Scots are web-savvy or self-deceptive?

by Paul McCormack

Some might say that Scots invented international networking along with everything else! But despite the recent proliferation of ‘Scottishness’ on the internet, are we not missing the crucial point? Networking!

Whether it represents an online renaissance or a virtual gathering of the clans, Scottish themed online networking is growing at an astonishing rate. The number of groups displaying the Saltire online has grown considerably in the last five years. From commercial ventures that seek to connect Scots and those of Scottish descent in a shared sense of belonging, to government sponsored organizations that aim to further Scottish business and culture abroad, the explosion in “Scottishness” is a phenomenon that deserves closer examination. Is today’s proliferation of Scottish themed networking unique or just a reincarnation of days gone by? Further, is it effective at advancing the Scottish brand on the world stage?

To answer some of these questions, I was privileged to speak with Billy Kay, a renowned Scottish writer and broadcaster. According to Billy, the Scottish Diaspora finding and connecting with each other in distant lands is nothing new. In his book, “The Scottish World” Kay provides many examples of Scots venturing abroad and forming networking organizations. Billy views today’s Scottish themed online networking as “a modern way for exiled groups to organize”. During our discussion he provided a fascinating overview of a chapter in his book called “A Forgotten Diaspora”. In that chapter, Billy details the migration of Scots to Poland in the 17^th century and the formation of a self-help society called the “Scottish Brotherhood”. The Brotherhood, which eventually had twelve branches spread throughout the region, settled civil disputes, assessed penalties, allowed Scots to borrow excess funds, and funded local churches and the ministry. Arguably, the Brotherhood provides an early example of a Scottish networking at its finest.

Billy also shared the story of Patrick Gordon, a 17^th century Scottish soldier of fortune who traveled extensively throughout the Baltic region. Gordon kept a diary where he noted the following meeting of Scots that took place in Poznan, Poland in 1654:

“During my abode in this place I was kindly entertained by my countreymen, to witt, Robert Ferquhar, James Ferguson, James Lindesay, James White, James Watson and others. I was afterwards by their recommendation entertained in the suit of a yong nobleman called Oppalinsky, who was according to the custome of the Polonian nobility going to visitt forreigne countreyes. At my departure my kind countreymen furnished me with money and other necessaries very liberally, so that I was better stocked now as I had been since I cam from my parents….”

The Diaspora in the 17^th century were “networking” and forming systems of governance long before the advent of technology. Is today’s Scottish themed networking unique or a 21^st reincarnation of the “Brotherhood”? Why are Scots and those of Scottish descent seeking out the Saltire online? What discussions take place within these virtual gatherings?

In 2004, having lived in the US for ten years by that point, I founded the “Scottish American Network” group on LinkedIn. It was actually born out of idle curiosity. I was genuinely curious to learn how Scottish expats adapted to life in America. What careers did they choose to pursue? Were they successful? How long did they stay in America? What part of the country did they live? How did they adapt to American life? Today, the group includes approximately 600 members from all walks of life. To encourage connections with Scotland, in the last year, I opened the group to individuals that currently reside in Scotland. The discussions within the group have ranged from business, life in the US, culture, the arts, food, whisky, and of course golf and football (we don’t call it soccer – ever!). Business and personal connections are routinely made and the members appear to enjoy gathering as a virtual clan to discuss all things Scottish. I would estimate that 25% of the membership is second, third, or fourth generation Scots that are interested in learning more about their heritage. 60% are Scots that reside overseas, with the balance made up of people that live in Scotland and have an interest in America business and culture. The conversations that result offer a nice balance between Scotland’s past, its present, and future. I can happily report that Scots in the US as a group are highly successful, well received by Americans and generally very happy in their new found home land.

Like many Scots living in the U.S., hardly a week goes by without an American sharing their connection to Scotland. An astonishing number of people profess to be “Scattish” as their great great grandfather had come over here from over there “some time ago”. To be honest, when I first heard people claim to be Scottish, it annoyed me. Since they were not born in the country, had seldom visited the country – if at all, how could they be Scottish? Now, I recognize that it is in fact a cause for celebration that so many people want to identify with my home. In fact, because Scotland is loved and admired by Americans, moving to this country, although confusing at first, was ultimately very easy and comforting. So many Americans could identify with the country I had left behind. In all honesty, I hadn’t left the country behind, it had come with me. I just didn’t know it. There is a fun side to the wealth of Scots on this side of the Atlantic. Billy Kay and I joked about the fact that so many people claim to be related to a Jacobite, that if it were true, Culloden would have turned out very differently!

To seek greater understanding of why people embrace Scottishness online, I asked members of my group the “Scottish American Network” and “Friends of Scotland” (another LinkedIn discussion group) for their thoughts. The answers they shared provide some interesting clues as to why there is more Scottish online networking taking place,

Ian Ruxton, an expat living in Japan summed up why our culture is so easy to identify with,

“The distinctiveness of the badges or marks of Scottish culture – kilts, tartan, bagpipes etc. is pretty much unique and very easily recognised the world over. Why is it so distinctive? In brief I feel it was an effort by our ancestors to distinguish themselves from the English, borne of the feeling of being “in bed with an elephant” over the centuries! ”.

Colin Smith, based in Dundee had observed an awakening of the past as well as an appreciation for the future.

“The great strength of the groups I am on is that they bring together Scots who are still here with descendants of those who have gone, in some cases many generations ago, and this leads to reawakening of ties and an interest, for the emigrant, in modern Scotland as well as in historical Scotland. “Scottish themes” can be anything from business, arts, culture to fitba!”

Susan McIntosh, an attorney based in Colorado connected the clan system and the Scottish impulse to network,

“While it is true that the traditional clan system had in many fundamental ways disintegrated by 1746 it didn’t disappear entirely. One continuing manifestation has been this persistent Scottish impulse to network – and to be somewhat clannish about it – that thrives down to this very day.”

In order to gain an even deeper understanding of “Scottishness” on the web, I contacted Alastair McIntyre, an expat, and owner of Electric Scotland (www.electricscotland.com) a popular destination for visitors with an interest in Scottish history. I asked Alastair what made Electric Scotland unique.

“Simply put it is the massive volume of content we have on Scottish History and the history of Scots at home and abroad.  We probably have more information on the Scots Diaspora in history than any other organisation in the world.  The main point here is that we’re very open with all our information and frequently share individual pages with other web sites as well as many magazines and other newsletters. The key to the site is that we publish new content every day and so there is always something new to read.  We explore all aspects of history and so you’ll find history of places, agriculture, poetry, sport, industry, literature, Scottish dancing, and of course a good amount on the Scottish Diaspora, etc.”

We know that the Diaspora are connected online, but what about those that live in Scotland? Are those individuals making an effort to connect with their overseas brethren? It would appear that they are, but the evidence is not conclusive as Alistair is faced with a startling problem.

“One thing I can report is that when I look at my visiting traffic report in the old days only some 4% of my traffic came from the UK.  Note here that the Scottish Government has done nothing to persuade Google to make stats available for just Scotland and thus you can only get UK traffic reports.  If you spend the time you can extrapolate information by getting a city report but that takes a lot of time.  If Google can produce stats for US States then surely they can produce Scotland only Stats but they sure aren’t going to listen to me but they just might listen to the Scottish Government if they made a request. Today I get some 28% of my traffic from the UK so that tends to suggest many more Scots are interested in finding out more about Scotland in the world.”

I can’t imagine why Google has not produced statistics for Scotland. If a member of the Scottish government is reading this article, don’t you think it is time for Scotland to have its own report?

One of the reasons that I created my networking group on Linked was to find out how the Diaspora fared in their adopted American homeland. Given the global reach and appeal of Electric Scotland, I was curious to hear what Alastair had learned about the Scots that he didn’t know before.

“I had absolutely no idea of what Scots did after they left Scotland.  That has been the single most important thing I have learnt and it’s an amazing story and frankly that story is if anything more important than the history of Scotland in my opinion. It’s also by discovering that, that I learnt how Scots did work together to build their businesses in other countries.”

However, Alastair view on Scots abroad is not all rosy. He “pulled no punches” regarding his assessment of Scotland’s efforts to capitalize on its global successes.

“Given the tremendous opportunities that the web has given us to communicate I feel there is still a total failure to communicate by Scots today.  Of course every country in the world has this same failure but I feel given the size of Scotland and its generally favourable impression across the world we are simply not good at communicating. I’m pretty disgusted about how poor we are at promoting exports, tourism and inward investment in Scotland.  We should be making billions more than we are but a giant failure to communicate is holding us back.  We need to somehow break this mold and do much better.”

To underscore his point, Alistair shared a conversation that he had with the CEO and chairman of the Highland Games in Jacksonville.

“Alastair I can’t understand why there is no representation from Scotland at our Games.  Do you know that you are the only local Scot here?  Why aren’t your tourism people or business people represented?  I’m also pretty passionate about Scotland being of Scots descent and I’d love to hear about Scottish businesses that I could use to purchase products or services for my company or indeed personally but I have no idea where I can go to find them.  Could you not do a write up of a Scottish business each week in your newsletter?”

Alastair took the words to heart and made a concerted effort to trigger interest back in Scotland. His efforts resulted in a “wall of silence” that is frustrating to read and no doubt far more frustrating to experience firsthand.

“I got back to Scotland I contacted some 200 individual Scottish companies that were either already exporting or who could clearly do so.  Not one was willing to provide any information.  And of course going to Scottish Enterprise, Scottish Development international, Scottish Chamber of Commerce and many other organisation got me nowhere. I asked Visit Scotland if they could provide any tourism articles and to date I have received nothing from them.  Why are they not doing anything with the some 300 Highland Games held in North America where you can get between 15,000 and 250,000 or so visitors to these events?

Given Alastair’s comments and experiences to date, I was curious what he envisioned the future of Scottish online networking may look like. He provided candid feedback which I believe is exceptionally accurate.

“There is of course tremendous scope for networking but in my opinion that can only be achieved by working together and I see no sign of that happening.  The Scottish government and agencies such as Scottish Enterprise, Scottish Development International, Visit Scotland, Scottish Chamber of Commerce, Scottish Councils, etc. simply won’t work with other web sites.  Likewise individual web sites of Scottish businesses also won’t co-operate as they see their own web site as being the only way they will communicate online.  That in my opinion is a massive fault and is why we’re seeing no real progress being made. That’s not to say this is a Scottish problem as every country in the world is the same including the USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand and others.”

Alastair frequently referenced the Scottish government’s ineffectiveness online and on the world stage. Almost everyone I interviewed while preparing this article agreed that it was necessary for the Scottish government to have an online presence. However, as Alastair notes, the Scottish government’s efforts often appear ineffective at best. Not surprisingly, there are a number of Scottish government sponsored sites online. However, from my experience, and the experience of others, rarely does the “right hand know what the left hand is doing”.

GlobalScot, an organization which is funded by the Scottish Executive, is one of the more well know Diaspora networks. It is compromised of executives from around the world and Scottish companies with international aspirations. GlobalScot has a dedicated site as well as a group on LinkedIn. I have been a member of GlobalScot since 2004 and attended the inaugural conference in Edinburgh as well as several other gatherings in the States. I must admit that GlobalScot’s face to face networking events are far more effective than its online presence. GlobalScot’s online presence is a valiant effort that in my opinion has yet to find its feet. Scottish Development International has a dedicated site and there is also www.scotland.org that offers a broad view of Scotland from a historical and cultural perspective. There are many additional Scottish government agencies as well as local governments that have an online portal. The question remains as to whether or not the government and the country as a whole benefits from the government’s online efforts. Measuring the overall effectiveness of any virtual or traditional networking organization is notoriously difficult to do. However, ensuring that all of Scottish government’s online portals and at networking groups are aligned and support each other will be a difficult task.

Ultimately, for Scots abroad online networking provides a little piece of home online. I have often heard from Scottish expats that each time they go “home” the country looks less and less familiar. Plus, let’s not forget our “American” accents. From time to time I’ve be asked by Scots at home if I am from Canada! Talk about taking the wind out of my sails! I believe that Scottish online communities provide an outlet for expat Scots to reconnect with a country that no longer exists. Often our conversations revolve around cultural references from Scotland in the 1990’s. The country may have moved on since then, but we are stuck recalling the same TV shows and football games from our previous life. Keeping the Scottish sense of humor alive having left the country nearly 18 years ago is also challenge. Gathering to watch a Billy Connolly DVD, or sharing jokes that most Americans scratch their head at is certainly good for the soul. Thankfully, in today’s modern age, we no longer rely upon the kindness of others for basic necessities. However, the need to associate with “guid” people has not changed.

From all accounts, we have a very long way to go before we capitalize on the explosion in Scottishness online. Crucial to the success of our efforts is full engagement and cooperation of the Scottish government, private entities, the Diaspora in general and those that remain in Scotland. In short, online networking around the Scottish brand can do so much more than it is accomplishing today. As technology creates more connections between people, so too does it allow the Diaspora to reconnect with their country, former countrymen and women as well as themselves. In the words of George Santayana,

“Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

In Scotland’s case, may be our approach to online networking should allow history to repeat itself. May be we still have a lot to learn from the Diaspora in 17^th century Poland. They understood the importance of maintaining and fostering a sense of Scottishness abroad, shouldn’t we take the time to do so as well?

Paul McCormack was born in Stirling, Scotland and moved to the States when he was 20 years old. He is a forensic accountant with Connectics, based in Atlanta, Georgia. He can be reached at pmccormack@connectics.biz

The Blackhouse

by Peter May

A MURDER has taken place on the usually peaceable Hebridean island of Lewis. It’s a particularly unusual, brutal killing, though it would appear to be a carbon-copy of one which happened in Edinburgh some months earlier, so Fin Macleod, the detective leading that investigation, is brought in to join the local force to look for parallels.

Fin is a Lewisman, born and brought up on the island, but he left his past behind him when he went south to university and has scarcely been back since. Returning so many years on to the area of Ness on the island’s northern tip and the small community of Crobost where he grew up, he finds it’s his school friends – and enemies – who are the victim and suspects alike, but Fin has more than just professional responsibilities to deal with as the case throws up a personal mystery to solve, one which goes a lot deeper than the crime, and for which he will need much courage in confronting his past and facing an uncertain future.

As the investigation proceeds, Fin makes a link between the events surrounding the murder and the annual – and now controversial – voyage to An Sgeir, ‘The Rock’, a tiny, inhospitable island fifty miles out in the Atlantic which is home to a gannet colony. For centuries, men from Ness have sailed out to the rock to spend a fortnight there hunting guga – the young gannet – formerly as a vital source of food, now a prized delicacy; but beyond its practical function, the trip is a rite of passage for the young men of the community, its traditions a bond from generation to generation, its secrets strictly kept, for whatever takes place on the rock and in the old black house which is the men’s rudimentary home while they are there remains unspoken elsewhere. As questioning brings clues to light, it becomes clear that what happened on the rock when Fin went there as a young man will now determine his fate and that of others, and as the chosen twelve prepare for this year’s dangerous expedition, so the novel builds to its powerful, unexpected and stormy climax.

The detective story and Fin’s own troubled history are very deftly woven together to make a thoroughly absorbing combination, procedural details as stark factual contrast to the personal quest. Lewis itself – its landscape, its culture, its people – forms a large part of the book, familiar to any reader who has been there, just as fascinating to those who have not, and this strong sense of place makes it as distinctive and as integral a part of the story as Oxford is to Colin Dexter’s Morse books or Venice to Donna Leon’s Inspector Brunetti series.

The novel has two epigraphs, one Housman’s “land of lost content” (Blue Remembered Hills), the other a Gaelic proverb: Tri rudan a thig gun iarraidh: an t-eagal, an t-eudach ‘s an gaol – “Three things that come without asking: fear, love and jealousy”. These lines set the theme for the book, developed through atmospheric passages of reflection and recollection, played out in the dramatic dénouement, but always interpreted skilfully and with balance, making an intense, involving piece of work to appeal to lovers of sophisticated crime and psychological thrillers.

The Blackhouse is the first volume of The Lewis Trilogy; the second, The Lewis Man, is to be published in early 2012. Peter May was born in Glasgow and worked in journalism before writing and producing television drama including the long-running Gaelic series Machair which he co-created, living and working on the island of Lewis. His other crime novels include The China Thrillers and The Enzo Files.

My Friends the Miss Boyds

by Jane Duncan

JANE DUNCAN’s name may not be familiar today, but in the late 1950s she was something of a literary sensation. Born in Dunbartonshire in 1910, she read English Literature at the University of Glasgow and took a variety of jobs before working in Photographic Intelligence during the war and then as secretary in an engineering company. It was here that she met Sandy Clapperton, the man who would become her long-term partner – though the two would never marry – but Jane Duncan defied convention and moved to Jamaica to be with him. There she wrote in secret, hiding her stash of novels in desk drawers and in knitting baskets in the linen cupboard, until Sandy’s serious illness forced her to type up a manuscript and send it off in the hope that publication might alleviate her money worries. When, in 1959, Macmillan accepted her sequence of seven novels, she made publishing history, achieving bestseller status and acquiring a large and loyal international following. When Sandy died, Jane (her real name Elizabeth Jane Cameron) returned to Scotland, settling near Cromarty and living there until her own death in 1976.

Fashions change and writers fall out of favour, and for some time Jane Duncan’s books have been out of print; but believing it was time for her work to be enjoyed by a new readership, the small publisher Millrace Books have reprinted the first of her much-loved My Friends series. My Friends the Miss Boyds is set in the Black Isle and takes the form of a ‘chronicle’ written by Janet Sandison looking back to the events of her childhood (specifically when she was eight years old). It’s an account of life in the Highlands at the end of the Great War, but this is no sentimental, tartan-and-heather story; it’s a warm and intelligent look at a vanished way of life.

Janet lives with her extended family at Reachfar, a croft near the village of ‘Achcraggan’ in Ross-shire, a place based on Duncan’s grandparents’ farm at which she spent much of her childhood. Content with her own company or that of her dog, Fly, her uncle George or farmhand Tom, Janet runs errands for her grandmother, takes her turn with farm chores and works hard at school. The family’s standing in the close-knit community means that they are often looked to when help is sought, and when the Miss Boyds come to Achcraggan, the Sandisons are needed in no uncertain terms.

The six spinster sisters from Inverness are the cause of a raised eyebrow or two in the village through their simpering, embarrassingly flirtatious ways, but when one of the younger Miss Boyds brings trouble on the house, things take a more serious turn.

A poignant story with beautifully drawn set-pieces and many very funny passages, it’s a vivid picture of a time and place on the cusp of change, and a welcome return for a writer whose work is worth getting to know.

For a snatch of the distinctive lilt and cadence of Highland speech, the following is a passage from later in the book when the grown-up Janet has returned to Achcraggan, and her old friend Tom is discussing the radio she has given him -   “’This is my sound boxie that Janet gave me.’ Tom told [Twice] the first time they met. ‘It is a wonderful contrivance, if you’ll be minding to get its battery from the garratch at the smiddy on Saturdays. It’s a sort of engine, like. You would be knowing about it maybe?’

‘A little.’ said Twice, who is an engineer by profession.

‘When you’ll be turning this knobbie, you can hear the mannie as plain as if he was beside you, and him speaking in a roomie away down in London. It is a wonderful thing. But av coorse, only if you’ll be using it for a good purpose. If a person will be using it for badness, like that mannie Hitler was doing, it is a very bad thing indeed. Being chust an engine, like, it has no more sense, and some of the capers and nonsense that will be coming out of it whiles, you chust would hardly believe.’”

The Scots Kitchen

by F. Marian McNeill

edited and introduced by Catherine Brown

BORN in Orkney in 1885, brought up in a manse where books and hospitality were spared the otherwise necessary economies, Florence (Floss) Marian McNeill became first a journalist, then a writer with a keen interest in preserving Scotland’s culture and heritage. As a Scottish folklorist she wrote the four volume The Silver Bough (1957-1968), a study of folk belief and customs, but she is best known for The Scots Kitchen, her classic work of Scots cookery, originally published in 1929.

Now in its first new edition for over thirty years, this highly readable and entertaining book has been beautifully re-designed with line illustrations by Iain McIntosh and an introduction, notes and conversion tables, by food writer Catherine Brown.

It is both a practical guide for use in the kitchen and an unparalleled compendium of the traditions and lore of bygone days, and as a collection of recipes it both records and constitutes a rich social and domestic  history of Scotland. As the author says in her preface to the first edition, “I have tried to show how from the earliest times – through the period of romantic semi-savagery in the Highlands, the period of cosmopolitan elegance (Edinburgh’s golden age) in the days of the Auld Alliance, the sober kail-and-brose period that succeeded the Reformation, and on to modern times – the pageant of Scottish history is shadowed in the kitchen.”

Liberally quoting literature and social commentary – and always wearing its writer’s scholarship lightly but authoritatively – the book sets Scottish food in context and celebrates a rich tradition. With chapters on all aspects of the meal from soups to puddings, and with baking, beverages and preserves well-represented too, there are also appendices on such esoterica as Franco-Scottish Domestic Terms and suggested Bills of Fare for Burns Suppers and the like.

The modern reader may not know their Gundy from their Glessie, and may have yet to sample Claggum or Clack (sweetmeats all), but whether you’re looking for a recipe for Tweed Kettle – salmon hash – for a simple supper, or Rob Roy’s Pleesure (sic) – braised haunch of venison – for a grander occasion, there is something here to inspire the keen cook and inform and delight the casual browser.

Porridge

‘The halesome parritch, chief o’ Scotia’s food.’ – Burns

(The One and Only Method)

Oatmeal, salt, water

Allow for each person one breakfastcupful of water, a handful of oatmeal (about an ounce and a quarter), and a small salt-spoonful of salt. Use fresh spring water and be particular about the quality of oatmeal. Midlothian oats are reputed to be unsurpassed, but the small Highland oats are very sweet.

Bring the water to the boil and as soon as it reaches boiling-point add the oatmeal, letting it fall in a steady rain from the left hand and stirring it briskly the while with the right, sunwise, or the right-hand turn for luck – and convenience. A porridge-stick, called a spurtle, and in some parts a theevil, or, as in Shetland, a gruel-tree, is used for this purpose. Be careful to avoid lumps, unless the children clamour for them. When the porridge is boiling steadily, draw the mixture to the side and put on the lid. Let it cook for from twenty to thirty minutes according to the quality of the oatmeal, and do not add the salt, which has a tendency to harden the meal and prevent its swelling, until it has cooked for at least ten minutes. On the other hand, never cook porridge without salt. Ladle straight into cold porringers or soup-plates and serve with individual bowls of cream, or milk, or buttermilk. Each spoonful of porridge, which should be very hot, is dipped in the cream or milk, which should be quite cold, before it is conveyed to the mouth.

The Conundrum at the heart of the Scottish Diaspora

by Tom Devine

Between 1815 and 1939, 2.3 million Scots left Scotland for overseas destinations. Another 800 thousand during that period, and this is very much an estimate, left for England. That would have probably put Scotland at the very top of the emigration league table, not simply of the UK but of Western, Central and Eastern Europe during that particular period. Why?

For every two Scottish babies that lived through infancy to the age of one, at least one of them, 50%, would leave leave Scotland forever.

We are now able to put the Scottish position into international context. There is one problem with what I may call ‘small nation’ history, it can be naval-gazing, it can be parochial, it can be introspective, and indeed it can even fall into the ‘Burns Supper School of Scottish History’ problem of boosterism and ‘here’s tae us, wha’s like us?’ So in order to get a sense of what is going on here it is very useful to see the Scottish pattern within a broader framework of reference.

“Our country has been emptied of its people, its intellect and its talent.”

If you look at the period from the 1850s when our data become quite good, right through to the 1920s/1930s, and indeed beyond into the 50s and 60s, you find that the three major emigrant nations, certainly before the Second World War, were Norway, Ireland and Scotland. In the 1850s, the 1870s and the early 1900s, and above all the 1920s, Scotland was not third but second in that unenviable league table of societies haemorrhaging people at an enormous rate. And in the 1920s the rate was so great, particularly with the huge movement of people out to the USA of 276,000 people over that single decade, that Scotland, of the 16 nations, territories and regions I’m referring to, reached the top. And for the first time in Scottish history since Webster’s private census of the 1750s, and indeed since the first official census of Scotland in 1801, the Scottish population actually fell. It had never happened before and it’s never happened since, but it did in that decade. The insightful commentator Edwin Muir in 1932 said “Our country has been emptied of its people, its intellect and its talent.”

You could say that all of that is unremarkable because international human mobility increased enormously in velocity in the 19^th and early 20^th century due to the three key inventions in transportation and communication. The steamship had cut the journey time from the Clyde to New York from 6 weeks to a week (you had tradesmen in Scotland buying return tickets, hitting the height of the trade cycle in North America then returning home in the quieter season); the telegraph had allowed people to read what the labour markets were like worldwide through the press; and, of course, there was the huge communications impact of the railway.

So there was nothing especially surprising that Scotland contributed to the 44 million Europeans who left the shores of Europe in the period from the late 18^th Century down to the middle 20^th Century.

But what is very unusual, and this is the heart of the puzzle, is that Scotland in the later quartile of the 19^th Century was the second richest nation on Earth after England. As you walk down the silent River Clyde today, it’s amazing to reflect upon the fact in 1901 two fifths of all warships and civilian-based ship construction in the world took place there. In a whole variety of other areas too, Scotland was a world leader: from heavy engineering through to locomotive building, and not least, particular professional skill areas like banking and accountancy. And in the agricultural area, the depth and range of skills in agronomy put Scottish farmers, ploughmen, farm-workers and shepherds ahead in their field.

In addition, per head of population, Scotland was exporting much more investment overseas, not least to countries and cities and states like this, Hong Kong, but also to Australasia and North America in railway construction, gold-mining, cattle ranches and much else. The Scottish rate of overseas investment in the period between 1830 and 1914 on a per capital basis was almost double that of England. This was by any stretch of the imagination, at least in gross terms of GNP and overall wealth, a rich society.

And yet its rate of emigration was at the same level as some of the poorest societies in Western Europe. These included Ireland, which suffered the greatest human catastrophe in any part of Europe in the middle decades of the 19^th Century (with the Great Famine that killed by famine-related diseases 1.2 million people and another 1.6 million emigrated), but also Norway, Southern Italy, parts of Greece, and the Steppes of Russia.

And it may be worth adding that Scotland had reached these economic heights faster than any other industrialising society in Europe before the period of forced Soviet industrialisation in the 1920s. The first industrial society, England, is now recognised as having had an ‘evolutionary’ process of development from a rural based economy to an industrial/manufacturing based economy. Scotland’s process by contrast was compulsive, with Scottish cities, in particular Glasgow, expanding at a more rapid rate than in most other parts of Western Europe.

…they were voting with their feet. They were emigrating in droves. Why?

So this is the puzzle: how does one explain that in such a society, people were in some way ‘forced out’, that in some way they ‘had to go’? Certainly faced with the data, it doesn’t look as if Scots had to go in the late 18^th, the 19^th and a goodly part of the 20^th Century, because there was a mushrooming of employment possibilities because of industrialisation. And there was also from the 1850s-60s, a steady upward increase in the wage rates, which levelled off about the time of the Great War, but the reward to labour was increasing in the later part of the Victorian era. And yet they were voting with their feet. They were emigrating in droves. Why?

Let me give you some possible false trails, some possible options that may answer this question in whole or in part, and then I’ll come down to my own thinking as to how this particular conundrum might be resolved.

One explanation you will certainly find in the minds of many Scottish school children and others: “Because of the Highland Clearances”.

Certainly in one region of advanced Scottish society there was a very poor population living in desperate circumstances, going through the agony of clearance, famine and dispossession. From the Anglo-Scottish union, probably down to the late 1860s or the 1850s, my own work suggests that only about a third of Scottish emigrants came from Ardnamurchan in the south, to Cape Wrath in the north, the Central Highlands and also the Inner and Outer Hebrides. So even during that period which encompasses the Highland Clearances, fully two thirds of emigrants were Lowland Scots.

In addition, about a third of the population of the Western Highlands and Islands left between 1841 and 1861, with no less than 18,000 being ‘assisted’ to emigrate by landlords and charities. This was due in main to the catastrophic impact of the disease Phytophthora Infestans on the crop that was the mainstay of much crofting and cotter life, the potato. The blight, the disease that killed the Irish potato, had travelled to the Western Highlands and Islands in the middle 1840s. Some landlords offered the bleak choice of dispossession or dispossession-with-support to Canada, especially Ontario, then known as Upper Canada, and Australia. But although the Highland factor might be relevant to half of our period it becomes virtually irrelevant after the 1860s, because from 1861 to the 1920s the ratio of Lowland migration to Highland emigration leaving Scotland was around seventeen to one.

Overwhelmingly post-1860 emigration from the Scottish nation was Lowland in origin. It was a combination of movement from the rural Lowlands, as well as the towns and big cities. And increasingly it actually centred on the big cities. In the 1880s, 86% of men, male emigrants leaving Scotland in that decade for the USA came from big cities and towns above 10,000 in population.

The loss was specifically centred on the areas of modernity, on those regions which were at the forefront, the cutting edge of economic and social advance.

Then the paradox deepens further because at the same time as native Scots are leaving their land, others were attracted to Scotland. In 1901, at that census: 207,000 first generation Catholic and Protestant Irish, about two thirds Catholic, one third Protestant from Antrim and Down where their ancestors had settled in the 17^th Century; another 40,000 Jews, Italians and Lithuanians. In total therefore about 250,000 or more people living in Scotland in 1901 had been attracted to live there from outside because of employment opportunities.

In attempting to resolve the paradox we can turn first to a rural Lowland society. Scottish agriculture, alongside engineering and heavy industry, was also very much lauded internationally in the 19^th Century as being at the very cutting edge of current agronomy. Scottish farmers, ploughman, shepherds had considerable expertise in their field. And while Canada, USA, Australia and South Africa all had extensive virgin land and huge natural resources, they lacked skilled or semi-skilled labour. And given the ‘opportunities’ of moving up very rapidly in terms of social mobility with their skills, many Scottish men and women and their families in agricultural zones, simply could not resist the lure, the temptation to go.

Even in 1900, less than 1% of the Scottish population owned land.

And linked to that, although advanced, ‘agricultural’ Scotland was a grossly unequal society. It was simply impossible for tenant farmers, for ploughmen, for shepherds or day-labourers, ever to own land. In Scotland there were only around 7,000 landowners. At the end of the 19^th Century the Scottish landed class unlike the Irish elites never went through what F.M.L. Thompson called ‘the mincing machine of land reform’. Even in 1900, less than 1% of the Scottish population owned land. So, one of the reasons they were pouring out of the rural districts of Scotland, now more easily connected through improvements in transportation and communication, was the lust for land. And the word that was often used in dairies and the letters home was the opportunity to achieve ‘independence’. This was undeniably an opportunity-led emigration.

Let’s now turn to the urban societies and the industrial economies. Here I want to pick out three factors which may well have impelled outward movement.

Firstly, industrial Scotland was a low-wage economy relative to England. Scottish manufacturing wages particularly for skilled men were 10-15% below that of the English Midlands. The return to labour could be doubled and even tripled through transatlantic emigration.

Secondly, the Scottish industrial economy was overwhelmingly an export-based economy. 80-90% of the produce of the great industries like steel, heavy engineering and ship building went abroad. Global markets experienced cyclical depressions with downturns every few years. As you track those downturns and look at the passenger lists – it is in those downturns that the propensity to move overseas is mainly concentrated. The classic example is the 1920s which was Scotland’s first long-term experience of structural, not just cyclical unemployment.

And the third and final factor is this. The other unusual feature of the Scottish exodus if you look at it in comparative European terms, is the exodus of the professional classes. For example, between 1901 and 1911, of all men emigrating from the ports in Glasgow, a fifth came from professional, commercial or legal backgrounds. Very unusually some Scottish emigrants, albeit a minority, were not only skilled but were professionally trained. Let’s not forget that if you include the Anderson’s Institution and the two colleges in Aberdeen, there were 6 Scottish universities in 1850 when there were only 2 in England. And it has always been the case, even back to the medieval period, that the Scottish nation massively over-produced people at that level. And so the Scottish doctor, the Scottish professor, the Scottish teacher, the Scottish minister in the 19^th and early 20^th Century became world renowned, not only in fact but in literature – even indeed in television shows: “beam me up Scottie!” How many ethnicities were on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise? American inevitably, a Japanese, a Russian and a Canadian of Irish extraction who was trying to speak in the Scots dialect – he was the engineer of course. The myth is grounded in the fact, certainly in my own university, the University of Edinburgh in late 19^th early 20^th Century in medicine, only about 60% of those who graduated could ever hope to be employed at home. Victorian Rectorial speeches emphasised to the new graduates their imperial mission. Because in that period emigration was regarded as a good thing, a way to populate the globe by Scottish Presbyterian, self-help values and the culture of the Scottish Enlightenment.

Thank you

Question: You’ve elaborated on Scottish Emigration, but what of Immigration?

Tom Devine: Let me put it this way; I would not be here (Scotland) had there not been immigration, because I have got no Scottish blood in me whatsoever. I’m a third generation – not second generation because my father was an MA graduate from Glasgow University and a teacher – I’m third generation Irish. In the late 19^th and early 20^th Century, there was something in the order of 250,000 mainly Irish Catholic and Protestant, but also up to about 40-50,000 Jews, Lithuanians and Italian immigrants. Today, our biggest immigrant group are the English. There are 461,000 first generation English in Scotland, and they’re not all living in abandoned crofts! They are working in the Central Lowlands of Scotland. And then there are also 80,000 Poles, Lithuanians, and a few thousand from some of the other former Soviet Union countries.

I don’t know if you know this but, in the 17^th Century, the greatest settlement area for Scots overseas apart from Ulster, was Poland/Lithuanian. There are 426 sites we have been able to define, so far, as Scottish settlements right up and down the river valley of the Vistula in Poland.

So there has actually been ongoing immigration to Scotland. The Irish stopped coming in large numbers in the 1920s and then there was a gap, and there’s been a slight increase in Asian immigration. And also this very significant increase in English immigration.

So the questioner is right, by implication, that this is part of the puzzle; that people are leaving when others are coming.

Question: Was emigration ultimately good for Scotland?

Tom Devine: I actually think that that question is unanswerable. There are certain things that you can say, however, that are positive, and certain things that you can say are negative. Let me just start with the positive, or at least semi-positive.

In the period of the great Scottish take-off to modernity in the late 18^th and early 19^th Centuries, we have now definitely proven as a group of scholars, that capitalisation of Scottish industry could not have taken place without widespread emigration of Scottish adventurers and merchants who then repatriated their profits back to the home country. Though it has to be said that the second chapter in the book is actually titled Did slavery make Scotland great? It has to be said that some of that profit came from the slave-based plantation economies of the Caribbean and Virginia and Maryland tobacco colonies. There is an example of emigration producing ‘material good’ for the home country.

But gnawing at the back of my mind is that quotation I gave you from Edwin Muir. Because if you take my analysis as appropriate, Scottish emigration, at least in the last three centuries, patchy – the periods of industrial depressions, the crisis in the Highlands and the like – is opportunity led, attracting those people who are seeking opportunity. Now that’s perhaps OK if it’s going on for a short period, but it’s been going on unrelentingly and it would be very difficult to argue that it’s not doing some damage, not only to the collective psyche – and remember we’re not simply talking about overseas emigration – but the constant drain to London. The positive aspect to that which might counterbalance it is that is does tend to give a huge international profile to very small country, because so many of its children, second, third, fourth and fifth generation, are in quite important places of influence in the world.

Question: You mentioned some emigrant Scottish families that have had a great impact overseas, and I would add of course, Andrew Carnegie, but in your research did you come across others who are perhaps not so well known?

Tom Devine: The story of Scottish impact overseas in schizophrenic. As scholars we’ve got to face the past – warts an’ all. There are aspects of the book that look at the slave dimension, which look at treatment of native peoples, and a few other ‘warts’. But that’s not to gainsay the absolutely enormous intellectual and professional impact of Scottish people. In some ways in these settlement colonies, these ‘New European’ colonies, they were numbered among the first professionals. So they influenced the foundation of universities, they developed medicines, they were very active in the development of publishing – particularly newspapers etc.

At the University of Princeton, where I lectured six months ago, and which used to be called the College of New Jersey in the 18^th Century, inside the magnificent chapel at Princeton, in the place of honour, is the Scottish Saltire and next to it the arms of the University of Glasgow, ‘Via, Veritas, Vita’, in commemoration of two of their great Presidents, John Witherspoon and James McCosh who had moulded it into a world-class institution in the 18^th and 19^th Centuries. A half of all Canadian institutions of higher education were indirectly or directly founded by Scots. Looking at the TES higher education world league tables just a few days ago, to get some propaganda information for my trip to Australia and New Zealand, it’s interesting to note that McGill in Canada, is now the 12^th liked university in the world and the 1^st in Canada. And of course you know who founded that.

What I try to do in the book is to compare the Scottish effect with other peoples so as to bring out the distinctive Scottish range of influence. Because the book does cover the world, it demonstrates that there was variation between countries, variations over time – but there’s still that ‘punching above their weight’ phenomenon that is backed up by the statistical and qualitative evidence.

Question: You mentioned the monumental changes facing Scotland over the next few years. Can you see any correlation between current emigration figures with what may happen in the future?

Tom Devine: Certainly I would argue that the rise, and the continued rise, of the Scottish National Party, was a reflection of the revolutionary transformation in the Scottish economy in the 1980s away from the old, dinosaur heavy industries, to finance, tourism, electronics, high-level science and the public services – a much more diversified and modernised post-industrial system. Now that then, you could argue, is reflected in the fact that certainly since 1995/96, the rate of emigration didn’t collapse but went down very rapidly. And the interesting thing is that it’s still not picked up again. One argument is that the Cameron cuts, the Westminster cuts have yet to hit the country. One of my colleagues did a very stimulating article in the Irish Times demonstrating that with the years of the Irish Tiger over, Irish emigration is now almost back to what it was in the 1960s, and young people are leaving Ireland, according to that aphorism by Professor David Fitzpatrick of Trinity College, Dublin: ‘Growing up in Ireland, meant preparing to leave Ireland.’ That hasn’t happened yet in Scotland, despite the collapse of the Royal Bank of Scotland and the Bank of Scotland. Edinburgh has hardly been touched at all by what you could argue were the two greatest disasters of Scottish History since Darien. The reasons for that are obvious; the banks were saved. Not only that, but the Edinburgh financial system is much more varied than banking. It involves a whole variety of things from fund management through to pension management – and the rest. Now I also think that these ‘new Scots’, the English and the Poles and the Lithuanians and some other ethnicities – they have been brilliant for the country, because many of the English, as I say, are not coming to ‘granny’s highland hame’ they’re actually coming up to the universities, they’re coming up to play a role in the economic system etc.

Question: You say ‘entirely upon the economic impact of the cuts’, but what of the question of Independence?

Tom Devine: What I was getting at in the last answer was that, really, the response was to some extent related to not simply the current nationalist government but also to the so-called ‘independence prospectus’. At the moment and for the period back to 1999, the pro-independence vote has oscillated between about 26-27% to about 33-34%. The vast majority of those who have been approached by the polling organisations seem to prefer what is called ‘devolution max’ or ‘devolution maximum’ which is taking over many of the financial level and economic levers of power, but leaving defence and foreign affairs at Westminster.

Scots are web-savvy or self-deceptive?

by Paul McCormack

Whether it represents an online renaissance or a virtual gathering of the clans, Scottish themed online networking is growing at an astonishing rate. The number of groups displaying the Saltire online has grown considerably in the last five years. From commercial ventures that seek to connect Scots and those of Scottish descent in a shared sense of belonging, to government sponsored organizations that aim to further Scottish business and culture abroad, the explosion in “Scottishness” is a phenomenon that deserves closer examination. Is today’s proliferation of Scottish themed networking unique or just a reincarnation of days gone by? Further, is it effective at advancing the Scottish brand on the world stage?

To answer some of these questions, I was privileged to speak with Billy Kay, a renowned Scottish writer and broadcaster. According to Billy, the Scottish Diaspora finding and connecting with each other in distant lands is nothing new. In his book, “The Scottish World” Kay provides many examples of Scots venturing abroad and forming networking organizations. Billy views today’s Scottish themed online networking as “a modern way for exiled groups to organize”. During our discussion he provided a fascinating overview of a chapter in his book called “A Forgotten Diaspora”. In that chapter, Billy details the migration of Scots to Poland in the 17th century and the formation of a self-help society called the “Scottish Brotherhood”. The Brotherhood, which eventually had twelve branches spread throughout the region, settled civil disputes, assessed penalties, allowed Scots to borrow excess funds, and funded local churches and the ministry. Arguably, the Brotherhood provides an early example of a Scottish networking at its finest.

Billy also shared the story of Patrick Gordon, a 17th century Scottish soldier of fortune who traveled extensively throughout the Baltic region. Gordon kept a diary where he noted the following meeting of Scots that took place in Poznan, Poland in 1654:

“During my abode in this place I was kindly entertained by my countreymen, to witt, Robert Ferquhar, James Ferguson, James Lindesay, James White, James Watson and others. I was afterwards by their recommendation entertained in the suit of a yong nobleman called Oppalinsky, who was according to the custome of the Polonian nobility going to visitt forreigne countreyes. At my departure my kind countreymen furnished me with money and other necessaries very liberally, so that I was better stocked now as I had been since I cam from my parents….”

The Diaspora in the 17th century were “networking” and forming systems of governance long before the advent of technology. Is today’s Scottish themed networking unique or a 21st reincarnation of the “Brotherhood”? Why are Scots and those of Scottish descent seeking out the Saltire online? What discussions take place within these virtual gatherings?

In 2004, having lived in the US for ten years by that point, I founded the “Scottish American Network” group on LinkedIn. It was actually born out of idle curiosity. I was genuinely curious to learn how Scottish expats adapted to life in America. What careers did they choose to pursue? Were they successful? How long did they stay in America? What part of the country did they live? How did they adapt to American life? Today, the group includes approximately 600 members from all walks of life. To encourage connections with Scotland, in the last year, I opened the group to individuals that currently reside in Scotland. The discussions within the group have ranged from business, life in the US, culture, the arts, food, whisky, and of course golf and football (we don’t call it soccer – ever!). Business and personal connections are routinely made and the members appear to enjoy gathering as a virtual clan to discuss all things Scottish. I would estimate that 25% of the membership is second, third, or fourth generation Scots that are interested in learning more about their heritage. 60% are Scots that reside overseas, with the balance made up of people that live in Scotland and have an interest in America business and culture. The conversations that result offer a nice balance between Scotland’s past, its present, and future. I can happily report that Scots in the US as a group are highly successful, well received by Americans and generally very happy in their new found home land.

Like many Scots living in the U.S., hardly a week goes by without an American sharing their connection to Scotland. An astonishing number of people profess to be “Scattish” as their great great grandfather had come over here from over there “some time ago”. To be honest, when I first heard people claim to be Scottish, it annoyed me. Since they were not born in the country, had seldom visited the country – if at all, how could they be Scottish? Now, I recognize that it is in fact a cause for celebration that so many people want to identify with my home. In fact, because Scotland is loved and admired by Americans, moving to this country, although confusing at first, was ultimately very easy and comforting. So many Americans could identify with the country I had left behind. In all honesty, I hadn’t left the country behind, it had come with me. I just didn’t know it. There is a fun side to the wealth of Scots on this side of the Atlantic. Billy Kay and I joked about the fact that so many people claim to be related to a Jacobite, that if it were true, Culloden would have turned out very differently!

To seek greater understanding of why people embrace Scottishness online, I asked members of my group the “Scottish American Network” and “Friends of Scotland” (another LinkedIn discussion group) for their thoughts. The answers they shared provide some interesting clues as to why there is more Scottish online networking taking place.

Ian Ruxton, an expat living in Japan summed up why our culture is so easy to identify with,

“The distinctiveness of the badges or marks of Scottish culture – kilts, tartan, bagpipes etc. is pretty much unique and very easily recognised the world over. Why is it so distinctive? In brief I feel it was an effort by our ancestors to distinguish themselves from the English, borne of the feeling of being “in bed with an elephant” over the centuries! ”.

Colin Smith, based in Dundee had observed an awakening of the past as well as an appreciation for the future.

“The great strength of the groups I am on is that they bring together Scots who are still here with descendants of those who have gone, in some cases many generations ago, and this leads to reawakening of ties and an interest, for the emigrant, in modern Scotland as well as in historical Scotland. “Scottish themes” can be anything from business, arts, culture to fitba!”

Susan McIntosh, an attorney based in Colorado connected the clan system and the Scottish impulse to network,

“While it is true that the traditional clan system had in many fundamental ways disintegrated by 1746 it didn’t disappear entirely. One continuing manifestation has been this persistent Scottish impulse to network – and to be somewhat clannish about it – that thrives down to this very day.”

In order to gain an even deeper understanding of “Scottishness” on the web, I contacted Alastair McIntyre, an expat, and owner of Electric Scotland (www.electricscotland.com) a popular destination for visitors with an interest in Scottish history. I asked Alastair what made Electric Scotland unique.

“Simply put it is the massive volume of content we have on Scottish History and the history of Scots at home and abroad. We probably have more information on the Scots Diaspora in history than any other organisation in the world. The main point here is that we’re very open with all our information and frequently share individual pages with other web sites as well as many magazines and other newsletters. The key to the site is that we publish new content every day and so there is always something new to read. We explore all aspects of history and so you’ll find history of places, agriculture, poetry, sport, industry, literature, Scottish dancing, and of course a good amount on the Scottish Diaspora, etc.”

We know that the Diaspora are connected online, but what about those that live in Scotland? Are those individuals making an effort to connect with their overseas brethren? It would appear that they are, but the evidence is not conclusive as Alistair is faced with a startling problem.

“One thing I can report is that when I look at my visiting traffic report in the old days only some 4% of my traffic came from the UK. Note here that the Scottish Government has done nothing to persuade Google to make stats available for just Scotland and thus you can only get UK traffic reports. If you spend the time you can extrapolate information by getting a city report but that takes a lot of time. If Google can produce stats for US States then surely they can produce Scotland only Stats but they sure aren’t going to listen to me but they just might listen to the Scottish Government if they made a request. Today I get some 28% of my traffic from the UK so that tends to suggest many more Scots are interested in finding out more about Scotland in the world.”

I can’t imagine why Google has not produced statistics for Scotland. If a member of the Scottish government is reading this article, don’t you think it is time for Scotland to have its own report?

One of the reasons that I created my networking group on Linked was to find out how the Diaspora fared in their adopted American homeland. Given the global reach and appeal of Electric Scotland, I was curious to hear what Alastair had learned about the Scots that he didn’t know before.

“I had absolutely no idea of what Scots did after they left Scotland. That has been the single most important thing I have learnt and it’s an amazing story and frankly that story is if anything more important than the history of Scotland in my opinion. It’s also by discovering that, that I learnt how Scots did work together to build their businesses in other countries.”

However, Alastair view on Scots abroad is not all rosy. He “pulled no punches” regarding his assessment of Scotland’s efforts to capitalize on its global successes.

“Given the tremendous opportunities that the web has given us to communicate I feel there is still a total failure to communicate by Scots today. Of course every country in the world has this same failure but I feel given the size of Scotland and its generally favourable impression across the world we are simply not good at communicating. I’m pretty disgusted about how poor we are at promoting exports, tourism and inward investment in Scotland. We should be making billions more than we are but a giant failure to communicate is holding us back. We need to somehow break this mold and do much better.”

To underscore his point, Alistair shared a conversation that he had with the CEO and chairman of the Highland Games in Jacksonville.

“Alastair I can’t understand why there is no representation from Scotland at our Games. Do you know that you are the only local Scot here? Why aren’t your tourism people or business people represented? I’m also pretty passionate about Scotland being of Scots descent and I’d love to hear about Scottish businesses that I could use to purchase products or services for my company or indeed personally but I have no idea where I can go to find them. Could you not do a write up of a Scottish business each week in your newsletter?”

Alastair took the words to heart and made a concerted effort to trigger interest back in Scotland. His efforts resulted in a “wall of silence” that is frustrating to read and no doubt far more frustrating to experience firsthand.

“I got back to Scotland I contacted some 200 individual Scottish companies that were either already exporting or who could clearly do so. Not one was willing to provide any information. And of course going to Scottish Enterprise, Scottish Development international, Scottish Chamber of Commerce and many other organisation got me nowhere. I asked Visit Scotland if they could provide any tourism articles and to date I have received nothing from them. Why are they not doing anything with the some 300 Highland Games held in North America where you can get between 15,000 and 250,000 or so visitors to these events?

Given Alastair’s comments and experiences to date, I was curious what he envisioned the future of Scottish online networking may look like. He provided candid feedback which I believe is exceptionally accurate.

“There is of course tremendous scope for networking but in my opinion that can only be achieved by working together and I see no sign of that happening. The Scottish government and agencies such as Scottish Enterprise, Scottish Development International, Visit Scotland, Scottish Chamber of Commerce, Scottish Councils, etc. simply won’t work with other web sites. Likewise individual web sites of Scottish businesses also won’t co-operate as they see their own web site as being the only way they will communicate online. That in my opinion is a massive fault and is why we’re seeing no real progress being made. That’s not to say this is a Scottish problem as every country in the world is the same including the USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand and others.”

Alastair frequently referenced the Scottish government’s ineffectiveness online and on the world stage. Almost everyone I interviewed while preparing this article agreed that it was necessary for the Scottish government to have an online presence. However, as Alastair notes, the Scottish government’s efforts often appear ineffective at best. Not surprisingly, there are a number of Scottish government sponsored sites online. However, from my experience, and the experience of others, rarely does the “right hand know what the left hand is doing”.

GlobalScot, an organization which is funded by the Scottish Executive, is one of the more well know Diaspora networks. It is compromised of executives from around the world and Scottish companies with international aspirations. GlobalScot has a dedicated site as well as a group on LinkedIn. I have been a member of GlobalScot since 2004 and attended the inaugural conference in Edinburgh as well as several other gatherings in the States. I must admit that GlobalScot’s face to face networking events are far more effective than its online presence. GlobalScot’s online presence is a valiant effort that in my opinion has yet to find its feet. Scottish Development International has a dedicated site and there is also www.scotland.org that offers a broad view of Scotland from a historical and cultural perspective. There are many additional Scottish government agencies as well as local governments that have an online portal. The question remains as to whether or not the government and the country as a whole benefits from the government’s online efforts. Measuring the overall effectiveness of any virtual or traditional networking organization is notoriously difficult to do. However, ensuring that all of Scottish government’s online portals and at networking groups are aligned and support each other will be a difficult task.

Ultimately, for Scots abroad online networking provides a little piece of home online. I have often heard from Scottish expats that each time they go “home” the country looks less and less familiar. Plus, let’s not forget our “American” accents. From time to time I’ve be asked by Scots at home if I am from Canada! Talk about taking the wind out of my sails! I believe that Scottish online communities provide an outlet for expat Scots to reconnect with a country that no longer exists. Often our conversations revolve around cultural references from Scotland in the 1990’s. The country may have moved on since then, but we are stuck recalling the same TV shows and football games from our previous life. Keeping the Scottish sense of humor alive having left the country nearly 18 years ago is also challenge. Gathering to watch a Billy Connolly DVD, or sharing jokes that most Americans scratch their head at is certainly good for the soul. Thankfully, in today’s modern age, we no longer rely upon the kindness of others for basic necessities. However, the need to associate with “guid” people has not changed.

From all accounts, we have a very long way to go before we capitalize on the explosion in Scottishness online. Crucial to the success of our efforts is full engagement and cooperation of the Scottish government, private entities, the Diaspora in general and those that remain in Scotland. In short, online networking around the Scottish brand can do so much more than it is accomplishing today. As technology creates more connections between people, so too does it allow the Diaspora to reconnect with their country, former countrymen and women as well as themselves. In the words of George Santayana,

“Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

In Scotland’s case, may be our approach to online networking should allow history to repeat itself. May be we still have a lot to learn from the Diaspora in 17th century Poland. They understood the importance of maintaining and fostering a sense of Scottishness abroad, shouldn’t we take the time to do so as well?

Paul McCormack was born in Stirling, Scotland and moved to the States when he was 20 years old. He is a forensic accountant with Connectics, based in Atlanta, Georgia. He can be reached at pmccormack@connectics.biz

A Sassenach writes . . .

by Gareth Howlett

illustrations by Harry Harrison

Most of you reading this are Scots by ancestry, birth or upbringing who, for whatever purpose or reason, are now living outwith Scotland. My situation is the exact opposite. I was born and brought up on the other side of the Tweed – about 400 miles south, to be precise – and, unlike many of my countrymen, as far as I know I have no trace of Scottish blood in my veins. Thus it was chance, in the shape of my first job, that brought me north 25 years ago, knowing shamefully little about Scotland. On this almost blank sheet of paper, what impression has your country made?
I’m not going to spend much time on windy generalities. When I was at university I met a woman who had been born in the first half of the 20th century, in a town which was successively ruled by three different nation states. I asked her “what did you think of yourself as?” expecting a forensic disentanglement of her Russian-Polish-Ukrainian roots. She said, “I thought of myself as brown-haired, shy, liking music, being part of a large family . . .” This was a gentle but effective lesson that our national or tribal affiliation is only one of the many frames of reference through which we view the world around us and that for most of us, most of the time, it is a long way from being the most important one. Each of us has our own kaleidoscopic image of Scotland, so the following are some of the fragments which make up mine.

Darkness and Light

I moved into my shared flat in Stockbridge a few days after Christmas, ready to start work in early January. Until then I’d lived in various parts of southern England most of my life, apart from a childhood interlude when my father was posted to Cyprus, with its clear, warm sea, hot sun, smell of wild thyme in the stony mountains and grilling meat in the market places. When I told my friends that I was moving to Scotland in midwinter, there were melodramatic expressions of sympathy and offers of thermal underwear: “It’ll be freezing!” they warned. That’s when you look at the globe and work out that Edinburgh is on the same latitude as vast tracts of Siberian tundra or the southern shores of Hudson’s Bay and, although you know there won’t be polar bears or permafrost (hopefully), you suppress an involuntary shiver.
In the event, of course, I found that winter temperatures in Scotland, certainly for anywhere south of the Highland line and near the sea, are barely a degree or two lower than in England. But winter here is so dark! Dark until about half past eight in the morning, dark again by four in the afternoon, so for several weeks either side of the solstice, daylight flickers weakly like a candle in the corner of a dark barn. On an overcast December day in the country, far from the orange street lights, the world fades from a washed-out Edwardian postcard at midday, through a monochrome afternoon, to an implacable 16-hour night by teatime. These are Scandinavian conditions and they invite Scandinavian responses: the bonfires, the booze, the raucous hospitality . . . anything to stave off the dark.
During this time I only saw the inside of my flat in daylight at weekends and wondered if I could stick it. Then one day in mid-February I was walking morosely across Charlotte Square when I saw some tiny white spear-points in the grass, caught by the brilliant glare of the horizontal sun. Within a few days, the snowdrops had burst into life like six-inch silver fireworks and, as the northern hemisphere’s tilt back to the sun continued, the light advanced with the speed of a racing tide. The snowdrops were followed by crocuses and daffodils until, by early May, it was possible to leave work at five, drive 20 miles out of town, and play 18 holes in daylight, rolling in the last putt around nine as the sun set over the distant Ochil Hills. On Midsummer’s Day itself I sit by the river bank at midnight in bat-whirring gloom as big sea-trout splash like dropped breeze-blocks. I came to treasure those endless summer evenings, but also to discover how many shades of grey there can be on a winter’s afternoon in Edinburgh: silver-grey, soot-grey, russet-grey from the stonework . . . all under the pearl-grey, ink-grey skies.

Family

Within three years of arriving in Scotland I had married. My wife worked in the office next to mine, and eventually mutual attraction, mutual interests and proximity worked their magic. We married in Dunkeld Cathedral, signing the register beside the Wolf of Badenoch’s tomb behind the altar. My own family were outnumbered in the Cathedral by about eight to one. But we joined in gamely when the band at the reception struck up the Dashing White Sergeant and the Gay Gordons. Since then I’ve had a sneaking fondness for Jimmy Shand and Robbie Shepherd.
Her ancestry was East Coast Scots; on her father’s side, from East Lothian all the way up to Aberdeenshire, but clustered around north Fife, Dundee and Angus, while her mother’s family were from Portmahomack in Easter Ross, moving a few miles west to Tain about the time of the Kaiser’s War. One day early in our marriage we called at Tain on our way back from a holiday in the wild north-west, and were plied with Glenmorangie and black bun by hospitable friends.
Her maternal grandmother, Granny Hood, was born in 1896, the 14th of 14 children, and five of her own children survived to adulthood. So I have cousins by marriage thickly scattered. Two generations back, her family had been among the last speakers of Easter Ross Gaelic. Twice widowed before the age of 40, she supported her young family in the pre-welfare state days by working as a seamstress. Now, however, her old foot pedal operated Singer sewing machine sits in our house as an ornament and a memorial. My wife’s paternal grandfather, the local GP in Brechin, was also club doctor at Brechin City FC. Whenever one of the home players was felled by a particularly vigorous tackle, a doleful appeal was made over the loudspeaker: “Would Doctor Anderson please make his way to the dressing room.”
Granny Hood’s reaction on learning that her granddaughter was walking out with a Sassenach was courteous, but rather wary. I later heard that after meeting me for the first time she had said: “Well, I suppose he’s no bad . . . considering he’s English.” Like most folk in Northeast Scotland, she had met few English people until the early 1940s, when the war brought a big influx of servicemen to various local bases. Some of their ways were alien to the local people: for example, I was told, no self-respecting Scotsman at that time would dream of being seen pushing a pram, let alone fishing around in a wee purse for small change, or going out shopping with the wife. Against these exacting standards of manhood we were, as a people, measured and found wanting.
And so by marriage I acquired, with many other gifts and blessings, an extended Scottish family with its own history and its unique cats’ cradle of blood ties and shared experiences, and a sense of how kinship extends back in time and across the world, to relatives in San Diego, British Columbia and Colorado.

Smells

Edinburgh: the warm malty breath of the breweries; hot sugar and spices in Princes Street Gardens before Christmas; lush tropical blossoms in the Botanic glasshouses; fish suppers from L’Alba Doro in Henderson Row or the Tailend Bar in Leith Walk; damp salty haar brought in by the east wind on a May morning when the rest of Scotland toasts in the sunshine; coconut oil from the banks of yellow broom on the Braids.

Perthshire: the sweet/sour truffle-like rottenness of fallen leaves, soil and decaying birch wood; the resinous pine smell of the giant trees around the Falls of Braan at the Hermitage on a hot day; peat smoke and wood smoke.

Lewis: Seaweed at Uig; sweet machair flowers on a warm day; fish at Stornoway; drying peat; heather.

Language

I went to stay with a friend whose parents farmed near Inverurie. When friends and neighbours dropped by, the chat was largely in the Doric, and I caught about one word in three, listening intently like a schoolchild on an exchange trip to a foreign country. As my ears gradually became more alert to local nuances, I started to pick up the differences: easy ones at first – Glasgow and Edinburgh; Southeast and Northwest, then the more subtle ones – Perth and Dundee; Aberdeen and Inverness. Place names were hard and had to be tackled in easy stages like a tough Munro; starting with the ‘ch’ sound in places like Fochabers and the softly rhotic R in Arbroath, you eventually find yourself at the foot of an Inaccessible Pinnacle, not necessarily in Gaelic. During the last war, members of the Dutch Resistance used to trap German infiltrators by asking them to pronounce the name of the seaside resort of Scheveningen; the Scots would find Avoch and Milngavie equally effective.I believe that individual lambs each have a distinctive bleat so ewes can tell which is theirs. The bleat I hear most often is the dialect of the educated Edinburgh professional classes, to which, by adoption, I belong. Anyone who has heard Michael Rifkind speaking will recognise immediately what I mean. When we moved around a lot in my childhood I apparently overlaid my basic Hampshire accent with the successive local intonations of the places we passed through, but this must have been an example of the ease with which children pick up new languages. This ability declines perceptibly after adolescence, and so despite having spent half my life, and almost all my adult life, in Scotland, I’m told I have only absorbed the very lightest, almost homeopathic dose of an occasional Scots phrase or tang, like a drop of whisky in a bottle of water – for example, the crafty insertion of the word ‘outwith’ in the second sentence of my intro to this tale.

East and West

A few weeks after arriving in Scotland I needs must visit, or “go through to” Glasgow – what exactly is this barrier “through” which one must pass? – for a meeting. I get off the train at Queen Street Station and jump into a cab. The driver, noticing my accent, works out I’m not Scots, asks: “You’ve just come through from Edinburgh?” “Yes, I’ve just moved in.” Pause. He gets to a red light, stops and turns to me with a look of pity and concern: “Dae ye no find it a terrible unfriendly sorta place?”An Edinburgh contact: “See, if some Weegie makes a big pile in the market, what does he do? Buys a big, flash motor, like a red Ferrari, then parks it outside the office just to show the boys he’s arrived. If that happens to a guy from Edinburgh, he just changes his six-year-old Volvo for a two-year-old Volvo. If it’s a real shed-load, mind, he’ll buy a house in Elie on the quiet.”

Food

Things unknown to me before I came to live here but which I would miss if I left for some remote exile:
Stovies: the perfect, unctuous blend of potatoes, meat, fat and a trace of gravy. Properly seasoned, in a little polystyrene pot, eaten while walking to the game on a freezing Saturday afternoon in February.
Haggis: you can get haggis stovies, but the Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin’ Race deserves a throne to himself. Neeps I can take or leave; tatties acceptable; but the only indispensable accompaniment to this noble dish is a baptismal sprinkling of whisky.
Cock-a-leekie: you can get a peely-wally version of this in tins, but properly made it passes with style the true test of great cuisine – taking ordinary ingredients and making something remarkable. Anyone can make smoked salmon or fillet of Aberdeen Angus taste good, but it’s more impressive when the raw ingredients are a rather stringy old chicken, a very cheap shin of beef, a couple of leeks and a handful of prunes.
Raspberries: not the pale out-of-season imported variety but real ones, dark red, from Perthshire or Angus, the flavour balancing sweetness and acidity better than the blander strawberry.

On being English in Scotland

I said I’d avoid windy generalities, but you’d think me evasive to duck this one entirely. Let me come at it obliquely.
In 25 years living here, I cannot remember a single instance of genuine personal hostility directed at me as an Englishman. Of course there are loudmouthed idiots everywhere, in my country as well as yours, but the kind of person who creeps out at night to write: “I’d rather have Aids than be English” on a wall is saying a lot more about himself than he is about me. There’s some great banter – Scotsman in a London pub: “How much for a pint? If you’d charged like that at Bannockburn you might have had a chance!” Beyond that, the most I get is a sort of baffled frustration that the English don’t really ‘get’ the fact that Scotland is different and, what is worse, don’t really seem to try. We look at the division of the world into physically separate nations, and perhaps we think that ‘foreignness’ is a binary, black-and-white thing. Whereas if we stop to think, we know that even when we just talk about neighbouring countries and ignore legal and constitutional differences, Scotland and England are not foreign to each other in the same way, or to the same extent as, say, France and Germany, or Norway and Sweden.
My SNP (Scottish National Party) friends put forward a variety of arguments for independence, but the ones I find most personally resonant have less to do with opportunistic, managerial reasons (remember the ‘arc of prosperity’?) than with a simple, intuitive sense of pride and identity. One recent convert from conservative unionism, although in many ways an admirer of Margaret Thatcher, said that her chief failure in dealings with the Scots was that “she saw Scotland as an interest group, not as a nation.” Another friend, a romantic Jacobite, once said – and he meant it – “I want my country to be independent, even if I have to beg for my bread in the streets.”
England is my birthplace and my home, and the English, are my people; and just as you Scots reading this in Hong Kong or Dubai or New York have not ceased to be Scots, nor will I ever feel anything other than English. But I have learned in practice the lesson that my university encounter taught me in theory; that being English or Scottish or Russian or Polish or Ukrainian isn’t the most important thing in life, and to the extent that it does matter, I have been lucky to live, work and raise a family in such a beautiful, civilised and different place.

Gareth Howlett Gareth Howlett lives and works in Edinburgh, where he looks after other people’s money.

Harry Harrison is a freelance illustrator based in Hong Kong, a political cartoonist for the South China Morning Post, who also works for various other publications, including Time, Wall Street Journal, IFR and occasionally, The Guardian. www.flickr.com/photos/harryharrisonillos/

Holding the Mountains

by Patricia Shone

I was born in Scotland but apart from my earliest memory of hiding under giant rhubarb leaves I have little recollection of those first years. I am told that I climbed Ben Nevis without complaining at age three. The rest of my childhood was spent in rural southwest England between the sea and the moors. There were cows, sheep, chickens, fruit trees, raspberries . . . and more rhubarb. I remember bicycling through country lanes, mucking about in streams, horse-drawn painted caravans on the common, and the freedom to walk out of the house and wander.

My first experience with clay was at school in Devon and I gave up English A-level to take pottery O-level which was my only art qualification (the others mostly sciences). Armed with this, a few sketch books and a pottery portrait of our outside privy I gained a place on an art foundation course which led to a B.A. in ceramics at Central School of Art and Design in London.

My first studio was in the crypt of a deconsecrated and semi-derelict church in Hammersmith, shared with two troglodyte potters who didn’t seem to notice the bone shattering cold of the place. It was not an easy existence. I left college under the impression that I was an ‘Artist’ and therefore unconcerned with the reality of making a living by my work. This meant that I didn’t make a living and soon had to take part time work cooking in a wine bar.

After a few years the cooking became full time and I worked for a few years for Anthony Worrall Thompson at 190 Queensgate. It was a period of hard work and creativity, using similar skills to burn things at high temperatures. I had to learn to roll my pastry thinner than the clay I’d been used to.

It was cooking which brought me back to Scotland. There came a point after 12 years when I couldn’t face staying in the city any longer and applied for and got the job of head chef at Hotel Eilean Iarmain on The Isle of Skye. My first year here was endless days of sunshine and snow in the winter. Perfect for falling in love and getting married and I have now been here for 15 years, which astonishes my London self.

With support from the local enterprise company we were able to convert the garage of our home into a small workshop and with the continuing backing of my husband I was able to start my own small business and return to making ceramics. Despite the passage of time I found myself drawn to making the same highly textured, organic forms that had pleased me most at college. The work goes through many permutations trying to find profitable ways of making and selling. The greatest problem here is the cost of delivery; distances and time required for travelling are considerable, even with the bridge. Practicality is essential and just as I had to take up cooking for my living, here I have to spend time on a range of functional ware which sells well locally to the many visitors to Skye. Isle of Skye Ceramics is a range of thrown and hand-cast functional earthenware with a blue and cream shiny glaze with slip trailed and painted decoration. Sets of porridge bowls and mugs with Gaelic proverbs and song lyrics are the most popular. This range has helped support the more contemplative and experimental work which is where my heart really lies.

I have found that, unintentionally this powerful landscape influences my work; perhaps it’s that I see traces of the land in the materials I use. The inherent textures of clay as it is stretched and pushed seem to mirror in miniature the textures of erosion in the hills. In 2005 for an exhibition of work inspired by the story of Calum’s Road* I made a bowl using a slab of clay pressed into the textures of an old path. This one piece has led my work along its own path ever since. There are subtle traces of the past written all over this landscape; overgrown paths disappearing into the heather; grassy mounds in the middle of a forest, where a house or a byre once stood; the remnant of a road bypassed. All these stand as monuments to the communities who worked the land. I find this deeply moving. Although I have no blood connection to the people who lived here I feel a fundamental human connection in walking the same old paths. I have been fortunate to hear stories of these places from the generation who could remember when they were regularly used before phones and cars. Walking these paths regularly one sees how the textures in the land change over time, waterlogged bogs become cracked deserts, sheep carve deep tracks across ancient ‘lazy beds’*. This is a fascinating process which I documented in an exhibition in 2006 inspired by a walk out on the hill to an old well.

The view from the workshop is across the Sound of Sleat to Knoydart, Loch Nevis and the Sands of Morar. Even on cloudy, rainy days the light is always changing as it moves across the sea. When I first arrived on Skye it took me a while to get used to the huge scale of the views. I grew up with the rough, open moorland of Dartmoor but I had never had that sense of being completely immersed in it. There seems to be little middle ground to focus on here. I notice in close-up the jewel-like colours of mosses and lichens, the absolute darkness of a peat bank, the detail of a bracken shoot unfurling and then look up to see the mass of the mountains as they meet the sea in the distance. I think these two elements of monumental mass and of detail express themselves in my work as a result of living here. But the most important thing is the human connection; like holding a stone in our hands and feeling the form and weight of the mountain in it. Sometimes this link takes a functional form, of a jug or a bowl passed from hand to hand, sometimes it is pebble-like, to be held.

Texture has always been a strong element in my work and I am constantly seeking ways to develop this, using combinations of slips, pressings, glazes and firing techniques. I love knowing what is happening at the molecular level as I pull a pot from the ‘raku’ kiln at 1000°C, submerge it in sawdust, watch the flames dance briefly across its surface and wait to see how the pale clay has turned dusky black as a result of the reduction atmosphere. The latest development has been a small wood-fired kiln built in the garden which is fuelled with scraps from the local estate sawmill. This is to give the work a direct physical connection with the place of its origin. Ash from the firing settles on the surfaces of the pots and at high temperature melts and fuses with the clay developing and altering the glazes. The weather also has an impact on the work, speeding the firing up or slowing it down, changing the amount of oxygen available, with too little atmospheric oxygen for a complete combustion the fire draws oxygen from the oxides in the clay and glazes.

The chemistry which the potter uses to transform clay into ceramic by the application of heat is the same chemistry that created the rock of this landscape. A piece of hand made pottery can encompass all of this; and physically connects the user, the maker, the land and its history.

Next time you have a cup of tea you could be holding the mountains in your hands.

Patricia Shone operates from her studio on the Isle of Skye
and can be contacted through her web site:
www.patriciashone.co.uk

Auld Reekie in August

by Alan Bett

IT IS often thought that the world holds only three truly modern international cities; London, Paris and New York. Others may be beautiful, interesting or cosmopolitan, but they cannot compete with the constant global nature of these three. Well, in August each year a plucky contender attempts to punch above its weight and rank alongside them, albeit momentarily.

Edinburgh, basically a parochial town in comparison to the three ‘big boys’, invites the world to enjoy its hospitality and a mind-bending diverse display of international arts performers at its annual festivals.

This moment of festival laying claim to a true nature of internationalism for Edinburgh is perhaps a grasp too far. London, Paris and New York possess the good, bad, the ugly of all things global. Disparate communities, cuisines and cultures are embedded in their very structure and psyche all year round while Edinburgh’s internationalism is chronologically and thematically entrapped, lying solely in the arbit of the arts, and for a temporary period at that. The bright lights of the world’s creative performers light up in Auld Reekie each August, attracting tourists from around the globe to gather to their flame.

It is admittedly a fake cultural economy, a city unnaturally bloated by transient visitors who provide it with temporary lifeblood, one which gradually bleeds away as the month draws to an end. And unlike a genuine international city, it is accosted not by all walks of life but solely by creative people and their audiences. The true reality of global living does not faze the city’s residents, only a sparkling fugazi image of it, a fleeting reflection which eventually cracks. But the momentary falsehood the festival provides can be joyous. It appears like Brigadoon to provide the local populace with a brief respite from mundane everyday life, something most cities’ residents are not afforded. It also provides a fabled landscape for foreign visitors (how many must return when the festival is not in town, expecting the same but silently wondering, ‘Where have all the jugglers gone?’).

But is this all a naive view? How does the festival truly affect those who live within the city walls year round? Is it welcomed annually by local inhabitants or is it kicked out unceremoniously at the end of the month like a drunk at closing time? And who really sees the benefit and profit? I want to take a look at how the festival has evolved over the years, how its ethos has developed. Does its chrysalis open to reveal a butterfly, or a cynical corporate death’s head moth?

Firstly, to use the name ‘Edinburgh Festival’ is incorrect if we are to be pedantic in the least. The celebrations comprise a myriad of different festivals. It is a chimera, a beast of overlapping parts. The Fringe seems to dominate the press with its high profile performers and penchant for the weird and wacky. Begun in the 1960s, it runs almost in tandem with the highly respected International Book Festival, Jazz and Blues Festival, Festival of Politics and, of course, the Edinburgh International Festival, which promotes the more high profile, brow and culture events and performances, but it is still only one string to the festival season bow. Only one festival now runs separately in June – The Edinburgh International Film Festival (EIFF). It is the leg of the octopus which has crawled out of the month of August. But is it a leper to the others, or just an independent thinker?

Edinburgh International Film Festival (EIFF) Director Hannah McGill took time to explain to me, “We… did want to assert the independence of EIFF from the amorphous so-called ‘Edinburgh Festival’, which can be internationally misconstrued as one big theatre event with some sideline activity!” This coupled with an uncomfortable proximity to the London Film Festival pushed her to make the decision to move, one which has been divisive among fans, but which she sticks to strongly. Hannah went on to tell me that their jump “Was prompted by the fact the EIFF did not have room to grow, physically, or reputation-wise in such a crowded month.” Although the separate festivals do complement each other they also compete. They may act as bait, bringing in shoals of potential audience members but they are still up against each other when it comes to venues, hotels, media attention and transport.

A day after this interview, Hannah resigned from her position as Director (unrelated to my questions I hope!?). It will be a great loss to the EIFF. Under her management, a broad mixture of cinema was shown from around the globe. The Great Sean Connery was Patron. Controversial and international art filmmakers such as Lou Ye and Derek Jarman, alongside actors such as Malcolm MacDowall, all brushed shoulders while passing on the red carpets down through the years. They also mixed and discussed with the fans in the theatres as the EIFF is as much about giving as taking, an idealistic event. Whether it should be part of the August extravaganza will never be a resolved, but while we think it over let’s look at what continues to present itself to the world’s public in that very month.

If we act in man’s nature and judge by size then the Fringe Festival is certainly the biggest piece of the puzzle. In fact it’s the biggest arts festival in the world, with Adelaide a distant second. A great achievement for a nation the size of Scotland, a nation so often smacked in the face with a baseball bat of uncouth hard drinking stereotypes. Scotland has a deep culture but this is different, an opportunity to open ourselves to others. However, the Fringe does keep one thing distinctly Caledonian, its sense of socialism and egalitarianism. Neil MacKinnon, head of external affairs at the Fringe stressed with me the ethos that this festival had no real boundaries. There are no criteria for performers, no producer or curator to placate. The field of creativity can be comedy, art, music, physical or children’s theatre. The performers need only find a venue, and there are 250 of those for the Fringe alone, ranging from large-scale halls and pink cow-shaped tents to boats and public bars.

Neil’s quote when asked about which audiences he was keen to attract was quite simply and beautiful, “People who want to come.” And there are certainly many of those. Last year saw a record number of ticket sales at 1.8 million; 2010 hopes to better this. Neil predicted the audience would be split around 50 per cent Edinburgh locals and 50 per cent coming from the rest of world, a ratio he said was very pleasing but certainly not stage-managed. In his media-friendly and mannered mode he refused to pick any favourite performers but was happy to revisit the history of the Fringe when around 30 years ago fledgling celebrities such as Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and Emma Thomson travelled north with the Footlights company. Many stars have since been born under the Fringe’s spotlights; in fact each year a small crop is produced. Craig Ferguson’s American TV pay packets owe a lot to honing his skills in front of small late night drunken audiences in Edinburgh. A current star in the ascendancy is the Northern English comic Jason Manford, soon to become a daytime TV staple. This may be his creative ruin but certainly not his financial one.

And this is where money comes into it all. As the city is invaded for the festival season by a rainbow nation of culture hunters, all crawling over Edinburgh’s hilly landscape with the speed and strength of ants, money flows. But where and to whom does it flow? Edinburgh’s festival shows can be like scheming Artful Dodgers plucking the hard-earned cash from audiences’ wallets. Similar things can be said, however, for those one step up the food chain. Agents and venues target performers’ takings in the same way. Some are left down or, even at best, after a full month of work. One venue which cannot be accused of this is The Stand comedy club.

The Stand is a comedy institution in both Edinburgh and Glasgow. Unlike the vast majority (all, I think) of the other 250 fringe venues, The Stand runs all year round. The festival is just one stage of its annual life cycle. A second point which differentiates it from the others is that it only hosts comedy, no other form of entertainment. Manager Tommy Shepperd’s club is the antithesis to the large venues such as The Udderbelly and Pleasance theatres. As he stated to me, “When a show has a 1,000-seat capacity, how can it really call itself part of the Fringe?” The corporate behemoths and money-making machines should seem a death knell to a cavernous old school club like The Stand, but while it may be small it is certainly not fragile. Tommy has seen wholesale change in the philosophy of the Fringe over recent years, but this has not been reflected in his own venue. The Stand’s year-round role as a comedy facility has built a certain loyalty between it and its performers. As the larger venues squabble for line-ups each year, The Stand is approached by more than it needs for its capacity. Frankie Boyle, Peter Kay and Johnny Vegas all played early gigs here. This year Kevin Eldon is losing his stand-up virginity although he has been involved in some of the most hilarious and provoking UK TV shows of recent years, such as I’m Alan Partridge, Nighty Night and Nathan Barley.

Comedians do not pay to perform at The Stand, the venue underwrites all performers, so coming out at a loss is an impossibility, no matter how poor the performance (although these are rare). Ticket prices are also kept as fair as possible, a nod to the audience who are so often forgotten. A strategy Tommy works to in parallel with his financial plan is to promote a mix of veteran acts, new blood and also Scottish performers. When asked if this took intricate planning, he shrugged and perhaps modestly said no, it normally just works out that way.

One of the most important elements for comedians at Edinburgh is the Fosters Comedy Award (previously the Perrier Award). Winning or even being nominated for this can springboard a comedian to new heights, TV fame, panel shows, even movies at the end of the line. “But how can comedy be judged?” Tommy asked me. Whether cynical, smart or just a purist, he felt that the award was designed simply to sell beer and launch a semi-established performer on the back of their brand. “It means nothing except a fairly cheap marketing exercise for a brand of lager. The Beautiful thing about stand-up comedy is the diversity, different things make different people laugh, one man’s comedy is another’s tragedy.” Edinburgh seems to have these in equal measure. As the event grows each year so do the commercial opportunities present. It is refreshing to know that there are still certain areas off-bounds to the corporate vultures who perch precariously over many of Edinburgh’s August events.

The most apparent branches for these so-called vultures would be hanging over the eight venues holding events for the Edinburgh International Festival (EIF). The EIF can be viewed as the cultural big brother of the cheeky fringe. It constitutes what most would deem as highbrow entertainment. ‘The very best in international music, opera, drama and dance.’ We all know the usual financial price of these particular art forms, and who they are targeted to entertain . . . or do we? On my way to interview Suzie Burnett, Media Manager of the EIF, I had my socialist principles sharpened and at the ready. I had researched the programme and spotted the global brand sponsorships they had attained. To be very honest, I was corrected and humbled by her answers. The EIF is in many ways the least elitist part of the festival and the best value for money. These devilish corporate sponsors may succeed in spreading their word and their wares, but their funds result in ticket prices dropping dramatically. Opera from an internationally renowned group can be available from as little as £8 a ticket. “One of the big commitments of the International Festival is very much affordable tickets. Within that there are discounts for students, senior citizens, you name it.” The level of performance may be intellectual but the audience need not be those who feel they fit this criteria. This is of course an excellent opportunity to introduce yourself to the contemporary and the classics at a serious cultured level, but not a sobering price. “There is a growing recognition of our prices and the fact that we’re accessible . . . but it is still a message to get out there.”

Converse to the fringe, the EIF has a full-time curator, and since 2005 that man has been Jonathon Mills. Jonathon plans thematically and this year his programme centres on what is perhaps now incorrectly termed ‘The New World’ – North, Central, South America and the Pacific Rim. The acts performing this year examine the effects of immigration and colonisation, issues which reflect very heavily on the collision of cultures which face us today, closer to home. A particular highlight this year was The Gospel of Colonus, an opera version of Greek tragedy carried out by a gospel choir. A merging of cultures indeed, but one which worked to great effect. While the fringe follows an annual cycle, the International festival’s ideas can gestate for years, gradually coming together through luck and sheer hard work. Some acts hold over 100 performers, so it is an intricate task to piece the jigsaw together. Suzie felt that the Fringe and International festival fit very well with each other. “Between the various offerings we bring to town, there is a huge diversity and it covers the entire spectrum . . . that’s what makes Edinburgh particularly distinct.”

Not wanting to lower ourselves from the highbrow International Festival, we stroll over to the Edinburgh International Book Festival, the largest such event in the world (a trend developing here?). First year director of the event Nick Barley was kind enough to talk to A Broad Scot and his words in many ways reflected the ethos of the International Festival. High-level culture at affordable prices and open to all. That Harold Pinter has attended is the highest mark of quality possible. Scotland’s own Ian Rankin and Christopher Brookmyre are ever presents while Edinburgh’s adopted daughter, J.K. Rowling, once gave a reading to 12 people in a tent during her pre-fame days. As Nick suggests, that memory will not be one to slip away easily for those who were present. He went on to suggest that books are ideas and that the book festival is a festival of ideas. “I think that the best books are those which reflect the things we are worried about, passionate or anxious about . . . you’re trying to build up a picture of the way the world is, its history.” Our modern times are ones of shifting sands and this was certainly not lost on Nick or the festival. “I started asking myself, how is the world, what does it look like.” The notions Nick expressed seemed doom laden at first. We talked about our current state, the credit crunch, end of 500 years of western hegemony and how this finality was expressed in works such as Cormack McCarthy’s, The Road. But this was looking back and Nick wanted to look forward, “What’s the next era going be . . . if there is a new world order, what’s it going to look like?” I’m sure visitors to the book festival will at least have the tools to create their own opinion.

So, we have taken a virtual tour of the festivals of Edinburgh, dissected and examined them like alien artefacts. But let’s not forget the street performers, the jugglers, stilt walkers. The weird and the wonderful, surviving on donations, who connect venue to venue allowing no escape from the influence of festivity during the month of August. The street is their only stage. We also cannot ignore the incessant waspish marketing teams who swarm around their tourist prey, handing out flyers, each mysteriously with five-star reviews. All performers can’t be that good can they? My point is that the festival is not only those large component parts I have listed above, it is the city of Edinburgh itself. Greek native, New York resident and Edinburgh festival visitor Regina Vorria said it best, “I really love the whole concept of a city becoming a cultural meeting point and people gather from all over the world for this specific event.” To her, Edinburgh was more than just the geographical location, the performance arena, “The city defines the character of the festival.”

But Regina is a sightseer, visiting specifically for the event. How does this mass tourist exodus and travelling carnival affect those who reside in Edinburgh? From my conversations, the reactions were positive. Local youth councillor Harry Clarkson named it, “The jewel in the crown of Edinburgh’s calendar,” and felt it was a shame the city couldn’t be like this all year round. He did however admit to friends deeming the event in typical Scottish brogue as, “A pain in the arse,” and more hassle than it’s worth. Arguments against seemed to circle around the trivial, such as bars being busier, buses taking longer, everyday mundane irritants rather than higher level arguments of ideology. Edinburgh banker Craig Jamieson expressed a feeling that at this time of year the city felt it did not belong to its residents, it was seen as an invasion. But he alongside Harry agreed that the invasion was a welcome one. I must admit that these impromptu interviews were conducted around festival venues. As a scientist, my sample would be seriously questioned. If I were to venture to more local areas such as Pilton, Sighthill or had I interviewed the Trainspotting elements of Edinburgh, the response may have been extremely different.

So, as my report is reaching towards a close, the festivals themselves are also coming to an end. The streets and squares are slowly clearing of performance acts and audience members. It’s as if winter is approaching and all is slowing down. The hive is not reaching hibernation but is starting to prepare for it. So, as the sun sets over Auld Reekie, the beautiful Athens of the north, we can ponder the good and bad, the weird and the wonderful that Edinburgh’s various festivals have to offer. Their combined scale cannot be argued against; their cultural importance is clear in everything from the laughs on the Fringe to the beautiful performances of the International Festival to the enlightening discussions of the Book Festival. Not everything is perfect, but to quote Leonard Cohen, through the medium of Camille O’Sullivan, one of the Fringe’s most wonderful performers, “There’s a crack; there’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

A Glasgow Boy: Gerard M Burns

The success of a traditional painter
by Bob McNab

Without a doubt Glasgow School of Art has a very well-deserved reputation for excellence, established over the past 150 years. It continues in this tradition and has produced most of Scotland’s leading contemporary artists including, since 2005, 30% of Turner Prize nominees and two of the last five Turner Prize winners: Simon Starling in 2005 and Richard Wright in 2009.

But for many, today’s artist and conceptual art in particular, has simply ‘gone too far’, losing relevance to the man-in-the-street. Not surprisingly then, back in 2003 the Daily Mail populist UK tabloid, started awarding the ‘NOT The Turner Prize’. And again, not surprisingly, they chose another graduate of the Glasgow School of Art as its first recipient – the ‘traditional’ painter, Gerard M Burns.

Born in Glasgow in 1961, Gerard like many Glaswegians of that generation was relocated from the once mighty ship-building city on the Clyde, upriver to the satellite new town of Cumbernauld. Son of an engineer (naturally) he first went off to study civil engineering at university for a year – and hated it.

That’s when he made a major career decision, to follow his childhood passion of painting. And so he took himself off to the Glasgow School of Art. As a Glesca boy himself, inspired by some of the city’s famous painters of the late nineteenth century, The Glasgow Boys, it never occurred to him to anywhere else. Indeed, why would it? However, his next four years were not to be fulfillment of a childhood dream. Far from developing his painting the way he wanted, the School, enamored of the abstract and conceptual art that has dominated the post-war art scene movements, demanded conformity. For a young man whose inspiration was Velázquez, and nineteenth century realist artists like Jules Bastien-Lepage, and the Glasgow Boys ( George Clausen, James Guthrie et al) this was asking almost too much. After years of trying to pursue his own goals, Gerard finally succumbed and simply delivered what was expected.

But his heart was never in it. Disillusioned, he dropped his art altogether when he left college. There followed various jobs and some success in a band, but “ the music business wasn’t very nice,” he says, “so I gave up trying to hit the big time and for a while I just jogged along with the band.” Gerard went off to train as an art teacher.

Ironically it was back in the classroom that re-awoke in him his love of painting. “ I remember being overwhelmed by the thrill, the magic and the power of holding a brush again and by the sense of achievement when your paint sweeps over the canvas you’re your strokes come out as recognisable images.”

After ten years as a teacher, he finally took the plunge, leaving his post as a successful post as principal of art at St Aloysius College Glasgow to pursue his painting full time.

“By then I had a young family and the pressure was on me to make it work, “he says. “I did some commercial watercolours of Glasgow, but they didn’t sell so I had to scrabble around for a while. We weren’t exactly starving but it did take me a while to find my feet. Then I decided to stop trying to please others and paint what appealed to me. It was another terrible risk and it felt like I was dropping my security blanket.”

Well, this risk has obviously paid off. His commitment to his own vision has resulted in his current standing as one of Scotland’s most respected artists. In the words of one enlightened art critic, Anne Ellis:

His canvases consist of a series of human dramas that allow him to work on a truly epic scale. His faultless figurative technique, which is marked by a feeling for volume and space rather than line or pattern, invests the human form with all the solemnity required to picture extraordinary events. It is a manner originally derived from the old masters. Burns exploits it to give mythical and religious subjects new meaning and relevance. Eternal dilemmas set against the harsh realities of the modern urban wilderness elevate these scenes beyond temporal boundaries. There are powerful observations of familiar things that convey fundamental truths about human existence. Burns never confuses motion for action. Figures are caught in a monumental stillness, pondering the gravity of their situations. And for all there is a pared down quality to the images, the options seem somehow endless. In this way canvases which could seem empty of activity, are full of potential. As much thought as paint has gone into their making: the act of knowing is as important as the act of seeing. Compositions have evolved slowly and carefully with due respect for the many different possibilities of the subject matter, and therefore, they will maintain the interest and respect of the viewer. Such perplexing enigmas will not be solved easily; there will always be an intriguing shadow of doubt to stimulate the intellect.

Paint itself is laid on with all the gravity of an artist who respects and understands the skill of his predecessors. His surface textures range from the smoothness of alabaster to the roughness of crumbling plaster. He is no colourist; his is a truly tonal approach. “We live”, he says, “in a tonal landscape which tends to be more sombre than light. My paintings reflect that mood.” Despite his dedication to the figurative in art, there is an almost wilful delight in the abstract quality of the painted backgrounds to many of the most telling of scenes: as if the eye has to find some relief or distraction from the difficult psychological dramas that are being played out before it.

Art’s role is not to record but to add to our understanding of the world around us. Burns powerful observation of familiar things, his ability to present the human condition without artifice, and his facility for working on an epic scale brings something into that world that did not previously exist. It is a sublime experience that at its simplest and best extends the range of human consciousness.

When I spoke with Gerard for this piece in A Broad Scot, I had to confess that I had not come across his work before; he acknowledged that although he is well known now in the UK, and although his work is now hanging on some pretty prestigious walls (including the office of Scotland’s First Minister, in the Scottish Parliament) international recognition is only now gathering pace.

Indeed, it was the First Minister’s use of one of Gerard’s paintings on last year’s Christmas card – or more accurately – the snide ‘political’ criticism of it from The Scotsman’s Visual Art Critic, that first turned me on to Burns’ work. It prompted me to ask, given the recurring use of the Saltire in the paintings, whether Gerard himself was a Scottish nationalist. The answer was in the negative and endearingly candid,

“I’m Scottish; it’s my flag, and I just like the look of it; its form and its folds”.

Claret: Bloodstream of the Auld Alliance

by Billy Kay

Guid claret best keeps out the cauld
an drives awa the winter soon
It maks a man baith gash an bauld
an heaves his saul ayont the mune.

Alan Ramsay’s poem was in praise of clairet, the light, limpid rosé wine of Bordeaux, which became claret, the dark, powerful, purple-red liquid that linked Scotland and France so closely it was known as the Bloodstream of the Auld Alliance. Today it still has the unerring ability to hoist the Scotsman’s soul over the moon, as more and more people re-discover the joy of their other national drink. In the 18th century, when Ramsay wrote, claret was a staple beverage in the Scottish capital, with claret carts as common as milk floats today. In his memoirs, Lord Cockburn wrote:

I have heard Henry MacKenzie and other old people say that when a cargo of claret came to Leith, the common way of proclaiming its arrival was by sending a hogshead of it through the town on a cart with a horn; and that anybody who wanted a sample or a drink under pretence of a sample, had only to go to the cart with a jug, which without much nicety about its size was filled for a sixpence.

Sixpence-worth rarely sufficed, for the common measure at the time was the chopin (a generous quart, the name derived from the French la chopine). The everyday drinking vessel was the mighty Tappit Hen (again French in origin, derived from la topynette), great lidded jugs, mightier than the Bavarian Stein and foaming with a much more generous liquid. Sir Walter Scott’s son-in-law and biographer Lockhart described an old-fashioned Edinburgh repast.

I have seldom seen a more luxurious display. We had Claret of the most exquisite Lafitte flavour which foamed in the glass like the cream of strawberries, and went down as cool as the nectar of Olympus.

But why did the Scots continue drinking fine claret, while their unfortunate neighbours to the South had to make do with a sweet concoction from the wilds of the Douro called Port?

It all goes back over 700 years to the origins of the Auld Alliance, an event precipitated by the death of Alexander III in 1286. The King fell over the cliffs at Kinghorn in Fife, en route to his young French wife, Yolande, and yet another attempt to give Scotland the heir her political stability demanded. It was not to be, and the English manipulated the political vacuum with dire consequences for the Scottish nation. The black rumour is that Alexander’s demise may have been due to over indulgence in claret before setting off.

That offered no consolation to one Jean Mazun, négociant à Bordeaux, to whom Alexander owed more than £2,000 for wine. Mazun tried to obtain satisfaction from the puppet king supported by the English, John Balliol, but he was to die cursing the Scots and their meanness. The Scots today blame their undeserved reputation for greediness on the image made famous by Harry Lauder. But Jean Mazun had the image of l’écossais avare well established in Bordeaux by the beginning of the 14th century! As to non-payment of the wine, it was nothing personal, nor was it anti-French. It was simply that Mazun was an English subject, and therefore got what he deserved. Nothing!

Ever since the 15h century when the Scots fought alongside their Auld Allies to remove the Auld Enemy from their last toehold in south-west France, there has been the underlying suspicion that we were only there for the claret. For one of the long term rewards bestowed on us by the grateful French was the granting of privileges in the wine trade which gave us status and commercial advantage over other nations. A peeved Englishman of the Elizabethan period reluctantly explained the “special relationship” the Scots enjoyed:

“Because he hath always been an useful confederate to France against England, he hath right of pre-emption or first choice of wines in Bordeaux; he is also permitted to carry his ordnance to the very walls of the town.” The practical result of this was that while the English had to surrender their arms when entering the Gironde, apply for passports, and be subject to curfews, the Scots sailed blithely upriver to get the pick of the new vintage at reduced rates, and then head for home in time for Hogmanay! The Scots official privileges lasted until Colbert, showing no sentimental attachment to the land of his ancestors, withdrew them in the 1660s.

Long before that unfortunate event, the Scots and French enjoyed centuries of mutual co-operation, something reflected in the many Scots words of French origin relating to food and wine: Gigot, sybos (ciboulets), grozets (groseille) ashet (assiette); tassie (tasse) gardyveen (garde-vin) and symleir (sommellier). Despite the fate of Alexander, the Kings of Scots continued with claret as their preferred tipple. The court poet of James IV, William Dunbar, for example attempts to persuade the King to desist from hunting and return to the palace of Holyrood by citing the wines he can savour there:

Fresche fragrant clairettis out of France,
of Angers and Orleans.

The landing of wine into Leith – described charmingly in the wine museum in Bordeaux as “le petit Leict” – the principal port, was the responsibility of the Monks of St Anthony. Hailing originally from Vienne on the Rhône, they derived their income from the sale of the wine to the Edinburgh burgesses. When the Reformation came along, the order was disbanded, but a modicum of profits from the wine still went to the church for charitable purposes and the King James Fund is still in existence to help the needy in the port of Leith. The building and cellars called the Vaults where they stored the wine, is also still in existence and houses a fine restaurant, a wine merchant, and the Scotch Malt Whisky Society!

While the Reformation ended the direct French cultural influence at Court, the Scots colony in Bordeaux actually increased as the merchants there were joined by teachers and intellectuals spreading the teachings of Calvin and Knox to this strongly Huguenot part of France. The great humanist, George Buchanan, for example, taught the philosopher Montaigne at Bordeaux University before returning eventually to Scotland to tutor James VI. In the late 17th and 18th centuries, another group of Scots settled in France, Jacobite political exiles loyal to the Stuarts and against the Union with England which had come into force against the will of the majority of the population in 1707. At home, Jacobites and cultural nationalists drank claret as a symbol of Scots independence, rather than succumb to the “politically correct” English favourite, Port. The national standpoint is expressed in rhyme:

Firm and erect, the Caledonian stood
Old was his mutton and his claret good.
Let them drink Port! The English statesman cried,
He drank the poison and his spirit died.

John Home, politically far from being Jacobite, wrote that epigram, proving that the country was united in seeing claret as a symbol of Scottish identity. So much so, that everyone turned a blind eye to the universal practice of smuggling the stuff throughout the 18th century.

Once the wine arrived in Scotland, its origins were an open secret. Among those ignoring the wine’s illegal source were those pillars of Edinburgh society, the lawyers and judges. James Boswell’s diary entry in 1779 sums up the attitude of the age: “It is wonderful what joy there is in excess. I stood it better today than yesterday.” Then, not drinking was socially unacceptable. Lord Cockburn described the attitude of Lord Hermand, a High Court judge of the period. “With Hermand, drinking was a virtue; he had a sincere respect for drinking, indeed a high moral approbation, and serious compassion for the poor wretches who could not indulge in it, and with due contempt of those who could but did not.” Once, horrified by the lenient sentence given to a murderer convicted after a drunken brawl, Hermand remonstrated: “Guid God, my Lords, if he’ll do this when he’s drunk, what is he no capable of when sober?” Another member of the legal fraternity was Lord Newton who bemoaned the change in manners beginning to affect society at the turn of the 19th century. “What shall we come to at last. I believe I shall be left alone on the face of the earth, drinking Claret”.

As far as the lawyers were concerned, he had nothing to worry about it – they continue the unbroken fine claret drinking tradition to this day in their various Dining Societies. But for most people, the close of the 18th century was also the close of a chapter in Scottish society. British government policies against the smugglers and their prohibitive duty on the wine, led to the demise of the wine drinking tradition. The old excess too was frowned upon as a strong Temperance Movement gained momentum. Two ‘new’ drinks arrived in Lowland urban Scotland, from India and the Highlands respectively. Tea, regarded a bit like cannabis resin when it first arrived, quickly gained respectability. Whisky, described by Burns two decades previously as “a rascally liquor drunk by the rascally portion of society”, overcame its initial notoriety to overwhelm the drinking public so totally that everyone presumes it has always been the national drink, instead of in historic terms, the rather uncouth Highland arriviste it undoubtedly is!

While the 19th and early 20th century saw claret move up the social scale, the wine trade in Scotland flourished with the ancient expertise now used to supply England and the Empire with wine. Leith-bottled claret enjoyed an international reputation, supplied by companies such Cockburn’s of Leith. They guarded their reputations jealously, and were extremely aware of the importance of the Scottish market, and the level of expectancy among its connoisseurs. A letter from John Cockburn to a firm of Bordeaux négociants regarding the quality of the premiers crus of the 1828 vintage is revealing:

There is a poverty about them which we did not anticipate. Your opinion of them being so much higher than ours we hope you will have no objection to our sending you what remains which we cannot doubt your easily disposing of in London.

By then, too, the Scots had branched into other wines, and their influence was felt from California to Australia. The great houses of Sherry, Port and Madeira today, for example, resound with names which would not be out of place in the Scottish national rugby selection: Duff, Gordon, Robertson, Rutherford, Sandeman, Graham, Findlater, Campbell and Cockburn.

If the previous century saw fine wine drinking concentrated among an elite in Scottish society, the past 30 years have witnessed a return to the democratic spirit of wine drinking which existed in the past. Scots now enjoy the produce of the world’s vineyards, but given the quality of Bordeaux wine and our historic attachment to it, I am sure claret will always hold a special place in the Scots’ affections.

Of the many Scottish firms once based in the historic Chartrons wine quay at Bordeaux there remains only the Johnstons, but with a boulevard named after them they have an illustrious history in the region and in the wine trade. They share a pride in their Scottish ancestry, and are known to fly the Cross of St Andrew alongside the Tricolour at important gatherings. They also maintain strong business and personal links with Scotland. As parain [godfather] to William Johnston of Chateau Malecau in Pauillac, here is one Scot who will continue to enjoy the wine, the place and the people of that delightful part of the world for the rest of his life.

…….

Darien Revisited: the HBOS/RBS debacle

by Paul StJohn Mackintosh

How do you calculate the damage done by the global financial crisis (GFC)? In financial terms? In human misery? Mercifully, the GFC has been crisis-light on the misery index: no 1930s-style breadlines, no fresh layers of misery for the world’s poor. But in terms of undermining the effective power and status of a polity, there has been damage to certain nations almost as severe as any seen outside a world war.

One is undoubtedly the US, which may now have passed its apical moment as a superpower. Another is Dubai, though the shape and speed of its collapse justifies any number of house-of-cards-built-on-sand jibes about how its boom was created in the first place. And one, alas, is Scotland – thanks entirely to the HBOS and RBS debacles. (Zola used ‘debacle’ to describe France’s crushing defeat in the Franco-Prussian War and the collapse of the Second Empire, which saw geopolitical primacy pass to Bismarck’s Reich: you decide if the term fits here.)

If you believe certain commentators, HBOS/RBS derailed what until then seemed to be an unstoppable through-train to full devolution, if not outright Scots independence. “As RBS and HBOS, the twin pillars of Scotland’s economy, fell into the hands of the Westminster government, politicians north of the border were left contemplating whether the dream of Scottish independence is now dead,” read one leader in The Daily Telegraph.

Scottish First Minister and SNP leader Alex Salmond’s “arc of prosperity” has now been replaced by Lindsay Roy’s “arc of insolvency,” some claim. The US or Dubai, or even Iceland, may have suffered more in sheer monetary terms, but no one has suggested that their viability as independent states is under threat post -GFC. But the effective nationalisation of the Royal Bank of Scotland, and the assimilation of HBOS (the unlovely post-2006 acronym following the merger of the Halifax plc and the Bank of Scotland) by Lloyds, had an outsize effect on the nation consistent with the outsize place that financial services has in its modern life.

Thrifty Scots, thriving financials
For the contribution that Scots’ traditions of thrift and financial canniness have made to the nation, reflect that Edinburgh is Europe’s fifth largest financial centre, or sixth, depending on which metric you believe, in a country with a population of only just over five million ‒ punching way above its weight in financial circles. Scotland’s overall population, or GDP in EU benchmarks, pales in comparison to its outsize contribution to financial services. Finance is far more fundamental to Scotland’s economic and national standing than oil, and certainly far more deeply embedded in its historic traditions and identity. And RBS and HBOS, or at least their prior incarnations, were the expressions of that tradition: Scotland’s most powerful financial institutions, grown from foundations at the root of the formation of the nation in its modern form.

Indeed, the formation of HBOS and RBS’s ultimate ancestors, the Bank of Scotland and the old Royal Bank of Scotland, go back to the last national crisis that most immediately resembles the current one: the collapse of the Darien scheme in 1698. The Governor and Company of the Bank of Scotland was established in 1695, one year after the Bank of England, by one of the last Acts of the Parliament of Scotland. This was one of many responses to Scotland’s parlous state in the late 17th century, as its importance in the War of Three Kingdoms and English Civil War period gave way to growing marginalisation by the newly centralised monarchies of the early modern period. (The Act for Settling of Schools, one step in Scotland’s historic commitment to education and learning, was another.) Ironically, Charles I’s dream of a truly united kingdom of England, Scotland and Ireland under the Stuart crown had much to do with provoking the rebellion by his English subjects, jealous of their traditional liberties. But post-England’s Glorious Revolution, the Battle of the Boyne and the massacre at Glencoe, the lost possibility of unified Stuart power gave way to the reality of English predominance in an increasingly unequal personal union, as rivals under the same sovereign.

Desperation and Darien
Beset by famine, increasingly crowded out of international trade by the English, the Scots formed the Company of Scotland as a would-be competitor to the English East India Company. Unfortunately, three years after its formation, the Company took up a hare-brained scheme that another Scot, William Paterson, had peddled round the courts of Europe, including England. His premature vision was a Panama Canal before its time, a colony on the Isthmus to speed trade with the Far East. With a common zeal that recalls contemporary Koreans donating their gold and jewels to restore the national economy, Scots from all walks of life subscribed over £400,000 for the project, roughly one fifth of the nation’s entire wealth. Alas, poor planning and the hostility of the Spanish, who claimed the Isthmus, doomed the project, and of the 1,200 Scottish settlers who left for Panama in 1698, only 300 returned – to a beggared nation. A second wave of 2,500 that left before the remnants of the first returned, came back by 1700, by then numbering a few hundred survivors. Effectively bankrupt, and with its last throw as an independent power an obvious disaster, Scotland had little choice but to proceed with the Act of Union in 1707.

The Bank of Scotland survived that first national crisis, as so convincing a bastion of nationalist – or rather, Jacobite – sentiment that the Royal Bank of Scotland was formed in 1727 as a loyalist counterweight, ironically by some of the original investors in the Company of Scotland, anxious to protect the compensation they received from England after the Union. After early years of head-to-head competition, the “Old Bank” and the “New Bank” eventually agreed to live and let live, and both thrived and grew. In the process, they both pioneered financial innovations, with the Bank of Scotland being the first in Europe to print its own banknotes, and the RBS being the first worldwide to offer overdrafts. Right up until the 1960s, though, their expansion was limited by a gentleman’s agreement with English banks that each would stick to its own side of the border and not open branches across each others’ territory. But the lucky combination of early rivalry, high national priorities and strong educational underpinnings had given Scottish financial services the head start they needed to grow to their present importance.

Aggressive expansion, sloppy supervision
The end of the gentlemen’s agreements in less gentlemanly times, though, engendered habits that were to bring down both institutions. Traumatised by near-miss acquisition attempts by English banks in the 1980s, both RBS and the Bank of Scotland became fixated on expanding beyond their limited home turf and building enough scale to become predators rather than prey, even if it meant learning to take risks and cut corners, undoing their traditions of thrift. In 1971, the Bank of Scotland gave up a 35 per cent stake to Barclays Bank as part of the acquisition of the British Linen Bank, a smaller Scottish merchant banking rival, which remained part of the bank till the 1990s. Lloyds Bank made a takeover bid for RBS in 1979, and Standard Chartered in 1980 – a better-received overture that almost resulted in a union before HSBC sabotaged the process with a counter-bid that triggered a negative ruling from the Monopolies and Mergers Commission. The Bank of Scotland, meanwhile, went on an eccentric acquisition trail: Countrywide Bank of New Zealand in 1987, the Bank of Western Australia in 1995, and a bizarre move on the US market in partnership with evangelist Pat Robertson.

And for both, the whole process culminated in the Bank of Scotland’s hostile run at the National Westminster Bank in 1999, which eventually bounced the target into the rival’s court when RBS won the takeover contest and absorbed NatWest in 2000. On the rebound, the Bank of Scotland merged with Halifax plc and acquired the unlovely acronym HBOS.

Both banks were now used to running with highly levered balance sheets – four per cent core capital ratio, in the case of RBS in 2008, the minimum acceptable under Basel banking rules. Borrowing and high ratios of risky assets were the ways both sought to make their limited reach and small home base stretch further. And this lax management was countenanced by the regulators in Westminster. As early as 2002, the Financial Services Authority was flagging risk management warnings at HBOS, in an “Arrow” assessment, but as the group restructured, it shed its head of regulatory risk, Paul Moore, who complained to the FSA about his successor and HBOS’s policies. Revelations in 2003 of systematic mortgage fraud throughout HBOS didn’t exactly buttress confidence in its internal controls. The FSA ran another assessment in late 2004, and again in mid-2006, warning more and more loudly about HBOS’s risky growth strategy, but took no more decisive action. Indeed, James Crosby, who led HBOS throughout this dubious time, himself became deputy head of the FSA in December 2007.

ABN AMRO and the debacle
While HBOS pursued its argue-and-make-up round robin with the FSA, RBS made its historic run on ABN AMRO, in a consortium with Belgium’s Fortis and Spain’s Banco Santander, paying £10 billion in 2007 out of the £49 billion acquisition price, still the world’s biggest-ever bank takeover. The deal’s business rationale was shaky at best, with RBS hardly vulnerable to any rough suitor any more, but board and shareholders alike seemed happy enough to back Fred Goodwin’s over-vaunting ambition. And significantly, when ABN turned out to be more of a honey-pot of risk and loss than reward than advertised prior to the takeover, RBS kept on its riskiest asset exposures rather than winding them down. In April 2008, RBS duly announced the largest rights issue in UK history, £12 billion, to rebuild its balance sheet after the ABN AMRO acquisition. HBOS meanwhile made a £4 billion rights issue after rumours in March 2008 that it had asked the Bank of England for emergency funding sent its stock plunging in the fatal rout that finally led to the takeover by Lloyds TSB in September.

Opinion differs on how salvageable HBOS was in mid-2008. Salmond and others vilified hedge funds and speculators later for dragging the bank down, but politicians have a tendency to blame markets when reality comes calling. The FSA certainly concluded that there was no market-rigging to drive HBOS stocks down. But years of debt-fuelled expansionism and sloppy risk management, bred by a sense of vulnerability and a felt need to out-compete the English, had left the whole institution so short on capital and, more importantly, credibility, that the markets were convinced it could not survive. Could Westminster and the regulators have come up with a different solution in those panicky post – Northern Rock times to preserve HBOS’s independence? Possibly. But HBOS itself had left few alternatives. The bank was the second most exposed to short-term assets after Northern Rock itself. The Lloyds takeover was not even an especially cheap solution: £17 billion of taxpayers’ money was paid out to victor and victim. RBS, only slightly less compromised by market sentiment, cost the taxpayer £20 billion, and probably represented the more serious, though less publicised, risk to the UK financial system at the time.

That said, HBOS and RBS were led to the edge of the abyss by regulators in London, as the saga of Paul Moore and the FSA illustrates. The quality of UK financial regulation can be judged by the present state of its banks compared to those of Canada and Australia, both of which pursued conservative and prudent banking regulatory policy, and as a result saw no major bank failures. Salmond’s vilified culture of spivs may not have been the immediate agent of HBOS’s demise, but it certainly reflected the fatal laxity and opportunism of UK regulation, born of a culture desperate to preserve and promote its global financial hub status by any means possible. RBS and HBOS may have finally fallen victim to a corporate mindset developed over decades, but the FSA did nothing to stop them. British institutions were not reliable custodians of Scottish assets.

Upset for the Union
And however much the debacle drew attention to the practical value of Union, in terms of sentiment it has driven a new and deeper wedge between Scotland and England. The ugly triumphalism of much English public opinion post the HBOS/RBS ‘rescues’ does as much damage to the Union as any of Alex Salmond’s aspirations. Anyway, right now, English triumphalism is taking a knock with the run on the pound. But more to the point, Scotland now has another potent myth of national humiliation and betrayal to set alongside the Stone of Scone and the Clearances. And advocates of the practical benefits of the Union could well ponder whether the whole HBOS/RBS saga illustrates more clearly the disadvantages of being misgoverned by such incompetents in the first place.

And the lessons for Scotland and its institutions in future? HBOS/RBS illustrates above all the folly of trying to outcompete the English on their own ground. What business did a bank from a nation of just five million people have aspiring to be one of the planet’s biggest financial institutions? (At its height, RBS was the world’s sixth largest bank.) A mismatch of that proportion is bound to end in grief. It’s often when Scots strive most desperately to outcompete their southern rivals on their own ground that they bring about the worst national disasters. With proper prudence and proportion, they might just have a chance of going it alone.

Paul St John Mackintosh is a financial journalist based in Hong Kong.

Daggers in the library, dining room and bar

by Clio Gray

The Crime Writers Association meet to celebrate Val McDermid’s Cartier Diamond Dagger award

When you walk into the Royal Overseas Club at 100 Princes Street in Edinburgh, it’s like stepping back into the 1950s. Behind its slim façade, the building itself is a warren, a single wooden staircase rising up at its centre, with low ceilinged corridors slinking off from side to side, each with their own special wonkiness of floor and seriously inadequate lighting. At first glance the fixtures and fittings are quaintly retrospective, at second glance you realise they are not just retrospective but actually original: ancient light switches, soap dispensers, old fashioned sinks, loos with wooden seats designed for people a lot smaller than they are today, many things that look good, but don’t quite work as well as they should.

You finally reach the small bar on the third floor, perhaps a little out of breath, possibly having tripped several times making wrong turns down wrong corridors. One of the first things you notice is that Sardines on Toast is prominent on the menu, and at 12 o’clock on the dot, a trickle of long-retired army men and their women begin their slow ascent upstairs to gin-and-tonics and the sardines on toast of a long-lost Empire. It is with a poignant pang that you realise these are the last remaining members of an army that took the front line in World War II.

But the whole place has now changed aspect from old and dingy and rather Agatha Christie, to absolutely magnificent, for behind the rickety little tables and upholstered chairs are windows that reach from ceiling to floor and, right outside, just across the road, there is a greenness and grandeur rarely seen in any city as the Princes Street Gardens run up about the steep stone steps to where the great bulk of Edinburgh Castle has been built upon its rock.

The reference to Agatha Christie is not as random as it might have at first appeared, for it is here in this tardis-like time warp that the Scottish clan of the Crime Writers Association (the CWA) regularly meet. Today, June 18, 2010, we have met to celebrate the receipt of the Cartier Diamond Dagger by one of the demigods of not only Tartan Noir but crime fiction the world over, who goes by the name Val McDermid.

We congregated in the Robert Louis Stevenson room, a fitting tribute to the author of ‘The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde’, published over 120 years ago in 1886. The work is still the quintessential tale of a good man unearthing the evil within himself that is so much part of the crime writer’s stock-in-trade today and, at a mere 90 pages, still managing to encapsulate the several still-emergent genres of crime, horror and romance . . . which is more than can be said for most of us.

At a quarter to one, with the sun blazing outside the huge, red-creped framed bay windows, and the sounds of bagpipers and Estonian accordionists drifting up from the streets below, we raised our own non-Hyde-producing (at least so far) liquid concoction of champagne to our lips, and toasted Val McDermid – and the Outstanding Achievement to Crime Writing that the Diamond Dagger represents – and which she so well deserves.

Alex Gray, notable Glasgow crime-writer in her own right, and leader of the Scottish CWA, gave a short but emotive speech on Val’s astonishingly generous and continued attitude to new and upcoming Scottish crime writers, and how she has so often given her support and encouragement to those people trying to break into the difficult field of publishing, and of crime writing in particular. She compared her early years as a journalist in the newsrooms as being a camaraderie that was skin-deep in comparison to the friendships and loyalties she had both found and engendered in the world of Scottish Crime Fiction, that left the Glittery London Literati world standing.

“Crime writers,” she said, ”are the ones to spend time with. They never take themselves too seriously, and know how to kick up their knees and have a good time.”

She went on to praise the genre we have all chosen: ”Thank god we don’t have to spend 300 pages worrying about whether or not some London suburban couple should have a baby,” she said. ”We’re crime writers, we can go wherever we like, we can go into any society at any time. I’ve sometimes been asked why don’t I swap genres and do something ‘serious’. But why would I? The crime genre gives me everything I need. We deal with life and death, and there’s always that adrenalin rush up to the climax when the action, and your reader, is on tenterhooks.”

How much I agree.

As did many.

She has been a huge influence on so many writers. ”It was so unusual,” said Frances Lloyd (Nemesis of the Dead, The Bluebell Killer) on first encountering Val’s work, ”to find a woman writing with such power and ferocity. She is compulsive reading, and almost makes you smell the blood.”

Caro Ramsay (Absolution, Tambourine Girl, Singing to the Dead) agreed. ”Her books have a degree of blunt-force trauma; they hit and do not miss, no matter how unpleasant the topic might seem to be.”

Also present and full of praise for Val were such long-standing Scottish-based criminal masterminds as Alex Gray, Lin Anderson, Alanna Knight, Aline Templeton and Stuart MacBride, to name but a few, all of whom became suspects in the acts of criminal conversations that soon ensued, not least being Caro’s explication of the four states of death that are now recognised by Scottish law, namely:

Cellular, Somatic, Persistent Vegetative State, and Brain Stem Death.

Just so you know.

There was also quite a lot of chatter about the use of swear words in contemporary crime fiction, almost a given now in the gritty-city-underbelly procedurals set in Glasgow (where, it was commented, swear words function not as offensive ejaculations but as a kind of punctuation,) or Aberdeen, such as Stuart MacBride’s Logan McRae series (from Cold Granite to Dark Blood), but which can be hugely shocking when they issue out of the blue from the genteel mouth of Aline Templeton (the DI Marjory Fleming series), whose heartfelt use of the F word had us all spinning in our seats.

But this is all part of why we Scottish Crime Writers like to meet up every now and then and have a gargle in the Royal Overseas Club – it is social networking of a very particular kind, a works’ day out, except we don’t really work together, a jamboree for people who spend a good part of their lives alone in front of their computer screens killing off their characters one by one.

Speaking of which, when asked which fictional character CWA members would most like to eliminate if they had the chance, the answers were somewhat surprising and, interestingly, all stayed inside the crime genre. I’ll end here by letting you in on some of them – anonymously, of course, as no crime writer ever gives away the murderer before the fact. I’ve also added these characters’ creators in brackets, and would like to point out that they should be in no way offended, for the very fact that they have generated such strong emotions means that their books are at least out there and being read!

Kay Scarpetta (Patricia Cornwell): by eating haggis long past its sell-by date. That would teach her to be so prissy and clean – it weakens the immune system.

And Kay Scarpetta again, this time for the simple reason that she deserves it – if she just stuck to her actual job she’d never be in such ridiculously dangerous situations in the first place!

John Rebus (Ian Rankin): he’s arrogant and unpleasant, and needs a good slap.

The very unpleasant personage of Agatha Raisin (M.C. Beaton), closely followed by Hercule Poirot (Agatha Christie) for being so annoyingly stereotyped.

Sherlock Holmes (Arthur Conan Doyle) thereby forcing Dr Watson to team up with arch-enemy Moriarty to solve his murder.

Hester and William Monk (Anne Perry) who spend so long discussing the etiquette of Victorian London, and who they can talk to and when, that it takes them forever to solve the simplest of cases.

If you have your own murderous fantasies about killing off fictional characters, do let me know, even if it is one of my own . . .

Clio Gray

cliogray@gmail.com

Author of the Whilbert Stroop series, latest outing The Brotherhood of Five, Headline 2010.

Claret: Bloodstream of the Auld Alliance

by Billy Kay

Guid claret best keeps out the cauld
an drives awa the winter soon
It maks a man baith gash an bauld
an heaves his saul ayont the mune.

Alan Ramsay’s poem was in praise of clairet, the light, limpid rosé wine of Bordeaux, which became claret, the dark, powerful, purple-red liquid that linked Scotland and France so closely it was known as the Bloodstream of the Auld Alliance. Today it still has the unerring ability to hoist the Scotsman’s soul over the moon, as more and more people re-discover the joy of their other national drink. In the 18th century, when Ramsay wrote, claret was a staple beverage in the Scottish capital, with claret carts as common as milk floats today. In his memoirs, Lord Cockburn wrote:

I have heard Henry MacKenzie and other old people say that when a cargo of claret came to Leith, the common way of proclaiming its arrival was by sending a hogshead of it through the town on a cart with a horn; and that anybody who wanted a sample or a drink under pretence of a sample, had only to go to the cart with a jug, which without much nicety about its size was filled for a sixpence.

Sixpence-worth rarely sufficed, for the common measure at the time was the chopin (a generous quart, the name derived from the French la chopine). The everyday drinking vessel was the mighty Tappit Hen (again French in origin, derived from la topynette), great lidded jugs, mightier than the Bavarian Stein and foaming with a much more generous liquid. Sir Walter Scott’s son-in-law and biographer Lockhart described an old-fashioned Edinburgh repast.

I have seldom seen a more luxurious display. We had Claret of the most exquisite Lafitte flavour which foamed in the glass like the cream of strawberries, and went down as cool as the nectar of Olympus.

But why did the Scots continue drinking fine claret, while their unfortunate neighbours to the South had to make do with a sweet concoction from the wilds of the Douro called Port?

It all goes back over 700 years to the origins of the Auld Alliance, an event precipitated by the death of Alexander III in 1286. The King fell over the cliffs at Kinghorn in Fife, en route to his young French wife, Yolande, and yet another attempt to give Scotland the heir her political stability demanded. It was not to be, and the English manipulated the political vacuum with dire consequences for the Scottish nation. The black rumour is that Alexander’s demise may have been due to over indulgence in claret before setting off.

That offered no consolation to one Jean Mazun, négociant à Bordeaux, to whom Alexander owed more than £2,000 for wine. Mazun tried to obtain satisfaction from the puppet king supported by the English, John Balliol, but he was to die cursing the Scots and their meanness. The Scots today blame their undeserved reputation for greediness on the image made famous by Harry Lauder. But Jean Mazun had the image of l’écossais avare well established in Bordeaux by the beginning of the 14th century! As to non-payment of the wine, it was nothing personal, nor was it anti-French. It was simply that Mazun was an English subject, and therefore got what he deserved. Nothing!

Ever since the 15h century when the Scots fought alongside their Auld Allies to remove the Auld Enemy from their last toehold in south-west France, there has been the underlying suspicion that we were only there for the claret. For one of the long term rewards bestowed on us by the grateful French was the granting of privileges in the wine trade which gave us status and commercial advantage over other nations. A peeved Englishman of the Elizabethan period reluctantly explained the “special relationship” the Scots enjoyed:

“Because he hath always been an useful confederate to France against England, he hath right of pre-emption or first choice of wines in Bordeaux; he is also permitted to carry his ordnance to the very walls of the town.” The practical result of this was that while the English had to surrender their arms when entering the Gironde, apply for passports, and be subject to curfews, the Scots sailed blithely upriver to get the pick of the new vintage at reduced rates, and then head for home in time for Hogmanay! The Scots official privileges lasted until Colbert, showing no sentimental attachment to the land of his ancestors, withdrew them in the 1660s.

Long before that unfortunate event, the Scots and French enjoyed centuries of mutual co-operation, something reflected in the many Scots words of French origin relating to food and wine: Gigot, sybos (ciboulets), grozets (groseille) ashet (assiette); tassie (tasse) gardyveen (garde-vin) and symleir (sommellier). Despite the fate of Alexander, the Kings of Scots continued with claret as their preferred tipple. The court poet of James IV, William Dunbar, for example attempts to persuade the King to desist from hunting and return to the palace of Holyrood by citing the wines he can savour there:

Fresche fragrant clairettis out of France,
of Angers and Orleans.

The landing of wine into Leith – described charmingly in the wine museum in Bordeaux as “le petit Leict” – the principal port, was the responsibility of the Monks of St Anthony. Hailing originally from Vienne on the Rhône, they derived their income from the sale of the wine to the Edinburgh burgesses. When the Reformation came along, the order was disbanded, but a modicum of profits from the wine still went to the church for charitable purposes and the King James Fund is still in existence to help the needy in the port of Leith. The building and cellars called the Vaults where they stored the wine, is also still in existence and houses a fine restaurant, a wine merchant, and the Scotch Malt Whisky Society!

While the Reformation ended the direct French cultural influence at Court, the Scots colony in Bordeaux actually increased as the merchants there were joined by teachers and intellectuals spreading the teachings of Calvin and Knox to this strongly Huguenot part of France. The great humanist, George Buchanan, for example, taught the philosopher Montaigne at Bordeaux University before returning eventually to Scotland to tutor James VI. In the late 17th and 18th centuries, another group of Scots settled in France, Jacobite political exiles loyal to the Stuarts and against the Union with England which had come into force against the will of the majority of the population in 1707. At home, Jacobites and cultural nationalists drank claret as a symbol of Scots independence, rather than succumb to the “politically correct” English favourite, Port. The national standpoint is expressed in rhyme:

Firm and erect, the Caledonian stood
Old was his mutton and his claret good.
Let them drink Port! The English statesman cried,
He drank the poison and his spirit died.

John Home, politically far from being Jacobite, wrote that epigram, proving that the country was united in seeing claret as a symbol of Scottish identity. So much so, that everyone turned a blind eye to the universal practice of smuggling the stuff throughout the 18th century.

Once the wine arrived in Scotland, its origins were an open secret. Among those ignoring the wine’s illegal source were those pillars of Edinburgh society, the lawyers and judges. James Boswell’s diary entry in 1779 sums up the attitude of the age: “It is wonderful what joy there is in excess. I stood it better today than yesterday.” Then, not drinking was socially unacceptable. Lord Cockburn described the attitude of Lord Hermand, a High Court judge of the period. “With Hermand, drinking was a virtue; he had a sincere respect for drinking, indeed a high moral approbation, and serious compassion for the poor wretches who could not indulge in it, and with due contempt of those who could but did not.” Once, horrified by the lenient sentence given to a murderer convicted after a drunken brawl, Hermand remonstrated: “Guid God, my Lords, if he’ll do this when he’s drunk, what is he no capable of when sober?” Another member of the legal fraternity was Lord Newton who bemoaned the change in manners beginning to affect society at the turn of the 19th century. “What shall we come to at last. I believe I shall be left alone on the face of the earth, drinking Claret”.

As far as the lawyers were concerned, he had nothing to worry about it – they continue the unbroken fine claret drinking tradition to this day in their various Dining Societies. But for most people, the close of the 18th century was also the close of a chapter in Scottish society. British government policies against the smugglers and their prohibitive duty on the wine, led to the demise of the wine drinking tradition. The old excess too was frowned upon as a strong Temperance Movement gained momentum. Two ‘new’ drinks arrived in Lowland urban Scotland, from India and the Highlands respectively. Tea, regarded a bit like cannabis resin when it first arrived, quickly gained respectability. Whisky, described by Burns two decades previously as “a rascally liquor drunk by the rascally portion of society”, overcame its initial notoriety to overwhelm the drinking public so totally that everyone presumes it has always been the national drink, instead of in historic terms, the rather uncouth Highland arriviste it undoubtedly is!

While the 19th and early 20th century saw claret move up the social scale, the wine trade in Scotland flourished with the ancient expertise now used to supply England and the Empire with wine. Leith-bottled claret enjoyed an international reputation, supplied by companies such Cockburn’s of Leith. They guarded their reputations jealously, and were extremely aware of the importance of the Scottish market, and the level of expectancy among its connoisseurs. A letter from John Cockburn to a firm of Bordeaux négociants regarding the quality of the premiers crus of the 1828 vintage is revealing:

There is a poverty about them which we did not anticipate. Your opinion of them being so much higher than ours we hope you will have no objection to our sending you what remains which we cannot doubt your easily disposing of in London.

By then, too, the Scots had branched into other wines, and their influence was felt from California to Australia. The great houses of Sherry, Port and Madeira today, for example, resound with names which would not be out of place in the Scottish national rugby selection: Duff, Gordon, Robertson, Rutherford, Sandeman, Graham, Findlater, Campbell and Cockburn.

If the previous century saw fine wine drinking concentrated among an elite in Scottish society, the past 30 years have witnessed a return to the democratic spirit of wine drinking which existed in the past. Scots now enjoy the produce of the world’s vineyards, but given the quality of Bordeaux wine and our historic attachment to it, I am sure claret will always hold a special place in the Scots’ affections.

Of the many Scottish firms once based in the historic Chartrons wine quay at Bordeaux there remains only the Johnstons, but with a boulevard named after them they have an illustrious history in the region and in the wine trade. They share a pride in their Scottish ancestry, and are known to fly the Cross of St Andrew alongside the Tricolour at important gatherings. They also maintain strong business and personal links with Scotland. As parain [godfather] to William Johnston of Chateau Malecau in Pauillac, here is one Scot who will continue to enjoy the wine, the place and the people of that delightful part of the world for the rest of his life.

…….

A Glasgow Boy: Gerard M Burns

The success of a traditional painter

Without a doubt Glasgow School of Art has a very well-deserved reputation for excellence, established over the past 150 years. It continues in this tradition and has produced most of Scotland’s leading contemporary artists including, since 2005, 30% of Turner Prize nominees and two of the last five Turner Prize winners: Simon Starling in 2005 and Richard Wright in 2009.

But for many, today’s artist and conceptual art in particular, has simply ‘gone too far’, losing relevance to with the man-in-the-street. Not surprisingly then, back in 2003 the Daily Mail populist UK tabloid, started awarding the ‘NOT The Turner Prize’. And again, not surprisingly, they chose another graduate of the Glasgow School of Art as its first recipient – the ‘traditional’ painter, Gerard M Burns.

Born in Glasgow in 1961, Gerard like many Glaswegians of that generation was relocated from the once mighty ship-building city on the Clyde, upriver to the satellite new town of Cumbernauld. Son of an engineer (naturally) he first went off to study civil engineering at university for a year – and hated it.

That’s when he made a major career decision, to follow his childhood passion of painting. And so he took himself off to the Glasgow School of Art. As a Glesca boy himself, inspired by some of the city’s famous painters of the late nineteenth century, The Glasgow Boys, it never occurred to him to anywhere else. Indeed, why would it? However, his next four years were not to be fulfillment of a childhood dream. Far from developing his painting the way he wanted, the School, enamored of the abstract and conceptual art that has dominated the post-war art scene movements, demanded conformity.  For a young man whose inspiration was Velázquez, and nineteenth century realist artists like Jules Bastien-Lepage, and the Glasgow Boys ( George Clausen, James Guthrie et al) this was asking almost too much. After years of trying to pursue his own goals, Gerard finally succumbed and simply delivered what was expected.

But his heart was never in it. Disillusioned, he dropped his art altogether when he left college. There followed various jobs and some success in a band, but “ the music business wasn’t very nice,” he says, “so I gave up trying to hit the big time and for a while I just jogged along with the band.” Gerard went off to train as an art teacher.

Ironically it was back in the classroom that re-awoke in him his love of painting. “ I remember being overwhelmed by the thrill, the magic and the power of holding a brush again and by the sense of achievement when your paint sweeps over the canvas you’re your strokes come out as recognisable images.”

After ten years as a teacher, he finally took the plunge, leaving his post as a successful post as principal of art at St Aloysius College Glasgow to pursue his painting full time.

“By then I had a young family and the pressure was on me to make it work, “he says. “I did some commercial watercolours of Glasgow, but they didn’t sell so I had to scrabble around for a while. We weren’t exactly starving but it did take me a while to find my feet. Then I decided to stop trying to please others and paint what appealed to me. It was another terrible risk and it felt like I was dropping my security blanket.”

Well, this risk has obviously paid off. His commitment to his own vision has resulted in his current standing as one of Scotland’s most respected artists. In the words of one enlightened art critic, Anne Ellis:

His canvases consist of a series of human dramas that allow him to work on a truly epic scale. His faultless figurative technique, which is marked by a feeling for volume and space rather than line or pattern, invests the human form with all the solemnity required to picture extraordinary events. It is a manner originally derived from the old masters. Burns exploits it to give mythical and religious subjects new meaning and relevance. Eternal dilemmas set against the harsh realities of the modern urban wilderness elevate these scenes beyond temporal boundaries. There are powerful observations of familiar things that convey fundamental truths about human existence. Burns never confuses motion for action. Figures are caught in a monumental stillness, pondering the gravity of their situations. And for all there is a pared down quality to the images, the options seem somehow endless. In this way canvases which could seem empty of activity, are full of potential. As much thought as paint has gone into their making: the act of knowing is as important as the act of seeing. Compositions have evolved slowly and carefully with due respect for the many different possibilities of the subject matter, and therefore, they will maintain the interest and respect of the viewer. Such perplexing enigmas will not be solved easily; there will always be an intriguing shadow of doubt to stimulate the intellect.

Paint itself is laid on with all the gravity of an artist who respects and understands the skill of his predecessors. His surface textures range from the smoothness of alabaster to the roughness of crumbling plaster. He is no colourist; his is a truly tonal approach.  “We live”, he says, “in a tonal landscape which tends to be more sombre than light. My paintings reflect that mood.”  Despite his dedication to the figurative in art, there is an almost wilful delight in the abstract quality of the painted backgrounds to many of the most telling of scenes: as if the eye has to find some relief or distraction from the difficult psychological dramas that are being played out before it.

Art’s role is not to record but to add to our understanding of the world around us. Burns powerful observation of familiar things, his ability to present the human condition without artifice, and his facility for working on an epic scale brings something into that world that did not previously exist. It is a sublime experience that at its simplest and best extends the range of human consciousness.

When I spoke with Gerard for this piece in A Broad Scot, I had to confess that I had not come across his work before; he acknowledged that although he is well known now in the UK, and although his work is now hanging on some pretty prestigious walls (including the office of Scotland’s First Minister, in the Scottish Parliament) international recognition is only now gathering pace.

Indeed, it was the First Minister’s use of one of Gerard’s paintings on last year’s Christmas card – or more accurately – the snide ‘political’ criticism of it from The Scotsman’s Visual Art Critic, that first turned me on to Burns’ work. It prompted me to ask, given the recurring use of the Saltire in the paintings, whether Gerard himself was a Scottish nationalist. The answer was in the negative and endearingly candid,

“I’m Scottish; it’s my flag, and I just like the look of it; its form and its folds”.