Braemar Castle in Aberdeenshire was first built by the 18th Earl of Mar, John Erskine in 1628, using it as a hunting lodge and strong hold against the powerful neighbouring Farquharson family. The castle replaced the nearby Kindrochit Castle, which is said to have been built sometime in the 11th century.

In 1689, John Farquharson, the Black Colonel of Inverey, led an attack on Braemar Castle, leaving it burnt and damaged.
John Erskine, 22nd Earl of Mar, was a noted Jacobite, particularly at the time of the 1715 Rebellion. Because of his role in the uprising, the castle was confiscated by the Crown. Braemar Castle and its lands were then bought by John Farquharson, 9th Laird of Invercauld, but the castle was left in ruins until 1748 when it was leased to the Government for £14 per annum, serving as a Hanoverian garrison. The garrison was eventually withdrawn, and in 1831 the castle was returned to the Farquharsons.

Braemar Castle was renovated into a family home, which was started by the 12th Laird of Invercauld, who also entertained Queen Victoria when she visited for the Braemar Games, which were held in the grounds of the castle. The castle remained as a family home to the Farquharsons for over 100 years.
The castle is now open to the public, and is visited by people from all over the world. The Farquharsons leased Braemar Castle in 2007 to the Braemar community for 50 years, so it can continue to be open as a visitor attraction, and is ran by the charity Braemar Community Limited. The castle is in need of urgent repairs to the roof and the charity is trying to raise the money.

Doreen Wood, part of the Braemar Castle Team, kindly sent us these photos of the castle.

It’s mid December, a time for rosy cheeks, winter-woollies and plenty of mulled wine; and with the snow falling thick and fast across Scotland recently it has certainly been another chilly start to the winter again. For two or three months each year the cold Arctic air blows south, bringing with it a freezing temperatures and heavy snow on the mountains; but it doesn’t last long, and by April warm spring days take over and usher in the summer. But 20,000 years ago, it didn’t as Britain like the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was gripped by a deep and lasting Ice Age; which today we only get the briefest taste of in the darkest days of winter.

 

The Ice Age was more than just a never ending cold, or ice building up and flowing across the landscape; it carved that very landscape, obliterating what went before and providing a new canvass for nature to re-conquer once the glaciers finally melted. The geology of Scotland in places is billions of years old, and for the most part hundreds of millions of years old; but it has been sculpted over the last two million by repeated glacial episodes, the last of which began around 30,000 years ago and finally ended 10,000 years ago. But, what causes these events and what legacy have they left us?

 

 The principal reasons that the earth experiences enhanced ice age events periodically are astronomical; and collectively termed the Milankovitch Cycles (named after the Serbian scientist, Milutin Milanković, who first made the connection). We assume that the planet meanders through the vastness of space in a uniform manner, fixed in place: but not so. Over time periods we cannot comprehend the earth wobbles about and shifts its patterns of orbit and rotation; and does so cyclically, repeating the pattern across the ages.

 

Each cycle has its extremes, and can individually trigger enhanced ice growth; but they peak at differing time intervals, and so it’s only when they click together that the results can be truly spectacular. They’re not the only factors involved, others include the strength or non-existence of the Gulf Stream, plate tectonics and mountain building, and many more – and to be honest we really don’t know how it all connects together. Still, 30,000 years ago, the Milankovitch cogwheels clicked into place and the Gulf Stream turned off; resulting in the rapid build up of ice at the poles and the southward advance of the polar front: the summer limit of pack-ice.

 

Initially as the polar front moved southward, Scotland experienced extremely cold winters, somewhat like Canada today; resulting in glacier ice forming in the Northwest Highlands, the Nevis Range, the Cairngorms and Lochnagar; plus winter sea ice probably reached as far as the Shetland Islands. This is colder than we’ve experienced in the last 10,000 years, but there was no respite and the mercury continued to drop. Ice ages don’t happen because of cold winters, they happen because of cold summers, where the ice and snow from the previous season doesn’t melt and it builds up, layer upon layer, until it starts flowing under its own weight towards the sea via a path of least resistance. The glaciers then pool in lower ground.

 

It would only take a couple of thousand years to go from small glaciers in the mountains to ice caps forming in places like Rannoch Moor, Royal Deeside and the Great Glen. Around 25,000 years ago large glaciers, the like we’d associate with Alaska today would be flowing steadily down our main valleys, to perhaps a thickness of 2000ft in the upland areas. By now there is glacier ice in the Southern Uplands, the Lake District, Yorkshire and Snowdonia; and large ice flows streaming through the Central Belt mainly towards the North Sea via Strathmore and the Forth Valley.

 

The glacial maximum came around 18,000 years ago, when the polar front which today is to the north of Iceland reached to Portugal. Scotland was now buried under an ice-sheet over 4000ft thick in places: akin to Greenland today; and it was small in comparison. The whole of Scandinavia was buried under a much thicker dome centered over the Baltic Sea, and North America groaned under the vast weight of the Laurentide Ice Sheet, which may have been 10,000ft thick, and was over half as big again as the Antarctic sheet today. The result of all this water locked away as ice was a severe drop in sea levels: over 400ft lower than today. The North Sea didn’t was a meadowland, grazed by mammoths and other lost fauna during the short summer season. It is possible that people followed the game on to the plains; but we also know that the population of Europe was very low, and forced into cluster ‘refuges’.

 

From around 18,000 years ago the earth slowly warmed again and the cogs came out of sync; and by 13,000 years ago the British ice sheet, which had stretched to the English Midlands, and covered most of Ireland had gone. The ice itself had carved out a new landscape, digging deep into the rock as it ground its way to the sea. The picturesque fjord landscape of the west coast, deep valleys like Glencoe and Glen Muick, the rounded hills of the Southern Uplands and the sharp ridges of the Cuillin of Skye: all sculpted out of the bedrock by the sheer power of the glaciers. The melting of that ice had no less a dramatic effect either.

 

 

 

Most of the Highland valleys and all of the Lowlands are blanketed in debris either left directly by retreating ice, or washed out by meltwaters. Torrential flooding and reworking of sediment created terraces, gravel fans and deep, sandy deposits; in other places the retreating ice can be mapped by way of the unique landforms left behind, like the horseshoe shaped moraines dumped at the front of the glacier. Only the far northwest, where the landscape was heavily scoured, saw little deposition – giving us a glimpse of the immediate post glacial world of Scotland 13,000 years ago. But everywhere you look you will find evidence of Scotland’s Ice Age: from Edinburgh’s Royal Mile to the deep lochs of the Great Glen; and from the macro to the micro.

 

Global temperatures dropped again around 11,500 years ago, and there was further ice growth in the Highlands, but by 10,000 years ago the last of the glaciers had melted; and thus it has remained. A new world emerged from the grip of the big freeze, great rivers now flow where ice once ruled, and soon forests and grasslands came to dominate. The sea also rose, rapidly and to levels higher than today. This is thanks to a phenomenon where the land, having been compressed by the sheer weight of the ice, rebounds, but at a slower rate than the sea. So, relative to one another the sea reaches a certain height, and then the land slowly rises out of it. And all around our coast are archaic cliffs and raised beaches: testament to an older shoreline when sea levels were over 100ft higher. Scotland continues to rise.

 

For 10,000 years humankind has basked in the warmth of the current inter-glacial and flourished like never before in our history. But, eventually the Milankovitch cogwheels will click once more, and Scotland along with half the globe will be plunged again into the abyss of an Ice Age.

 

This article was written by David McNicoll, the owner of Highland Experience USA; a travel company specialising in tours and vacation packages to Scotland. If you are interested in exploring Scotland’s landscapes, please contact them by clicking their website - www.highlandexperience-usa.com

As another year draws to a close and we look forward to a few drams in front of the fire this Christmas, we may afford ourselves the opportunity to reminisce on a year gone and the new one ahead; but through the looking glass of the Gaelic calendar, and the insights it brings to our forefathers view of the world.

 

The Gaelic word for month is Mios, and like most European languages it relates to the disk shape of the moon; which waxes and wanes across the heavens every 28 days or so. This was very much part of the great clock by which the farming societies of early Scotland operated; a year punctuated by celestial events such as solstices and equinoxes by which seasons could be predicted, and the right time calculated for things like harvesting. For thousands of years, dating back to the Neolithic, this was the only necessary calendar for the vast majority of the population; and much of this ideology remains encapsulated in the old traditions and our interpretation of the year.

 

Gaelic is a wonderfully descriptive language, an ancient tongue firmly rooted in the agrarian world of our forebears; it is not a language of commerce or town, but of farm and hearth, of natural observation with a deep sense of being part of the environment. As such, the breakdown of the year doesn’t necessarily correspond with the familiar 30 days or so per month of the modern Gregorian calendar; but splits the year up into periods that are underpinned by the cycle of the Mios. The Gaelic for ‘year’ is Bliadhna, which is a word that derives from a sense of ‘separation of time’; and the key segmentation of time for the Gaels was, and to a certain extent still is the seasons.

 

The Gaelic year began in November following the festival of An Samhain (which evolved into Halloween); and it ushers in the first of the new seasons: winter. The cold was considered necessary to cleanse the land and prepare it for the new bountiful year ahead. In Gaelic it is rendered An Geamhrachd, coming from an early Celtic term for cold, which in turn comes from an even more ancient linguistic source for ‘stiff and rigid’, describing the frosty ground. Within An Geamhrachd there are the three ‘months’ of An Dubhlachd, Am Faoilleach and An Gearran, meaning – the Dark Days, the Wolf Month and the Cutting or Gelding Month respectively.

 

The ‘dark days’ certainly capture the essence of December with its long, long nights – always more bearable with a couple of single malts of course. The ‘wolf month’ takes us back to the harsh and hungry weeks of January and early February when the wolves came down from the hills to scavenge – it is a common theme in many traditional winter tales across northern Europe. The gelding or castration of the cattle took place in late February so to let the wounds heal better, and without the nuisance of flies. As you can see each month has a significant theme, folk memory or important task on the farm; and this is repeated throughout the year as it unfolds.

 

When spring finally comes it usually arrives on the back of storms, rain and fierce winds. This is why it is so associated across Europe with the Roman God of War, Mars – and in the Highlands it was no different. March is Am Màrt, which comes from the same root. April is called the ‘Pudding Month’, An Giblean. The reason for this is more obscure, but my sources tell me that with summer just around the corner the fats, oatmeal and other stocks that saw the village through the winter were gathered together for a great feast, and that pudding (in the traditional sense) was the best way of cooking the leftovers. Spring is known as An t-Earrach, and reflects the sun rising more towards the east and the end of the cold days.

 

Summer is ushered in at the start of May with the great festival of the Beltane, and takes its name An Samhradh, from the very earliest Indo-European language root for the sun – samh, meaning heat. The English word ‘sun’ originates in the same way. It probably had quasi-religious connotations originally. June in Gaelic is An t-Ogmhìos, which probably means the ‘youthful month, or the month of the young’ This maybe the month when the younger beasts, went to the slaughter; or it could be more metaphorical. An alternative suggests it is the month of the God of communicaton, Ogmha, and there may have been ceremony based on the theme, it is an unlikely etymology.

 

The hottest month of the year in Scotland is July, and the main holiday month correspondingly (it is also the month with the least chores on the farm). In Gaelic it is An t-Luchar, simply the ‘warm month’. The first great harvest festivals began in the balmy days of August, which in Gaelic is An Lùnasdal. The God Lùgh was a hero god, of skill, artistry and war, and seems to have had a pan-Celtic appeal. The name derives from root words for sun, shining bright or lightening; and it may simply correspond to the long blue-sky days of August, or to the lightening storms that accompany the humidity. Either way, he was a popular figure in Celtic mythology, and the bread feasts were almost certainly dedicated to him. In old Scots the Lammas (or loaf-mass) fair took place in August, and there maybe a linguistic connection.

 

The final month of the summer is September, which is known as the fattening time:  An t-Sultain. Here you can see the cycle of the year creaking back towards the winter ahead, and the start of the preparations to see the village through those harsh days on the horizon, and the cattle needed to be fattened now if they were to survive. With the passage into October the calendar moved into Am Foghar, autumn. The root of this word is fogh, meaning hospitality. This is the time for festivals, feasting on the harvest riches, drinking of the ale made from the corn finally brought in: one last Hurrah before stocking up and bedding down for winter.

 

Out in the hills nature too is preparing for winter, and for the spring that will surely follow. The Red Deer stags begin their bellowing and rutting; fighting with those huge antlers for the right to control and have sole mating rights over their harem of hinds. So, October is known as An Dàmhair, the ‘stag or rutting month’. As the first frosts start to bite, and the snow returns to the high peaks, our villagers know that the great festival of fire and water, Samhain is nigh. This is last feast of the autumn; a time to cleanse the village of evil spirits, to go through ritual and trial, and to pray for a benign and short winter. The festival lasted for two days, but the Gaelic calendar affords the whole month of November as An t-Samhain due to its importance.

 

And so we are back where we started; a whole year of events, festivals, tasks, observance and respect for man, nature and the gods colouring the life of our ancestors’ lives. The language retains now in name only, that which was either sacrosanct or vital for the farming community; but it gives us a chance to see the world through their eyes, and just perhaps glimpse the last fragments of the Neolithic.

Written by David McNicoll who runs Highland Experience USA - a tour company that specialises in travel and vacation packages to Scotland. For more information - www.highlandexperience-usa.com

 

 

 

 

Charlotte Square is the jewel in Edinburgh’s New Town, a wonderful expression of Georgian architecture and understated majesty. On the north side of the square facing the statue of Prince Albert is pseudo-palatial Bute House, the official residence of the First Minister of Scotland; in the southeast corner is the birthplace of Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, and it was here that Joseph Lister, the pioneer in anaesthetics lived and worked. It was here too in 1861 that one of Scotland’s most controversial figures was born: Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig.

 

As we approach another Remembrance Sunday, when the Queen leads the nation in commemorating those who fought and died for king and country, we look back and reflect. The bloody First World War came to an end with an armistice truce that became effective at 11.00am, on the 11^th day of the 11^th month in 1918 – and since then, that moment has been remembered across the nation. In the lead up to the formal ceremonies and minutes of silence, Britons proudly wear their red poppies on their lapels, as mark of their respect and gratitude. It represents the vast poppy fields that bloomed across France and Belgium over the battlefields that claimed so many.

 

The poppy wearing tradition raises much needed funds which support veterans and their families. It began the early 1920s following the establishment of the British Legion in 1921. For the last 90 years the Legion has helped the old soldiers, provided a social club where they can meet, and generally been at the forefront of their welfare. One of the founders of, what is now the Royal British Legion was the Earl Haig, and in the years following the First World War he was instrumental in using his influence and importance in making sure that those returning from this and every conflict would be cared for and have a support structure. It is one of the greatest legacies of a man vilified in many quarters as the Butcher of the Somme.

 

By 1916 the war in the Western Front had disintegrated into a bloody war of attrition. Both the British and French on one side, and the Germans on the other were ensconced in mile upon muddy mile of trenches, stretching from the Alps to the North Sea. For most of the time it was a tedious existence for the millions of mainly volunteer soldiers; occasionally punctuated by a foray into No Mans Land, where almost inevitably the men were caught up in barbed wire or cut to ribbons by machine gun fire and artillery. It was a horrible existence. That spring the Germans launched a massive attack on the French position of Verdun. There was little strategic value to the old medieval city, but it was a symbolic site for the French. A position they would defend to the last man – and that was very much the German plan.

 

Earlier in the year the British supreme commander, Sir John French had been replaced by Sir Douglas Haig following a series of public disasters. Haig was a golden boy in certain circles and his promotion was encouraged by The Secretary of State for War, Lord Kitchener, and the king. He did have his detractors too, including David Lloyd George, which would cause issues as the war dragged on. He brought a sort of fresh outlook to the table, but his caution was a concern for the French High Command.

 

 

The French were getting pummelled at Verdun, and insisted their British allies launch a counter offensive in the early summer to relieve the pressure. Haig felt his army of volunteers weren’t ready, and preferred to hold off until August. In no uncertain terms the French commander, General Joffre told the British that unless a major operation was carried out as soon as possible, the “French army would cease to exist”. Pressure was put on Haig by the government at home, and he and his staff began preparations for an offensive in the Somme valley.

 

It was to be an attack on a truly awesome scale. In the week beforehand the German lines were bombarded with shellfire, so loud that it could be heard on the outskirts of London – it was the greatest deployment of artillery in the history of warfare to that point. The British believed that the enemy trenches would be so utterly destroyed that the soldiers would simply walk over no man’s land and take them. In reality, the huge bombardment had virtually no effect at all. Also, the barbed-wire that needed to be blown away by the guns as a necessity remained in many places pretty much intact.

 

The Battle of Somme began on the 1^st of July 1916, when hundreds of thousands of British and allied soldiers left their trenches and went ‘over the top’. They were met with a hail of bullet and mortar fire from the German positions. It was a slaughter. On that first day there were 60,000 British casualties – the worst single day in British military history. And day, after day the Generals sent the men up and over, convinced that the breakthrough would come: it didn’t. There were several phases of the battle, and it saw the first introduction of the tank, but by the end in November the allies had only advanced 7 miles. The cost in lives and injured is mind-numbing – British and Commonwealth: 420,000; French: 204,000 and German: 465,000.

 

 

 

Much of the blame for this loss of life to success gained was placed on the shoulders of Haig and his generals; Lloyd George did much to expound this belief. However, modern scholars have revisited the battle and realised that it would have been hard to avoid these casualties in any event, and that it did have the effect of relieving Verdun and letting the French regroup. It also dealt a huge blow to the German army, which wobbled a bit. It is now considered by some that without the Somme offensive, the war may not have been won by the allies at all.

 

Haig was made a Field Marshal by the king, who thanked him in a personal note. Much as Prime Minister Lloyd George loathed the commander, he simply couldn’t get rid of him. So, he spent much of his time after the war discrediting him, and many of his memoirs form the basis of the British image of Haig. In 1917 Haig launched another offensive, known as the Battle of Passchendaele. The weather conspired against him as much as German resistance and again the high casualty figures for little gain seemed to highlight the incompetence of Haig and his command.

 

However, Haig’s fortunes turned and in 1918 he at last broke though what by then was a thoroughly demoralised German force. The German Empire was collapsing, and with the arrival of the Americans in 1917 allied victory was assured. Haig masterminded the final assaults and in November the Germans surrendered. The ‘Butcher’ had now won the war. Many said that it came at too high a price and that the campaigns were an unacceptable waste of men. However, through the looking glass we can see that these battles took so much out of the Germans, that their demise became inevitable. The cost was high, yes – but the war was won.

 

Begrudgingly, and probably at the king’s insistence, Haig was raised to a peerage, and created the Earl Haig. For the rest of his life he remained hugely popular with the veterans and soldiers; and his dedication to their welfare casts a very different light on the man. He died in 1928 in London; he then lay in state in Edinburgh before being buried at Dryburgh Abbey in Borders near his family’s ancestral home.

 

Whatever your opinion of Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, whether cold-hearted butcher or the man who won the bloodiest war fought in Western Europe; there is no doubt of his influence and contribution both to our psyche; and to the nation.

 

For more information on the Royal British Legion Poppy appeal - www.poppy.org.uk

 

 

This article was written by David McNicoll, owner of Highland Experience USA - a travel company specialising in Scottish vacation packages, including historical, family heritage and tailor-made tours - www.highlandexperience-usa.com

 

 

 

 

There are few places in Scotland that can bring piece of mind and a sense of solitude than deep in the heart of the Ancient Caledonian Pineforest; a wonderfully tranquil landscape of Scots Pines, Birches and myriad of other flora and fauna. Whenever I get home to Highland Perthshire I tend to go for a walk in the Black Wood of Rannoch, one of the best preserved of all our native pine woods, and I have to say it’s a great battery-charger, especially at this time of year when the sun dances on the autumn colours. Sadly, these forests are few and far between – yet, they provide us with a unique opportunity to see through the looking-glass to world we almost lost.

 

As well as the Black Wood, substantial sections of the old forest are also to be found in Glen Affric, the Cairngorms, in upper Deeside and in small patches across the Highlands. Collectively the expanse today of this unique environment is restricted to around 40,000 acres, about 1% of the forest’s original scope. These last remnants form the western fringe of the Eurasian Boreal Forest: dense woodlands that cover much of Scandinavia and northern Russia; and, have remained more or less intact since the end of the last Ice Age

 

 

The Eurasian Boreal Forest

 

In the centuries that followed the final melting of the ice 10,000 years ago, the British Isles became covered in a great forest, known in our folk memory as the Wild Wood. This was the landscape of fairytales: full of big, bad wolves, witches and green men; a place to be feared, respected and tamed. Reflecting Britain’s north-south climate and relative altitude displacement the Wild Wood morphed from oak, lime and elm in the south to the ubiquitous pines and birches in the north. As well as the trees, juniper bushes and heathers, intermixed with grasslands and marsh, this arboreal realm was home to a host of animals now long since vanished from these shores – bears, wolves, lynx and elk. There are of course animals and birds that have survived, and who now find the Caledonian Pineforest their last stronghold – wildcats, capercaillie, pine martens, red squirrels and golden eagles. The first major inroads into the forest came around 6000 years ago, and the arrival of Neolithic farming practices.

 

Starting with the great oak forests of southern England our Neolithic ancestors, having adopted the new fangled notion of farming from their European cousins began a systematic destruction of the Wild Wood to make way for cultivation. In Scotland these farmers settled mainly in the lowlands between the Clyde and the Forth, and up the east coast towards Aberdeen; as well as up the fertile valleys of the Tay, Tweed, Spey and Great Glen. Initially the process of forest clearing in preparation for cereal production and animal husbandry was slow, and often the woodlands were able to recover if sites were abandoned. This process however gathered apace throughout the Bronze Age and on into the Iron Age (c. 500BC), by which time the huge deciduous forests of Strathclyde, Fife and Strathmore had been all but eradicated. Climate deterioration 2500 years ago also had an affect, and the cooler conditions saw a substantial lowering of the tree-line, turning great woodlands such as Rannoch Moor into vast peat-bogs, and reducing still further the amount of forested land.

 

Yet, despite nearly 4000 years of encroachment, by the time the Romans arrived into Scotland, most of the land north of the Tay was still forested – indeed the name ‘Caledonian’ itself maybe reflective of the thick forests of the Highlands that posed such an impenetrable barrier to Argricola’s forces in 84AD. Although the Roman legions had little direct impact on the Highlands, they did cut down vast amounts of trees in Lowland Scotland to build their forts and roads. It would also appear that the native Celtic tribes protected their Highland homelands by maintaining thick woodlands at the entrances of all the valleys exiting the mountains – Birnam Wood near Dunkeld could be one such forest that existed into historical times.

 

The next thousand years would see further incursions into the ever-diminishing Wild Wood including deliberate burnings by Norse invaders in the west. However, it was the three centuries following the 1066 conquest of England by William the conqueror and the adoption of the Feudal System in Scotland by David I that saw the end of the mighty oak forests of England and Lowland Scotland. Rapacious warfare between the English and the Scots during the period exacerbated by ‘scorched-earth’ tactics brought to an end the forests of the borderlands. By 1400 wood had to be imported into the Lowlands, as it had simply run out of trees (in 1503 it was reported officially that the forests of the Lowlands had been destroyed completely). The Great Wood of Caledon, protected by the high peaks and deep inaccessible glens of the Highlands remained considerable, with huge swathes of pine and birch in many areas. Southern eyes turned to the north.

 

From around 1600 the pine woods of the Highlands came under increasing pressure from various angles. Some came north to exploit the forest for charcoal – essential for iron forging, others to build boats, some to take the wood to build the houses of the growing towns and cities, and some with far more sinister motives. As technology improved so extraction problems were overcome: log floating, reminiscent of Canadian timber was a common site on Scottish rivers. Yet for all that, some parts of the forest were either so remote or owned by more progressive lairds that the destruction of the Highland forest was a initially apiece-meal process, leaving much of the heartland intact.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Caledonian Pine Forest - Black Wood of Rannoch

 

As well as the rapacious need by the industrial cities of the south for wood, the Highlands underwent a cataclysmic social reorganisation in the years following the Battle of Culloden in 1746. Known as the Highland Clearances, from around 1780 there was a systematic removal of people from their native glens at the hands of a brutal and unsympathetic aristocracy. The driving force was enrichment, and many thousands emigrated or moved to the industrial cities. In their wake came sheep. The wholesale introduction of sheep also had a devastating effect on what remained of the ancient forest. Over-grazing prevented regeneration, and the promotion of the heather moorlands, that now dominate the Highland landscape, to provide a habitat for grouse and deer during the heyday of the Victorian shooting estates put paid to the last significant areas of Britain’s remaining virgin forest. The writing was on the wall.

 

By 1917, and the dark days of the First World War, Britain had run out of trees, and was now relying on imports from Canada the time had come to fell the last pine stands in the Highlands; regardless of how remote. Thankfully, by November 1918 the war was over and the condemned pines were saved. Following the war the Government established the Forestry Commission, a state owned body that would oversee a massive reforestation project. Most of the trees planted were non-native (Sitka Spruce), but the FC would also take into state ownership most of the remaining sections of the Caledonian Pineforest – saving them for future generations. In addition over the next 200 years the plan is to extend, perhaps even treble the acreage covered: an ambitious project, but worthwhile.

 

Today, the remaining parts of the Great Wood of Caledon are very much protected. They are living cathedrals, drawing us home to a past we so very nearly lost; and one that allows us to appreciate the landscape and world of our forefathers.

 

This article was written by David McNicoll

Owner of Highland Experience USA – www.highlandexperience-usa.com which specialises in vacation packages and tailor-made tours of Scotland.

In the times of the Border Reivers, mainly late 13th to the 17th centuries, many men had ‘to’ names, familiar names or nicknames. This evolved because men of the same clan or surname also bore the same Christian name and the use of ‘to’ names became a way of identifying individual characters. This practice often carried forward to the third generation as in Gibb’s Geordie’s Francis or Patie’s Geordie’s Johnnie.
This little story is about William Armstrong, son of Christie. He was a lineal descendant of Johnnie Armstrong of Gilnockie who was hanged without trial by the seventeen year old King of Scotland, James V in 1529/30. He lived in the reign of Charles 1, 1625 – 1649. He was known as Christie’s Will.

In the ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border’ written by Sir Walter Scott and published in 1802, one can find the ballad of ‘Christie’s Will’. Extracts from it will appear throughout this story.
Although by the reign of Charles 1 who was king of both Scotland and England, Border Reiving, the robbing and murder, the feud and blackmail, had been almost eradicated from the English/Scottish Border lands, old habits died hard in some areas and with some of the more recalcitrant inhabitants of Border society.
One such person, who held to the old ways, in a defiant, almost last stand against all authority, was Christie’s Will.
On one of his fierce-some raids he was eventually captured and imprisoned in the tollbooth in Jedburgh.
Whilst he languished and slowly festered and awaited the outcome of his capture, be it death or long sentence, a very distinguished person happened to visit. It was none other than the Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, who, like most folks in the Border country, be they high or low born, had heard of Christie’s Will and his formidable prowess as a Border Reiver.

He asked that he might see Will, and in deference to his exalted position, was granted a visit. Traquair was much taken by the Reiver’s droll humour especially when he explained why he was banged up in Jedburgh. Will told him that he had stolen the halters of two horses. The Lord was stupefied – surely such a theft did not justify a long confinement and the threat of the rope? Will explained that there might be other crimes to take in to account though evidence for them was somewhat circumstantial but pointed out that he had forgotten to say that the two halters each had a bonny horse in tow.
The Earl laughed loudly at Will’s sardonic turn of mind. He liked the man and, using his influence, had Will freed.
A little later a lawsuit involving the Earl was to be heard in the Court of Sessions. The Earl believed that the outcome would be decided on the casting vote of the judge and would go against him. There seemed to be no love lost between the Earl and the Lord of the Sessions appointed to deal with the case.
Accordingly he thought long and hard how he should deal with situation and eventually came to the conclusion that he must make sure that the judge should not preside at the Court of Sessions on the appointed day. But how was this to be achieved? He must not be implicated should the attempt to kidnap the judge go awry. He dare not ask any of his friends to take such a risk. A friend, he deliberated, could soon be an enemy should the clink of gold become a temptation.
Who then? The answer came slowly but the more he thought of it, the more he liked it. He would approach Christie’s Will with whom he had no obvious links. Moreover, Will owed him a favour for obtaining his release from Jedburgh and, true to the code of the Border Reivers, nothing would ever be said of any involvement with the Earl should Will be captured in the attempt.
Will, forever in the debt of Traquair, had no hesitation in offering his services and confidentiality. He was animated by the thought of taking another swipe at high authority.
Will began following the judge, who it might as well be stated now, was Alexander Gibson, the illustrious Lord Durie. He was made a lord of the session in 1621 and died in 1642.
He soon learned that the judge was wont to take the air whilst riding his horse on Leith Sands (Edinburgh). He was always unaccompanied and rode always on a Saturday afternoon if the weather was clement. Will noted carefully that the man was more often than not lost in some reverie and concluded that he took great pleasure in time away from the courts, officialdom and the decisions that determined a man’s destiny.
Will soon struck up a conversation with the judge who was delighted by the humour and lively discourse of his new-found friend; he was unaware that he rode peacefully along the sands with one of the last of the awesome Border Reivers.
After a few meetings, Will enticed the goodly Durie into a little frequented area known as the Frigate Whins, a sheltered and much secluded spot. There he dashed him from his horse and enveloped his unconscious body with a voluminous cloak and rode off with him over his saddle.
Following many a lonely path familiar only to the reiving fraternity, he arrived at the Tower of Graham, not far from Moffat (Scottish Borders), on the Water of Dryfe. There he deposited the luckless, terrified judge with the inmates of the Tower who had already agreed, for a price, to securely house a gentleman of wealth of whom they knew nothing.
On the same day as this daring abduction, the judge’s horse was found contentedly grazing on the grasses behind the beach. It was concluded that the creature had been startled, bucked and thrown its rider into the Firth of Forth.
In due course a successor was appointed to the office formerly held by Lord Durie. The appointment was made by the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland; none other than the Earl of Traquair!
In the Tower of Graham the judge was held in solitary confinement; even his food was pushed through a hole in the dungeon wall. He had no contact with the human race – left to dwell on his fate, alone, uncared for. The only voices he heard were when a shepherd called for his dog Batty or a female servant called up Maudge, the cat.
About three months later, the lawsuit was decided in favour of Lord Traquair, a forgone conclusion one might say, as the presiding judge, as we have already noted, was appointed by the Lord High Treasurer.
Will was asked to set the judge free. He did so at dead of night. He once more muffled the terrified President of the Court of Sessions and rode hard back to Leith Sands in total darkness and dropped the judge on the very spot where he had captured him.
Eventually, much to the pleasure of both family and friends who had gone into mourning at his loss, and the annoyance of his short-lived successor, he reclaimed his office and the honours that went with it.
He let it be known that he had been spirited away by witchcraft; all agreed. They lived in a superstitious age.
A few years later the good Lord Durie happened to be travelling through Annandale, down the Water of Dryfe. As he rode past the Tower of Graham, he was amazed to hear the call of a shepherd for a dog named Batty and the higher, more feminine tones which endeavoured to entice a cat named Maudge back to the Tower.
The story was soon out with the humiliating conclusion that it was not witchcraft that had taken the unfortunate Lord, but the hand of man. Many years afterwards it became known that an Earl of the realm in association with a nefarious Border Reiver were responsible.

To many foreign observers the British political and parliamentary set up can seem a little bizarre: a sort of anachronistic parade of costume drama and archaic procedure. Our system relies on custom, often centuries old, and on checks and balances within the law. It is complex, full of pageantry and tradition; but it does work. Not restricted to the confines or interpretations of a written constitution, the British system is flexible to adjust to crises and the prevailing political mood of the times. However, every so often it throws up anomalies which seem to bend the arrangement. One such event is the appointment of Sir Alec Douglas-Home as Prime Minster in 1963.

Sovereignty in the United Kingdom is expressed as the ‘Crown in Parliament’, and that parliament is composed of a lower and upper house. The lower house, the House of Commons is a chamber of 650 members; each of whom are directly elected and represent a particular region, or constituency in the country. These Members of Parliament, or MPs, almost exclusively belong to one of the major political parties and will vote in the chamber according to the collective wish of that party.

The Houses of Parliament

Members of the upper chamber, or House of Lords are not elected, but fall into several categories: the Law Lords (lords of appeal in the supreme court upon their retirement as judges), the Lords Spiritual (senior bishops of the Church of England), Hereditary Peers (lords entitled to sit on the virtue of their inherited titles), and Life Peers (people appointed to the House as lords for the duration of their lifetimes, and who cannot pass on the title or right to their children). By far, the majority are Life Peers, and they represent a broad church of opinion and expertise: from captains of industry and scientists to seasoned politicians and cultural gurus. The Lords debate, scrutinise, and vote on legislation that has already been passed by the Commons. With less parliamentary pressure on their time, and without the threat of losing elections the lords are free to study the detail of prospective legislation in a way the lower house can’t. If they agree the Bill is sound then they pass it to Her Majesty the Queen for the Royal Ascent and it becomes law.

The Queen actually has a veto, but as all legislation going through Parliament has been initiated or approved by the Government, the monarch cannot be seen to disagree. The last time the veto was used was in 1708. The House of Lords does not have a veto. It used to, but a conflict with the Commons in 1911 saw it stripped of the privilege – by then it was seen as unconstitutional that an unelected chamber could thwart the policies and ambitions of a government elected on a manifesto of such policies. However, the Lords as part of their scrutiny can delay a bill, by sending it back to the Commons with amendments. It can do this three times before Royal Ascent will be given regardless of their objections.

As the Commons has all the real power, and its members are directly accountable to the British people, it has been the convention that the Prime Minister and the principal office holders are members of that house; although it is not uncommon to have senior ministers sitting in the Lords, due to their experience and rank within the party. The last Prime Minister to actually govern from the unelected chamber was Robert Cecil, 3^rd Marquess of Salisbury in 1902.

The office of Prime Minster, or more correctly First Lord of the Treasury, has developed over 300 years and today they wield more personal political power than most heads of government – certainly more than the US President. The reason being is that technically the PM is appointed by the Queen and as such exercises authorities and prerogatives in her name (the Crown). The monarch will chose the leader of whichever party can command a majority in the House of Commons – as this almost guarantees that the programme of legislation will progress. If a government fails to win support for its programme or its budget it has no option but to resign.

In reality, it is part of the smoke and mirrors pageantry of the system, but it evolved to be so. Parliament also sits by the Queen’s Grace and can be dissolved at her will at any time (although by law it cannot sit for more than five years before an election must be called). The Prime Minister can ‘ask’ the Queen to exercise her rights, and she will normally comply. Thus, the incumbent PM has a distinctive advantage in so far as he knows when an election will be held.

In 1963 the incumbent PM, Harold MacMillan, was gravely ill – indeed he thought he was close to death (in fact he’d live for another 23 years); so, he decided he would resign from the position. The problem was that the Conservative party at the time had no mechanism to appoint a new leader. Instead, party grandees, Churchill included, would ‘advise’ the Queen who to call as the new PM. Two main candidates emerged – Rab Butler, the Deputy Prime Minister; or Alec Douglas-Home, Earl of Home, who was Foreign Secretary. Butler was popular with the party, but most senior ministers refused to serve under him, Lord Home was the elder statesman, but an unelected and hereditary member of the House of Lords. The Queen came to visit MacMillan on what he presumed was his deathbed, and he advised she call upon Home to form a government – advice she didn’t have to take legally. However, she accepted the choice of the party bigwigs and unprecedented wheels were set in motion.

While his father held the title of earl, Alec Douglas-Home was able to sit in the Commons as an elected MP; and served as the Scottish Unionist (Conservative) member for Lanark from 1931 to 1945, and then again from 1950 to 51. He rose quickly through the ranks gaining ministerial experience under Chamberlin and Churchill. In 1951 his father died and he succeeded to the Scottish title: Earl of Home. He continued to serve both Anthony Eden and Harold MacMillan in various senior cabinet positions, until that fateful day when Buckingham Palace came calling.

Sir Alec Douglas-Home, Prime Minster

Lord Home then went to the Palace where the Queen gave him 24 hours to decide whether he could form a government; which he determined he could. Douglas-Home felt it was impracticable for a Prime Minister to govern from the Lords, and so using a new piece of legislation, the 1963 Peerages Act, he disclaimed and surrendered his titles. He had been made a Knight of the Thistle, which didn’t affect the constitution, and thus became ‘Sir Alec Douglas-Home’. As a commoner he was now free to seek election to the House of Commons. However, there were no available seats, and no elections on the immediate horizon. Britain therefore experienced a very unusual situation – a Prime Minister who sat in neither House of Parliament.

The safest Conservative seat in the UK was Kinross and West Perthshire, and the incumbent MP resigned, forcing a by-election for the constituency and Douglas-Home won by a massive landslide. He was now free to enter the Commons and govern. His tenure was short however. In the 1964 General Election the Tories lost to the Labour Party led by Harold Wilson. Sir Alec remained the leader of the opposition until July of 1965, during which time he revised the rules governing the election of the Conservative leader. Never again would the monarch have to choose, nor was it ever likely that a member of the Lords would be appointed. He was replaced by Edward Heath, who won the party ballot.

Douglas-Home remained an MP until 1974, during which time Edward Heath returned him to the post of Foreign Secretary. Upon his retirement he was bestowed with a Life Peerage and returned once again to the Lords as Baron Home of the Hirsel. He died at the age of 92 in 1995. He was succeeded by his son, the 15^th Earl of Home; one of the remaining hereditary peers in the Lords today.

It is a constitutional anomaly that is unlikely now ever to be repeated, but it goes to show first the convention, anachronism and tradition of our system on one hand, and the flexibility to deal with such crisis when they arise on the other. The Strange Case of Sir Alec Douglas-Home serves to remind us of how incredible our democracy really is.

Scotland is a lyrical nation, a land of song and music; and it is a broad spectrum at that: from the traditional melancholic wailing of the Gaelic Islanders to the innovative rock scene of the modern age. More often than not there is a story behind each song, which draws deep from our national psyche, our experiences and our conceit of ourselves. It can be raw at times, heart wrenching; yet, uplifting and more often than not half-comical. The Scots are a rare breed – introspective, but defiant, proud and yet able to laugh at our shortcomings. All this and more has contributed to a wealth of music the envy of the world – even foot-tapping Ireland can’t compete with what the Scots have to offer. So, we plunge head-first into a few of the stories behind our most famous and poignant of songs.

After the ubiquitous ‘Happy Birthday’, the great New Year anthem Auld Lang Syne is the next most sung song on earth; bellowed out from graduations in Thailand to weddings across the globe. The funny thing is that many of the jovial partakers have no idea about the lyrics themselves.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

and Auld Lang Syne.

So, what on earth is an ‘auld lang syne’ anyway? Well, in the old Scots vernacular it simply means ‘long since hence’; and in the spirit of the song, essentially the days of long ago. This pithy three word phrase encapsulates beautifully the sense of remembering the great days of the past, and allows us a chance to wistfully reminisce with rose-tinted spectacles the fun days of our youth. It is about friendship, old friendships that as the years pass drift, perhaps even sour; but now in the twilight we can look back and never forget those long summer days long ago. This is what Burns was driving at, and we as we shed the old year for the new should think on this and remember the good stuff and the importance of love and friendship.

The song was first published by Burns in 1788, and became hugely popular in Scotland. As Scots emigrated around the world they took it with them to create a global phenomenon. However, Burns was not the first to use the phrase ‘auld lang syne’ in a song, both Ayton and Ramsay had earlier, and the bard himself admitted that he had simply ‘re-written’ an old folk song. The tune wasn’t his either, nor the one he planned to use, but was added later. Whatever the origins, I’m sure that master playboy Burns would appreciate the gusto with which his lyrics are still appreciated by millions across the world.

Not all of Scotland’s songs are quite so cheery; over half of the ones I can think of tend to be about battles and cruel fate, usually at the hands of the English. Perhaps it is because Scotland was dealt the wildest of cards, and mixed with our natural Celtic melancholy we have so many lilting laments and heartfelt songs. Top of that list, must surely be the ‘Flowers of the Forest’.

I’ve heard the lilting, at the yowe-milking

Lassies a-lilting before the dawn of day

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning

“the flowers of the forest are all wede away”

Written by Jean Elliot and again based on an earlier folk song, this mournful, yet intoxicating ballad expresses the anguish and sheer loss felt by those left at home when men go to war and don’t come back. It was written in the aftermath of Scotland’s darkest day on the bloody Field of Flodden: a scene of utter carnage and the loss of a national soul still yet to be recovered fully.

In early 1513 King Henry VIII of England invaded France as part of the Catholic League, and using Calais as his base he won a string of spectacular victories. As part of a more protracted conflict the Pope had become concerned at the growing power of Louis XII of France, and constructed an alliance including England to combat this threat. Scotland was allied to the French and the king, James VI, was the embodiment of the Renaissance and chivalrous to his core. He decided the only honourable course was to aid his ally and invade England in order to distract Henry and buy a little breathing space for Louis. He assembled an army of over 30,000 – the largest ever commanded by a Scottish king, and crossed the border at the end of August 1513.

King James IV

Henry had left the defence of England in the hands of his wife, Catherine of Aragon and the Earl of Norfolk. They dispatched a much smaller army north to meet the Scottish invasion. After a short stand-off the two armies clashed on the 9^th of September at Flodden, and while the Scots held the advantage the geography conspired against them and they were annihilated. The king was killed and hacked to pieces, and along with him Scotland would lose, 12 Earls, 13 Barons, the Archbishop of St Andrews and nearly 10,000 men. It was said not one noble family was spared, and every village in Scotland mourned a loss. The youth of the nation was torn apart, its nobility wrecked: these were the flowers of the forest, and now they were all wede (gone) away, leaving behind only empty fields, moaning and pain.

Today, the lament is usually heard played as a pipe tune at funerals or memorial services; sung only at the most heartfelt of times: but, played globally. It has an incredible weightiness about it; one that draws you back to that time and every war since, and the senseless misery of it all.

But, for every Flodden there is a Bannockburn – where the gods of fortune smile down on Scotland for once and deliver victory; oh, and how we celebrate. The Scots are a funny people, a concoction of doom and gloom and a rich, vibrant joie de vivre, and our music mirrors this. Flodden was a hammer blow to the Scottish psyche, and from then on we’ve had this inferiority complex, a chip on our shoulder often aimed south of the border. It’s hard to shake, but as a people our contribution to the world has been immense, and the Scots have much to crow about. Perhaps we are at last climbing out of the pit of self-indulgent grief. We do live in a Scotland transformed in the last 50 years, and although it looks back 700 years to Bruce and Wallace the song most played as a ‘National Anthem’ for Scotland reflects the re-birth in our own national identity.

Oh, flower of Scotland,

when will we see your likes again?

That fought and died for

Your wee bit hill and glen.

Drawing from the emotions of the lost flowers, Roy Williamson’s song, written in 1965, plays upon the fall then rise of a country. It implores us to look back to our ancestors and feel their sense of national pride and deliver forth a new vibrant and healthy Scotland. Flower of Scotland is a simple tune, with an even simpler message – rise up and be a nation again, the perfect ingredient for a national anthem: one that lauds the country, asks more from her people and can be sung by 60,000 on the slopes of Hampden Park. I don’t think you need to be a Scottish Nationalist or a believer in independence to feel national empowerment with this song.

Scottish Pride at Hampden Park

Each of these songs has it’s time and place; each reflects part of the emotional journey it means to be Scottish. Robert Louis Stevenson once said that the Scots carry the past around with them in a way that few others could understand; and perhaps, like the Welsh and the Irish, with our Celtic fire burning brightly that emotion is best expressed in song and music.

Do you have a kindle? Because ScotClans can now proudly present an e-book version of their extensive clan histories.
‘The Scottish Clans’ features brief histories of over 300 Clans and Armigerous families from all over Scotland. Discover the events that have shaped your Clan and hear about the people who form part of your Scottish ancestry.

The book is available to download from either the UK or US Amazon online shop.

Go to Amazon.co.uk: only £3.44
Amazon.com: only $5.46

The iconic Golden Driller statue in the Oklahoma city of Tulsa has been made a temporary Scotsman after he was dressed in what has been claimed as the world’s largest kilt. The statue has been dressed in the 170 yard Black Watch kilt to help kick off the Oklahoma Scottish Festival, which starts on the 16th of September.
The festival’s Executive Director, Steve Campbell said, “Putting it on the Driller was difficult. We got some help from the Tulsa Fire Department, which is great.” But he did add “It’s nothing I would try to do again.”

The festival’s website is: http://www.tulsascottishgames.org/