Sir George Reid

Sir George Reid, portrait and landscape painter, was born on the 31^st of October, 1841.

Sir George Reid is not to be confused with Sir George Houston Reid as the latter was an Australian politician and the former, the subject of this piece, a mere painter of pictures. What they had in common, apart from given and surnames, was that both men were born and bred in Scotland, the latter, somewhat appropriately, four years later than the former. Whilst one made his fame and fortune in a far off land after emigrating at the age of seven, the other stayed at home and immortalised his fellow Scots in pen and pencil and pigment.

The one with the middle name was arguably more famous as he rose to become Prime Minister of Australia in 1904-5, but if you take a dim view of politicians, perhaps we should stick with the artist. Sir George Reid the artist never painted a portrait of Sir George Houston Reid the politician, which is a shame as there could’ve been an opportunity in 1909, when Reid became the Australian High Commissioner in London, a post he held until he retired in 1916, three years after his namesake had died. It would've been interesting to see what Reid the Painter would've made of Reid the Politico's walrus moustache, which was apparently a popular subject for the cartoonists of the day. Who knows if Reid the Painter ever visited London, but he did live in Oakhill, Somerset, for a while, apparently.

One of Sir George Reid's most popular paintings hangs in The Royal and Ancient Golf Club, in St. Andrews. Amongst images of many a famous golfer is Reid's portrayal of Old Tom Morris, Tom Morris Sr. as he's formally known, although he was informally known as Tam to his cronies. The portrait in oils of Old Tom was commissioned in September of 1902 and delivered to The Royal and Ancient Golf Club the following spring. Reid was paid the less than princely sum of £250 and no shillings; no pennies either. Perhaps they threw in a few free rounds of golf on the links. According to the munificent Royal and Ancient, the painting was received with great enthusiasm when it was presented at the Club's 1903 Spring Meeting. However, it's reported that on seeing his portrait for the first time, Old Tom, who was really old, eighty one years old to be exact, said, “You’ve got the checks on my bunnet a’ wrang.” A kind of a back-handed compliment, don't you think, from the garrulous old codger. By the time Reid painted the portrait of Morris, he had been established as one of Scotland's most renowned portraitists for around thirty years.

Sir George Reid was born plain George Reid in Aberdeen on the 31^st of October, 1841. Dod as he was known when he went to school, developed an early passion for drawing. He didn't like sums, but he was fond enough of reading and writing. When he was thirteen, he was apprenticed to Messrs. Keith & Gibb, lithographers, of and in Aberdeen. Reid's apprenticeship as a lithographer lasted for seven years. In 1861, once his term was over, Reid took lessons in portrait painting from an itinerant portrait painter by the name of William Niddrie, who had been a pupil of James Giles. The following year, that's 1862 if you're struggling to keep up, Reid moved to Edinburgh, where he studied at the school of the Board of Trustees, known as the Trustees' Academy.

Some time afterwards, Reid returned to Aberdeen to paint landscapes and portraits for, as the Encyclopædia Britannica records, “any trifling sum which his work could command.” Reid's landscapes, such as 'Whins in Bloom', were painted outdoors, but it's gey cauld in Aberdeen maist of the time, so it's perhaps not unsurprising that he settled on portraits, where he could bide indoors where it was nice and warm. The first of Reid's portraits to attract attention was that of George Macdonald, the poet and novelist, a painting that is now the property of the University of Aberdeen. In his early days, Reid was supported by the Aberdeen collector, John Forbes White, and his crony, a pivotal figure of Aberdeen society called Alexander Macdonald of Kepplestone. That man was the son of a granite merchant of the same name who, in the 1830s, had invented the first machine for dressing and polishing granite. Having bought Kepplestone mansion near Aberdeen, in 1863, Alexander Macdonald quickly became known as a major patron of the arts, later bequeathing more than 200 of his paintings to the Aberdeen Art Gallery, which was opened in 1885.

Through White, his mentor and friend, Reid became attracted to Dutch painting and between White and Macdonald, Reid was enabled to travel to Holland, in 1866, to study and work under the tutelage of the landscape and genre painter, Alexander Gerrit Mollinger. Reid admired Mollinger's work, but it appears to have been too “revolutionary” for the likes of the Royal Scottish Academy. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Reid ultimately gaining its approval. A couple of years later, in 1868, Reid went to Paris, to study under Adolphe Yvon, the leading teacher of drawing at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. Yvon was known for his paintings from the Napoleonic Wars, a stunning example of which is his 'Marshall Ney at Retreat in Russia'.

Reid returned to Scotland in 1869, where he continued to paint landscapes and portraits that contained obvious influences from his sojourns in Holland and France. A turning point in Reid's career came after he painted a portrait of Thomas Keith, of the Royal College of Surgeons, in 1871. The following year, Reid went to den Haag, in Holland, to work with the Dutch painter of genre scenes, Josef Israels, a man with whom he became close friends. Reid took a holiday in 1876, when he accompanied William Robertson Smith, Professor of Natural Philosophy at the University of Edinburgh, and his sisters to Germany. When he got back, in 1877, Reid was elected Member of the Royal Scottish Academy, having been made Associate in 1870, and later, between 1891 and 1902, he held the office of its President. Reid move to Edinburgh in 1882 and was knighted in 1891.

Sir George Reid died in 1913.

Reid's two younger brothers, Archibald David (1844-1908) and Samuel (1854-1910), were also successful painters.

Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie

Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie was appointed High Treasurer of Scotland on the 29^th of October, 1526.

Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie was one of that [un]fortunate band of medieval Scottish courtiers who fell into and out of favour with their King. In Archie's case, that King was James V, son of James IV, son of James III, son of James II, son of James I, son of... oops, we've ran out of James'. Archie himsel' was well connected, being the 4^th son of the 5^th Earl of Angus and the uncle of the 6^th Earl – those being Red Douglas Earls mind, rather than the Black. Archie's two elder brothers died with their King, James IV, at the Battle of Flodden Field on the 9^th of September, 1513. Their Pa, the 5^th Earl, died sometime after the 29^th of November that same year. It's too trite to suggest he died of a broken heart, mourning the death of his sons and less likely when you consider his nickname of Greysteil or Graysteel. Of course, Archie didn't get the Earldom as that passed to the son of the Master of Angus, yet another Archibald Douglas, Archie's nephew; Archie's inheritance was the moniker Greysteil.

According to Douglas history, in a slice of legend spread with blood, the 5^th Earl of Douglas gained the lands of Kilspindie in a feud with the then incumbent, Spens of Kilspindie. It's a shame we cannae link Spens here with Sir Partick Spens of ballad fame, but we can link Douglas of Kilspindie with the 'Ballad of Greysteil', which will do. There's no information available to throw some light on just exactly what the Earl and Spens were arguing about, but the upshot was that they resorted to cold steel in an attempt to resolve their differences. There's a thrillingly graphic reconstruction of the outcome of the duel on the Douglas history website, painted by Andrew Spratt. You can image the protagonists squaring up at opposite ends of the lists, before thundering pell mell towards each other aboard half a ton of horseflesh, to a soundtrack compiled from peasants thumping staves on the terraces, and the Queen's rendition of 'We will rock you'. Aye, it's a little known fact that yon Margaret Tudor was a gey handy lute player, ye ken.

With no certain outcome derived from the first headlong charge with lances, the two heavily armoured Lords slid off their mounts and approached each other, swords in hand. Equally matched, they swung and parried and grunted and sweated and hewed and dunted and kicked up a lot of dust. The sound of straining leather as heaving chests rose and fell and lungs gasped for air through parched throats on fire is imaginable, but was barely audible above the rasping breath of the two men. Audible to the crowd was the clanging of swords, of steel on steel or iron, admixed with its own yells and shouts of encouragement and advice. Rents and dents appeared in breastplates and mail, but still the two fought on, neither willing to yield.

After a momentary pause, during which they both leant, panting, on their sword hilts, Spens launched a desperate attack, but lost a cuisse as he led with his left leg, ready for a mad, right angled, overhead swipe at his opponent. As the thigh plate dislodged and fell to the ground, Douglas, exhausted, but with a triumphant gleam in his eye, recognising the frailty of the exposed limb, seized his chance. One mighty sword stroke later and Spens collapsed to the ground without a leg to stand on, his bloody severed left oozing gore in the dust.

When James V was still a loon and the 'Ballad of Greysteil' was well known, Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie inherited the nickname from his father. Kilspindie and his uncle, the 6^th Earl, were conspicuous members of the Royal Council, with the Earl having married the late King's widow and having much to do in the affairs of Scotland. For a time, Kilspindie became a favourite of the impressionable boy King, who was undoubtedly familiar with the legend of Greysteill as it was surely recited to him by another famous courtier, Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, who referred to the poem in 1549, in the 'Complaynt of Scotland'.

In 1519, during the minority of James V, the Angus Earl had control of Edinburgh, albeit not the castle in which the King resided for a time, and, in the style of true patronage, his uncle was made Provost, which is akin to being Mayor. Note that the office of Lord Provost dates from 1667, some hundred and twenty years later. Despite the Duke of Albany then barring either a Douglas or a Hamilton from holding the office, apart from that first year of 1519, Kilspindie was Provost again in 1521 and for a third term between 1525 and 1527, when Angus' fortunes recovered following Albany's departure for France in 1524.

During that time and according to the Electric Scotland website (see also http://www.scotsindependent.org/dates1-c.htm ), Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie was made Lord High Treasurer of Scotland on the 29^th of October, 1526. The Douglas History website suggests he had acquired the office of treasurer by the 15^th of October. Perhaps the fourteen days is explained by the difference between the old style and new style calendars. At any rate, by November, 1525, Kilspindie had also gained the important office of Keeper of the Privy Seal. Interestingly enough, the account which Kilspindie submitted as Treasurer, for the period October 1526 to August 1527, shows the substantial Government debt – for the time – of £3654 8s. 1d. Not much changes.

Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie was born circa 1490; there is no exact date. Despite his high ranking positions and having held favour of the King, Kilspindie suffered ultimately from being a Douglas. At a Parliament on the 5^th of September, 1528, the Douglases were condemned for treason with a sentence of forfeiture of life, lands, and goods. An almighty 'back to earth' bump for the descendants of the 'Good Sir James', you might say. Kilspindie's properties, including his residence in Edinburgh, were distributed amongst new favourites as he was forced into exile in England.

Kilspindie seems to have made attempts at reconciliation or rehabilitation, negotiating in February 1529 and again in early 1533 by representation to Thomas Erskine, the Secretary to James V. The latter plea, cheekily enough, despite his having accompanied an English campaign in the Merse on the 11^th of December preceding. Finally, encouraged by a peace treaty between Scotland and England, Kilspindie risked returning to Scotland, which he did in August of 1534, seeking clemency. Instead of exacting any more serious revenge, perhaps in recollection of earlier familiarity, James V merely banished Kilspindie 'overseas', probably to France. Wherever he ended up, Sir Archibald Douglas of Kilspindie seems to have died abroad, sometime before 1540.

Francis, Lord Jeffrey

Francis Jeffrey, Lord Jeffrey, Member of Parliament, Lord Advocate, judge, editor and literary critic, was born on the 23^rd of October, 1773

Francis Jeffrey is described as an eminent judge and man of letters, which two statements concisely sum up his contribution. But to elaborate... apart from his ultimately successful, parallel careers as an advocate and politician, Jeffrey is rightly famous for being one of the founders of the Edinburgh Review, which first appeared on the 10^th of October, 1802. From Jeffrey's point of view, the magazine was a 'godsend' as recently married and struggling as a lawyer, he needed a reliable source of income. The idea for the setting up of a review came about in Jeffrey's house, on the third story in Buccleuch Place, when he had a few of his mates round for a dram. One of those was the English writer and Anglican cleric, Sydney Smith, who is credited with having proposed the idea, albeit it had no doubt been discussed less determinedly on previous occasions. Whatever he made as a lawyer and M.P., Jeffrrey got a decent income from the 'Review', whose publisher, Archibald Constable, ended up paying sixteen guineas a sheet, which was more than “three times what was ever paid before for such work.”

The magazine was so successful that,by 1814, they were printing nearly 13,000 copies. It adopted its Latin motto judex damnatur ubi nocens absolvitur (the judge is condemned when the guilty is acquitted) from the Sententiae (Sentences) of Publilius Syrus, a Syrian in Julius Caesar's Rome. Publilius' was famous for his pithy maxims, which were written in iambic and trochaic verse. Funnily enough, Smith is on record as having said (of the Sentences) that “none of us, I am sure, had ever read a single line.” Within a year, after its first floundering, committee-based proof readings in Craig's Close, Jeffrey became the sole editor of the 'Review'. Jeffrey held that position for around twenty-six years and exactly ninety-eight numbers, ending in June, 1829, when he resigned and handed over to fellow lawyer, Napier Macvey (a.k.a. Macvey Napier), who had been the editor of the Encyclopædia Britannica.

Jeffrey's two hundred contributions to the Edinburgh Review contained a mixture of moral sentiment and pungent criticism, perhaps none more effective than that, which led to his squaring up for a duel, in London. After returning from Nova Scotia, the Irish poet and entertainer, Thomas Moore, often referred to as Anacreon Moore, published his book entitled 'Epistles, Odes and Other Poems'. Now, Moore was fond of producing mocking criticisms of the embryonic United States, particularly on its attitude towards slavery, but Jeffrey's review of Moore's work, for the fifteenth number of the 'Review', was critical of the morality expressed in his poems. As a result, in 1806, Moore challenged Jeffrey to a duel and the two men, and seconds, met at Chalk Farm. Perhaps that adventure was what led Jeffrey to make one of his better known quotes: “Opinions founded on prejudice are always sustained with the greatest of violence.” Luckily for whomsoever, the Polis arrived and interrupted the proceedings, arresting both men and preventing the sustaining of violence or injury by either.

Unfortunately for Moore's reputation, Jeffrey's pistol was found to be empty and that lack of a bullet haunted Moore for years, with reports that he had been dastardly responsible leading to him being mocked by the likes of Byron. However, the story had a happy ending beyond the obvious as the two men later became firm friends, with Jeffrey even going so far as to praise Moore's subsequent work in a later 'Review'. In fact, the abrasive Moore was also later reconciled with Byron. Two Scots gentlemen versus one Irish hooligan, you might say.

Francis Jeffrey was born in Edinburgh on the 23^rd of October, 1773. In October, 1781, wee Frankie began studies at the High School, then in Fyfe's Close. After that, between 1787 and '89, he studied Greek and Philosophy at Glasgow University, which is where he came under the influence of the whiggish Professor Millar, which according to Jeffrey's father was “his corruption.” Jeffrey then went on to study Law and History at Edinburgh University, attending the classes of Hume and Dick. In September, 1791, Jeffrey went to Oxford, where he entered Queen's College, but he didnae like it much and in July, 1792, went back to Scotland to prepare for the Scottish Bar, to which he was admitted on the 16^th of December, 1794.

Jeffrey made a slow start to his legal career, because he switched his politics from Tory to Whig, which was kind of professional suicide in those days. Whatever you might think of the 21^st Century Tory Party, just imagine that every stereotypical aspect of the 'Tories' that is derided by its detractors was magnified by at least an order of magnitude in the 18^th Century version. Back then, the entire system of government in Scotland was in the hands of Tory patronage, chiefly administered by Henry Dundas (later, Lord Melville).

Notwithstanding the success of the 'Review', Jeffrey's ambitions were for the Bar and, reciprocally, thanks in part to the literary reputation that he gained as its editor, his advancement in the legal profession was aided. By 1806, Jeffrey's law career had begun to pick up and, in 1816, with the introduction of juries for civil cases, it blossomed a wee bit more. Ultimately, as the political landscape changed over time, his liberal Whig politics produced a return and, in 1829, Jeffrey was elected Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. He became Lord Advocate in 1830 and that same year, he entered Parliament as a member for Malton and subsequently, the Perth Burghs and Edinburgh. In 1831 and 1832, Jeffrey introduced the Scottish Reform Bill, which led to an increase in the numbers entitled to vote (albeit the resulting total comprised just one out of six adult males). Jeffrey became Lord Jeffrey, Judge of the Court of Session, in May, 1834.

Amongst the over 250,000 broadsheets held by the National Library of Scotland, comprising proclamations and the news of the day, which were sold on the streets by pedlars, is a ballad in praise of Jeffrey's support for the Reform Bill and his 1833 election campaign. The broadside was published by Sanderson's in Edinburgh and is entitled 'Hurrah! For Francis Jeffrey'. However many folks it influenced, Jeffrey was returned as M.P., six months after the passing of his Bill, without which many of his supporters wouldn't have been entitled to vote. Here's a verse a as a wee taster:

“In politics his views are clear;
Oppression's sway we need not-fear,
For Liberty – to Scotsmen dear –

Is sacred to Frank Jeffrey.”

Francis, Lord Jeffrey, died on the 26^th of January, 1850, and he was buried in Dean Cemetery.

Edinburgh’s North Bridge

The foundation stone for Edinburgh’s North Bridge was laid on the 21st of October, 1763.

Hills feature a lot in Scotland’s capital city. Edinburgh stands on three hills, running east to west or west to east if you like, with the central hill being the location of the castle and the ancient part of the city – the Old Town. Around the city are more hills; Arthur’s Seat, Salisbury Crags and Calton Hill on the east, the Hills of Braid and the Pentland Hills to the south, and Corstorphine Hill in the west. In the mid-18th Century, Scotland’s capital hadn’t spread out to anything near the extent it covers in the 21st Century, with Corstorphine Hill being described as late as 1825 as “a beautiful eminence rearing its summit in the west.” Back in the 1760s, the Old Town was Edinburgh, sprawling below the castle, with the principle street extending east along the ridge of the hill to the Palace of Holyroodhouse.

At times, that main street was known as the High Street or Market Street, off of which, like the bones of a fish, were the steeply descending (or ascending if you were unlucky) narrow closes and wider wynds, which latter were broad enough to “admit of a carriage.” From what became known as Castle Hill, folks like William Mylne, Surveyor to the City, from his home in Halkerston’s Wynd, were able to stroll down the Lawnmarket, below where the street assumed the name of Luckenbooths, to the High Street proper; the widest part. From there on down to the Palace, the street was called the Canongate, named after its former owners; the canons regular of the Abbey Church of Holyroodhouse. To the north, in the valley below the castle rock upon which stood Edwinesburch of the Saxons (Edwinesburg in the time of David I, when it was first granted royal burgh status), lay the Nor’ Loch. To the east of the Loch, in the declivity below Calton Hill, lay the fishmarket and the fleshmarket. Beyond the Loch stretched the ground upon which the New Town was to be built.

The Nor’ Loch was initially an area of marsh, of which good use had been made as part of the natural defences of Edinburgh Castle. James III had it flooded in order to improve the castle’s defences and from mediaeval times, it had become increasingly polluted – by more than one kind of human waste. Apart from the obvious, something like 300 dead bodies must have ended up in the Loch as a result of the judicial drowning of witches. In macabre fact, if the accused drowned during a witch dunking, she (some men were also dunked), that meant she was no witch. Scant consolation, eh? The Nor’ Loch was first drained in 1763, the same year work began on the North Bridge, but it wasn’t until the construction of the North Bridge railway station (now absorbed by Edinburgh Waverly) in 1845/6 that anybody noticed human bones. Earlier, in the 1820s, Princes Street Gardens were created, creating a landscape in stark contrast to the area’s former grim and grisly past.

The North Bridge was designed as part of the great civic improvement scheme initiated by Lord Provost George Drummond and reflected Edinburgh’s ‘Enlightenment’ aspirations. The bridge’s construction helped to bring about the city’s northwards expansion and the creation of the ‘scientifically designed’ New Town. The bridge was to link the High Street with what has become Princes Street. The design for the 1134 feet (346m) long North Bridge, which consisted of three stone arches, although much of the length was solid abutment, was the work of architect William Mylne, a member of the Incorporation of St Mary’s Chapel, the Edinburgh guild of masons and carpenters.

Mylne had won a competition against two other famous architects; James Craig (who some years later, in 1767, designed the New Town) and David Henderson. According to the fourth edition (1825) of J. Stark’s ‘Picture of Edinburgh: containing a description of the city and its environs’, although the erection of the bridge was resolved upon in 1763, the contract for building the bridge was not signed until the 21st of August, 1765, when the plans were agreed by the Council. The contract between Mylne and Edinburgh Town Council was for the sum of £10,140 Sterling; with the work to be guaranteed for ten years and completed within four; by Martinmas, 1769.

The foundation stone was laid on the 21st of October, 1763, by Provost Drummond, and by the summer of 1769, ostensibly on target for completion, the North Bridge was being regularly used by pedestrians. However, on the 3rd of August, 1769, the North Bridge disaster occurred, but not on a Sabboth Day. What Mylne hadn’t foreseen or had underestimated, was the depth of foundations needed. The area below the steep north side of the hill, between the castle rock and where the waters of the Nor’ Loch had been, largely consisted of loose earth that, ironically, had accumulated from other foundations; those dug to build the houses on the hill. Mylne’s bridge foundations hadn’t been dug deep enough to cope on such a shaky footing and part of his structure collapsed, causing the deaths of five people.

Mylne’s brother Robert, who, incidentally, was the designer of Blackfriars Bridge, came up from London to offer his support and the Council got John Smeaton and John Adam involved, after commissioning a report into the collapse. Apparently, David Henderson, who had earlier failed with his competitive design, was also called in to provide advice on the repairs. Mylne’s payments were stopped during a protracted dispute with the Council, but the bridge was repaired (at a cost of an additional £18,000) and finally and formally opened in 1772.

In 1779, the ‘Earthen Mound’ was commenced, which was to provide an alternative means of passage between the Old Town and New Town.  It was created by throwing earth excavated from the foundations of houses in the New Town into the previously drained Nor’ Loch. The present day North Bridge replaced the original when it was demolished in 1896, during the reconstruction and expansion of Waverley Station. James Craig’s New Town of Edinburgh, considered to be a masterpiece of city planning, was built in phases between 1765 and 1850 (more or less). In 1995, the Old Town and the New Town were jointly designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Execution of Alexander, 3rd Lord Home

Alexander, 3rd Lord Home, was executed on the 8th of October, 1516.

On the death of the 2nd Lord Home in 1506, guess what – his son, Alexander, became the 3rd Lord Home and succeeded to the vast estates of that famous Borders family. By the turn of the 16th Century, the Homes had taken their place in the front rank of Scotland’s Nobility. Centuries before that, the family stemmed from a natural son of the 4th Earl of (Dunbar and) March, whose lineage sprang from the Saxon Kings of England and the Cospatrick Earl of Northumberland, before William of Normandy arrived on the scene. The Homes, via marriages of the Dunbar/March Earls, were also in the blood line of the Comyns, who were of Norman origin. However, more than a smidgeon of true Scots blood was infused as Ada, the progenitor-ess of the Homes, was the daughter of a natural daughter of William the Lion. Like many so-called Nobles, the Homes were the product of invaders, foreign exiles, usurping bandits and bastards. What price noblesse oblige.

In 1507, Alexander, 3rd Lord Home, also succeeded his father as Lord Chamberlain of Scotland, becoming, in addition, Warden of the East March. Alexander was confirmed in those honours by Royal Charter of James IV, in February of 1510. Subsequently, in the space of six short and sharp years, Alexander de Home went from being seen as one of the good guys to a coward and traitor – allegedly. He started out well, finding favour with James IV and, in 1513, when war between James and his brother-in-law, Henry VIII, was looming, Home led a marauding foray into England.

At the head of three or four thousand men (hardly eight thousand as some ‘histories’ suggest), Lord Home crossed the border and proceeded to pillage and burn several villages or hamlets, laying waste to the country like a good Reiver. On their way back, laden down with booty and driving a herd of (yes, stolen) cattle, Home’s Borderers fell into an ambush laid by Sir William Bulmer. That took place at Broomfield on Millfield Plain, near Wooler. According to the English chronicler, Holinshead, the Scots were “surprised and defeated with great slaughter,” with five or six hundred being “slain upon the spot.” Holinshead also records that four hundred were taken prisoner, among them Sir George Home, Lord Alexander’s brother. In contrast, George Buchanan, historian, poet and tutor to the young James V, estimated the number of prisoners at a mere two hundred. Buchanan also wrote that it was only Home’s rear columns that succumbed to the ambush, and that the rest of his force made it safely back to Scotland with its plunder.

Soon after, the tragic events that led to the penning of ‘The Flowers of the Forest’ unfolded as James IV led his chivalrous Lords and sundry Earls, Bishops, Nobles and Serfs to their doom at the foot of Branxton Moor. Amongst those Lords was Home with “a powerful array of his followers” forming, along with Lord Huntly’s Gordons, the vanguard of the Scottish army. Home and Gordon began the battle of Flodden Field by mounting a charge on the English right wing, under Sir Edmund Howard, brother of the Admiral. After some initial resistance, Howard’s banner was taken, albeit he managed to escape, and his division was totally routed by the Scots’ momentum.

The start of Alexander Home’s tribulations began after Flodden, mostly because he was one of the few ‘Flowers’ to have returned unhurt. Home’s place in history is littered with accusations of cowardice and treachery; the former for not having “hastened to the relief of his sovereign” who was struggling in a bloody mêlée with the Earl of Surrey. However, the truth is that Home was intercepted by Lord Dacre and the English reserve, who had advanced to support Howard. According to Dacre, in a letter to the English Council, dated the 17th of May, 1514, he engaged Home and Huntly in an encounter, the ferocity of which, judging by its contents, must entirely disprove any accusations, by the likes of Pitscottie, against Home. There are preposterous stories, noted contemporarily by Buchanan and later by Sir Walter Scott, that Home carried his King from the battlefield only to have him murdered afterwards, but no credibility can be given to such fables.

Six months after Flodden, Lord Home was appointed one of the Standing Councillors to Queen Margaret, the Queen Mother, who had been made Regent. Home was also appointed Chief Justice South of the Forth. You’d think then, he’d be ‘on the pig’s back’ as they say, but never expect anything less than the unexpected where medieval politics is concerned. In 1515, Margaret lost the Regency and her influence to the Duke of Albany and a Battle Royale for possession of the infant James V ensued. Margaret didn’t do hersel’ any favours by marrying the Earl of Angus, but Home’s downfall was, let’s say, his misplaced loyalty to his deceased King’s widow.

Referring back to accusations of treachery against Home, his mistake was to engage in an intrigue with his earlier battlefield protagonist, the English Lord Dacre. Guilty as charged! In Home’s defence, his actions were perhaps attempts to protect the Royal House from what he saw as the usurping designs of Albany, himself next in line to the throne, but getting involved in a plot to overthrow the legitimate Government was a step too far. Taking a second step much too far, he then led an English army into Scotland. Subsequently, Alexander was tricked, by promises of amnesty and pardon, into meeting Albany, but instead, he was arrested and held prisoner, by his brother-in-law. His family tie with the Earl of Arran led to Home escaping to England, but amazingly, he was soon back again and restored to his estates, ready for the final betrayal.

Not seemingly having learnt any kind of a lesson, Home continued to cause unrest in the Borders, which led to Albany yet again enticing him to meet. Unwisely, in September, 1516, Alexander, accompanied by his brother William, went to Holyrood Palace, where they were both arrested. On the advice of Albany’s Council, Lord Home and his brother were tried and condemned for treason. Alexander, 3rd Lord Home, was executed on the scaffold outside the Tolbooth in Edinburgh on the 8th of October, 1516. Sir William de Home was executed the following day, after which both men’s heads were placed on spikes on the northern gable of the Tolbooth, where they remained until 1521, when Home of Wedderburn had them buried with honours in the Kirkyard of Greyfriars.

“The Home’s awa’
Tae Heav’n or Hell,
Ye cannae tell,
But ae thing’s sure
He’ll nae be back.”

Cecil Frederick Gottlieb Coles

Cecil Frederick Gottlieb Coles, musician, composer and hero, was born on the 7th of October, 1888.

Cecil Frederick Gottlieb Coles was an extraordinarily gifted young musician. He was one of Scotland’s most talented pre- First World War composers, yet few people will know anything about him, even if they are old enough to remember him. Sadly, there aren’t too many of those ‘old uns’ left to remember. Sadly, too, Cecil Coles long ago ‘went west’. Coles, a good friend of composer Gustav Holst and one time assistant conductor at the Stuttgart Royal Opera House, died in France in 1918. Holst’s deeply moving ‘Ode to Death’ was dedicated to “Cecil Coles and the fallen” – Coles alone being named. Puir Cecil was weeded out along with many of his generation in the flower of their youth, without realising his potential as a composer. In July, 1914, Coles was  invited by Henry Wood, founder of the Proms, to conduct his dramatic cantata ‘Fra Giacomo’ in the Queen’s Hall. Until 2002, that concert was probably the last time any of Coles’ music was performed by an orchestra.

Fortunately for lovers of classical music in the 21st Century, Coles’ music is once again able to be performed. On a momentous occasion in 2002, several of his compositions, and fragments of others, were recorded by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra. More importantly, the recording was released on compact disc for everyone’s amazement, enjoyment and admiration. As reported at the time, it was thanks to the persistence and research of his daughter, Penny Catherine Coles, that Cecil Coles’ manuscripts were located at George Watson’s College in Edinburgh and ultimately deposited at the National Library of Scotland. In Scotland, his music was painstakingly pieced together and the result was the first ever commercial recording of Coles’ compositions. In the words of the conductor, Martyn Brabbins, it was “a most exciting project, musically, socially and historically.” As poignant as some of the music is the fact that some of Coles’ manuscripts were pocked by shrapnel, and still stained with blood and the mud of the Somme.

Reviews of the CD, entitled ‘Music from behind the lines’ brought universal accolades. According to The Independent in 2002, “Coles emerges as one of the great lost hopes of British music” and Classic FM Magazine wrote that his works “show the power and intensity of a major talent.” HMV Choice said that his music was “touched by post-echoes of Brahms, Mendelssohn and Wagner” yet spoke “unmistakably in its own accent.” Praise indeed. Perhaps the most striking piece on the disc is ‘Behind the Lines’, which was composed in France as is indicated on the faded manuscript – ‘Feb 4th 1918, In the Field’. The first movement provides a sketch of the pastoral landscape of northern French, far removed from the devastation of war; the second suggests the heroic imagery of a military funeral procession.

Cecil Frederick Gottlieb Coles was born in Kirkcudbright on the 7th of October, 1888. One day, the family moved to Edinburgh, where Cecil first attended Daniel Stewart’s College. Later, in 1899, he went to school at George Watson’s College and then, in 1905, on to Edinburgh University. Cecil Coles was involved in music from an early age and by the time he was sixteen, he had already composed his first orchestral work, a Concert Overture in E minor, including ‘The Nocturne’ a duet for piano. In 1906, Coles applied for and won the Cherubini Scholarship to study composition at the London College of Music. According to John Purser, who contributed the sleeve notes for the Hyperion Records CD, Coles possibly won his scholarship with the score of ‘From the Scottish Highlands’, which was a three movement orchestral suite that he had worked on from 1905.

In London, in 1907, Coles went to Morley College, the newly formed educational college for workers, where he met the newly appointed Director of Music, Gustav Holst, who was to become a lifelong friend. That same year, Coles also joined the Morley College Orchestra and composed ‘In the Cathedral’ a Reverie for string orchestra and piano or harp. Again, according to Purser’s sleeve notes, “it is based upon a transposition of the musical motif produced by the initial letters of his full name” – CFGC.

In 1908, Coles won the Théophile Bucher Scholarship, administered by the Reid School of Music, and went to study at the Stuttgart Conservatory. Some of his early compositions were first performed in Stuttgart and, in 1911, he gained an unprecedented six months’ extension to the scholarship, during which he composed his ‘Ouverture die Komödie der Irrungen’ (‘The Comedy of Errors’),  which was performed later in Cologne Conservatoire, on the 25th of June, 1913, shortly before Coles returned to England. However, prior to that, Coles was appointed assistant conductor at the Stuttgart Royal Opera House, which further extended his soujourn in Germany. During his time in Stuttgart, Coles became organist and choirmaster at St. Katherine’s and some of his works were performed at the Liederhalle. He was also able to hob-nob with the likes of Richard Strauss, which has to have been a big deal for a wee laddie frae Kirkcudbright.

In 1913 with the First World War approaching, Coles returned to England, because as Holst later recalled, “[Cecil] told me that in spite of all the courtesy and kindness he was receiving he found life there impossible.” Coles found work as chorus master, touring with the Beecham Opera Company, before going back to Morley College to teach elementary harmony and sight-singing. It was whilst at Morley for the second time that Coles composed his most important surviving work, ‘Fra Giacomo’, a powerful dramatic monologue for voice and orchestra, which was completed on the 23rd of May. 1914.

In 1915, Coles signed up for overseas service in the 9th London Regiment (Queen Victoria’s Rifles), for which he more than ‘his bit’ as a stretcher bearer in Flanders. Undaunted by the conditions, Sergeant Bandmaster Coles and his Band gave impromptu concerts for the troops and, throughout, he continued to compose and send manuscripts back to Holst. Apart from ‘Behind the Lines’ he wrote the ‘Sorrowful Dance’, dedicated to his wife and completed in France on the 19th of May, 1917.

Cecil Frederick Gottlieb Coles died near the Somme on the 26th of April, 1918, during a heroic attempt to bring in some casualties from a wood, for which he had volunteered. On the way back, Coles was mortally wounded by a German sniper. Coles was buried at Crouy, north-west of Amiens and on his tombstone is inscribed, “He was a genius before anything else and a hero of the first water.”

Alexander ‘Secundus’ Monro

Alexander ‘Secundus’ Monro, anatomist and physician, died on the 2nd of October, 1817.

Alexander Monro the second, like his father before him and his son to follow, took for a living the practice of cutting open human cadavers and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he wrote about it. In fact, he was so good at writing about it that he became famous for just that. He became so famous that he had to be distinguished from his famous father and so the two of were given Latin nicknames; Primus and Secundus, in that order. Later, his son, unsurprisingly, got the label of Tertius. With each of them inheriting his predecessor’s role as Professor of Anatomy at the University of Edinburgh, they comprised a one hundred and twenty-six years unbroken succession of advancers of medical knowledge. Add John Monro, Primus’ father, who was Deacon of the Incorporation of Surgeons and that’s quite a dynasty. All three latinised Monros contributed toward making the medical school at Edinburgh University the best in the world, but Secundus is considered the finest anatomist and teacher of the three.

As a teacher, Secundus was considered more effective than Primus and official records of the Faculty of Medicine give Secundus 228 students in 1808. In his role as an educator, Alexander the Second wrote thirty-four volumes of anatomical case notes. Only the index remains extant, but between the Medical Libraries at the Universities of Otago and Edinburgh, there exists a collection of printed books and manuscripts that includes a set of notes taken down verbatim from Secundus’ lectures in 1773/4. According to Douglass W. Taylor, who wrote extensively about this set, all nine volumes are corrected and glossed in Monro’s hand. Monro also wrote three major anatomical treatises (all with long names), including a comparative anatomy of fishes and man, ‘A Description of All the Bursae Mucosae of the Human Body’, and ‘Observations on the Structure and Functions of the Nervous System’, which massive 1783 text was his greatest work.

A list of Monro’s contributions to medicine includes his discovering and accurately describing Monro’s cyst, Monro’s foramen, Richter’s line (on which can be found Monro’s point), Monro’s sulcus, and establishing Monro’s doctrine (a.k.a. the Monro-Kellie doctrine). Over a hundred years later, the ‘foramen of Monro’ became crucial for neurological diagnostic techniques in the 20th Century, so we can be eternally thankful. In addition to being the first to use a stomach pump to surgically drain fluid from a body cavity, Secundus is also listed as having discovered the Lymphatic System, established the function of the Nervous System, and for noting the physiological effects of drugs.

In those days, there was a war going on between anatomists and surgeons, with surgery suffering from academic prejudice as it was perceived to be a manual craft; not an intellectual discipline. In fact, surgical teaching was ‘bolted on’ to anatomy courses like the ones given by Secundus (and Tertius in his turn), but the interesting thing is that those guys were physicians who had no surgical training. Thanks to ‘rebel’ surgeons like Benjamin Bell, and John and Charles Bell (no relation), there were independent schools of surgery, but due largely to Monro’s jealous guarding of his own status as Professor of Anatomy and Surgery, it wasn’t until 1803 that an independent Chair of Clinical Surgery was established in Edinburgh University.

Monro was also a bit of an argumentative chiel and never held back from criticising his fellow anatomists. William Hewson, a former pupil, got the sharp end of his pen as did Gilbert Blane. Hewson appears to have had the temerity to suggest that his investigations preceded Monro’s, prompting Secundus to write the 1770 disertation ‘A State of Facts Concerning the First Porposal of Performing the Paracentesis of the Thorax and the Discovery of the Lymphatic Valvular absorbent System of Oviparous Animals. In Answer to Mr. Hewson’. Prior to all that, in 1757, after publishing his Berlin treatise ‘De venis lymphaticis valvulosis’, Monro fell out with William Hunter, who had made a counterclaim for priority in discovery. That spat led to tit-for-tat acrimonious exchange of pamphlets, which went on until at least 1764.

Alexander Monro was born in Edinburgh on the 22nd of May, 1733. Wee Alec went to a private school ran by James Mundell, before going on to the University of Edinburgh at the tender age of eleven. Incredibly, the name of Alexander Monro (Jnr.) appears in an account book for his father’s anatomy class in 1744. He matriculated in the Faculty of Arts in 1745 (the same year Bonnie Prince Charlie came ower frae France) and studied Latin, Greek, philosophy, mathematics, physics, and history under some of the most famous names of the Enlightenment. Monro began his formal medical studies in 1750 under the tutelage of his father, and that’s when he showed his predilection for anatomy.

By 1753, Monro Jnr. was competent enough to have been entrusted by Monro Snr. to teach the afternoon ‘overflow’ anatomy class – the classes had become so popular. It wasn’t long after that when the Primus/Secundus thing came into use, when the elder Monro successfully petitioned the Town Council to allow the two of them to conjointly hold the Chair of Anatomy. Secundus accepted the position of Professor of Anatomy on the 10th of July 1754. A year later, on the 12th of July, 1755, he received his Edinburgh M.D. Unusually for the time, unlike most dissertations, Secundus’ thesis, on the testicles and semen, contained original research – he injected the tubules with mercury. Funnily enough, Secundus appears to have taught that “these animalcules [spermatozoa] are no more essential to generation than the animals found in vinegar are to acidity.” Well?

For some years after that, apart from pitching up back in Edinburgh on a couple of occasions to cover for his father’s illnesses, Secundus studied in London, Berlin and Leiden under the likes of Hunter, Johann Friedrich Meckel and Bernhard Siegfried Albinus. By the time Primus died in 1767, Secundus had taken over all his anatomy classes and held the Chair of Anatomy for the next fifty years. Like father, like son; in 1798 Secundus persuaded Edinburgh Town Council to appoint his namesake elder son as joint Professor of Anatomy, after which Secundus and Tertius shared duties until 1808, when Secundus retired.

Alexander Secundus Monro died in Edinburgh, of apoplexy, on the 2nd of October, 1817. His collection of anatomical and pathological specimens was bequeathed to his son and successors in the Chair of Anatomy.