4. A Bit of History!

Now that we have the MacDonalds comfortably(?) installed in Drinishader, let's pop in something about the history of the islands and the clan. The islands have been inhabited for up to 15 000 years, and one tradition states that the very first settlers came up from Spain. There is a Celtic corner of Spain called Galicia. The jury is still out on that one, but the DNA has some evidence of it.

There is also the tradition that the Celts who inhabited Britain came from the great plains of Europe, and brought the horse with them. What we do know is that the Romans, who managed to conquer the Southern Celts, built a huge wall across the North of England and declared that civilisation ended there.

Meanwhile, our sunworshipping ancestors were erecting stone circles, and living on venison and seafood. Their pottery has been dug up near the Teampull at Northton. There are traces of neolithic(Stone Age) and Bronze Age  settlements, and of agriculture, but lots of work has to be done before we get the whole picture.

Some of our ancestors came from Munster, Cork and Kerry and added their bit. they also brought their brand of Christianity, along with St Columba. One of their tribes was the Scots.

Celts are we? As kids we all thought so. Round about 700CE the Vikings hit the Hebrides, massacring monks, stealing anything that glittered and basically taking over. They only left after Alexander III  Beat them at the Battle of Largs in 1263.  By then they had transferred their DNA to their descendants, so we are Scandinavian Celts.   And our chiefs are descended from Somerled and  from  Dalriadic Celts. that's why the place names are Norwegian and the language Gaelic.

View From Drinishader

But what are the Macdonalds doing in the tough, stony Bays instead of lovely Northton? 

And even pretty Stockinish with its colourful fishing boats is a bit of a shock when we all know Grandpa

was a crofter.
                                      





                                                                                                                                             

2. The Northton House

 The House at Northton

Northton is a straggling village in South Harris. No 37 is about halfway down, on the right side on the way to the machair and the beach. It is a solid single storey. According to my Uncle Neil, my grandfather built it himself, using the government grant. he added ten pounds of his own money, so it was called the "Ten Pound House". The first person to sleep in it in 1926 was Uncle Neil. The house contained some magnificent antique furniture, including grandad's brass bed and some lovely marble wash stands. A pew from St Clement's church in Rodil  stood in the small sitting room. From the kitchen window there are views of the lagoon and the mountains, and a lovely wild rose bloomed at the side of the house. I have great memories of the house, and  my father loved it. He was born there. It was his best place.

Northton in Winter



The Boy on the Bicycle
Dad at No 37



14. On Matters Spiritual

No, it's all right. You are not about to receive a sermon. One in the family is enough -though Murdo Ewen MacDonald was not a dull preacher!

My husband Len and I visited the Hebrides some years ago, and he had a severe case of culture shock. Visiting the Church of Scotland in Tarbert was O K for me. The only difference from the all too distant past was that the service was in English. I remember that my English Mum and I were round the corner in the old days. Organs and pianos they had not, and have not. What they do have is a precentor who gives you the first few bars. Then the rest of us join in. Amazing things happen if the precentor has decided on one tune and the congregation on another.He doesn't have to be Caruso, but he does have to have perfect pitch. And the congregation belts it out very tunefully.

The psalm spooked Len. Before the advent of Benedict XVI, psalms were said, not sung, and he didn't get the tune until we were well into the third verse. The length of the sermon was also a problem. Catholics, on the whole get 7 minutes- ten if you're unlucky- and they have you in and out within the hour.

So it was that we trundled through to Stornoway to pay me back.

The Catholic church was a blast: lovely hymns, nice people and a cup of tea afterwards. "I didn't recognise any of the tunes," said my husband, which is where I found out that in any geographical area, Christians tend to sing the same tunes, sometimes to very different words.

The real fun started with the Americans. There are nice Americans, but this pair were an education. We had a second sermon on why one should NEVER leave one's handbag on the pew, because it will be stolen. Other hints and tips followed on how to deal with the criminals rampaging round the altar. Our hosts looked suitably stunned. I'd have felt very sorry for them if I hadn't known they were storing it up to imitate to friends and family for years to come.
                                                                                                                                                                The Hebrides have probably one of the lowest crime rates in the world. We had a good giggle on the way back to our lovely B & B, where two Americans shared our table. As we ploughed through our wild salmon with lots of trifle to follow, they bemoaned the lack of civilisation in the bucolic backwoods of Harris, the incomprehensible signposts (and language!).

Aware that my husband was mentally figuring out just which reaction all this junk was going to produce, I looked nicely sympathetic, storing it up to.................................

"And where are you off to this afternoon?" One asked as we rose.

"Well, I thought I'd take my husband to the Columban chapel in Northton. Nice to show him where my ancestors worshipped over a thousand years ago, before the Synod of Whitby spoiled it all."

They had to be told a bit of history, and took it in  good spirit.

Northton, looking over to Luskentyre

Lovely Northton, with the daisy road up to the chapel. It was my father's favourite spot, where he walked with my mother seventy years ago.

Well, I'll deal with the religious angle in the next breathtaking instalment.

"And where are you off to?" I asked the Americans.

Turned out his grandfather came from North Uist. They were going to spend a day there before returning to New York! I told them the natives were friendly.

The Daisy Road

Christine at the Chapel at Northton

These are happpy snaps. If anyone has better pics, please feel free to send them.

The religious history of the Islands is a very interesting one. I promise not to give you any sermons!

13.Strong Women

There we were, granddaughter Shayna and I, looking at the memorial to Flora MacDonald.

She said,thoughtfully, "All these strong women you admire."

Flora Macdonald's Statue at Kilmuir, Skye

Strong?

Peggy, En Route to Her (Second!)Graduation
L to R: Grandpa Len Cleal, Peggy, Shayna, Chirsty Mac (Me)

Well, she should know. In addition to me, the granny from Hades, there is her formidable Aunt Peggy, scourge of the executive boardroom, and Shayna's not so wimpy sisters.

Sisters!
Lto R:Toyah, Grumps, Jolene



But, I digress. On to Flora MacDonald, far more of a heroine than the Bonny Prince was a hero.

After the terrible defeat of Culloden, the prince fled west, convinced he could find transportation to France if he managed to get to the Outer Hebrides, and landed in Scalpay, Harris, with a price of thirty thousand pounds on his head.


There is a family connection here. My grandmother, Chirsty MacLean was born on Scalpay. More anon of her.

Scalpay
Courtesy Christine Walling

Donald Campbell who sheltered the Prince was not a Jacobite, but he took him in and fed him, while the Royal Navy prowled round the coast, and the local minister made it his business to capture the fugitive. Just remember that ministers, in addition to being rabidly anti-Catholic, often were appointed by the local landowner. Obedient to the ancient laws of hospitality, Campbell turned away the party which came for the Prince, who had to escape to Uist, accompanied by his faithful friends, Captain O'Neill, and Neil MacEachain (MacDonald) of Arisaig.

It was here that they met Flora MacDonald aged 24, who was visiting her brother. Descended from both the MacDonald, Clanranald, and MacDonald of Sleat lines, she was no Jacobite, but the atrocities perpetrated by Cumberland's army were well known, so she agreed to help the Prince, assisted by her stepfather, who was in charge of the militia who were trying to capture the Prince!

Dressed in the clothes of a female flax-spinner, and dubbed with the name of Betty Burke, the prince embarked for Skye. What the prince looked like I leave to your imaginations. Flora had a tough time preventing him from hiding a pistol on his person. Imagine if he were searched! Yeah, well, no, fine!!!

Attempting to land at Waternish, they were fired upon by the militia, and eventually landed at Trotternish.

Trotternish, Skye





Waternish

After being fed and given new clothes by Flora's family, the party travelled through Skye, and on 1 July, 1746, the Prince bade Flora Macdonald and the faithful MacEachain goodbye. She had severely endangered both herself and her family, and it was time for her to go home.

After much wandering in the west, the Prince, on 19 September 1746, sailed in a French ship from Loch nan Uamh, where it had all started. He was never to see Scotland again.he sank into alcoholism and died in Rome. His cousin, King George III (the mad king) helped to pay for his memorial.

He never contacted any of the brave souls who helped save his life, though that might be to avoid incriminating them. Let's be charitable!

If there were any heroes in this story, they would be the poverty stricken Highlanders, who were offered a huge sum to turn in the Prince, and never did so. That is why the memorial at Glenfinnan shows not Prince Charles, but a Highlander.

On the island of Raasay, the inhabitants were severely brutalized by the Navy, whose sailors burned their cottages (not before robbing them of their pitiful possessions), stole their livestock and beat them up. Their only crime was that they were around for the sailors to vent their frustrations on.

As for Flora, she turned herself in! By now, a famous figure, she refused to buy her way out of trouble, and landed in the dreaded Tower of London on 20 November 1746.

An embarrassed government did not know what to do with her, especially when the atrocities committed by government troops in the North began to filter through.

She became a celebrity, visited by even the Prince of Wales. She told the Prince she would have done the same for him if he had been in trouble. In July 1747, Parliament passed an Act of Indemnity which set free, not only Flora Macdonald, but also many of those who had assisted the Prince. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Returning to Skye, she married Allan MacDonald in 1750, and in 1874, emigrated to America. 

These were tough times in Britain. For reasons we shall explain later, the population had risen, the land was impoverished, and their cattle, the main source of wealth in those parts were dying from disease and lack of food.

It was just Flora's luck that as soon as they were settled in America, the Revolution erupted, Allan MacDonald landed in jail, and their house was burned down. They were robbed of all their possessions.

Returning to the Hebrides in 1780, they settled near Kingsburgh, where Flora died on 4 March 1790. At least her last two years were peaceful and prosperous. Her funeral was huge. So is the Celtic cross which marks her grave.

The inscription reads:

FLORA MACDONALD

Preserver of Prince Charles Edward Stuart.

Her name will be mentioned in history,

And if courage and fidelity be virtues,

Mentioned with honour.

Born at Milton, South Uist 1722

Died Kingsburgh, Skye 4th March 1790

That was one strong woman!

What amazes me is the number of non-Jacobites who were involved in the escape of the Prince. I put it down to the unnecessary brutality visited upon quite innocent people by Cumberland's conquering heroes. They, as a conquered people, were to suffer exile, forced eviction and humiliation, but they thumbed their noses at the conqueror one last time.

As my husband sagely observes, the wheel always turns. It took a long time.

And here is a picture of Shayna at Edinburgh Castle at St Margaret's Chapel where she got initiated into the life of another: St Margaret. But we'll leave her for another day!

Shayna has had her sojourn in the marshmallow realms of Bimbodom.

Who hasn't? We all discover it doesn't earn one a living- if your name isn't Paris Hilton.

 A footnote.

Before we went to Scotland, Shayna and I spent a day in Paris. Naturally, we visited the Cluny Museum, with its old Scottish associations, and the crowns of the Celtic kings. You did know that the Parisi were a Celtic tribe?

As we passed the Rue Macdonald, I told her it was named after the son of a man who lived in Arisaig, but hailed from Uist. Neil MacEachan had fled to France after his adventures with the Prince, and his son visited Uist in 1825, to find out about his family. The locals were impressed with Etienne Joseph MacDonald. Dukes didn't visit very often!

Life is a funny thing. He had fought for Napoleon, and been made a Marshall of France, and Duke of Taranto. I hope his father was pleased!



12. Sunset and Sorrow

N B Please note that thanks to the Internet, you can read up on the often gory detail of the '45. I am taking my own view of events. (As usual)

From the very start, it seems that there were strong doubts about the chances of success of the Rising. A huge gale had smashed to pieces the ships which were to have accompanied the prince - not the first time England has been saved by storms, when one thinks of the Spanish Armada.

Glenfinnan, with Memorial

On the 19th August 1745, Charles  raised his standard at Glenfinnan. He had some strong support, though not, as we have noted, from our horrid chief. By 11 September he was in Edinburgh. Charlie was everyone's darling and the ladies flocked to meet the bonnie Prince. His army was doing well. Indeed, until April 1746, he was highly successful, beating General Cope at Prestonpans on 21 September.

By 13 November, he had taken Carlisle, letting the garrison depart in peace, probably much to their surprise. The army then moved south, in winter weather. The troops were now hungry and cold, their boots had worn out, and the fateful decision was taken at Derby, against Charles's inclinations,  to return to Scotland. The government had had time to get its defence organised. Three armies were converging on the Jacobites, one led by the Duke of Cumberland, the king's son, and one by our old friend, General Wade. The third was sitting unhappily North of London, while the National Anthem was composed as a kind of prayer to save civilisation from the Hieland mob. in addition to requests to the Almighty to crush "rebellious Scots,' the next verse takes a whack at the rest of the enemy:

From France and Pretender

Great Britain defend her,

Foes let them fall.

From foreign slavery,

Priests and their knavery

And Popish reverie

God save us all.

If it does not seem to you to be immortal verse, just remember it was a rush job.



Panorama of Culloden

Battles were won, even in the sunset of the campaign, but the opposition grew stronger, and fate caught up with Charles at Culloden on 16 April, 1746.The battle lasted about an hour, though the hunting down and slaughtering of the prince's army took longer, on the orders of the Duke of Cumberland, or the "Butcher' as he now became known.

Cumberland's young aide-de- camp, aged only 18, to his eternal credit, refused to participate, telling his enraged commander he was not an executioner, but the ordinary soldiers had no such scruples. Those they captured were beaten to death in a number of artistic ways. A number of wounded lying in a hut were locked in and burned to death. Those locals who attempted to help the rebels were beaten and sometimes killed.

Some years later, the young ADC, a General at 32, was to storm the Heights of Abraham at the head of his Royal Highland Fusiliers and gain Canada for the British Empire. He died during the battle. It is said that he discussed Goldsmith's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, the night before the battle. I have always had a soft spot for General Wolfe. He was a practical and intelligent soldier's soldier.

When someone told George II Wolfe was mad, he retorted: "Mad is he? Then I hope he will bite some of my generals."

The Death of General Wolfe

The battle of Culloden has been represented as the English against the Scottish Highlanders, but this is very inccurate. Scots, Irish and English, and some Hessian and Austrian mercenaries fought for the government.. In some tragic instances, brothers were on opposing sides

Terrible reprisals were taken not only on the Jacobite troops, but on the Highland population.
And Charles fled westwards, to the Outer Hebrides, and eventually back to France, dying in Rome as a worn out alcoholic. George III made a handsome donation for the building of his tomb.

Cumberland became a national hero, but only for a while. When he failed to cover England in glory in the endless wars going on on the European continent, his father welcomed him back:

"Here is my son who has ruined me and disgraced himself."

Parents are difficult to please.

We will deal with the Prince's wanderings in the next edition, but why did it all go pear-shaped?

The Reasons for Charles's Failure.

Clausewitz

Here's the guy who eventually worked it out, 87 years too late for the Bonny Prince. Naturally, Clausewitz was a Prussian. War was a national industry in Prussia., not something for gifted amateurs, though he acknowledged that luck and the outstanding commander could help things along.

It all boiled down to first assessing the probabilities. If Charles  had done so, he would never have left France. Where were the men, money and materials that the French King had promised? They were never provided.

"Then one must act with the utmost concentration." and: "Act with the utmost speed." Decide what to do and do it. Not hang about partying in Edinburgh for weeks while the enemy is gathering strength.

And finally, the soldier "must fight at the right place and at the right time."

I can add a few thoughts. Cumberland's use of artillery at Culloden was decisive. The charging Highlanders were cut down brutally and  quickly. When Napoleon came along, his success was partly due to his brilliance with the guns.

The motto of the British Royal Artillery is "Ubique" (everywhere) and they have no battle honours because they have been in so many battles.

On a personal note (why not?) I remember sitting in the Latin Class mis-translating Julius Caesar's Gallic Wars, first at Sir E Scott, with Mr Macaskill ( how we hated each other), and Mr Thom at Inverness Royal Academy.

Sir E Scott, Tarbert, Harris

Ol' Julie was always going into "Winter Quarters", and I thought he was a bit thick to stop the war just when he was winning. Napoleon and Adolf Hitler, however have confirmed Caesar's brilliance. It's difficult to fight a campaign when the snow is falling, your boots have worn out and food is scarce.

It was always going to be a losing campaign, not only for Charles, but for the Highlands and for Scotland. The figure on the Memorian at Glenfinnan is not of Prince Charles, but a Highlander. I think the Victorians got it right.

For my next trick, we will deal with Flora Macdonald, and the family connection with Culloden.


Detail of the Glenfinnan Memorial
The Highlander who followed the Prince and Paid the Price



Loch nan Uamh

Here Charles landed, and from here he sailed away, never to return.



12. Wae's Me For Prince Charlie

N.B.
We're up again. Finding a route into Google took me a while. Scott had less trouble getting to the North Pole, but a senile whimper seemed to touch their commercial hearts, and all of a sudden everything was O.K. Even the Cleals and Cambridges blog got onto the engine!

Some years ago, my husband and I were looking for a B&B in Arisaig. The scenery varied from beautiful to exquisite but the prices  varied from huge to superheated, and we were getting a bit desperate .Turning off the Road to the Isles, we arrived at a farmhouse. It was clean, comfortable,and had a free phone to the non-resident owner, who whisked in in minutes.

Loch nan Uamh

Faced with the information that we would have to share a bathroom, and knowing my husband's en suite fetish, I sighed and turned to him. He was getting out the wine.

Fish and chips went down a treat with South Africa's finest.

"The Prince's beach is down there."

Serendipity?

So this is where he came ashore. This is where it all started.

Camusdarach Beach, Arisaig

We watched a glorious sunset and lay listening to the crashing waves as they hit the patch of shingle, rolling the stones about. Did he listen too?

Prince Charles Edward Stuart

I've always had a problem with Prince Charles Edward Stuart. In 1688, his Catholic grandfather, King  James V11 had slipped quietly away from London before his embarrassed son-in-law, William of Orange  and even more embarrassed daughter Mary could be faced with the problem of taking over Daddy's throne, and deciding what to do with him. Catholics were bad news in England, Holland and Northern Germany, and William couldn't wait to get his hands on British tax money to continue his wars against whichever Catholic ruler he was fighting at the time.

He was involved in the Massacre of Glencoe and the English hated him but had no choice but to put up with him.

Childless, William and Mary were succeeded by James's other daughter, Anne, whose reign was chiefly remarkable for great architecture and furniture, and all of whose 13 children died. Oops, I nearly forgot! It was during Anne's reign that John Churchill, ancestor of Winston, put the British army on the map by defeating the French on numerous occasions. More of Winston later.

Another  crisis. Who could they scratch about for? They settled on George, Elector of Hanover, who spoke no English, hated England, but was descended from James VI. Apart from that, he was Protestant. To this day, a Muslim can sit on the British throne, but not a Catholic.

Failed Jacobite( Latin for James) rebellions followed, in 1715 and 1719, and some very highly placed noblemen lost their heads. But the family never gave up.

So it was that on 23 July, 1745, Prince Charles Edward Stuart landed in Eriskay. Young and handsome, a trained soldier, he seemed exactly what the downtrodden Celts were looking for.

According to legend, he scattered the seeds of a convovulus near the beach. They grow there to this day.

Calystegia Soldanella
Pink Convolvulus



Sorry, guys, the distribution maps give this the lie. BUT it seems to have been a new visitor to Eriskay at this time. Always a grain of truth in the story.

The Prince's Beach, Eriskay



Foot notes to Eriskay.

You now know where the the beautiful song, the Eriskay Love Lilt comes from. A haunting variant of the tune can be heard on the MacCormack blog. It is possibly an earlier version. She sang it to her children, "often and well".

Aunt Mary

On a lighter note. In 1941, the S S Politician sank in rough weather off Eriskay. The locals liberated large quantities of the lovely liquid. This was hidden in some inventive places. One family buried it under the cow dung.  Some of the whisky was found, but most was eventually drunk.

The local customs officer, one McColl led a positive crusade against the naughty islanders, and was infuriated with the light sentences handed down. A few went to jail some had their boats confiscated, but no one would bid against them at the sale.

In the end, permission was received to dynamite the ship, which was duly done, watched by horrified Hebrideans.

"Dynamiting whisky! you wouldn't think there were men in the world so crazy as that."

When I was at school in Inverness, the Uist boys told us that far more whisky was taken off the ship than was ever admitted, and that some was still hidden..

The real fury of the oficials was that no duty was paid on the whisky. We have another story coming up on that.

Personally, I am glad the Hebrideans scored just once.

Compton MacKenzie wrote a book, Whisky Galore which was turned into a film, starring, I think I remember Gordon Jackson, among others. We didn't think much of the dancing,or the fake accents, but it was good fun.

11. A Slow Death(2)

By the 18th Century, changes were taking place, not only in the Celtic world, but worldwide.

Large-scale farming, or "Great Farming" as it was called brought in new farming techniques and increased production so as to make agriculture a good commercial venture, especially if you could get your hands on large enough tracts of land.

The invention of machinery meant that fewer labourers could be employed, so many of them had to go -some into the growing cities, some far away to the corners of the British Empire, some, as we have seen, into the army and the navy. Increasing numbers of men and boys from the Celtic Fringe found their way into the floating set of coffins known as the Merchant Marine.

So both the Agricultural Revolution and the Industrial Revolution began the process of urbanisation which crowded the majority of Britons into filthy and disease-ridden cities. even now, the process continues.

The population of Britain continued to expand, even in the North and the Hebrides. What were the Clan chiefs and the other owners to do with the population? One must forget the romantic vision of the Chief as the "father" of the Clan. By the 18th Century they were as much in love with money as the rest of the landowning classes.

One solution adopted by one pair of chiefs was to use the excess population as indentured labour. Indentured labour is a step up from slavery. You gather a group of people, and sell them into service for a specified period to plantation owners in the Carolinas or the West Indies. As the contractor you get paid - a great deal. your victims are lucky if they get paid anything, and the mortality rate is huge.

So let us go to Finsbay, and see what happened!



Finsbay, Harris



Seals off Finsbay
Copyright: Hazel Hambidge
and licensed for reuse under the Creative Commons Licence

Finsbay is situated in the Bays, home of the MacDonalds for over a hundred years. A tiny village, it was inhabited by families who lived in Black Houses, scratched a living from an unforgiving moonscape, supplementing their diet with fish.

One November night, the William, out of Donaghadee in Ireland, slipped into the bay. Rounding up terrified families, the sailors dragged them on board. Some of the men escaped, but the ship set sail for Ireland with about 90 souls on board, dropping off children too young to sell, pregnant women, and one dead one.

Most of them managed to escape in Ireland, but they were rounded up as "escaped felons", beaten and re-imprisoned. It was not until the magistrates realised that young children and mothers were rather strange criminals that they decided to arrest the real felons. Forewarned, they escaped.

Most of the ninety Hebrideans never saw their homes again, but it is known that some of them were given farm work in Ireland.

The villains of the piece? Their very own chiefs, Macdonald of Sleat, chief of Clan Donald, and MacLeod of Dunvegan, owners of Harris for many centuries.

Although the incident was hushed up, it may be the reason that both chiefs were notably absent from the Jacobite rebellion of 1745-6. Not much romance about the Celtic Twilight.

Life expectancy was not good in the Carolinas, and the British made huge fortunes by running millions of black slaves from Africa into the American continent. It is said the the city of Bristol is built on the bones of slaves.

Finsbay is now a quiet, tiny village with a flourishing Art gallery and a lovely guest house, Cnocnaba.

10. A Slow Death

Threats and Warnings!

I hope you all realise I am not writing a Historical text, so if the detail is scanty, you can pull more up on the internet. I don't want to give you all historical indigestion.

Also, most of the pics are our happy snaps, and if you have better ones, please oblige.

When James VI of Scotland went South to London to become James I of England, the writing was on the wall. Even the Scottish Parliament was united with that of England in 1707, mainly by bribing those involved. It was actually not a loss, but from now on, Scotland's interests would be subordinated to those of England. More infuriating, far heavier taxes were levied on Scotland, without much money being spent on improving a very poor country.

Scotland's sons and daughters went forth to populate (often unwillingly) the British Empire, and laid their bones in some strange places. On a hill in Magersfontein outside Kimberley there is a monument to those of the Black Watch and Seaforth Highlanders who died in the first trench battle recorded, near Kimberley in the Boer War. Below the hill, the African sun bleaches the veld, the springbok wheel away in the evening, and I wonder if the MacDonald who died there was one of ours.

Northern Cape Scenery: Lots of Thorn Trees



Black Watch and Seaforth Highlanders Memorial: Magersfontein



Black Watch Gathering Their Dead and Wounded:Magersfontein




The divide between the Celtic Highlands and the largely Saxon Lowlands remained and grew. The language barrier was not the only one! The Lowlands were largely Protestant, and the Highlands mostly Catholic. Until General Wade came along and started road building in 1724, only tracks and drove roads carried traffic.

A few lines from Mcgonigall, Scotland's most famous poet after Burns, and one of the worst poets, poetically speaking, that any country can boast of:

Had you seen these roads before they were made
You would lift up your hands and bless General Wade.

General Wade

No self-respecting cattle thief would agree with him! 400 kilometres of road and forty bridges ensured there was no place to hide.

And here we have an interesting verse added to the National Anthem:

Lord grant that Marshall Wade
May by thy gracious aid
Victory bring.
And like a torrent rush
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the King.

Four garrisons of soldiers at Fort Augustus, Fort George, Fort William and Ruthven were supposed to keep the Highlands in order.

In addition, he set up some Highland Regiments, one of which was the famous Black Watch. They are still based at Fort George, and have done duty in Afghanistan.

Our ancestors were not a peaceful lot, clans and septs of clans warring against one another, and stealing each other's cattle. It was a way of life which was not in the least romantic, and something had to be done. Done, it was, after the accession of "Dutch William", otherwise known as William of Orange to the throne in 1688. Son of a Stewart, and married to another, he was mainly interested in Holland.

Handing over several thousand pounds to pay the Clan chiefs to be good boys was a great idea, but most of it stuck to sticky fingers, so the next best thing was to teach them a lesson they would never forget.

So it was that one rainy summer day, my granddaughter Shayna and I drove into a valley. Eying the torrents of water rushing down the mountains, she said: " Gran, it looks as if the mountains are crying."

We had reached Glencoe, the Glen of the Weeping.

On a winter night in 1692, the Campbells of Glenlyon attacked the MacDonalds of Glencoe, whose guests they had been, and massacred as many as they could, women and children included. Many died in the cold when they fled to the mountains.

It caused a scandal throughout Britain, and William was even more unpopular than before.  For a monarch to be implicated in the death of 38 of his subjects was bad enough, but it was a cover-up of the revenge of the Campbells for the stealing of their cattle by the MacDonalds.

It is said that the haunting song, Crodh Chailein, or Colin's Cattle originates from a raid by the Macdonalds of Glencoe on the territory of Colin Campbell of Glenlyon when the cattle were carried off.

I heard my sister Shiela singing it in Glasgow at a competition once, long ago. What a lovely voice she had! She and I sang it together when our sister Peggy died.



 Eventually Shayna and I ended up in Fort William where I drove the wrong way down a one-way street. The police woman who pointed this out to me had nothing on what my granddaughter said. They had this wonderful conversation about senile old women, I had a finger wagged at me, and got let off.

Then Shayna wanted a trip on the loch. It was a beautiful afternoon, so we went up in the loch in the direction of Glencoe. The company was exclusively foreign (south of Hadrian's Wall etc. The young man guide piloting the boat asked if I knew anything about the area. when he learned I was a Macdonald, he changed course.

"Let me take you to the MacDonald burial island," he said. So I spent a lovely half hour exploring this beautiful place, while the amiable furriners ate sandwiches and spotted birds.



Glencoe, and the MacDonald Burial island

 And all because he had grown up in the Lundavra Road where my Uncle John lived! Thanks, Uncle John.

9. About Celtic Women

My cousin Kenny, Aunt Kennag's son, and a very amiable character, remarked on the one occasion I met him, apropos of his female relatives: "Those MacDonald women!" Well, they were fairly forceful characters, not scared of telling one where to get off, and my remaining aunt, Ina, says it like she sees it!

Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni




Check out Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni who lived in present-day Norfolk. She raised a rebellion against the Romans who had seized her property and raped her daughters. Leading a large army of Celtic tribes,she gave the Romans a run for their money before she was defeated and took poison to avoid capture. She was said to be tall, with red hair and a very loud, grating voice. But it shows one that Celtic women had much more status than those belonging to Germanic tribes.

One interesting historical fact is that Robert the Bruce, Scotland's hero king had a Celtic mother, Marjorie, Countess of Carrick in her own right, from whom he inherited a large estate. This was why the Celtic North supported him in the wars of independence.

One of the survivals of the old ways was that any Scotswomen reaching the age of 12 (!!!) became independent and could marry who she liked, as long as the lad was 14(more !!!'s). This was why young English lovers under the age of 21 made for the Border and Gretna Green, where they were married by the local blacksmith.

We know a bit about what Celtic women wore in modern times, but it tended to vary from place to place.


MacIan Woman with Arisaid



MacNicol Girl

 Most of the examples I have chosen come from the 18th Century. The MacIans were a sept of the Macdonald, one of the most famous being the MacIans known as the MacDonalds of Glencoe. This woman is quite well off, as she is wearing shoes! Normally, if it could be afforded, the woman had a large circular Celtic brooch, holding her plaid together.

Sinclair Girl

First, a chemise, a long, loose garment with a drawstring neck(One size fits all!), which could double as a night dress. If you could run to it, stays or corset, a couple of petticoats, and a skirt or dress. A short jacket might be worn. Shoes were optional. Many people could not afford them. In the Highlands both men and women went barefoot most of the time, but I have seen photographs of socks without bottoms! Over the lot went the Arisaid, a large plaid or cloak. Muffled in this,women could safely go to sleep in church during the sermon, which is why some ministers forbade it to be worn in church. As the sermon could last over an hour, my heart goes out to them.

Note the snood worn by the MacIan woman. It is just a ribbon, not the hairnet worn later on. 

MacIan Woman with Arisaig

After the disaster of the 45 Jacobite Rebellion, tartan was proscribed unless you were in the army, so the impoverished population of the Highlands and Islands wore what they could lay their hands on. It was not until late in the 20th Century that the Celtic Renaissance brought the tartan back with a bang.

Celtic Women:Aunt Ina and Chirsty

In the Hebrides, after the mid 18th Century weaving still went on, and people still used the lichens and the yellow iris to make dyes. Harris tweed was to take the upper classes by storm in the 19th century. And we all knitted.The women often had to do men's jobs as their menfolk were away for long periods in the armed forces or the Merchant Navy, so they tended to be a bit more imperious than those south of the Highland Line.

When education became compulsory in the late 19th century, girls went to school, and illiteracy vanished. We in Africa know that a literate mother is a guarantee of literacy for her children. And when senior education became compulsory in 1946, the vision of tertiary education opened up for even the poorest. 

Not for everyone, however. When I taught in Rutherglen in the 1960's, it puzzled me that so many girls in the school, a Secondary Modern, were much brighter than the boys. The headmaster sorrowfully informed me that they had been forbidden to take up their places in the local Academy by their fathers. In England it was even worse.

Well, those days are gone! But I feel the deepest gratitude towards my parents and the Hebridean community which gave a chance to all their children to get an education which had been denied to them. I even forgive Mr Mackay, our neighbour in Geocrab for chasing me to school when I tried bunking.

My last picture is of a Celtic woman you should all know. A Macdonald on both sides, she risked her life to saave a man who never showed her any gratitude. We shall hear more of her when we get on to the desperate days after the 45.

Flora MacDonald
"Her name will be mentioned in history, and if courage and fidelity be virtues, mentioned with honour."

(Dr Johnson)



8. What shall I wear today?

Much to our chagrin, it has always been accepted that the "little kilt" was invented in 1725 by an  Englishman, Thomas Rawlinson, who had an ironworks in Lochaber. The bulky "great kilt" was dangerous near machinery, so he invented a version which evolved into the one we know today.

HOWEVER! Someone noticed that the armorial bearings of the Chief of the Skenes carved in 1692 included not only the dexter figure wearing trews (used for riding), but the sinister figure wearing a recognisable  version of the little kilt. In addition there is an earlier carving of a Macdonald chief wearing what looks to me like a short kilt with pleats all the way round. Sorry I can't give you a picture or two, but Google Books are notoriously well protected, even if the pictures can't possibly be copywright.

Here's some consolation:



Iris Pseudacorus
Yellow Flag
Courtesy Christine Walling

 Those of you who have been to Harris will recognise these brave flowers. They abound in the marshes and round the lakes and rivers. I know that in mediaeval times they were used to cover freezing cold stone floors, and they are an important feeding habitat of the endangered corncrake. while my old schoolmate, Hamish Taylor, was taking my granddaughter, Shayna and me round the coast on a sightseeing trip,he told me that irises are  part of a past well before the kilt. Weaving has been part of our culture for centuries and the colour yellow, or saffron, was the mark of the Celt, both in Scotland and Ireland.

Indeed, the saffron shirt owed its colour to the iris. It would have taken a millionaire's bank account to dye it with actual saffron, which comes from the crocus. Hamish thinks the seeds of the iris arrived with the yellow dye from eslewhere, and there is some evidence to show that the plant possibly came, like Abraham, from Mesopotamia(modern Iraq).
The iris is on all sorts of stuff, including the French Royal Coat of Arms. It's called the Fleur de Lys. History buffs will also find it on the Ishtar gate.

Fleur de Lys



Ireland

 Funny about the "Green" of Ireland. Early Irish nationalists hated it, as saffron was traditional.

When I was young, near a river there would be a huge iron pot, made  in Falkirk, and used for dying the woollen tweed. It was also handy for laundry. With a fire underneath, you were away! As Finlay J Macdonald points out in "Crowdie and Cream", there was also a "pee tub" for doctoring the tweed to make it softer. I suppose that now we are all hygenic, there is some expensive chemical to do the same job.



Hamish's Boat!



If you ever get a chance, go for a trip with Hamish. He has great stories, and the snacks are terrific.

Remember 1956? Our last family holiday before we emigrated to Glasgow? We walked to Huisinish. I took my granddaughter there, not so long ago.



Yellow Flags at Huisinish
Courtesy Christine Walling

More anon! Thanks for all the comments. We have a new reader, Peter, whose ancestors came from Diraclett. 

He has a nice blog. I'll give you directions in my next posting!

P.S.Sinister  means left, and dexter means right.
Christine Walling lives in Ballalan, and lets me use her photographs.

7. Clans and Tartans

Song of Clan Donald
Alba is the Ancient Name of Scotland

We are Clan Donald, and our chief was once Lord of the Isles, a title now held by Prince Charles. But when his birlinn pulled into the port of Rodil on an inspection visit, what tartan would he have been wearing?



Rodil



I regret to say that most of the clan tartans were only concocted in Victorian times.

However, when respected historian, Patrick Allitt asserted in his otherwise brilliant series of lectures on British history that tartan was invented in Northwest England in the 19th Century, I thought he'd got it wrong. And he had, to a certain extent. Of course some textile factories in the north of England made millions out of the tartan craze which swept Britain after George IV donned full Highland regalia on a visit to Edinburgh. His kit, including corsets, as His Majesty was direly overweight, cost over a thousand pounds, several years' wages for your normal peasant.





George IV in Edinburgh, 1822



The checked cloth we know as tartan has been found on mummies in Western China, in parts of Eastern Europe. So maybe it was once very common, but has survived, like the bagpipes, only in certain areas.

The word 'tartan' comes from the French 'tiretain' which in this context means 'woven cloth'. The Gaelic word is 'breacan'. The various combinations of checks were originally dictated by the availability of the natural dyes used in the old days, so you could tell where someone came from by his 'sett'.                    

Word of warning! Americans call tartan 'plaid'. Winston Churchill once said that the British and Americans were divided by a common language.

The Falkirk Tartan

In 1934, a clay pot was dug up near Falkirk. In it were about 2000 Roman silver coins, dated up to 250C.E. In the mouth of the pot was a piece of plaid, light and dark brown and cream.  It's now known as the 'Falkirk tartan'. Cry your eyes out, Patrick Allitt!

Now for the kilt. Forget the endless pleats. The original 'feilidh-mhor' or belted plaid was a 5 metre length of cloth wrapped round the body, held up by a belt, with the end thrown over the shoulder. The 'feilidh-beag' was the garment which developed into the kilt we wear today. Don't forget the trousers, or trews. JamesV ordered a pair in 'heland tartane' in 1538.



Scottish Soldiers in the Service of Gustavus Adolphus, 1631

 Note the bare feet of No 3. Another footnote to history is that in the Hebrides the kilt was worn not knee length, but halfway down the calf- probably because of the B@#*** awful weather.


Highlanders


After the 45 Jacobite Rebellion, tartan was proscribed, unless you were in the army, and did not come back into use until our fat monarch took a fancy to it. But it was Queen Victoria who really put it on the map, covering any available surface at Balmoral with it.

In my youth, no self-respecting Hebridean owned a kilt, but it gradually came back. My father,  who was a trained tailor,  could make a kilt. For weddings, there is no handsomer outfit than full Highland dress.



Neil Macdonald at Culloden with Three Clan Chiefs and Assorted Americans

 The photograph above is historic. The figure in the middle is Neil Macdonald,son of Donald Macdonald and Chirsty Maclean. The chiefs are recognisable by their eagle feathers. Neil MacDonald was the first Warden of Culloden Moor, and noted figure of the Celtic Renaissance, together with two other Drinishader MacDonalds, Finlay J Macdonald and Murdo Ewen MacDonald. More about them anon. Must be something in the air. Have fun figuring out which tartan is which. Then let me know. I don't want enraged MacDonalds lining up to get me with their 'sgian dhu's'.

Now here, without apology, is a family wedding, in Australia. My nephew, Donald MacDonald Butler!

Donald MacDonald Butler's Wedding, Australia

Top Left: Brendan Tully, from Ireland, keeps Flora's car on the road when he isn't doing weddings.
Top Right: Donald MacLean MacDonald Butler, Flora's son, Stephanie Joy Butler, nee Turner.
Bottom Left: Flora, Ian Angus(Flora's brother), Kala-Jayne Butler (Donald's daughter), Stephanie Butler.
Bottom Right: Donald and Flora.

This is also an historic document. First, Donnie is wearing Uncle Neil's kilt. Keep it safe, Donnie. Secondly, it is the only family wedding I was ever invited to. Note the formidable sister Flora, bottom left with brother Ian on her left.

Macivor Wedding
The Barvas Connection

Alastair MacIvor, Donald MacIvor, parents Ina and Iain MacIvor, Ruaridh Macivor. Aunt Effie's son Iain, with his wife and sons. She was the daughter of Donald Macdonald, of 37 Northton, and my beloved and kindly aunt.

Another family wedding, this time in Lewis.

By the way, the sporran was originally used to keep food in, and the sgian dhu was not only used as an assassination instrument, but to cut food into bite sized chunks. Folks ate with their fingers in those far off days, and your plate was usually a chunk of bread.