A Plethera of Postings.......

Hullo there ma wee blog,

5.30am and the day starts with a solitary coffee in my usual place at the kitchen table. The kitchen is cold and a vicious wind whips round the corner of the house behind the patio doors a few feet from my chair. Bailey cat has already demanded release from the house and been sucked into the garden through the same patio door opened just enough to let her through. No doubt she will be back once her ablutions are done, wide eyed and fur puffed against the cold, and probably with an accusatory air about her too. That's cats for you.

As usual I open my laptop and crank it up as I wait for the water to boil. Once connected I set the radio to play my favourite station, all talk with just a little music at this time of the day, and return to my home page. I have a gadget there which shows me the traffic situation across Scotland and also give a rundown of how long the delays are in miles and minutes. I see that there is pretty much a clear road network. Not surprising at this time of day but it still prompts me to say out loud a line from one of my favourite films, 'Comfort and Joy' by Bill Forsyth.

"Its Dickie Bird on the breakfast show. Traffic is clear across west central Scotland so if you leave now you will have a clear run to work. You'll be three hours early but what the heck!"

I go to the blog dashboard and there are two comment waiting for me thanks to Scudder and Mornings Minion, two regular contributors, and I publish them without checking the content as I will pick them up eagerly in a moment when I have that cup of coffee that's calling to me. Cup in hand I return and sit down again and also check if any of my favourite blogs have published anything and find a veritable plethora of postings.

My day begins with a smile and the knowledge of a pleasurable hour ahead.

Cheers, one and all.......

see you later.

Listening to the 'Dawn Patrol' on BBC radio2

Times, they're not a changin'......

Hullo ma wee blog,

I know its morning but I've already had a wake up call thank you very much, and I don't normally need more than one. But wake up calls come in more than one fashion, don't they? They did this morning anyway.

As usual I get up and, still with half closed eyes, head downstairs. Better this morning than sometimes actually, for although I did get up for a couple of hours in the night, I'm quite refreshed. Bright eyed and bushy tailed almost. So by the time I hit the bottom step I'm raring to go. I do my usual first task of getting a bit of lunch {and breakfast} for the lovely G, just a couple of filled rolls, usually a sweet and a savoury, some wee treats and a yogurt or a bit of fruit. I know she usually has the sweeter { jam or honey} of the two as a breakfast once she gets to the office but before the working day gets started and grabs the other some time later in the day.

This morning goes exactly to form and I'm putting on my shoes as G comes into the kitchen adjusting her scarf and bag and taking the goodies left on the kitchen work surface to pop in her bag as we head to the door and the car in the drive. A couple of minutes into the journey I make a bit of a maneuver to get past some slow coach as we {as usual} only have almost the exact clear road journey time to Dunbar and the twenty two minute journey to Edinburgh Waverley station.

G says,

"Whats the hurry this morning? Its only 7.25..."

"No Hun, the clock in the car is two minutes out"

"Didn't you adjust it when the clocks changed last weekend?"

"Aye, but for some reason within a day or so it reverts back to being two minutes slow. Tried it several times but its always the same. It always loses exactly two minutes and then no more. No idea what the problem is"

"Oh....."

and then, after a tiny hesitation,

"Why don't you just set the clock two minutes fast?"

"Ummmmmmm.........."

Ah bugger, why didn't I think of that. After all I am {normally} highly practical.

"I.......... I have absolutely no idea!......."

A moments silence.


We start giggling.

Made the train too.

{Out of curmudgeonly principle, I haven't yet changed the clock. After all I KNOW its two minutes slow!}

See you later........

Actually that story makes me think of Mum, who would have all the clocks and watches in the house set to run 10 minutes fast in an attempt to make sure that a certain father and recalcitrant small children wouldn't be running "at the coo's tail." I remember too after years of living 10 minutes fast having THAT conversation. You know the one. It starts with " But what difference does that make? We all know that the clocks are fast and by exactly how much." travels through " Why don't we just change the clocks to the right time and behave like sensible adults?" and ends with a discussion closing....,

" Because......"

Listening to Terry Wogans breakfast show on BBC radio 2

Two sets of heavy purrs....

Hullo ma wee blog,

I sit on the couch, coffee by my side and a book in my hand. The day is grey outside, driech and cold but not so cold as earlier in the week. A cat sits at my feet and contemplates me with the utmost intent.

I look down..

'What?'

I get a mouthed but silent meow in return and go back to reading my book.

A second later I am joined on the couch by Jess, who now contemplates me from much closer than before. I lift my book and give her a raised eyebrow 'what?' kind of look. She steps with supreme dignity onto my thigh and moves up inside my raised arm and thumps herself down onto my chest in a sideways slump, back towards me. A slight raising of the head back into my chest answers the question 'Just feeling lonely eh?.'

I return to book and coffee and stroke her gently between sips, cradling her weight to prevent her slipping down. {a forlorn hope in reality as my belly would no doubt do that for me} After a while her head slips back onto me in agreeable companionship and slowly her eyes slide shut as she drops off to sleep, a delighted drool on her lips.

Coffee finished, I watch her for a few therapeutic moments before returning again to my book and its tale of Edinburgh ne'er do wells and a fictional detective. The heat of her body seeps into my chest in a comforting way and spreads across my whole being. A wee furnace. Soon it will be time to stir myself and think of making tonights dinner.

In two shakes of a cats tail I too am comatose.

Who knows which of us purrs loudest.


see you later when I wake up.......

And On a Historical Note........

Map of Scotland by John Speed 1610
Adapted to avoid image of Royalty - printed 1660
First known representation of tartan in print

Hullo ma wee blog,

I have been thinking these past few days, as I take my lovely G to the railway station in Dunbar for her morning train to Edinburgh and her working day, about what topic I should choose for a post here. I got some really nice comments about my post on 'The Black Watch', which was one of the most enjoyable posts to do, due to my real attachment to the story, although my writing of it caused me to go back to books not read for some time and find some mistakes that maybe I should clear up a wee bit. {I also found an absolutely heart wrenching account of the three mens last hours and their execution which I should maybe also look at for the future} But I have been trying to think about what should come next.

I have an almost equal feeling for the men of the 78th Seaforth Highlanders who mutinied at Edinburgh Castle in September 1778 and their story is another that would be well worth the telling as it in many ways resonates so closely with the 43rd. But in reality I'm spoiled for choice.

There is so much in the story of this country that we are never taught about at school - I think that was one of the main drivers in my interest after I left, and maybe my lack of interest in history while at school - I didn't see the relevance to me as a wee Scots boy in school learning about the English civil war or the royal family. It was as remote and dry to me as the ancient Egyptian or Greek stuff they tried to get us enthusiastic about. Then again school was often baffling for me. I couldn't understand why you could get praised - a prize even - for reciting a Burns poem in 'braid Scots' on one day and be told off for not speaking properly in class the next! So this morning as I drove back home from Dunbar I was in a dwam*.


Map of Scotland by John Speed 1610
original version pre civil war

I left Dunbar and its castle and harbour behind, with all the potential tales of Mary, Bothwell and Darnley, of 'Black Agnes' and the siege of 1338, of English fleets unloading men and equipment for the invasions of Scotland from times long gone, drove past the memorial to the 'essential agony' of the battle of Dunbar to join the A1 and to turn at the foot of Doon Hill and its spectacular but windswept viewpoint over the town and the sea, where English and Scots armies had stood and considered each other in 1296 and again in 1650 when Leslie and Cromwell had so disastrously clashed. I thought of the Scottish equivalent of the 'trail of tears' that had followed that last particular bloody episode. That too would be a tale so worth telling. Even most Scots know absolutely nothing of that. I couldn't make up my mind.

Scotland

And so I turned my thoughts to the weekend and a family gathering with my lovely G's brother and partner but that took me mentally on a drive to the Kingdom of Fife across the battlefield of Prestonpans and the false hopes of the Jacobites after that easy win, or the tale of Colonel Gardiner as I pass the front of his mansion of Bankton House. Edinburgh of course is as stuffed with stories as it is with tourists in summer time, and the road would take me past the battles of Pinkie and Carberry and on to the Forth bridge past South Queensferry and Stevensons tale of David Balfour and Kidnapped. Aye and that takes me to Ballachuilish and Appin and the murderous tale of the 'Red Fox', of 'James of the Glen' and that sad memorial at the side of the bridge, so poorly signposted that almost everyone drives past completely unaware. And what of Glencoe and the massacre. Maybe not, everyone knows about that. Oh but if I'm thinking about the Forth Bridge, what about the Tay Bridge disaster? Thats a cracking wee story that one. Or wait, maybe I should go west, back home to Ayrshire and Robert Bruce, Louden Hill, or Glentrool and the English, Or Largs and the vikings or.............

See what I mean. In the course of a couple of hours I've gone fae a dwam tae a fankle*. If only I could sit with you, maybe over a pint or a wee dram, I could tell you one or two of my versions of those wee stories. You could pick and choose even. That would be much easier than me having to type it wouldn't it. Actually maybe I should sit and talk through some of those stories. Maybe that would help sort them out in my head a bit. Ach, I'm sure it will sort itself out in time and at least I'm never going to be short of a post or two if there is nothing else exciting happening in my life at the time.

So what will be next?

I huv'nae a clue........

see you later.......
*dwam - a dream, reverie.
*fankle - a tight mess,eg knotted

Listening to Soundtrack to the movie 'The Insider'

Sometimes its the little things..........

Hullo ma wee blog,

Isn't it amazing sometimes what makes your day so much better? I mean REALLY makes your day better. I don't mean the earth shattering stuff either. Sometimes its the simplest, most accidental, innocuous even, tiniest wee thing that makes life worth living just to BE there, to have seen that, to have smelt that, to have heard that,it all adds up to having FELT that completely unexpected thing.

It can be as mundane as a smile from a stranger or it can be as utterly skillful as a someone demonstrating a craft. It can be spontaneous or part of a performance. It can be completely personal as a memory of family or completely anonymous. Something that instantly -'BANG' - the camera/recorder in your head suddenly, unexpectedly tunes into, and you know at that moment you will be able to recall that second many years from now. Maybe even as you die. Its breathtaking not in its importance but in its beauty, in its transience even. A perfect photograph left untaken. A perfect song not quite completed. Sometimes the memory will disappear to be triggered later by something - revisiting the site, a sound half heard in the distance or a moment recalled by someone else. In reality in future perhaps only meaningful to you. Completely unexplainable.

Today, a wee lass of three or four, pale skin, blond hair, a pink waterproof hooded coat, green striped tights and pink wellies runs along the top of a wall. Its chest height to her mother walking alongside pushing a child laden buggy and there are bits of moss and leaves on the top slab. The wee girl has paused, a second only, before plunging into the small branches of a bush or tree creeping across the wall from behind. Mum pauses and looks for the girl now gone from sight when suddenly a face appears, white skin and pink plastic, gold, copper and lime green leaves framing a grinning excited face, a motion from Mum and with an unheard 'Yah' she launches herself confidently out into the waiting arms of her mother.

All this seen from the car window as I passed by. Just another car on the road beside them. But leaving them behind with a huge grin and maybe an empathy for an forgotten childhood episode. Certain in the knowledge that she had made my day so much better for her just being there.


see you later........

listening to Mike Oldfield 'Ommadawn'

A Big Pie and A New Car......

Hullo there ma wee blog,

Jings, where does time go. It seems like no time since my last post and yet its been four days or so.

So what have I been up to?

Well my weekend was filled with A Big Pie and A New Car......


I was invited by my older brother Gordon - Happy Birthday for today by the way, big brother - down to Irvine for a night out. He has invited me before to nights out with associates or to functions but I have never gone. I don't like the idea of sporting nights where you get suited and booted to go and watch a couple of guys beat seven bells out of each other in a boxing ring. And I'm not a golfer. Not that I'm one of those who see it as a good walk spoiled or anything like that but I'm a fisherman and to be honest both of those sports are pretty time consuming, and expensive, if you are going to do them properly. I'm not into round table socialising and fundraising and all that schmoozing and self congratulating stuff either.

Shield of the Hammermens guild

But, I do enjoy my brothers company and he invited me out to go to a night out with the Irvine Incorporated Trades Association which he is part of. I was a guest of his guild, which is The Hammermen. Now, as you know, I do like my history and being born in Irvine and brought up nearby, I thought I would go along and see what it was all about.

Shield of the Cordiners Guild

So there I was dressed in the advised appropriate dark suit, collar and tie, nice shiny shoes and all ma buttons polished. I was glad that it wasn't evening dress as my suit has been in the wardrobe for about 6 or 7 years and I doubt that it would accomodate my now even more well proportioned self any more. I had left home and travelled the 125 miles back to Ayrshire early enough to get through the Glasgow rush hour and arrive in time for a wash and change and to be out of the house by the appointed 6.30 with my dapper brother in tow. We had been dropped off at the rooms where the trades association have had their annual get togethers since time immemorial by his wife with a small reminder to me not to let my brother get too out of hand or create havoc on return from the do.

'Hahaha....Course not, what do you take us for. We're both responsible adults after all.'

And anyway I'm really not much of a drinker.

Shield of The Skinners Guild

I was struck by the finery on show. A couple of hundred of the local worthies done up in evening dress, dress kilts etc. and assorted dark suits. As we made our way to our table I noticed that there were no women that I could see. On mentioning this to Gordon he told me that there were a couple, and he did mean only two, here for the dinner but they were both guests from outside. There were long tables laid out down almost the full length of either side of the hall for the high heid yins and guests and about twenty or thirty round tables of eight apiece down the middle in a couple of staggered rows. We were greeted by various bods, none of whom I knew of course, and I was introduced and shook hands with about ten or fifteen folk before we found our slots marked with rather posh name cards at one of the tables marked for the Hammermens guild.

Shield of the Tailors Guild

Gordon headed off for the bar to sort out some refreshments and left me with his three friends, all of whom I knew slightly, and returned laden with three bottles of red wine and a bottle of malt whisky. The table was already stocked with several cans of various beers and soft drinks but what the heck I thought, lets go with the flow. Gordon advised that once things started it could get a bit boring with all the speeches but it wasn't the done thing to be getting up and going to the bar in the middle of it all so better to be prepared for the long haul.

I looked at the booze laden table and,

'Jings, How long' I said.

'Oh, dont worry we should be finished by about midnight' came the reply. 'If the speeches go quite smartly anyway'.

'Oh........erm, Good'

The night is called 'The Big Pie' because it was tradition for the guild to provide a good meal for all at the meeting. This was traditionally in the form of a big pie surprisingly enough. When there was a meeting of just one of the guilds the meal that was provided was also a pie so these smaller affairs became known over time as 'Wee Pies'

Friday was the 363rd anniversary 'Big Pie'.

A short history of the guilds.
The Irvine Seal of Cause

On the 3rd July 1646 The Royal Burgh of Irvine Granted the Seal of Cause to the Incorporated Trades of Irvine.

The Crafts were listed in the following order:-

Smiths Hammermen guild,- these were blacksmiths,goldsmiths, silversmiths,pewterers,lorimers (clockmakers), saddlers,cutlers, bucklers, armorours
Websters guild - Weavers
Tailors - Tailors
Cordiners - Shoemakers and leatherworkers
Skinners - Dealers in skins, pelts or hides, also glovers and makers of skin breeches
Wrights Joiners, - carpenters and squaremen, builders and makers of fine furniture
Coopers - Makers and repairers of barrels, wooden vessels, casks, buckets and tubs

Each CRAFT was allowed to elect a head official annually who was termed Deacon. The Incorporation was granted the right of having a common box or Common Good. As there were no banks, money and valuables belonging to the Crafts were lodged in a stout box. The Boxmaster was the Treasurer and the keys were held by two members of the Craft, known as the Keymasters.

In Irvine in 1646 there were approximately 100 mastercraftsmen. With their apprentices, journeymen and families this accounted for about a third of the Burgh's population of 1,500. The members of the Incorporation welded themselves into a powerful group in the town.

The original document was written with a quill pen on vellum and is still preserved in the Scottish Record Office.

With the charter came the right and privilege to manufacture and sell goods within the town boundaries. The incorporation had the right to try all made work by journeymen from within the town and those who came to work from outside the town. No one could, without permission of the Incorporation, manufacture and sell goods in the town.

With the rights and privileges "granted" to the seven crafts, the Smiths, the Weavers, the Tailors, Cordiners, Skinners, Wright craft and the Coopers, also came obligations to help and assist widows, bairns, waifs and strays, the auld, aged, the decrepit (I qualify in at least two counts then!) and those craftsmen less fortunate who fell on hard times.

Shield of The Weavers Guild.

Its this last element which remains today and the guilds are predominantly a means for fund raising for the local community.

The night was all very formal and linked back to the traditions of the guilds. No gentlemen is allowed to remove his jacket or tie. Formal speeches and reply speeches are given and there are numerous toasts throughout the evening. The guests were MPs MSPs, Council Provosts, Clergy of both Protestant and Roman Catholic Churches, and various Guilds representatives of other Towns and cities as far apart as Aberdeen and York

There was a meal in which a small individual steak pie was the starter, apparently a pie is always in there somewhere, then on to fish or chicken - I had the salmon which was pretty good, then dessert and coffee.

There were toasts to; The Queen, The Royal Family, and to Her Majesties Forces.

There were speeches followed by toasts and then replying speeches to;

The Royal Burgh Of Irvine
The Deacon Convener and Conveners Court
The Clerks report
Our Guests
The Clergy
Irvine Carters Society
THe Chairman, The Croupier,and The Clerk Of The Conveners Court

In amongst all this there was also a ceremonial 'walking' of the Big Pie where everyone clapped as it was paraded solemnly around the room, {these days a Big Pie is made and donated to the local old folks home} and two halts for 'refreshments' - what ARE these guys on - where there were pipers laid on for entertainment. I honestly can't remember if we toasted the pie and the pipers but it's very likely.

Everything else was getting bloomin toasted!

Shield of the Wrights Guild


Some of the speeches were very witty and clever, some were ponderous and some were mercifully short. But the toasts were frequent and the glasses well charged at every turn and during the speeches the wine and the whisky flowed richt weel. By the end of the night I was quite puggled but cosy in ma cups and not too far gone. {Oh really Alistair?} I thought I did particularly well in managing to sing Auld Lang Syne right strongly while standing squarely on both legs although holding hands with the others did help a bit. Lovely singers the others were too....

Shield of the Coopers Guild.


Some of the speechifying was a bit too smug and self stroking for my liking but the company at the table was good and boy did we drink. Did I mention that before?

Next morning I had alkaseltser and did vomiting for breakfast and then Gordon and I spent a restful couple of hours painting guttering at Dads old house in the wind and the rain. That helped a lot.

No, really, it helped a lot!

I met the lovely G from work back in Edinburgh later and we had a look round some garages and arranged a test drive in a nice 2nd hand Ford Focus. By the time I got home I was tired and fractious and only had time for a bit of mind numbing telly before heading to bed leaving G on her own.

So she made me buy her a new car on Sunday. That'll teach me. I may never drink again.

No seriously, what really happened was we were back out on Sunday looking for a replacement for her old but much loved wee banger and after we had the test drive in the Focus I was really unimpressed. We decided against it but I noticed that Ford have seriously upped their game from the offers we were seeing in garages even a few weeks ago and I saw a nice new Fiesta with a good deal linked to what I still call their options deal - pay small deposit and low monthly payments and have a bulk sum left after two years to deal with if you want to keep the car or move on to another model. We have used the scheme before when it suited us and with the current situation I felt that it was better to get her a new car - even with the defferred lump sum, than to spend almost the same for a good low mileage 2nd hand job.

The biggest decider for me though was that the interest rate the garage we were looking at charged was exactly 1/3rd of what another Ford garage had quoted me a few weeks before. {That poor salesman had the cheek to look surprised when I laughed at him and suggested the lovely G should pick up her coat.}

So with a good deposit and government scrappage money of £2000 it means that it's less of a hit on redundancy money we may need in the short term, and we have both reduced the monthly payments and the deferred payment. I am happy with that.

And so is G, as she gets to drive away with this....


And in her favourite colour like in the picture too.

Brownie Points?

MOI?

You betcha!!!!!

As for 'The Guild'? Well, it was suggested that perhaps I would like to come back for ' a wee pie' with the Hammermen and I could be inducted into the guild.

While I am wee bit flattered, there's also a larger part of me that is with the late Groucho Marx, who I think, said " I wouldn't want to join any club that would have me as a member" so I think perhaps I will pass on that.

I think my liver would agree.......

see you later..........

Listening to Sia 'You Have Been Loved'

Am Freiceadain Dubh

Black Watch Memorial Aberfeldy

Firstly, let me introduce you to the man in the photo. His name is Samuel Macpherson and he was born in Laggan in the highlands about 1712 or there abouts. He is standing on a memorial to the regiment of which he was part. It was officially The 43rd {Highland} Regiment Of Foot but was known in Gaelic as 'Am Freiceadain Dubh'. but we know it much better in Britain as 'The Black Watch'

I have a natural sense of the ironic. It reassures me, keeps me sane, brings a wry smile to my lips and sometimes, a deep sense of satisfaction.

I think that as a Scotsman its part of our national character, part of our make up.

Let me tell you a wee tale. Its a tale of history, of Scotland and of irony. Jings, three of my favourite things all in one. I hope I can do it justice.

I once worked in Fort William in the highlands. Its gaelic name is 'An Gearasdan' which means simply 'The Garrison' and reminds us that it was fortified as a frontier outpost of the British Army when the area was a hotbed of rebellion in days long past. In the town there is a nice wee museum, and because of the area and its history there is a substantial part of it given over to Jacobite memorabilia. I found myself in there one lunchtime just browsing round the usual cases of Jacobite glass and Highland weaponry. All very enjoyable to be sure but not really that out of the ordinary in any good local authority museum in the North of Scotland. As I was passing through a corridor linking two of the rooms I passed an old print.

Large and faded, without any kind of label to explain itself, it showed Highland soldiers apparently parading through a town, marching four abreast, clad in bonnet and plaid and being watched by 18th century townsfolk and led and accompanied front, side and rear by evenly spaced horsemen. They are approaching a high gateway.

On closer inspection I saw none of the Highlanders were carrying any weapons and it was this that made me really look. As I did so I realised that the parade was no such thing, it was an escort. And those town gates are actually the gates to the Tower Of London.

What the print actually shows is the arrival at the Tower of London of the mutineers of the 43rd {Highland} Regiment of Foot in 1743.

At this point let me rewind time slightly even more and give some background detail, some historical context of the 'Watch' Regiments as I understand it anyway.

In 1667 Charles the Second authorised the Earl of Atholl to raise and train independent companies of troops from the most trusted { loyal to the crown } clans, and to cause them to 'keep watch upon the braes' in an attempt to impose law and order onto the wild highland regions and to protect the interests of the crown.

By the end of the century there were many regiments raised and led by the clan chiefs and with loyalty through him to the King. The clan chiefs used the authority of the king to their own ends when it suited them and by 1717 the watch regiments were disbanded as being ineffective. Where necessary they were replaced with regular troops, especially so after the early Jacobite rebellions, but regular troops were more like prisoners in their own barracks at Ruthven, Bernera or An Gearasdan, surrounded as they were by an alien landscape of imposing, unfamiliar hills and often unfriendly natives who spoke little or no English.

During the rebellion of 1715 many members of watch companies left to fight for the Jacobites - no breach of honour for they followed the only real allegiance they recognised, that of loyalty to the clan chief who had ordered them to join the army in the first place. The unreliable or potentially disloyal watch regiments were replaced with four garrisons of lowland or English foot. But the garrison forts were, as I said above, incapable of enforcing the rule of law and by 1727 general Wade - of road building fame - advised the King to reinstate the watch regiments.This was done and recruitment began in the old ways and with the same promise that the regiments would be retained to serve only in the highlands to protect their own lands. That was firmly understood by the regiments to be their sole 'raison d'etre'.

Completing enlistment was no problem as with the effects of the disarming acts, particularly on the loyal clans, joining the army became the only legitimate way for a young man raised in the martial traditions of the day to be able to bear arms. The vital difference this time was that control of the regiments now passed from clan chiefs into the hands of central government and professional, almost exclusively English orientated, senior officers.

While these senior officers knew of the terms of enlistment, they had no conception of - or attachment to - the men themselves. They didn't understand the meaning of the bond that had been given or the regiments instinctive attachment to its native land, tongue and culture. They also failed to realise that many of the men enlisted and serving under them as junior officers and lower ranks were far from being the kind of men so common in the other regiments of the British army. These highland volunteers were often gentlemen and the sons of gentlemen and felt themselves responsible for their behaviour to a clan, clan chief and a highly ingrained sense of honour. It was this trait that often made Scots regiments such effective fighting forces.

By 1741, recruitment and training over, The Black Watch {named after the dark colour of the government tartan} was sent to look over its glens. Well trained but poorly equipped - more than 400 of the regiment used family swords - they were given empty promises of kit ordered and weapons to be supplied that never materialised. But the real issue wasn't poor kit but of honourable promises repeatedly broken. For these honour sensitive products of the highlands the scene was set and of course history and circumstance was turning.

The Jacobite threat had never gone away, in fact it was ever increasing and Britain was at war with France in the fields of distant Flanders. It may be that previous experience of 'turncoat' regiments during the recent rebellions prompted the King to consider that to have large numbers of well trained, but not necessarily loyal, troops left behind at home in a politically volatile situation was just too big a risk. France was also very effectively using the Jacobite cause to try and destabilise the ruling powers position and to force them to retain troops at home in case of emergency, thus weakening strength for overseas service. These factors laid the foundation for what was to follow.

By the end of 1742 the regiment received orders that it was to proceed from its mountain glens to the links at Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, not far from where I sit right now, to be reviewed by General Clayton. Months before, they had been advised in letters home by a fellow officer serving in London in the regular army that it was being openly stated there that the Black Watch would be sent into England and then on overseas. This fed into the regiments deepest fears of being removed from their homelands against the conditions of their enlistment.

Once arrived in Musselburgh, tired and anxious, they were told that the General now wished to review them at Berwick on Tweed, and so those weary men would have marched right past my front door. Perhaps they billeted overnight here in the village or nearby. I do know that on arrival at Berwick, and finally on English soil, the men were told that the King himself wanted to review them in London and after that they would be able to return home to their families. Tension mounted as more and more promises made proved to be of little value, and when the men expressed fear about being taken from their hills and anxiety of being posted abroad they were given platitudes and little else. As the regiment marched south through Alnwick, Newcastle, Richmond, Doncaster and Royston, while the highlanders appreciated the stir they caused - these feared, wild looking foreign speaking men and undoubted rebels - while they seem to have enjoyed the crowds who came to stare in the towns and countryside they passed through, the situation became more fraught the further from home they found themselves.

The men in the regiment were not aware that it was the Kings custom to review a regiment before it was posted overseas. It was not until they were in London and billeted across the city that they came in contact with people who were aware of that fact, and who made the highlanders aware too. In London they also met a party of Royal Scots just returned from Barbados with lurid tales of disease and death which did nothing to quiet the rumours that were flying round.

They also found that the King would not be reviewing them as promised after all having recently departed for Flanders himself.

After some rest time the regiment was paraded in front of the Duke of Montague and that afternoon given orders to proceed to embarkation on the Thames. No destination was given. Angered by what they saw as a clear and final betrayal of trust many of the men stated they would soldier no more but would return home as soon as possible. Others stated they did not want to continue in service unless all promises made were delivered and that there was a clear guarantee they would be returning to the highlands.

Samuel Macpherson, a sergeant in the regiment, a quiet, studious, well educated man who had studied law in Edinburgh until inactivity and frustration caused him to join the watch, and his cousin Malcom Macpherson, decided that if the men wanted to return home immediately they would take them. They would return the same way they had come, marching openly in good order, and if they needed to defend themselves to do so then so be it.

Those who intended leaving met on the nearby common at midnight and, when challenged by brother officers wanting them to stay and again plead their case, forced their way through them at point of bayonet with cries of "Stand off!" More than a hundred made their way in good order and avoided bloodshed. They were joined the next day by some 70 more men, distrustful of the government, senior officers and determined to return home.

A very accurate print.

 Notice how the plaid is being used to keep the guns lock dry.

In 72 hours of freedom they travelled almost 100 miles on foot and not one of the units searching found trace of them. They molested no one, they stole nothing. They were given intelligence from sympathetic Scots in Wellingborough which told them they had come as far as they possibly could without interference from vastly superior numbers, and they took up a defensive position in the shelter of a small wood called Ladywood, near the ruined shell of the mansion house called Leyvden New Bield and strangely enough only about 8 or 10 miles from where that sorry lass Mary Queen of Scots finally lost her head.

After negotiations over two days with a member of the local gentry who had also alerted the militia that the mutineers were well prepared, well dug in and well supplied with arms and apparently willing to make a stand, they surrendered and threw themselves on the mercy of the Army in the hope that their grievances would at last be heard fairly. They were, as the museum print clearly showed, taken under guard to the Tower Of London.

Samuel Macpherson, Malcolm Macpherson and another, Farquhar Schaw, were identified as leaders of the group, quickly tried, found guilty of mutiny and sentenced to be shot. All others were, as their worst fears had always been, sent to the West Indies for life.

Before they were put to death against a wall in the tower while their comrades looked on, some hiding their faces in their plaids to avoid the sight, a few sketches were made of them taking exercise to be used in the daily pamphlets which were the precursors of newspapers.

One of the Ladywood Mutineers

Many years later, while looking for an accurate depiction of the uniform of the day, it was one of these sketches that was unknowingly used as the basis for the memorial to the raising of the Black Watch regiment in Aberfeldy.

It appeals to my sense of history that to this day, in some way, Samuel  Macpherson still stands defiantly and looks out upon the hills he loved, had promised to protect and never wanted to leave.

It appeals to my senses of both irony and justice that many people who come to stand at the foot of that memorial to rightly commemorate honour, sacrifice, courage and leadership stand there not knowing that they are looking up at a man who was put to death having been cruelly cheated and lied to by those in whom he had placed his trust, but who had himself always been true to his word, his principles and his people.

Well done Sam....

La a blhair s'math na cairdean
Its good to be with friends on the day of battle.


It seems not all the remaining mutineers were sent to the West Indies but were dispersed through several regiments and sent overseas to America and the far East also.

see you later.........