Dr. Elsie Inglis

Elsie Inglis, doctor, surgeon and suffragette, died on the 26th of November, 1917.

Elise Inglis was a truly remarkable woman who, along with Sophia Jex-Blake and Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, was responsible for paving the way for female doctors and surgeons in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. Those pioneering women had to fight the prejudice of male-dominated Victorian society, where women were expected to become wives and mothers and leave doctoring to the menfolk. Inglis was having none of that. She appears to have been a formidable woman and no doubt she needed such an asset. One look at a photo will suggest she took no prisoners and her biography on the 'Rampant Scotland' website reinforces the idea referring to letters and diary extracts that show she was “a stern disciplinarian who struck fear into patients and medical staff.”

However, Elsie Inglis was also a compassionate heroine and it is for that she shall be remembered. In fact, Elsie Inglis has been described as Scotland's Florence Nightingale, but that's near enough an outrageous comparison. Professionally, as a qualified doctor and surgeon, Inglis was superior to the brave little night nurse of the Crimea. There are obvious similarities, but Inglis' career was on a different plane.

Elsie Inglis is more often than not mentioned in relation to her heroic role in the First World War, but she was also involved in the Suffragette Movement and founded revolutionary women's hospitals in Edinburgh. Her contribution to female emancipation started when Elsie joined the Central Society for Women's Suffrage, began in 1866, while still a student in Edinburgh. Inglis later joined the National Union of Suffrage Societies and made speeches about women's medical education. In 1906, Inglis also played a principle role in the establishment of the Federation of Scottish Suffrage Societies, for which she was Secretary, and took part in the Princes Street Suffrage March.

Elizabeth Crawford, in 'The Suffragette Movement', tells of Elsie's campaign activities in Scotland, where Inglis spoke “at up to four meetings a week, travelling the length and breadth of the country.” For all her efforts, Elsie Inglis was never able to exercise voting rights – women (only those over the age of thirty, mind you) were first able to vote only after Elsie Inglis had died.

The first step Inglis made towards becoming a heroine of the Great War was to suggest that women's medical units be allowed to serve on the Western Front. Odd as it may sound, Louisa Garrett Anderson had enough volunteers in the Women's Hospital Corps, but even stranger was the response of the War Office. The bowler hatted, pin striped numpties spurned the idea, telling Inglis, as Leah Leneman records in her biography, “My good lady, go home and sit still.” Well Elsie Inglis wasn't the kind of woman to sit still for long. Back home in Edinburgh, she  promptly established the Scottish Women's Hospitals for Foreign Service and in November, 1914, the first unit left for France. By the following year, the 200-bed Abbaye de Royaumont Hospital was in place and that was followed by a second hospital, at Villers Cotterets, which was set up in 1917.

A second unit was sent to Serbia in January 1915, financed by the London Suffrage Society. Then, in mid-April, after the Chief Medical Officer of that unit fell ill, Inglis herself took the opportunity to replace her. During the summer, Inglis set up two further hospital units and directed her efforts to reducing typhus and other epidemics, and improving hygiene. Thanks in no small part to Elsie Inglis and her discipline, over the course of the war, the Scottish Women's Hospitals had much lower levels of death from disease than the more traditional military hospitals then in operation.

Adding more incident and bravery to her tale, during an Austrian offensive in the summer of 1915, Elsie Inglis and her team were captured and imprisoned. Eventually, with the help of the United States diplomats, which had yet to enter the war and was still neutral, the British authorities were able to negotiate her release from the Austrians. That experience can't have been pleasant, but that was war.

All told, the Scottish Women's Hospitals Committee sent over a thousand women to help save the lives of servicemen in war zones across Europe. Those doctors, nurses, orderlies and drivers helped to set up and run four hospitals and fourteen medical units in France, Belgium, Serbia, Corsica, Salonika, Romania, Greece, Malta and Russia, where Inglis herself went, in 1916, in support of Serbian troops fighting the advancing Germans.

Elsie Maud Inglis was born of Scots parents in a hill station at Naini Tal in the Himalayas, on the 16th of August, 1864. In 1878, after a brief sojourn in Tasmania following her father's retirement, wee Elsie found herself in Edinburgh for the first time. Elsie began her medical studies in 1886, at the Edinburgh University School of Medicine for Women, run by Jex-Blake. Those two didn't see eye-to-eye (too alike perhaps) and Inglis left in 1889 to establish the rival Scottish Association for the Medical Education for Women, funded by her father and friends. Later, from 1891, Inglis studied for eighteen months, under Sir William McEwen, at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary. Inglis qualified as a doctor in 1892, becoming a licentiate of both the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons, Edinburgh, and the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow.

Dr. Inglis then worked in London as a house surgeon in a hospital for women, run by Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, and for a period at the Rotunda, a leading maternity hospital in Dublin. In 1894, Inglis returned to Edinburgh, where she established a medical practice with Dr. Jessie MacGregor and, in 1899, she was appointed lecturer in gynaecology at the Medical College for Women. In November 1899, Inglis opened a seven bed hospital called the George Square Nursing Home, at number 11. Then, in 1904, it moved to 219 High Street, where it was renamed the Hospice, staffed entirely by women. In 1925, after having amalgamated with the Brunstfield Hospital in 1910, that became the Elsie Inglis Memorial Hospital.

Elsie Maud Inglis died in Newcastle Upon Tyne on the 26th of November, 1917. Commenting on her death, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Arthur Balfour, said, “In the history of this [First] World War, alike by what she did and by the heroism, driving power and the simplicity by which she did it, Elsie Inglis has earned an everlasting place of honour.” Elsie Inglis was buried in Dean Cemetery, Edinburgh, after a memorial service in St. Giles' Cathedral, on the 29th of November. Her pallbearers were Serbian officers and her coffin was bedecked with the flags of Britain and Serbia.

The Earl of Douglas and the Black Dinner

The murder of William, the 6th Earl of Douglas, took place on the 24th of November, 1440

In Scotland, we've had the Black Parliament, several outbreaks of the Black Death, our own Black Knight (who hasn't), and two Black Douglas days. The events of the first of those Douglas days became known as the Black Dinner, except it surely wasn't a Black-tie Dinner, although there must've been a Douglas contingent sporting the medieval equivalent of black ties at the subsequent funeral. Eh, what's that; a funeral? What kind of a dinner was the Black Dinner? Was food poisoning involved, maybe some Black Pudding that'd gone a bit rancid perhaps? You might well ask.

It seems that the troubles of the Douglases stemmed from their having become too powerful. Certainly, by the early 15th Century, they were seen by some as a threat to the stability of the nation. However, that view was very subjective, with the composition of the 'some' including rival Lords and Earls, and scurrilous relatives as well. On the Noble's side, the main problem arose due to the youthfulness of King James II, the sole surviving son of James I and his Queen, Joan Beaufort. James was ten in 1440, having succeeded to the Throne at the age of seven, after his father had been brutally murdered at St. John’s Toune of Perth. Brutal murders seem to have been the order of the day – and a side order at dinnertime. During James’ minority, his guardians began well, by rounding up and executing his dad's murderers. However, after the Governor of Scotland, Archibald, 5th Earl of Douglas, who was co-Regent, with Queen Joan, for the child King, died, in 1439, the situation degenerated and a savage and bloody struggle for power ensued.

That ignoble feud involved three key protagonists, a Guardian, Sir William Crichton, Sir Alexander Livingstone, also a Guardian, and William, the 6th Earl of Douglas. To some extent, things became a bit like ‘pass the parcel’ as Crichton initially had custody of the young James, but he was then kidnapped and carried off to Stirling by Livingstone who also abducted Queen Joan. When Parliament demanded that Livingstone release James and his mother, Livingstone and Crichton formed an alliance against the young and perhaps naive Douglas Earl. The story of these events is told extremely well by Nigel Tranter in his novels 'The Lion's Whelp' and 'The Black Douglas' (read chronologically, in that order). Also compelling is Michael Brown's history, 'The Black Douglases'.

On the relative side, the troubles of the 6th Earl of Douglas came from his great-uncle, James 'the Gross', the younger son of Archibald 'the Grim'. That rather large James Douglas was also the nephew of the newly deceased 5th Earl and had a certain influence as the near relation of a Regent. In addition, he had well-established links with Livingstone and Crichton. However, James' power was likely to wane with the succession of wee Wullie who was most likely going to succeed to his father's Lieutenancy as well as the Earl-ship. Neither the gross James, the ageing Livingston, nor the in-admirable Crichton were too keen on the idea of the new 6th Earl of Douglas rising, inevitably as the Black Douglas must, to political dominance. Furthermore, all things being equal, the 7th Earl was going to be William's son, when he got round to having one.

So James, with one eye on the Earl's belt, seems to have become involved in what ensued, although there's no proof he took a personal hand. James' problems were resolved by the actions of his allies, undoubtedly with his knowledge and cooperation, whether or not he was in any way directly involved. After the brutal slaying that was to take place, James 'the Gross', being the heir by male entail, became the 7th Earl of Douglas.

The notorious story of the Black Dinner begins with the 6th Earl of Douglas, his younger brother David, and Sir Malcolm Fleming of Cumbernauld being invited to dine with the boy King in Edinburgh Castle. Earl William was as secure as could be on his own lands, safe from arrest on any trumped up charges of treason or suchlike, which might've been used to curb his activities. Maybe he felt too secure, young and headstrong as he reputedly was. In any case, the Douglas seems to have feared nothing in allowing himself to be lured to the Castle, where he appeared on the 24th of November, 1440. As Crichton, Chancellor of Scotland at the time, was also Keeper of the Castle, he is said to have organised the dinner and issued the invites. Also reputedly present were Livingston, who had custody of the King, and the wee Royal himself, down from Stirling for the day.

The legendary banquet was held in the Great Hall of Edinburgh Castle, with King James and Earl Douglas getting on famously. Then, at the end of the feast, somebody brought in the head of a black bull and thumped it on the table, silencing the hubbub and causing several jaws to drop open. That symbolic act was supposed to be a portent for the death of the principal guest – the Black Douglas. The story concludes with the King's pleas being ignored and Douglas heads joining that of the bull on the table. A perfidious murder and worthy of its epitaph and, according to the Douglas Archive, Sir Walter Scott's lines:

“Edinburgh castle, toune, and towre,
God grant thou sink for sin;
And that e'en for the Black Dinner,
Earl Douglas gat therein.”

Other versions suggest that after the dinner, the Douglases were dragged out to Castle Hill, given a mock trial and then beheaded. You may prefer something more credible, such as appears in 'The Livingstons of Callendar' by E. B. Livingston (Edinburgh University Press, 1920), where the following is categorically stated: “...what we do know for certain is that on the arrival of the Earl of Douglas at the castle, he was at once arrested, together with his only brother David, and ...Sir Malcolm Fleming ...the three of them were hastily tried for high treason, found guilty, and promptly beheaded on the Castle Hill.” The extra detail that the Earl and his brother were executed there and then on the 24th , with Fleming being 'turned off' four days later, is added. There's no mention of any dinner or bull's head, all of which seems to have been a bit of fable.

The second of those Black Douglas days didn't get its own Black Label, but in an amazing echo of the terrible events of 1440, twelve years later, on the 22nd of  February, 1452, the same King James who had ostensibly watched in anguish as the 6th Earl was treacherously murdered took the life of the 8th Earl, the son of James 'the Gross', by his own Royal hand. The second murderous incident is more deserving of the title 'Black Dinner' and it's probably the case that the chroniclers, writing decades, often centuries, later, simply mixed up the two incidents.

Sir James Bruce

Sir James Bruce, Lord Elgin, 8^th Earl of Elgin, 12^th Earl of Kincardine, statesman and diplomat, died on the 20^th of November, 1863.

James Bruce was born in London, but he was a Scottish Earl twice over by inheritance of his father's titles. His dad was the guy who stole the eponymous 'Elgin Marbles' from Greece, which isn't anywhere near Elgin in what used to be called Banffshire. Whether you subscribe to the 'stolen' or 'saviour' theory pertaining to those sculptures, it's fairly clear that Greece wants them back and in the present economic climate, it it had them, it could sell them to the United Kingdom to keep in its 'Museum of Things Purloined from the Ancient World without its Express Permission'.

Depending on where you come from in the world, Sir James Bruce is either a bit – a big bit – of a diplomatic hero or a bit – a bad bit – of a rampaging British colonialist. The parts of the world where he'd be fêted are Scotland and England; Jamaica probably; British North America as was, a.k.a. Canada; Japan perhaps; and India. The part of the world where his name is more likely to be used as an expletive, is China. Although, I'm not sure if the Chinese are the kind to bear a grudge and, in any case, today's 'post-communist' Chinese are more likely to mourn the loss of a potential tourist attraction than look upon the incident in any other light. But don't mention the Opium War.

In fact, the Opium Monopoly was (is) a blot on the character of the United Kingdom, which has been, to a large extent, conveniently forgotten, but you can't blame Bruce for that. Sir James Bruce was a plenipotentiary to China between 1857 and 1859, and then again, for good measure, between 1860 and 1861. In 1860, as a measure taken to intimidate the Chinese Emperor, Bruce burned down the Emperor's Old Summer Palace in an act of wanton vandalism. In the process, countless thousands of priceless works of art were destroyed. It leaves you wondering what Bruce's dad, the collector (or 'acquirer') of priceless artefacts from Greece, would've said about that. You might also wonder what the 'process' of burning down is. The answer depends on whose side you're on. If you're a colonialist, the process is straightforward and legal, but if you're on the receiving end, it's one of pain and grief, especially if you've not got adequate insurance cover.

Three years after Elgin returned to London, which he did in December 1854, he embarked for China as a 'Special Envoy'. The primary reasons for that trip were the concerns of Palmerston's Government over British trading rights. However, there was also the dispute manufactured by a consular officer called Harry Parkes, which gave the Government an excuse to look for 'satisfaction' over an alleged insult to the Union Jack. That affair was known as the 'lorcha Arrow incident'. The 'Arrow' was a lorcha, which was a particular type of sailing vessel that had a Portuguese or European-style hull and a Chinese junk-style rig. Such boats, which were much faster than the standard Chinese junk, were typically used for smuggling salt, which was the offence of which the Chinese had accused the Arrow's crew. For his own reasons, Parkes had decided he was offended by an imaginary insult to an imaginary flag.

So Elgin forced his way into China, quite unlike any reasonable envoy, 'reluctantly' led the bombing of Canton and negotiated the Treaty of Tientsin (Tianjin?), which effectively saw the end of the Second Opium War. Elgin's trip concluded with that treaty of the 26^th of June, 1858, when he became High Commissioner, with Britain gaining beneficial trading rights and protection for its Missionaries. Then in 1860, after a sojourn in Japan, where he concluded the Treaty of Amity and Commerce, Elgin was back in China, because the Chinese had reneged on their obligations.

On his second trip, Elgin was accompanied by an Anglo-French military force, which army marched to Peking in support of Elgin's brother, who was besieging the place. Elgin wanted the Chinese to surrender and concede to a treaty. By all accounts, Elgin was keen to spare the city that the Chinese still call Beijing from further depredation. Reputedly, Elgin was also keen to exact revenge for the imprisonment, torture and execution of some prisoners; a group that had included two other British envoys and a journalist from 'The Times' amongst its twenty European and Indian victims. Some biographies of Elgin suggest that he considered destroying the Forbidden City as a reprisal. You can just imagine the Chinese tourist trade today without that! What an outrage that would've been.

Luckily, Elgin wasn't a fool, and he also had his eye on concluding that treaty, which became the Convention of Beijing, and didn't want to queer that pitch. So, on the 18^th of October, 1860, Elgin ordered the destruction by burning of the Yuan Ming Yuan. The Old Summer Palace, eight kilometres north west of Beijing, had been built during the 18^th and early 19^th Centuries, and was where the emperors of the Qing Dynasty resided. The complex of palaces and gardens was also their governmental centre, but none of that stopped it burning for three days. Neither did the burning stop Elgin's troops from looting treasures from the Imperial Palace and carrying them to Britain. The 7^th Earl would've been proud of that. It seems, however, that Elgin wasn't too proud of himself. According to his entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Elgin wrote a letter to his wife, about the bombing of Canton, in which he wrote, “I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life.” 

By the way, the treaty Elgin was after was signed on the 24^th of October, 1860. It stipulated that China was to cede part of Kowloon Peninsula and Hong Kong, in perpetuity, to Britain.

Elgin's time as Governor General in Canada gets a better press, which isn't too surprising, since he was charged by the Whig Colonial Secretary, Earl Grey, over a wee cuppa tea no doubt, to concede what was called 'responsible' or cabinet government to the colonial administration of British North America. Having cheered up the embryonic Canadians, Elgin then proceeded to annoy the English Tories in Canada East and the French-Canadians in Montreal by supporting the Rebellion Losses Act of 1849. That bill provided compensation for victims of the 1837 rebellion in Lower Canada, whom many saw as traitors. Nevertheless, Elgin's action has been described (in his entry in the 'Gale Encyclopedia of Biography') as “far seeing” and an “act of political wisdom” leading to similar and welcome gestures of appeasement in other colonies. His last major action before leaving Canada in 1854, was the successful negotiation of the Reciprocity Treaty with the United States, which was designed to boost the economic life of the Canadas.

James Bruce was born in London on the 20^th of July, 1811 and he died, suddenly (unexpectedly, that is), in Dhurmsala, in the Himalayas, on the 20^th of November, 1863, not long after taking up the post of Viceroy of India.

James Macpherson was hanged in Banff

James Macpherson was hanged in Banff on the 16^th of November, 1700.

James ‘Jimmy’ Macpherson, the famous fiddling freebooter, was a Banffshire outlaw and the last man to have been hanged in Banff prior to the abolition of Heritable Jurisdiction. Whilst the story of Jimmy Macpherson is true, his history has rather become intermingled with folklore, but it seems that the best legends are those that embellish true facts. So, whether or not Jimmy truly was an expert swordsman and a famous fiddler, he does appear to have ended up as the leader of a band of thieves and vagabonds with a sideline as a legitimate horse dealer. He was of gypsy origin as confirmed by the records of his trial, so it’s amusing to think that the lived as a lot of such folk still do, by buying and selling the means of transport; horses then and second-hand cars now. According to many accounts, Jimmy seems to have evolved into Banffshire’s answer to Robbing Hood, but Macpherson's downfall came through conceit.

James Macpherson was born about 1675, the illegitimate son of one of the Macphersons of Invereshie and a beautiful gypsy girl he met at a wedding. Jimmy was acknowledged by his father and brought up at Invereshie House near Kincraig until that man’s death, after which he was brought up by his mother's people, with some measure of support from his paternal family. Jimmy’s father was said to have been killed while attempting to recover a spread of cattle stolen in Badenoch. His mother’s people were gypsies or ‘Egyptians’ as such folk had been known in Scotland since the time of the early Stewart Kings, given that ‘gypsy’ derives from the term ‘Egyptian’. According to the first volume of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’, Jimmy “grew up to beauty, strength and stature rarely equalled”, but how can we believe that; not even Johnny Depp deserves such an accolade. The anonymous author of that magazine article would also have us believe that “no act of cruelty, or robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed was ever perpetrated under his command” – and, neither he nor his men had to wear tights under their kilts.

Macpherson’s band of lawless freebooters operated in the shires of Aberdeen, Banff and Moray, and although he was captured on two occasions, he managed to escape on both occasions. According to a report in ‘The New Statistical Account of Scotland’, published by William Blackwood and Sons, in 1845, Macpherson and his large, armed gang developed the habit of arriving on market days in places like Forres, Elgin or Banff and marching in as cock-sure as you like, behind a blawing piper. His ‘reign of terror’ came to an end at Saint Rufus’ Fair in Keith in September 1700, when Macpherson and his crew were surprised by Alexander Duff, the Laird of Braco, and some of his followers. Braco was the first to seize upon Macpherson and a desperate fight ensued in which one of Macpherson’s men was killed. It was only by blankets being thrown over his head from the windows above that his numerous assailants could obtain any advantage over him. However, he still contrived to escape their clutches and fled “seeking to reach the gable of the church” and “parrying the attack of his enemies by the way”. But, “he fell over a gravestone” and was captured and lodged in the tollbooth in Banff. Three of his men, a Gordon and twa Brouns, were also captured and imprisoned.

MacPherson was tried at Banff before Nicholas Dunbar, the Sheriff of Banffshire, on the 8^th of November, 1700. His three cohorts were tried the following Spring, but bear in mind that at the end of the 18^th Century in Scotland, it was still a capital crime merely to be an ‘Egyptian’ and it was under such a statute that MacPherson was tried. An extant procès-verbal of his trial records the details for posterity: “Forasmeikle as you James M’Pherson, pannal are found guilty by ane verdict of ane assyse, to be knoun, holden, and repute to be Egiptian and a wagabond, and oppressor of his Magesties free lieges in ane bangstrie manner… Therfor, the Sheriff-depute of Banff, and I in his name, adjudges and discernes you [Macpherson] to be taken to the Cross of Banff… to be hanged by the neck to the death… betwixt the hours of two and three in the afternoon…”

The foregoing is essentially fact, but now the legend takes over. Apparently, Macpherson was a fiddler of renown and a composer to boot, but that is something for which there is absolutely no contemporary evidence. One of his men, Peter Broune, who was jailed with him, “got money sometyms for playing on the wiol [viol – a precursor of the modern fiddle]...”, which might be significant; at least it’s an interesting coincidence. On the other hand, a broadside entitled ‘The Last Words of James Macpherson, Murderer’, which was printed about 1705, contains nothing at all about any dramatic gesture such as he was supposed to have made. If true, rarely has death been faced with such perfect contempt as in Macpherson’s grand gesture of defiance before he was ‘turned off’ by the ‘common finisher of the law’ on the afternoon of the 16^th of November, 1700.

Macpherson’s lasting fame is assured, because everyone is prepared to believe that he not only composed his eponymous ‘Lament’ but that he played and sang it before the gallows. As the final notes died away on the breeze, he offered his viol “to anyone in the crowd who would think well of him” and as no one was brave enough to take it from the hands of a condemned man, he broke it over his knee and cast it into the crowd. Some versions of the story get carried away and report Macpherson dashing his fiddle over the head of the executioner, before flinging himself headlong into oblivion. Other reports suggest he threw pieces of the instrument into his awaiting grave. Both are almost as absurd as his having been at all allowed to play the viol. Nevertheless, the broken remains of his fiddle can be seen in the Macpherson Clan Museum in Newtonmore.

The tail end of the story involves the legend of the town clock, which was said to have been put forward by a quarter of an hour in order to get Macpherson hanged before the arrival of a messenger carrying a reprieve from the Laird of Grant. Allegedly, the Magistrates were punished for that perfidious expedient and for many years were forced to keep the town clock fifteen minutes behind the correct time. It is also said that Macduff has no west facing town clock visible to the folks of Banff across the bay so they can't see the right time. If you apply some small measure of logic to all of the above, if they were in such an indecent haste to ‘turn off’ Macpherson, you’ve got to ask yourself, why would they have granted him time to cavort on the gallows? Whatever the truth, it is a fact that, to this day, folks in the North East make jokes about the veracity of the time in Banff.

The Edinburgh Seven

Edinburgh University admitted the Edinburgh Seven to the study of medicine on the 12th of November, 1869.

Those students of politics, terrorism and Irish emancipation will have heard of the Guildford Four, the Birmingham Six and the Maguire Seven, whereas rugby fans will know of the Melrose Sevens and not many will be aware of the Venlo Seven, of which we may forget. However, a far more significant and important 'seven' were the Edinburgh Seven of 1869. Back in the 19th Century, upper and middle class women were not expected to enter the 'professions' and earn their own living. The female variety of common peasants were, of course, except that what they earned didn't give them much of a living. Life wasn't too much better for their male counterparts who had, in the earlier part of the Century, only just ceased to be fodder for Bonaparte’s cannon. Come to think of it, poor children didn't have it so good either; with boys forced to climb chimneys and drown in pools.

The thing about those middle and upper class women for which we can be thankful is their inherited sense of superiority and stubbornness for it is those sorts of traits, evident in a select band of pioneers, which led to the overturning of a situation prevailing where it was virtually impossible for women to become doctors, engineers, architects, accountants or bankers. By the end of the Century, after a long struggle had broken the taboos, there were (only) two hundred women doctors.

 The first Scottish woman doctor was Elsie Inglis, but she had to thank several English women for having paved her way. The first of those was Elizabeth Blackwell, who emigrated with her family to the United States in 1832. On the 11th of January in 1849, Blackwell became the first woman to achieve a medical degree in the United States. Blackwell founded the  New York Infirmary for Indigent (not 'indignant') Women and Children and trained women to become Union Army nurses during the Civil War. Blackwell returned to England in 1853 and, on the 1st of January, 1859, under a clause in the Medical Act of 1858, which recognised doctors having gained foreign degrees prior to its date, she became the first woman on the General Medical Council's Medical Register. Together with Florence Nightingale, of whom you will have heard, Blackwell was responsible for opening the Women's Medical College and she was also the co-founder of the London School of Medicine for Women.

Next up came  Elizabeth Garrett (Elizabeth Garrett Anderson), who was the first woman to gain a medical qualification in Britain and the second woman to have her name entered on the Medical Register. Garrett was refused entry to study at Middlesex Hospital, but finally was able to study anatomy, privately, demurely and discretely, at the Royal London Hospital, with the more enlightened Professors at the University of St Andrews, and at the Edinburgh Extra-mural School. Garrett gained her diploma, but London University, the Royal Colleges of Physicians and Surgeons, and other stuffy bodies refused to admit her to their examinations. Eventually, the Society of Apothecaries allowed her to enter for the Licence of Apothecaries' Hall, which she obtained in 1865.

Four years later, in 1869, the Edinburgh Seven hit the headlines, at least in The Scotsman newspaper. The ring leader of this 'seven' was Sophia Jex-Blake who had earlier spent a few months studying with private tutors in Edinburgh, sometime between 1861 and 1862, when and where she met Elizabeth Garrett. Later, Jex-Blake went to the United States and in 1868, after having decided to train to become a doctor and enrol in Elizabeth Blackwell's medical college in New York, she instead returned to England due to the death of her father. Having found no English medical school which would accept women students, Jex-Blake once more went north to Edinburgh and its university.

 In Edinburgh, the University's governing body supported the Dean of the Medical Faculty in denying attendance to Jex-Blake as it it couldn't stomach the idea of mixed classes and certainly wasn't going to fund individual classes for one English 'battleaxe'. Not to be denied, Jex-Blake then advertised for women to join her, with the aim of funding their own, segregated lectures. Jex-Blake's first cadre consisted of Matilda Chaplin, Helen Evans, Edith Pechey and Isobel Thorne, soon to be joined in matriculation by Mary Anderson and Emily Bovell. Those seven would be “doctresses” also described in Charles Reade's 1877 novel, 'A Woman-Hater', as “seven wise virgins of a half-civilized nation”, became the first women medical students at any United Kingdom university.

Having got that far, you'd think all would become plain sailing, however, the women were not allowed to graduate, despite having passed their exams and significantly, having deposited their fees in the University's coffers. In 1873, they lost a challenge in the Court of Session, which upheld the University's decision not to award them degrees as 'regulations' prevented them from serving on wards. To rub salt into wounds, the Court also ruled, by a majority, that the women should not have been admitted in the first place.

The 'cause' found support in organisations such as the  General Committee for Securing a Complete Medical Education for Women, but Jex-Blake moved back to London, where she later helped to establish the London School of Medicine for Women with Blackwell. That school opened in autumn 1874, with twelve of its fourteen students, including six of the Edinburgh Seven, having previously studied in Edinburgh. Apart from Jex-Blake, who was granted an M.D. by the Dublin College of Physicians, five of the original 'seven' gained M.Ds., from either Bern or Paris, in the early 1870s (the others were Bovell, Chaplin, Marshall and Pechey).

In 1876, new legislation enabled, albeit it did not compel, examining bodies to treat male and female candidates equally. In 1878, London became the first university in the United Kingdom to admit women to its degrees. In 1880, four women passed the B.A. examination and in 1881, two women obtained a B.Sc. By 1895, over 10 percent of the graduates were women and by 1900 the proportion had increased to 30 percent. In the same year as London's landmark, 1878, Jex-Blake returned to Edinburgh, where she installed herself at Manor Place in the New Town as the City's first woman doctor. Once Scotland had seen the light and started licensing women doctors, Jex-Blake helped found the Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women, in 1886, where Elsie Inglis and Jessie Macgregor became students. Edinburgh University continued to resist and it wasn't until 1892, that it began to admit women undergraduates, after the Universities (Scotland) Act of 1889 established a legal framework.

Eric Linklater

Eric Linklater, poet, historical writer, versatile novelist, biographer and playwright, died on the 7^th of November, 1974.

Erik Linklater wasn't born in Scotland, but the question of his 'scottishness' has long since been resolved. In football or rugby terms, he was very well qualified, needing only his father's Scottish credentials, a first generation link, to satisfy that criteria. As far as Linklater himself was concerned, he was an Orcadian and, therefore, Scottish and he always considered his spiritual home to have been the Orkney Isles, from where his father was. In fact, the ten years old Linklater seems to have been obsessed enough about his roots to have calculated beyond doubt that he had been conceived in Orkney. That's got to be good enough by anyone's yardstick. However, just to cement the thing, his mother, “a woman of fierce and determined character” who was half Swedish and half English, had, according to her son, “arbitrarily decided that she was Scotch.” Aye, that'll dae! Linklater never claimed to have been born in Orkney, but he was happy with everyone's assumption until he confirmed his Welsh birthplace in the third volume of his autobiography, published in 1970.

Whilst Linklater was a prolific writer of novels, popular histories and children's stories, he had also been, at one time or another, a journalist in India, commander of a wartime fortress in the Orkney Islands, a wannabe politician, and rector of Aberdeen University. Eric Linklater was also a war hero. When the First World War interrupted his life, he joined the Army, in which he served on the Somme as a Private in the Black Watch. As a budding poet, he perhaps shared more with Rupert Brooke than Wilfred Owen, however, Linklater 'wasn't fit to tie the shoelaces' of those other guys. As a soldier, Linklater became a sniper, oddly, just for a few weeks; maybe that was more than enough. Interestingly, however, he once said of that period in his life that it had provided an intensity that he never once experienced again. Private Linklater was seriously wounded in the head, near the ruined village of Voormezeele, and spent several month is a field hospital.

Eric Linklater's time in the Second World War was less concerning. As a Major in the Royal Engineers, he commanded the Orkney garrison, being responsible for strengthening the defences at Scapa Flow. After the Germans stopped their bombing raids against Orkney and Shetland, Linklater launched 'The Orkney Blast' newspaper; to relieve the boredom. Later on, Linklater worked at the public relations section of the British War Office and went to Italy, where he helped to rediscover art treasures 'lost' in Florence during the war.

In between the two World Wars, in 1933, Linklater stood as a parliamentary candidate for the National Party of Scotland in the East Fife by-election. He was unsuccessful, but perhaps we should be thankful for that as it was upon his experiences in that campaign – thinly disguised – that he drew for the political satire, 'Magnus Merriman'. Of interest is the roll call of Linklater's contemporaries who were members of the National Party for Scotland, including Hugh MacDiarmid and Neil Gunn. Indeed, 'Magnus Merriman' is notable for its ridiculing of the 'literary renaissance' in Scotland, one of the main protagonists in which was the unfortunate MacDiarmid (real name: Christopher Murray Grieve) . Linklater was disappointed, if not disillusioned, in the Nationalist Party, largely because, as he saw things, its sole policy was fairly predictable – separation from England. However, he was in favour of Scottish autonomy as is evident from one of his non-fiction works, 'The Lion and the Unicorn', which is about Scotland's [poor] relations with England.

Eric Robert Russell Linklater was born in Penarth, in the Vale of Glamorgan, on the 8^th of March, 1899. Wee Ek went to the Cardiff Intermediate School for Boys for a while, before his family moved back to Orkney and Eric attended Aberdeen Grammar School. In 1916, Eric entered Aberdeen University to read medicine, but his studies were interrupted by World War I. After the war, in 1919, Linklater returned to 'civvy street' ostensibly to resume his medical studies at Aberdeen. However, he soon realized that he had chosen the wrong profession and switched to reading English literature at King's College, from where he graduated M.A. In 1925. Linklater then embarked on a career in journalism, becoming Assistant Editor of 'The Times of India' in Bombay; a post he held until 1927, before returning to work at the University in Aberdeen, in 1928.

His journey 'home' could've been an adventure in itself as he travelled through Persia and across the Caspian Sea to the Caucasus. In fact, many of Linklater's books drew on his experiences travelling in various parts of the world, including the time he spent in the Far East in the 1950s. During his time in India, Linklater had become determined to write something more than mere newspaper articles. As a consequence, during the next two years, which he spent at Cornell University in Berkley, California and in China on a Commonwealth Fellowship, he spent most of his time working on his third novel. That satirical novel, which was about Prohibition and called 'Juan in America' was published in 1931.

With its tale of gangsters, molls, and speakeasy's, 'Juan' was chosen by the Book Society as Book of the Month, but it annoyed the hell out of the Commonwealth Foundation. Linklater was accused of showing insufficient respect for the institutions of the mighty United States, but the book established his reputation as a serious [sic] humorist. The first two of Linklater's twenty-three novels were 'White-man's Saga' (1929), set in 'Inverdoon' and the satirical 'Poet's Pub' (1930). His output of books also included 'Private Angelo', which is a gently comic story about an Italian peasant who finds redemption; filmed in 1949, starring Peter Ustinov. His three volumes of autobiography are entitled 'The Man on my back', 'A Year of Space' and 'Fanfare for a tin hat'.

Eric Robert Russell Linklaterdied in Aberdeen on the 7^th of November, 1974. He was buried in in Harray Kirkyard, in Orkney.

The formation of Celtic Football Club

Celtic Football Club was formally constituted on Sunday, the 6^th of November, 1887.

What became Glasgow Celtic Football and Athletic Club was formed in 1887 at a meeting in Calton. That Sunday afternoon meeting was presided over by Brother Walfrid and John Glass, two of the major characters in the club's formation. Although Brother Walfrid can be said to have been the instigator and the primary motivator in the club's inception, it appears John Glass was the catalyst that made it happen. Glass the Irishman from Donegal was a joiner and a humanitarian, whereas Brother Walfrid the Irishman from Sligo was of the Marist Brothers Teaching Congregation, which made him a humanitarian by default. Glass was, by all accounts, a highly respected leader of the Irish Catholic community in Glasgow and he is also acknowledged as the man who persuaded a number of famous players to join the embryonic Club. As a reflection of his influence, Willie Maley, a famous Celtic personage, once described Glass as the man “to whom the club owes its existence.”

It is widely believed that Celtic Football Club was born in St. Mary's Roman Catholic Church Hall on East Rose Street, which is now Forbes Street, in Calton. However, in 1892, St. Mary's Hall was in Henrietta Street, now Orr Street, as can be seen from contemporary maps. The Celtic Wiki website states fairly clearly that the hall in question was an L-shaped building that was partly on East Rose Street and partly on Henrietta Street. Looking at an 1892-94 Ordnance Survey map of the area (shown on the Celtic Wiki), you can clearly see the rectangular St. Mary's Hall in Henrietta Street. However, there are also two L-shaped buildings, adjacent to each other, that are shown as being on Henrietta Street, between St. Mary's Hall and the corner of East Rose Street. All three of these premises were built sometime between 1872 and 1892.

The L-shaped building shown closest to the junction (it's a crossroads) of East Rose and Henrietta Streets on the 1892 map was still standing in the summer of 2010, with the remains of an adjoining building, the one on the very corner, being just a wall with boarded-up windows and doorway. One of those three buildings, either St. Mary's Hall or one of the two L-shaped buildings, was most likely where the meeting took place.

The place looked pretty decrepit in 2010, but back in 1887, the situation facing Glasgow's poor, Catholics and Protestants alike, was similarly woebegone. Being a Catholic Brother, Walfrid was, not unnaturally, only concerned with his 'flock', who were particularly deprived. Glasgow was then the most densely populated city in Europe and words like squalor, disease and human suffering need not be considered overblown in describing the environs of its East End. To alleviate some of the suffering, in 1869, Brother Walfrid set up a charity called 'Poor Children's Dinner Table'. Later, in 1884, together with Brother Dorotheus, Brother Walfrid established the 'Penny Dinners' for the poor children from the slums of the Parish.

According to 'Glimpses of old Glasgow' by Andrew Aird, published in 1894, the 'Poor Children's Dinner Table' “Does most beneficent work. It has tables in thirteen different districts of the city, and gives about 2,400 dinners daily.” In the words of Brother Walfrid, talking about his 'dinners', parents who perhaps couldn't afford a full penny “could send the bread and the children could get a large bowl of broth or soup for a halfpenny.” Those who were not able to pay at all were given a free meal. Against that background and having had some success arranging one-off, fund raising games, Brother Walfrid was inspired to create Celtic Football Club, as a means of raising funds on a more regular basis for his charitable works.

Part of the inspiration came from the success of Hibernian in Edinburgh, another club with fundamentally Irish roots. When the Hibernian team were invited to celebrate in St. Mary's Hall in Calton, (exactly where was that, you might ask) after they had won the Scottish Cup in 1887, Brother Walfrid and John Glass, perhaps challenged by John McFadden, the secretary of Edinburgh Hibernian, decided that anything Edinburgh could do, Glasgow could do better. After all, Glasgow smiles better! And in Glasgow, they weren't having any of that namby-pamby temperance movement that was part of the make-up of Hibernian. Now that's a heritage with which the patrons of Baird's Bar are content. There was a Glasgow Hibernian, but it was as short-lived as the idea that Celtic should only employ the “right sort” of players.

In 1897, the name of Celtic Football Club was changed to Celtic Football and Athletic Company Limited. The name is pronounced 'Seltic' rather than 'Keltic'. It's amusing to hear commentators on ESPN talking about “Seltics Seltic heritage” when they surely mean its 'Keltic' heritage. It's quite likely that Brother Walfrid wanted the correct usage of the word 'Celtic', but somehow or other the 'soft C' was adopted and “C'moan the Sellik” is what's heard in Celtic Park.

The first Celtic Park, used for four seasons up to 1891-92, was established on land lying to the north east of Dalmarnock Street, now Springfield Road, and adjacent to London Road. The second Celtic Park was opened on the site of the third stadium, on the 13^th of August, 1892, in time for the start of the new season. Celtic Park is sometimes referred to by commentators as Parkhead, after the district of the city in which the stadium is located. It is also known as 'Paradise'. According to 'The Second City' by C. A. Oakley, published in 1946, that's because when it was built, “[the ground] seemed so palatial, in odd comparison with an adjacent graveyard, that it was described as the 'Paradise'.”

In addition to the football pitch, the second Celtic Park had a banked, concrete cycling track around the perimeter of the field and hosted many major cycling events, including the 1897 World Cycling Championships. Celtic Park also hosted several full international matches between Scotland and England, the last of which was in 1904. The stadium was the first to have a double decker stand, which was built in 1898, although it was burned down in 1927. Amusingly, Oakley's book describes the capacity of Celtic Park as being 70,000 and goes on to add that it was “too small” – however, he meant that it was too small to hold the size of crowd wanting to go to international matches. Celtic's first ever game, the first official game at the old Celtic Park, was against “a side of Rangers” who called themselves 'The Swifts'. Celtic beat that reserve side by 5 goals to 2, watched by a crowd of 2000.