming of the Israelites out of Egypt, to their home in the west ...having expelled the Britons and entirely rooted out the Picts, …(repulsed) frequent assaults and invasions …from the Norwegians, Danes, and English …free from all manner of servitude and subjection ...governed by an uninterrupted succession of 113 kings, all of our own native and royal stock, without the intervening of any stranger.” Top that! Of course, there’s a lot you could easily challenge there, particularly, the seeming denial of Bruce’s Norman descent, but it is of its time and shouldn’t be given a 21st Century interpretation.
The Barons’ letter was carried to the papal court at Avignon in France by Sir Adam Gordon. Now known as the Declaration of Arbroath, the letter is undoubtedly a national treasure – arguably Scotland’s most famous historical record – and is cared for by the National Archives of Scotland (NAS) in Edinburgh. A contemporary copy is held in Register House, Edinburgh. As an explanation, it failed to convince Pope John XXII to immediately lift his sentence of excommunication on Scotland. However, the Pope did so eventually and, in May of 1328, King Edward III signed the Treaty of Edinburgh (aka the Treaty of Northampton), which finally recognised Scotland as an independent kingdom, and the Bruce as its King.
After defeating Edward II at the Battle of Bannockburn, the people in Scotland might have hoped for some peace and quiet. They surely deserved it. Robert the Bruce, on the other hand, believed the best form of defence was offence, and he made sure the English were kept under pressure. He made frequent raids and invasions, down into the heart of England as far as Yorkshire, on occasion. Along with his brother, he also invaded Ireland, albeit Edward Bruce commanded most of that campaign. In such manner, under the leadership of the Bruces, Thomas Randolph and James Douglas, the First Scottish War of Independence continued. In fact, it continued up until the time of Bruce’s death, when the Second Scottish War of Independence began. Nope, there wasn’t much peace and quiet in those days. The only respite folks got was when they were laid to rest, if they were lucky enough to have that privilege.
Apart from the fighting, much like happens today, there was also a propaganda war. However, things moved a bit more slowly in the 14th Century as there was no Internet and letters often took weeks, if not months, to deliver. From 1308, when Bruce was crowned in Scone, several letters were written to the Pope. One very important letter is commonly referred to as ‘The Declaration of Arbroath’, however, it is more accurate to refer to that famous document as a ‘Letter from the Barons of Scotland to Pope John XXII’. The letter was written in Latin, the language of the European Church, and is dated the 6th of April, 1320. It was most probably inscribed by skilled clerics in the scriptorium of the Abbey of Arbroath as with many official documents, but without a doubt, under the direction of the Abbot of Arbroath. That tonsured cleric, Bernard de Linton, was also the Chancellor of Scotland and the head of the Bruce’s administration.
The Scots were at a disadvantage in relation to the influential power of the Pope, who was more interested in Edward II supporting yet another Crusade to the Holy Land. Any sign of concession or compliance from the English and the Pope was likely to side with them; never mind the rights and wrongs of any dispute. The notion of Papal infallibility had its advantages – for the Pope, that is. And that notion helped folks to conveniently ignore the fact that the Papacy’s spiritual integrity was already compromised at the time, due to the seat of the Pope having been moved from Rome to Avignon. A further complication arose because Pope John XXII had already excommunicated Robert the Bruce, in 1308. That followed, not unreasonably, Bruce’s murder of The Red Comyn, a rival to the throne, on the altar steps of a Franciscan priory in Dumfries, in 1306. In addition, prompted by the English King, the Pope had also excommunicated all the people of Scotland. “This of excommunication,” as Nigel Tranter might have written, was taken very seriously in 1320 – it was a bad thing for 14th Century Scotland and its people.
The Scottish Barons’ letter had several motives or objectives. It was intended to abate papal hostility i.e., get the Pope off their backs. It tried to explain and justify why they were still fighting England, when all Christian Princes were supposed to be united in crusade against the Muslims. A primary goal was to persuade the Pope to lift the sentence of excommunication, not only on the Bruce, but on the population as a whole. It also sought to have the Pope pronounce that Scotland was a nation in its own right, wholly independent from England. It demanded that everyone recognise the Scots as an independent and united people. And finally, its other primary purpose was to have the world universally accept that Robert the Bruce was rightfully King of the Scots. The letter was sealed by eight Earls and thirty-eight of the Barons of Scotland. Intriguingly, it sets out a long, contrived history of Scotland as an independent state and cleverly tries to persuade the Pope of the legitimacy of the ancient nation’s case.
The ‘united’ part was a bit of a stretch, considering the divisions and squabbling for the right to the throne at the time of the Interregnum and the intervention of Edward I. Nevertheless, the Declaration was ahead of its time as it sets out that the King (previously regarded [by Normans anyway] as appointed by God) could be driven out if he did not uphold the freedom of the country. In addition, the Scots clergy had produced, not only one of the most eloquent expressions of nationhood, but a prototype of contractual kingship in Europe. It later became a model for the American Declaration of Independence, probably because of its famous passage about fighting for ‘liberty alone’.
A favourite passage is the ingenious section that sets out Scotland’s ancient origins and heritage. It includes: “…we know …the Scots …journeyed from Greater Scythia by way of the Tyrrhenian Sea and the Pillars of Hercules, and dwelt for a long course of time in Spain …Thence they came, twelve hundred years after the coming of the Israelites out of Egypt, to their home in the west ...having expelled the Britons and entirely rooted out the Picts, …(repulsed) frequent assaults and invasions …from the Norwegians, Danes, and English …free from all manner of servitude and subjection ...governed by an uninterrupted succession of 113 kings, all of our own native and royal stock, without the intervening of any stranger.” Top that! Of course, there’s a lot you could easily challenge there, particularly, the seeming denial of Bruce’s Norman descent, but it is of its time and shouldn’t be given a 21st Century interpretation.
The Barons’ letter was carried to the papal court at Avignon in France by Sir Adam Gordon. Now known as the Declaration of Arbroath, the letter is undoubtedly a national treasure – arguably Scotland’s most famous historical record – and is cared for by the National Archives of Scotland (NAS) in Edinburgh. A contemporary copy is held in Register House, Edinburgh. As an explanation, it failed to convince Pope John XXII to immediately lift his sentence of excommunication on Scotland. However, the Pope did so eventually and, in May of 1328, King Edward III signed the Treaty of Edinburgh (aka the Treaty of Northampton), which finally recognised Scotland as an independent kingdom, and the Bruce as its King.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
The Battle of Bonnymuir
The Battle of Bonnymuir took place on the 5th of April, 1820,
The oft forgotten Battle of Bonnymuir took place in Scotland during the ‘Radical War’ of the early 19th Century. It wasn’t much of a battle as battles go and in terms of an engagement, deserves no more than to be called a skirmish. Nevertheless, it should not lie forgotten in the annals of Scottish history. Despite the numbers on each side, it was a one-sided affair from the start. A professional and properly armed, symmetric government force, made up of sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers, easily routed a band of twenty-five, poorly armed, striking weavers. The leaders were captured, tried and sentenced, with the outcome being a judicial murder and the martyrdom of John Baird and Andrew Hardie, two men who came to be known as the ‘Radical Martyrs’.
In the early 19th Century as a war fuelled recession deepened, revolutionary discontent increased amongst the working classes. In fact, the underlying ideals and economic circumstances, which helped to create the French and American revolutions, were not vastly different from the situation in Scotland at that time. The workers were suppressed and despised by the ruling classes and their pay and conditions deteriorated drastically. Between 1800 and 1808, the earnings of weavers were halved and this trend continued up to 1820. In 1816, weavers in Kilsyth were working for just over £1 per week and, by 1820, their weekly income was down to between eleven and twelve shillings. This widespread discontent came to a head with a two month long strike in 1812.
Also, as a legacy of the government persecution of Scottish reformers, agitators and martyrs, such as Muir, Mealmaker, and Palmer, in the 1790’s, dissidence was stimulated and the United Scotsmen movement was formed. That underground organisation campaigned for universal male suffrage, vote by secret ballot, payment of MPs and annual general elections – things we take for granted today (except we’re not so happy about MPs pay and expenses these days). There was a lot of unrest at the time and prior to the Scottish ‘stushie’, there had also been problems in England. A precedent for Bonnymuir had taken place at ‘Peterloo’, actually St Peter’s Fields, in Manchester, in the August of 1819, when a radical reform meeting was attacked and dispersed by military force. That event provoked widespread protest and rioting. In one incident, in Paisley, the cavalry was called in to reintroduce order and there were other mass meetings in Scotland, with many weavers from Kilsyth being involved in forms of agitation.
Events neared a climax, when, on Sunday, the 2nd of April, 1820, a Proclamation was issued calling for a general strike. Most of central Scotland, especially in the weaving communities, came out the following week. The proclamation began, “Friends and Countrymen! Rouse from that state in which we have sunk for so many years, we are at length compelled from the extremity of our sufferings, and the contempt heaped upon our petitions for redress, to assert our rights at the hazard of our lives.” And, it called for a rising, “To show the world that we are not that lawless, sanguinary rabble which our oppressors would persuade the higher circles we are, but a brave and generous people determined to be free.”
Taking a lesson from Manchester and Paisley, one party of strikers decided that attack was the best form of defence. With the purpose of increasing their puny arsenal of weapons, a collection of about twenty-five weavers from Glasgow, led by Andrew Hardie and John Baird, marched on the Carron Iron Works to capture the munitions there. Tragically for that group, its movements didn’t go unnoticed. The secrecy of societies like the United Scotsmen had caused the government major concern and its spies and informers were ever active. Those clandestine infiltrators, who were the real traitors in the whole sorry business, were the reason why the march on Carron was anticipated.
Having received the intelligence of the undercover government agents, the Army was given its own marching orders. Lietutenant Ellis Hodgson, of the 11th Hussars, quartered in Perth, set off for Kilsyth, via Stirling, in order to protect Carron. By breakfast on the morning of the battle, Baird, Hardie and their followers had reached Castlecary Inn. That same morning, Lt. Hodgson left Kilsyth with his even numbered force of sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers, intent on encountering the weavers. At Bonnybridge, they left the main road and made for Bonnymuir to intercept the rebels. The two forces met and the radicals began firing. After a few volleys on both sides, the cavalry flanked the rebels and the inevitable end was swift, albeit not so bloody. Lt. Hodgson and a sergeant of the 10th Hussars were wounded, with four of the radicals being also injured. A haul of five muskets, two pistols, eighteen pikes and about one hundred rounds of ball cartridges were taken. Thus ended the little remembered Battle of Bonnymuir. Nineteen of the weavers, including the leaders, were taken prisoner and brought to Stirling Castle.
Coincidentally, at some stage in the aftermath of the battle, a number of prisoners from Paisley were being taken separately under escort to jail in Greenock. That escort came under attack from a different group of strikers and the soldiers retaliated by opening fire. The result of that tragic reaction was the killing of eight people, including eight year old James McGilp, and the wounding of a further ten. Later, angry rioters stormed the jail and set those prisoners free. A series of dramatic trials then unfolded as a total of eighty-eight charges of treason were brought against men from across West Central Scotland. Hardie and Baird were condemned, hung and beheaded, and twenty men, including the fifteen year old Alexander Johnstone, were transported to the penal colonies in Australia.
On the day of his execution, Hardie spoke saying, “Yes, my countrymen, in a few minutes our blood shall be shed on this scaffold…, for no other sin but seeking the legitimate rights of our ill used and down trodden beloved countrymen.” At that, the furious Sheriff stepped forward and ordered him to stop, “…such violent and improper language”. Hardie’s last words in riposte were, “What we said to our countrymen, we intended to say no matter whether you granted us liberty or not. So we are now both done.” Hardie and Baird then embraced each other at the last, before a callous murder in the name of justice took place.
Peter Mackenzie, a Glasgow journalist, campaigned to have the weavers pardoned and eventually, in August 1835, an absolute pardon was granted. Today, you can find a monument to John Baird and Andrew Hardie in Sighthill cemetery, in Glasgow’s Springburn district.
The oft forgotten Battle of Bonnymuir took place in Scotland during the ‘Radical War’ of the early 19th Century. It wasn’t much of a battle as battles go and in terms of an engagement, deserves no more than to be called a skirmish. Nevertheless, it should not lie forgotten in the annals of Scottish history. Despite the numbers on each side, it was a one-sided affair from the start. A professional and properly armed, symmetric government force, made up of sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers, easily routed a band of twenty-five, poorly armed, striking weavers. The leaders were captured, tried and sentenced, with the outcome being a judicial murder and the martyrdom of John Baird and Andrew Hardie, two men who came to be known as the ‘Radical Martyrs’.
In the early 19th Century as a war fuelled recession deepened, revolutionary discontent increased amongst the working classes. In fact, the underlying ideals and economic circumstances, which helped to create the French and American revolutions, were not vastly different from the situation in Scotland at that time. The workers were suppressed and despised by the ruling classes and their pay and conditions deteriorated drastically. Between 1800 and 1808, the earnings of weavers were halved and this trend continued up to 1820. In 1816, weavers in Kilsyth were working for just over £1 per week and, by 1820, their weekly income was down to between eleven and twelve shillings. This widespread discontent came to a head with a two month long strike in 1812.
Also, as a legacy of the government persecution of Scottish reformers, agitators and martyrs, such as Muir, Mealmaker, and Palmer, in the 1790’s, dissidence was stimulated and the United Scotsmen movement was formed. That underground organisation campaigned for universal male suffrage, vote by secret ballot, payment of MPs and annual general elections – things we take for granted today (except we’re not so happy about MPs pay and expenses these days). There was a lot of unrest at the time and prior to the Scottish ‘stushie’, there had also been problems in England. A precedent for Bonnymuir had taken place at ‘Peterloo’, actually St Peter’s Fields, in Manchester, in the August of 1819, when a radical reform meeting was attacked and dispersed by military force. That event provoked widespread protest and rioting. In one incident, in Paisley, the cavalry was called in to reintroduce order and there were other mass meetings in Scotland, with many weavers from Kilsyth being involved in forms of agitation.
Events neared a climax, when, on Sunday, the 2nd of April, 1820, a Proclamation was issued calling for a general strike. Most of central Scotland, especially in the weaving communities, came out the following week. The proclamation began, “Friends and Countrymen! Rouse from that state in which we have sunk for so many years, we are at length compelled from the extremity of our sufferings, and the contempt heaped upon our petitions for redress, to assert our rights at the hazard of our lives.” And, it called for a rising, “To show the world that we are not that lawless, sanguinary rabble which our oppressors would persuade the higher circles we are, but a brave and generous people determined to be free.”
Taking a lesson from Manchester and Paisley, one party of strikers decided that attack was the best form of defence. With the purpose of increasing their puny arsenal of weapons, a collection of about twenty-five weavers from Glasgow, led by Andrew Hardie and John Baird, marched on the Carron Iron Works to capture the munitions there. Tragically for that group, its movements didn’t go unnoticed. The secrecy of societies like the United Scotsmen had caused the government major concern and its spies and informers were ever active. Those clandestine infiltrators, who were the real traitors in the whole sorry business, were the reason why the march on Carron was anticipated.
Having received the intelligence of the undercover government agents, the Army was given its own marching orders. Lietutenant Ellis Hodgson, of the 11th Hussars, quartered in Perth, set off for Kilsyth, via Stirling, in order to protect Carron. By breakfast on the morning of the battle, Baird, Hardie and their followers had reached Castlecary Inn. That same morning, Lt. Hodgson left Kilsyth with his even numbered force of sixteen Hussars and sixteen Yeomanry troopers, intent on encountering the weavers. At Bonnybridge, they left the main road and made for Bonnymuir to intercept the rebels. The two forces met and the radicals began firing. After a few volleys on both sides, the cavalry flanked the rebels and the inevitable end was swift, albeit not so bloody. Lt. Hodgson and a sergeant of the 10th Hussars were wounded, with four of the radicals being also injured. A haul of five muskets, two pistols, eighteen pikes and about one hundred rounds of ball cartridges were taken. Thus ended the little remembered Battle of Bonnymuir. Nineteen of the weavers, including the leaders, were taken prisoner and brought to Stirling Castle.
Coincidentally, at some stage in the aftermath of the battle, a number of prisoners from Paisley were being taken separately under escort to jail in Greenock. That escort came under attack from a different group of strikers and the soldiers retaliated by opening fire. The result of that tragic reaction was the killing of eight people, including eight year old James McGilp, and the wounding of a further ten. Later, angry rioters stormed the jail and set those prisoners free. A series of dramatic trials then unfolded as a total of eighty-eight charges of treason were brought against men from across West Central Scotland. Hardie and Baird were condemned, hung and beheaded, and twenty men, including the fifteen year old Alexander Johnstone, were transported to the penal colonies in Australia.
On the day of his execution, Hardie spoke saying, “Yes, my countrymen, in a few minutes our blood shall be shed on this scaffold…, for no other sin but seeking the legitimate rights of our ill used and down trodden beloved countrymen.” At that, the furious Sheriff stepped forward and ordered him to stop, “…such violent and improper language”. Hardie’s last words in riposte were, “What we said to our countrymen, we intended to say no matter whether you granted us liberty or not. So we are now both done.” Hardie and Baird then embraced each other at the last, before a callous murder in the name of justice took place.
Peter Mackenzie, a Glasgow journalist, campaigned to have the weavers pardoned and eventually, in August 1835, an absolute pardon was granted. Today, you can find a monument to John Baird and Andrew Hardie in Sighthill cemetery, in Glasgow’s Springburn district.
Monday, 4 April 2011
John Napier
John Napier, mathematician, physicist, and astronomer, died on the 4th of April, 1617.
You might not recognise the name of Jhone Neper, which doesn’t sound so very Scottish, but in his day, he was famous all over the European Continent. His surname appeared in a variety of different spellings throughout his lifetime and during the centuries since the 17th in which he lived. The forms Neper, Naper, Nepeir, Napeir, Nepair, Napare, and Naipper are all to be seen, however, the only form of Jhone Neper that would not have been used in his lifetime is the present day, modern spelling of John Napier. He is inarguably most famous for what we now call logarithms. The straightforward addition of exponents, which we use today to simplify the operations of multiplication and division, stemmed from his interest in astronomy. Like others, such as Copernicus, Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler, John Napier was involved in astronomical research that required lengthy and time consuming calculations. He figured there had to be a simpler way.
We can claim logarithms to have been invented by Napier, but like many an invention, their emergence and nowadays mainstream usage wasn’t solely down to the work of a solitary individual. That’s something we shouldn’t be too surprised at, even if a little disappointed when our ‘heroes’ are diminished somewhat by the thought. A form of logarithms had allegedly been invented by the Swiss mathematician, Jost (Jobst) Bürgi, perhaps as early as 1588, however, his method is distinct from Napier’s and wasn’t published until 1620. In the meantime, Napier spent twenty years, from 1594, perfecting his own concept. Whether or not Tycho Brahe knew of the Swiss clockmaker’s method, he was certainly very much aware of Napier’s ideas, because he spent much of the intervening period impatiently awaiting the outcome. As an astronomer, he had very practical uses for Napier’s logarithms.
Napier published his first set of logarithmic tables in 1614, in his book called, ‘A Description of the Admirable Table of Logarithms’ (Mirifici logarithmorum canonis descriptio). Without doubt, these tables were a stroke of genius and proved to be a big hit with astronomers and scientists, particularly the aforementioned Brahe and a certain Johannes Kepler. It’s also said that the English mathematician, Henry Briggs, was so influenced by the tables that he traveled to Scotland just to meet Napier. His visit led to them cooperating on the development of ‘Base 10’ logarithms, which is what is used in the ‘logs’ we know today.
Napier wrote in his ‘log book’ that, “Seeing there is nothing that is so troublesome to mathematical practice.... than the multiplications, divisions, square and cubical extractions of great numbers, which besides the tedious expense of time are... subject to many slippery errors, I began therefore to consider [how] I might remove those hindrances”. Laplace, 200 year later, agreed, saying that logarithms, “...by shortening the labours, doubled the life of the astronomer.” And the 18th Century Scots philosopher, David Hume, wrote that Napier was a “person to whom the title of a great man is more justly due than to any other whom his country ever produced.” Tribute indeed!
John Napier was born in Merchiston Castle, in Edinburgh, in 1550, we know not when, but we can be sure he had a birthday to celebrate. Napier’s father, who became Sir Archibald Napier and a Master of the Mint in Scotland, was only sixteen when John was born, which fact may be striking today, but not so uncommon in the 16th Century. As was the practice for nobility, Napier did not enter school until he was thirteen, in which year he went to St Salvator’s College at the University of St. Andrews, albeit only for a short time. Thereafter, as is believed, he travelled in Europe to continue his studies. Enigmatically, little is known about those years and where or when he may have studied. Perhaps he visited Bürgi in Switzerland or went to see Brahe in the Netherlands.
In any event, in 1571, Napier turned twenty-one and returned to Scotland. On the death of Sir Archibald, in 1608, Napier became the 7th Laird and moved into Merchiston Castle, where he lived for the rest of his life. Because of his inherited wealth and a religious zeal inherited from his father, Napier was involved with the political and spiritual controversies of his time. Napier was fervently anti-Catholic and one of his ‘claims to fame’ – the one he thought he should be famous for, rather than mere logarithms – was his 1593 book entitled, ‘A Plaine Discovery of the Whole Revelation of St. John’. In that fantasy, he claimed his calculations, based on the Book of Revelations, pointed to Pope Clement VIII being the ‘Antichrist’. He also predicted that the world would come to an end in either 1688 or 1700. In the preface to the book, he stated that it’s purpose was “... for preventing the apparent danger of Papistry arising within this Island… .”
Despite the craziness, Napier was a man of many talents and high intelligence, who was known around Edinburgh as ‘Marvelous Merchiston’, for the many ingenious mechanisms he built to improve his crops and beasts. He experimented with fertilizers, invented an apparatus to remove water from flooded coal pits, and built devices to better survey and measure the land. In addition, he had plans, never completed, for elaborate devices to deflect any Spanish invasion and other military projects, similar to today’s submarine, machine gun, and battle tank. Don’t forget his incentive – the Spaniards were Catholics. Napier’s other mathematical contributions included a mnemonic for formulae used in solving spherical triangles, two formulae known as ‘Napier’s analogies’ as used in solving spherical triangles and the invention known as ‘Napier’s rods’ or ‘Napier’s bones’, which were basically multiplication tables, inscribed on sticks of ivory. In addition to multiplication, the rods were also used in taking square roots and cube roots. Napier also found exponential expressions for trigonometric functions and, last but by no means least, he was the ‘inventor’ of the decimal point.
John Napier died on the 4th of April, 1617, in Edinburgh, probably from complications arising from gout. It is said that the whereabouts of his remains are uncertain, but Wikipedia states they were buried in St Cuthbert’s Church, in Edinburgh.
You might not recognise the name of Jhone Neper, which doesn’t sound so very Scottish, but in his day, he was famous all over the European Continent. His surname appeared in a variety of different spellings throughout his lifetime and during the centuries since the 17th in which he lived. The forms Neper, Naper, Nepeir, Napeir, Nepair, Napare, and Naipper are all to be seen, however, the only form of Jhone Neper that would not have been used in his lifetime is the present day, modern spelling of John Napier. He is inarguably most famous for what we now call logarithms. The straightforward addition of exponents, which we use today to simplify the operations of multiplication and division, stemmed from his interest in astronomy. Like others, such as Copernicus, Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kepler, John Napier was involved in astronomical research that required lengthy and time consuming calculations. He figured there had to be a simpler way.
We can claim logarithms to have been invented by Napier, but like many an invention, their emergence and nowadays mainstream usage wasn’t solely down to the work of a solitary individual. That’s something we shouldn’t be too surprised at, even if a little disappointed when our ‘heroes’ are diminished somewhat by the thought. A form of logarithms had allegedly been invented by the Swiss mathematician, Jost (Jobst) Bürgi, perhaps as early as 1588, however, his method is distinct from Napier’s and wasn’t published until 1620. In the meantime, Napier spent twenty years, from 1594, perfecting his own concept. Whether or not Tycho Brahe knew of the Swiss clockmaker’s method, he was certainly very much aware of Napier’s ideas, because he spent much of the intervening period impatiently awaiting the outcome. As an astronomer, he had very practical uses for Napier’s logarithms.
Napier published his first set of logarithmic tables in 1614, in his book called, ‘A Description of the Admirable Table of Logarithms’ (Mirifici logarithmorum canonis descriptio). Without doubt, these tables were a stroke of genius and proved to be a big hit with astronomers and scientists, particularly the aforementioned Brahe and a certain Johannes Kepler. It’s also said that the English mathematician, Henry Briggs, was so influenced by the tables that he traveled to Scotland just to meet Napier. His visit led to them cooperating on the development of ‘Base 10’ logarithms, which is what is used in the ‘logs’ we know today.
Napier wrote in his ‘log book’ that, “Seeing there is nothing that is so troublesome to mathematical practice.... than the multiplications, divisions, square and cubical extractions of great numbers, which besides the tedious expense of time are... subject to many slippery errors, I began therefore to consider [how] I might remove those hindrances”. Laplace, 200 year later, agreed, saying that logarithms, “...by shortening the labours, doubled the life of the astronomer.” And the 18th Century Scots philosopher, David Hume, wrote that Napier was a “person to whom the title of a great man is more justly due than to any other whom his country ever produced.” Tribute indeed!
John Napier was born in Merchiston Castle, in Edinburgh, in 1550, we know not when, but we can be sure he had a birthday to celebrate. Napier’s father, who became Sir Archibald Napier and a Master of the Mint in Scotland, was only sixteen when John was born, which fact may be striking today, but not so uncommon in the 16th Century. As was the practice for nobility, Napier did not enter school until he was thirteen, in which year he went to St Salvator’s College at the University of St. Andrews, albeit only for a short time. Thereafter, as is believed, he travelled in Europe to continue his studies. Enigmatically, little is known about those years and where or when he may have studied. Perhaps he visited Bürgi in Switzerland or went to see Brahe in the Netherlands.
In any event, in 1571, Napier turned twenty-one and returned to Scotland. On the death of Sir Archibald, in 1608, Napier became the 7th Laird and moved into Merchiston Castle, where he lived for the rest of his life. Because of his inherited wealth and a religious zeal inherited from his father, Napier was involved with the political and spiritual controversies of his time. Napier was fervently anti-Catholic and one of his ‘claims to fame’ – the one he thought he should be famous for, rather than mere logarithms – was his 1593 book entitled, ‘A Plaine Discovery of the Whole Revelation of St. John’. In that fantasy, he claimed his calculations, based on the Book of Revelations, pointed to Pope Clement VIII being the ‘Antichrist’. He also predicted that the world would come to an end in either 1688 or 1700. In the preface to the book, he stated that it’s purpose was “... for preventing the apparent danger of Papistry arising within this Island… .”
Despite the craziness, Napier was a man of many talents and high intelligence, who was known around Edinburgh as ‘Marvelous Merchiston’, for the many ingenious mechanisms he built to improve his crops and beasts. He experimented with fertilizers, invented an apparatus to remove water from flooded coal pits, and built devices to better survey and measure the land. In addition, he had plans, never completed, for elaborate devices to deflect any Spanish invasion and other military projects, similar to today’s submarine, machine gun, and battle tank. Don’t forget his incentive – the Spaniards were Catholics. Napier’s other mathematical contributions included a mnemonic for formulae used in solving spherical triangles, two formulae known as ‘Napier’s analogies’ as used in solving spherical triangles and the invention known as ‘Napier’s rods’ or ‘Napier’s bones’, which were basically multiplication tables, inscribed on sticks of ivory. In addition to multiplication, the rods were also used in taking square roots and cube roots. Napier also found exponential expressions for trigonometric functions and, last but by no means least, he was the ‘inventor’ of the decimal point.
John Napier died on the 4th of April, 1617, in Edinburgh, probably from complications arising from gout. It is said that the whereabouts of his remains are uncertain, but Wikipedia states they were buried in St Cuthbert’s Church, in Edinburgh.
Sunday, 3 April 2011
The proscription of MacGregor
On the 3rd of April, 1603, James VI issued an edict banning the name of MacGregor.
MacGregor is the name of a Clan believed to be the principal sept of the Siol Alpín. According to John of Fordun, Giric, fourth King of the Picts after Cináed mac Ailpín (Kenneth I), who was his grandfather, was known as ‘Gregory the Great’ and the legendary ancestor of the MacGregors, but that’s easily confused with the Pope of the same appellation. Alternatively, Griogair (or Giric), said to have been the third son of Alpín II mac Echdach, the High King of Dál Riata who was also the father of Kenneth I and Donald I, is mentioned as the progenitor of the Clan. Historian William Forbes Skene suggested that Anrias, brother of Guaire (or Godrey) and Fingon, was the ancestor of Clan Gregor. Other sources state that same Guaire (or Guarai) to have been the brother of Doungheal (or Doungallas), the eldest son of Griogair, or if you like, Mac Griogair – the first MacGregor.
It’s not possible that the name originated with Gregor ‘of the Golden Bridles’ as he is recognised as being the Chief of Clan MacGregor in the mid 14th Century, some time after the already established Clan fought at the Battle of Bannockburn. What is difficult to dispute is the Clan’s claim to royal descent. The crest of the MacGregors bears the proud motto: ’S Rioghal Mo Dhream (My Race is Royal) and whether or not you give much credence to Skene, there is now ample DNA evidence to back up the slogan. Skene’s source was a Medieaval Gaelic manuscript that traced the male line of MacGregor chiefs back to the 7th Century and Ferchar II Fota (the Tall), an earlier King of Dál Riata. Thus, the MacGregors are descended from the Cenél Loairn rather than the Cenél nGabraín, the Alpín line, but as both families are male line branches of the same Dalriadic royal house, the royal claim is valid in either case. Available DNA evidence can’t as yet distinguish between the lines, but most certainly supports the link to the royal house of Dál Riata. Interestingly, the DNA evidence also refutes Fordun’s claim on behalf of the later Pictish King Giric.
According to Buchanan of Auchmar, the MacGregors were located in Glenorchy as early as the reign of Malcolm Canmore. However, it seems Glenorchy was forfeited by the Campbells and bestowed on the MacGregors for services rendered to Alexander II, when he overthrew MacDonald of the Isles and conquered Argyll. A MacGregor Chief, Malcolm, led the Clan for Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn and later invaded Ireland with the Bruce’s brother, Edward. Malcolm was wounded at Dundalk and is remembered as am Mor’ ear bacach (The Lame Lord). It looks like the Clan’s involvement with William Wallace in the film, ‘Braveheart’, wasn’t too far off the mark.
For a long time the MacGregors maintained possession of their lands by right of the sword (coin a glaive) eschewing the Norman rules of feudalism, introduced by Malcolm Canmore and the Margaretsons. As a result, they found themselves constantly engaged in brawls over the possession of territory for which they could show no title-deeds. Their endeavours to hold their own were looked upon as mere lawless disturbances of the peace, and again and again their more powerful neighbours found it profitable, first to stir them up to some warlike deed, then to procure a royal warrant for their extermination, and the appropriation of their territory. The Campbells were the principle oppressors and the focus of the MacGregors’ natural retaliations as they had no other means of subsistence than the plunder of their neighbours’ property. The enmity of the Campbells led to them being represented in Edinburgh as having an untameable ferocity, which nothing could remedy “save the cutting off the tribe of MacGregor, root and branch.”
Nevertheless, they were not subdued and remained numerous over a wide area, and their fighting spirit and pride of race sustained them. Taking refuge in their mountain fastness, the ‘Children of the Mist’ set at defiance all the efforts made by their enemies for their extermination and inflicted upon some of them a terrible vengeance. Ultimately, a sequence of events beginning in the late 16th Century led to yet more persecution of the Clan and the proscription of the name. The terrible ceremony in the little Kirk of Balquhidder, remembered as ‘Clan Alpine’s Vow’, and the conflict at Glenfruin, were the catalysts. In 1589, MacGregors killed the King’s Forester, Drummond of Drummondernoch, after he had hung some of them for poaching. Then, on the following Sunday, the clansmen gathered in the Kirk and, one after another, approached the altar to lay a hand on Drummond’s severed head and swear himself a partner in the dark deed that had placed it there. And, early in 1603, Alastair MacGregor of Glenstrae won the Battle of Glen Fruin, against the Colquhouns of Luss. The losing side, egged on by the Earl of Argyll, secured the indignation and sympathy of James VI by parading the widows carrying their husbands’ bloody shirts, flapping stiffly upon poles.
As a result of these events, James VI and the Privy Council issued an edict on the 3rd of April, 1603, banning the use of the name MacGregor, under pain of death. Argyll was commissioned by the Privy Council to hunt the “viperous” MacGregors with ‘fire and sword’ till they be “estirpat and rutit out and expellit the hail boundis of our dominionis.” One consequence was the shameful entrapment and execution of Alastair MacGregor. A record of his hanging, which took place on the 20th of January, 1604, reads; “He was hangit at the croce, with eleven of his freindis of the name, upone ane gallows: Himselff, being chieff, he was hangit his awin hicht above the rest of his friendis.”
The Proscription of 1603 and its additions, remained in effect for approximately 170 years and stated, amongst other things that: babies not yet born shall not take the name; the MacGregor name shall not be used, under penalty of death; no more than four Clansmen shall meet at a time, under penalty of death; they shall bear no weapon, save an unpointed knife to cut their victuals; and, to kill a MacGregor is not a crime, but something to be encouraged. MacGregors were compelled to adopt other surnames, such as Drummond, Murray, Graham, Grier, Stewart, Grant, and even Campbell. Their surname was not fully restored until the oppressive acts were rescinded by the British Parliament, in 1774, granting MacGregors all the rights and privileges of British citizens. Funnily enough, despite its persecution and proscription, MacGregor is a name found frequently in Scotland. It was the 82nd most frequent surname at the General Register Office, in 1995.
The spirit this famous clan is perhaps summed up by the words of Sir Walter Scott’s Rob Roy; "Don’t mister me nor Campbell me! My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor!" Or, again in the words of Scott:
“While there’s leaves in the forest
And foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them,
Shall flourish forever!”
MacGregor is the name of a Clan believed to be the principal sept of the Siol Alpín. According to John of Fordun, Giric, fourth King of the Picts after Cináed mac Ailpín (Kenneth I), who was his grandfather, was known as ‘Gregory the Great’ and the legendary ancestor of the MacGregors, but that’s easily confused with the Pope of the same appellation. Alternatively, Griogair (or Giric), said to have been the third son of Alpín II mac Echdach, the High King of Dál Riata who was also the father of Kenneth I and Donald I, is mentioned as the progenitor of the Clan. Historian William Forbes Skene suggested that Anrias, brother of Guaire (or Godrey) and Fingon, was the ancestor of Clan Gregor. Other sources state that same Guaire (or Guarai) to have been the brother of Doungheal (or Doungallas), the eldest son of Griogair, or if you like, Mac Griogair – the first MacGregor.
It’s not possible that the name originated with Gregor ‘of the Golden Bridles’ as he is recognised as being the Chief of Clan MacGregor in the mid 14th Century, some time after the already established Clan fought at the Battle of Bannockburn. What is difficult to dispute is the Clan’s claim to royal descent. The crest of the MacGregors bears the proud motto: ’S Rioghal Mo Dhream (My Race is Royal) and whether or not you give much credence to Skene, there is now ample DNA evidence to back up the slogan. Skene’s source was a Medieaval Gaelic manuscript that traced the male line of MacGregor chiefs back to the 7th Century and Ferchar II Fota (the Tall), an earlier King of Dál Riata. Thus, the MacGregors are descended from the Cenél Loairn rather than the Cenél nGabraín, the Alpín line, but as both families are male line branches of the same Dalriadic royal house, the royal claim is valid in either case. Available DNA evidence can’t as yet distinguish between the lines, but most certainly supports the link to the royal house of Dál Riata. Interestingly, the DNA evidence also refutes Fordun’s claim on behalf of the later Pictish King Giric.
According to Buchanan of Auchmar, the MacGregors were located in Glenorchy as early as the reign of Malcolm Canmore. However, it seems Glenorchy was forfeited by the Campbells and bestowed on the MacGregors for services rendered to Alexander II, when he overthrew MacDonald of the Isles and conquered Argyll. A MacGregor Chief, Malcolm, led the Clan for Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn and later invaded Ireland with the Bruce’s brother, Edward. Malcolm was wounded at Dundalk and is remembered as am Mor’ ear bacach (The Lame Lord). It looks like the Clan’s involvement with William Wallace in the film, ‘Braveheart’, wasn’t too far off the mark.
For a long time the MacGregors maintained possession of their lands by right of the sword (coin a glaive) eschewing the Norman rules of feudalism, introduced by Malcolm Canmore and the Margaretsons. As a result, they found themselves constantly engaged in brawls over the possession of territory for which they could show no title-deeds. Their endeavours to hold their own were looked upon as mere lawless disturbances of the peace, and again and again their more powerful neighbours found it profitable, first to stir them up to some warlike deed, then to procure a royal warrant for their extermination, and the appropriation of their territory. The Campbells were the principle oppressors and the focus of the MacGregors’ natural retaliations as they had no other means of subsistence than the plunder of their neighbours’ property. The enmity of the Campbells led to them being represented in Edinburgh as having an untameable ferocity, which nothing could remedy “save the cutting off the tribe of MacGregor, root and branch.”
Nevertheless, they were not subdued and remained numerous over a wide area, and their fighting spirit and pride of race sustained them. Taking refuge in their mountain fastness, the ‘Children of the Mist’ set at defiance all the efforts made by their enemies for their extermination and inflicted upon some of them a terrible vengeance. Ultimately, a sequence of events beginning in the late 16th Century led to yet more persecution of the Clan and the proscription of the name. The terrible ceremony in the little Kirk of Balquhidder, remembered as ‘Clan Alpine’s Vow’, and the conflict at Glenfruin, were the catalysts. In 1589, MacGregors killed the King’s Forester, Drummond of Drummondernoch, after he had hung some of them for poaching. Then, on the following Sunday, the clansmen gathered in the Kirk and, one after another, approached the altar to lay a hand on Drummond’s severed head and swear himself a partner in the dark deed that had placed it there. And, early in 1603, Alastair MacGregor of Glenstrae won the Battle of Glen Fruin, against the Colquhouns of Luss. The losing side, egged on by the Earl of Argyll, secured the indignation and sympathy of James VI by parading the widows carrying their husbands’ bloody shirts, flapping stiffly upon poles.
As a result of these events, James VI and the Privy Council issued an edict on the 3rd of April, 1603, banning the use of the name MacGregor, under pain of death. Argyll was commissioned by the Privy Council to hunt the “viperous” MacGregors with ‘fire and sword’ till they be “estirpat and rutit out and expellit the hail boundis of our dominionis.” One consequence was the shameful entrapment and execution of Alastair MacGregor. A record of his hanging, which took place on the 20th of January, 1604, reads; “He was hangit at the croce, with eleven of his freindis of the name, upone ane gallows: Himselff, being chieff, he was hangit his awin hicht above the rest of his friendis.”
The Proscription of 1603 and its additions, remained in effect for approximately 170 years and stated, amongst other things that: babies not yet born shall not take the name; the MacGregor name shall not be used, under penalty of death; no more than four Clansmen shall meet at a time, under penalty of death; they shall bear no weapon, save an unpointed knife to cut their victuals; and, to kill a MacGregor is not a crime, but something to be encouraged. MacGregors were compelled to adopt other surnames, such as Drummond, Murray, Graham, Grier, Stewart, Grant, and even Campbell. Their surname was not fully restored until the oppressive acts were rescinded by the British Parliament, in 1774, granting MacGregors all the rights and privileges of British citizens. Funnily enough, despite its persecution and proscription, MacGregor is a name found frequently in Scotland. It was the 82nd most frequent surname at the General Register Office, in 1995.
The spirit this famous clan is perhaps summed up by the words of Sir Walter Scott’s Rob Roy; "Don’t mister me nor Campbell me! My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor!" Or, again in the words of Scott:
“While there’s leaves in the forest
And foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them,
Shall flourish forever!”
Saturday, 2 April 2011
John Smibert
John Smibert (Smybert), celebrated, Scottish-born painter who established an early tradition of colonial portraiture in Boston, died on the 2nd of April, 1751.
Smiberty-Jiberty John Smibert was the man who assembled what was the first art show in America, in Boston. That’s not counting the cave paintings of the Basketmaker Era in the southwest. Who knows what Smibert would have made of those petroglyphs. In 1730, Smibert settled in Boston and opened an engraving studio and artist supply store, above which he displayed his original works. That studio thus constituted America’s first art gallery. As a result of his having made an exhibition of his art, rather than of himself, John Smibert became one of the first painters in the Colonies to enjoy a status beyond that of a mere artisan. As such, he set the tone for later painters, such as Copley, Washington Allston, and John Trumbull. Instead of supporting himself as an itinerant artist, as was then common, good ol’ Smibert married an heiress, became a successful portrait painter, and won considerable social standing. He might have defined the term ‘upwardly mobile’ long before that became fashionable. John Smibert exerted a profound influence on 18th Century American portraiture, having introduced a level of Old English sophistication to the art of New England.
Smibert’s most famous painting was produced, most likely, in 1731, although some biographies suggest 1729, but that’s a bit far fetched as he didn’t open his studio until 1730, the year after he arrived in America. Smibert’s huge, famous, elaborate, and complex painting is known as ‘The Bermuda Group’ or otherwise as ‘Dean George Berkeley with His Family and Friends’ or ‘Dean George Berkeley and Entourage’. Most paintings of the time included two to three sitters at most, with the subjects having few, if any, accessories. Smibert’s tribute to his friend the Dean includes eight sitters – well, it’s actually four ‘standers’ and four sitters, one of whom is a child that looks like it was drugged for the occasion; possibly in order to ensure it sat still long enough to be captured on canvass. The ‘accessories’ are a table, covered with what’s called a Turkey-work cloth, some books, and perhaps, the child. Smibert himself also appears in the painting; his is the face that appears top left.
An expert analysis presented via Novelguide.com (a source of free literary analysis on the web) grants that the faces in Smibert’s ‘Bermuda Group’ are rendered honestly “rather than with the facile flattery, which then characterised most English painting” – well, he wisnae English. Smibert’s painting of the Dean and his ‘Bermuda entourage’ is owned by Yale University Art Gallery, in Connecticut. It is considered to be the first important portrait group painted in America, and was certainly the most elaborate and complex painting done in New England up to that time.
Amongst Smibert’s other works are portraits of Judge Edmund Quincy (in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston) and Peter Faneuil (in the Massachusetts Historical Society in Boston). Harvard, Bowdoin, and other such institutions also hold examples of his formal portraiture. Smibert’s portraits were well received by Bostonians, many of whom became his subjects. Some of his portraits, such as those of Judges Nathaniel Byfield and Samuel Sewall, could be said to have qualities approaching caricature and his portrait of Portrait of Mrs. Tyng has her with a rather unflattering double chin. Between 1740 and 1742, Smibert also dabbled in architecture, designing the original Faneuil Hall in Boston, in the style of an English country market.
John Smibert was born in Edinburgh on the 2nd of April, 1688. In 1701, he was apprenticed as an artisan (a painter and plasterer) and at the end of his apprenticeship, in 1709, hoping to achieve success as a painter, he set out for London. There he worked as a coach painter and a copyist (making copies of old pictures for a dealer). Later, from 1713 to 1716, Smibert studied at Sir James Thornhill’s Academy, either in St. Martin’s Lane or Great Queen Street or at the London Artists Academy headed by Sir Godfrey Kneller; take your pick. After that, Smibert returned to Edinburgh, but the descendants of the Picts had grown out face painting so, after a while, in 1717, he set off for his ‘Grand Tour’.
On the Continent, Smibert worked in the likes of Florence, Rome and Naples, copying the works of old masters and painting portraits with some success. Back in London in the summer of 1722, Smibert established a studio in Covent Garden, where he achieved a modest reputation as no more than a competent painter, without great distinction. Societies were a big thing in those days and Smibert was a member of one known as the ‘Virtuosi of London’ whose associates all were artists. Smibert designed an ambitious group portrait of the ‘Virtuosi’ containing a large number of his contemporaries, including John Wootton, Thomas Gibson, George Vertue and Bernard Lens, but it was never finished.
In 1728, Smibert sailed for American via Jamaica with Dean (later Bishop) George Berkeley. The artist hoped that in the Colonies, where there were no European trained painters, he would be more successful than in London, where there was just too much competition. Nevertheless, Smibert had been persuaded to teach art at Berkeley’s college in Bermuda, but as that plan didn’t come to fruition, Smibert set out for fame and fortune in Boston. After arriving in Newport, Rhode Island, in January of 1729, Smibert did indeed find a measure of success in Boston, where he lived “at his Houfe in Queen Street, between the Town Houfe and the Orange Tree.”
Smibert was known to advertise his art studio in ‘The Weekly Rehearsal’ often in such manner: “John Smibert, Painter, Sells all Sorts of Colours, dry or ground, with Oils and Brufhes, Fans of feveral Sorts, the beft Mezzotinto, Italian, French, Dutch and Englifh Prints, in Frames and Glaffes, or without, by Wholefale or Retail at reafonable Rates.” Smibert also used ‘The Rehearsal’ to advertise a collection of valuable engravings, which he’d collected on his European tour. One sale was to begin “In Queen Street, this Day, being the 26th of May, 1735” and was to “laft ’till Saturday Evening next, and no longer.” The prints that remained unsold were to be sent to England. John Smibert never made it back to England – or Scotland – as he lived in Boston until he died on the 2nd of April, 1751. His body lies in an unmarked grave, somewhere in Boston’s Granary Burying Ground.
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