Elizabeth Marshall's Blog, page 3
September 15, 2011
Creative Dreamer or Prophet?
Artists and authors have been dreaming up the impossible for hundreds of years.
Mr Verne wrote about submarines and travel to the moon, Captain James Kirk had us all dreaming of shiny little flip phones, and Leonardo da Vinci conceived the idea of the helicopter several hundred years before the first aeroplane took to the sky.
The list of fictional fantasy that has gone on to become reality is endless and suffice to say there are some who believe that scientific invention has its origins in the minds of the creative dreamers.
Perhaps this is true and the line between fiction and reality is thinner than most would like to acknowledge.
Necessity is after all the mother of invention. Perhaps when first imagined their creators had a need, either within their own lives or the lives of their characters. Years later, in the real world, clever scientific brains took these imagined creations and turned them into reality.
But what if necessity had nothing to do with predictive imagination?
Consider the possibility of a link between fantasy and reality that is so profound that it could change our perception of life as we know it.
In 1503 a man was born in France whom some believe predicted some of the world’s most catastrophic events. His name was Nostradamus.
On the first of July 1566, Nostradamus wished his assistant goodnight with the words, ‘You will not find me alive at sunrise.’
He died that night!
His prophecies were legendary but his writing was confused and muddled. Rumours suggested that his coffin contained a document which would clarify his predictions. In 1700 his coffin was opened, no documents were found but the year 1700 was engraved on an amulet inside the coffin.
His predictions are common knowledge, both world wars, three antichrists, the twin towers, and a third world war.
Was he a prophet, magician, or a fantasy writer whose predictions coincidently came into being?
In recent years I have noticed a shift towards fantasy writing with strong paranormal links.
Are today’s fantasy writers tapping into public demand or something more significant?
Consider Diana Gabaldon’s stories and Claire’s journey through time.
So far-fetched? Perhaps not!
For centuries the people of Scotland have believed in the magic of the highlands. The Irish believe in fairies and banshees and the Zulu’s in the tokoloshe.
These beliefs are based on myth- and myth is based on legend, derived from tales.
What is to say that these tales have no factual basis?
Some would argue that there is no scientific evidence to confirm the existence of magic.
Well here we run into the conundrum.
If scientific invention has its origins in the minds of creative dreamers, then the future can only be seen as today’s fantasy.
Perhaps it is worth considering that today’s fantasy may well become tomorrow’s reality.
Mr Verne wrote about submarines and travel to the moon, Captain James Kirk had us all dreaming of shiny little flip phones, and Leonardo da Vinci conceived the idea of the helicopter several hundred years before the first aeroplane took to the sky.
The list of fictional fantasy that has gone on to become reality is endless and suffice to say there are some who believe that scientific invention has its origins in the minds of the creative dreamers.
Perhaps this is true and the line between fiction and reality is thinner than most would like to acknowledge.
Necessity is after all the mother of invention. Perhaps when first imagined their creators had a need, either within their own lives or the lives of their characters. Years later, in the real world, clever scientific brains took these imagined creations and turned them into reality.
But what if necessity had nothing to do with predictive imagination?
Consider the possibility of a link between fantasy and reality that is so profound that it could change our perception of life as we know it.
In 1503 a man was born in France whom some believe predicted some of the world’s most catastrophic events. His name was Nostradamus.
On the first of July 1566, Nostradamus wished his assistant goodnight with the words, ‘You will not find me alive at sunrise.’
He died that night!
His prophecies were legendary but his writing was confused and muddled. Rumours suggested that his coffin contained a document which would clarify his predictions. In 1700 his coffin was opened, no documents were found but the year 1700 was engraved on an amulet inside the coffin.
His predictions are common knowledge, both world wars, three antichrists, the twin towers, and a third world war.
Was he a prophet, magician, or a fantasy writer whose predictions coincidently came into being?
In recent years I have noticed a shift towards fantasy writing with strong paranormal links.
Are today’s fantasy writers tapping into public demand or something more significant?
Consider Diana Gabaldon’s stories and Claire’s journey through time.
So far-fetched? Perhaps not!
For centuries the people of Scotland have believed in the magic of the highlands. The Irish believe in fairies and banshees and the Zulu’s in the tokoloshe.
These beliefs are based on myth- and myth is based on legend, derived from tales.
What is to say that these tales have no factual basis?
Some would argue that there is no scientific evidence to confirm the existence of magic.
Well here we run into the conundrum.
If scientific invention has its origins in the minds of creative dreamers, then the future can only be seen as today’s fantasy.
Perhaps it is worth considering that today’s fantasy may well become tomorrow’s reality.
Don’t try this at home!
Does bribery and corruption still qualify as a criminal offence when the intended victim (a four year old) is more skilled at it than the original perpetrator?
See I was wondering as I drove the thirty five miles to the supermarket exactly how traumatic the experience was going to be.
On a scale of one to ten I was expecting an eleven.
So it was with little conscience that I made the decision to bribe my four year old's cooperation with the promise of a comic.
I make no excuses, this was blatant bribery and my motives were corrupt.
Did it work?
No!
To quote said four year old. ‘You bought me the comic to keep me quiet.’
She had a point, but what I wasn’t expecting was for her to start doing her own sweet shopping, apparently in payment for her ‘help’ at the till, which it would seem, did not fall under the heading of ‘cooperation’.
Moral of the story!
Bribery and corruption are just not worth breaking the law for; there is always someone more skilled at it than you!
See I was wondering as I drove the thirty five miles to the supermarket exactly how traumatic the experience was going to be.
On a scale of one to ten I was expecting an eleven.
So it was with little conscience that I made the decision to bribe my four year old's cooperation with the promise of a comic.
I make no excuses, this was blatant bribery and my motives were corrupt.
Did it work?
No!
To quote said four year old. ‘You bought me the comic to keep me quiet.’
She had a point, but what I wasn’t expecting was for her to start doing her own sweet shopping, apparently in payment for her ‘help’ at the till, which it would seem, did not fall under the heading of ‘cooperation’.
Moral of the story!
Bribery and corruption are just not worth breaking the law for; there is always someone more skilled at it than you!
September 14, 2011
Boring!
Seven in the morning, bleary eyed and coffee in hand I am congratulating myself on having packed my husband’s lunch, made the children’s breakfast, checked and caught up on the emails and set a load of washing going.
In little under an hour’s time I will be taking my eldest son to the station to catch his train to university. How dreadfully fast his visit seems to have gone. It is a bitter sweet moment when you realise your child has their own life to live but if being a mother for the past twenty years has taught me anything it is that you must allow your child to live that life. So, I will wipe the tears and wave my eldest son off at the station. There are another four children a husband and my eldest daughter’s husband to be, back home, and they all need caring for and feeding. This brings me to the other challenge of the day. The weekly trip to the supermarket! As much as I dislike this job it remains a necessary part of being a mother. That is until I find the energy to dig up the farm and plant enough food to feed all eight of us...no, gone off that idea already. The supermarket trip doesn’t feel quite so daunting anymore. So dear friends, until later, I am away to the shower and then off to be a good mother. x
In little under an hour’s time I will be taking my eldest son to the station to catch his train to university. How dreadfully fast his visit seems to have gone. It is a bitter sweet moment when you realise your child has their own life to live but if being a mother for the past twenty years has taught me anything it is that you must allow your child to live that life. So, I will wipe the tears and wave my eldest son off at the station. There are another four children a husband and my eldest daughter’s husband to be, back home, and they all need caring for and feeding. This brings me to the other challenge of the day. The weekly trip to the supermarket! As much as I dislike this job it remains a necessary part of being a mother. That is until I find the energy to dig up the farm and plant enough food to feed all eight of us...no, gone off that idea already. The supermarket trip doesn’t feel quite so daunting anymore. So dear friends, until later, I am away to the shower and then off to be a good mother. x
September 11, 2011
THE VICTORIAN SOLDIER
In memory of Private James Stafford DCM
9260, 4th Bn., The King’s Liverpool Regiment transf. To (Lce. Cpl. 405902), Labour Corps who died aged 44 on 17th October 1918.
Cousin of Mrs. A. Brough of 1 Grape St. Macclesfield.
Awarded Cross of St. George 4th Class (Russia).
The great British Empire, stretching, at times from the American colonies and Canada to Australia and New Zealand, India, and to massive areas of Africa, including South Africa, Egypt, and Rhodesia (Zambia and Zimbabwe), is what created the seemingly endless need for Victorian soldiers.
The establishment of colonies, the protection of trading posts and the fight against rivals such as the Dutch and Spanish fuelled the need for continued growth in numbers of men to serve their country.
By 1914 Britain ruled an empire that covered nearly a quarter of the World's land surface.
Living conditions at home were for most challenging. Millions were classified by economists as the ‘doomed class’, one-sixth of people received some form of welfare assistance and for most this was a deprived and degrading experience.
New laws in 1834 legislated that every citizen had a right to welfare. However this welfare was not the all encompassing woollen blanket that would save the majority of the population from their mostly miserable, short and difficult lives.
Dickens’ highlighted the dire conditions of this ‘doomed class’; in his novel ‘Oliver Twist’ and explored the previously hidden reality of life for those in receipt of welfare.
Through loss of liberty and deep social humiliation the workhouses became poorhouses, housing mainly those unable to work. Those able to work were likely to attempt to do so, however, jobs were scare and competition for them was fierce. For many men, a life in Queen Victoria’s army was their only way to avoid starvation and deprivation.
But life as a soldier of Queen Victoria’s army was not an easy one either and effectively, enlistment was for life - however short that may be.
British soldiers were brave and tough men often recruited from backgrounds where violence and survival had gone hand in hand, because of this, they were distrusted by ‘upper class’ civilians and classified as ‘a bad lot’, but accepted as marginally more acceptable than those who inhabited the workhouses.
Pay was minimal, living conditions often draughty and scant and soldier’s lives dangerous and mostly short. What they did have however was personal pride, dignity and a community of friends with whom they trusted their lives.
Few soldiers were allowed to marry and those who did shared barracks with the unmarried soldiers. A linen sheet or blanket was strung over a line in the barracks to provide minimal privacy for married couples and children.
Not all wives and children were allowed to follow their husbands to their posts and many families were permanently split when Queen Victoria’s soldiers were deployed overseas to expand or defend the Empire.
The prosperity and economic growth that upper class Britain experienced during the reign of Queen Victoria was as a direct result of the Victorian army. Sadly the men who fought and died for this prosperity benefited little themselves. The under classes in Britain remained and the gap between the upper and lower classes widened.
Many soldiers of Queen Victoria’s army went on to serve Britain in the First World War.
My own great grandfather was one of them. Having already served his time and survived as a Victorian solider he re-enlisted in the army in his early forty’s to fight the First World War.
Sadly the records of his service time prior to the First World War were destroyed in a Second World War bombing raid on London, however I do have full copies of his original First World War records along with the citation report of his ‘Distinguished Conduct Medal’, which he was awarded:-
‘for conspicuous bravery; he was wounded after volunteering for patrol and sniping duties. He also displayed great coolness and gallantry in carrying messages to and from the trenches when the telephone had been cut:’
Further to this, he was awarded the Cross of St. George 4th Class (Russia).
Sadly, after a lifetime of service he died on the 17th October 1918 from war wounds, aged only 44 and never having been permitted to marry the mother of his son.
9260, 4th Bn., The King’s Liverpool Regiment transf. To (Lce. Cpl. 405902), Labour Corps who died aged 44 on 17th October 1918.
Cousin of Mrs. A. Brough of 1 Grape St. Macclesfield.
Awarded Cross of St. George 4th Class (Russia).
The great British Empire, stretching, at times from the American colonies and Canada to Australia and New Zealand, India, and to massive areas of Africa, including South Africa, Egypt, and Rhodesia (Zambia and Zimbabwe), is what created the seemingly endless need for Victorian soldiers.
The establishment of colonies, the protection of trading posts and the fight against rivals such as the Dutch and Spanish fuelled the need for continued growth in numbers of men to serve their country.
By 1914 Britain ruled an empire that covered nearly a quarter of the World's land surface.
Living conditions at home were for most challenging. Millions were classified by economists as the ‘doomed class’, one-sixth of people received some form of welfare assistance and for most this was a deprived and degrading experience.
New laws in 1834 legislated that every citizen had a right to welfare. However this welfare was not the all encompassing woollen blanket that would save the majority of the population from their mostly miserable, short and difficult lives.
Dickens’ highlighted the dire conditions of this ‘doomed class’; in his novel ‘Oliver Twist’ and explored the previously hidden reality of life for those in receipt of welfare.
Through loss of liberty and deep social humiliation the workhouses became poorhouses, housing mainly those unable to work. Those able to work were likely to attempt to do so, however, jobs were scare and competition for them was fierce. For many men, a life in Queen Victoria’s army was their only way to avoid starvation and deprivation.
But life as a soldier of Queen Victoria’s army was not an easy one either and effectively, enlistment was for life - however short that may be.
British soldiers were brave and tough men often recruited from backgrounds where violence and survival had gone hand in hand, because of this, they were distrusted by ‘upper class’ civilians and classified as ‘a bad lot’, but accepted as marginally more acceptable than those who inhabited the workhouses.
Pay was minimal, living conditions often draughty and scant and soldier’s lives dangerous and mostly short. What they did have however was personal pride, dignity and a community of friends with whom they trusted their lives.
Few soldiers were allowed to marry and those who did shared barracks with the unmarried soldiers. A linen sheet or blanket was strung over a line in the barracks to provide minimal privacy for married couples and children.
Not all wives and children were allowed to follow their husbands to their posts and many families were permanently split when Queen Victoria’s soldiers were deployed overseas to expand or defend the Empire.
The prosperity and economic growth that upper class Britain experienced during the reign of Queen Victoria was as a direct result of the Victorian army. Sadly the men who fought and died for this prosperity benefited little themselves. The under classes in Britain remained and the gap between the upper and lower classes widened.
Many soldiers of Queen Victoria’s army went on to serve Britain in the First World War.
My own great grandfather was one of them. Having already served his time and survived as a Victorian solider he re-enlisted in the army in his early forty’s to fight the First World War.
Sadly the records of his service time prior to the First World War were destroyed in a Second World War bombing raid on London, however I do have full copies of his original First World War records along with the citation report of his ‘Distinguished Conduct Medal’, which he was awarded:-
‘for conspicuous bravery; he was wounded after volunteering for patrol and sniping duties. He also displayed great coolness and gallantry in carrying messages to and from the trenches when the telephone had been cut:’
Further to this, he was awarded the Cross of St. George 4th Class (Russia).
Sadly, after a lifetime of service he died on the 17th October 1918 from war wounds, aged only 44 and never having been permitted to marry the mother of his son.
September 10, 2011
The Old Highland Way Of Life
The old Highland way of life was based on feudal principals with the clan at the heart of its existence.
Clans were tribes of people, usually families, which expanded as time went on to include extended families and distant relatives who lived on the lands owned by the heads of their clans. On these lands, mini kingdoms prospered independently of others. The people of these kingdoms were fiercely loyal and dedicated to their own and fought often with neighbouring families to expand or protect their lands.
These were people who would give their lives in a blink of an eye for their chiefs. They swore allegiance to no one but their chief and disregarded all laws besides those of their clan leaders.
They were proud, courageous and strong people, who fought widely, lived bravely and put family at the heart of everything.
This way of life was in decline long before Culloden, however the battle was the final straw that broke the Highland way of life once and for all and turned thriving and prosperous communities into desolate wastelands.
Following the battle the government hurriedly put in place new laws to ensure the destruction of the clan system.
Soldiers patrolled the highlands, enforcing the government’s news laws. Chief’s who has supported the Jacobit uprising had their estates confiscated and their right to enforce their laws on their clansmen was abolished.
Highlanders were forbidden from wearing their highland dress or carrying weapons and were obliged to take the following oath. -
"I, (name), do swear as I shall answer to God at the great day of judgement, I have not, nor shall have in my possession any gun, sword, pistol or arm whatever, and never use tartan, plaid, or any part of the highland garb; and if I do so, may I be cursed, may I never see my wife and children, father, mother or relations, and lie without a Christian burial in a strange land, far from the graves of my forefathers and my kindred; may all this come across me if I break my oath."
The Clan system collapsed and families were evicted from their feudal lands to make way for the more profitable farming of sheep. Many of these people remained homeless and starving as the land that was left for inhabitation was poor and unable to support them.
Forced out of their country in order to survive, thousand of highlanders emigrated to the United States, Canada, South Africa, New Zealand and Australia.
Clans were tribes of people, usually families, which expanded as time went on to include extended families and distant relatives who lived on the lands owned by the heads of their clans. On these lands, mini kingdoms prospered independently of others. The people of these kingdoms were fiercely loyal and dedicated to their own and fought often with neighbouring families to expand or protect their lands.
These were people who would give their lives in a blink of an eye for their chiefs. They swore allegiance to no one but their chief and disregarded all laws besides those of their clan leaders.
They were proud, courageous and strong people, who fought widely, lived bravely and put family at the heart of everything.
This way of life was in decline long before Culloden, however the battle was the final straw that broke the Highland way of life once and for all and turned thriving and prosperous communities into desolate wastelands.
Following the battle the government hurriedly put in place new laws to ensure the destruction of the clan system.
Soldiers patrolled the highlands, enforcing the government’s news laws. Chief’s who has supported the Jacobit uprising had their estates confiscated and their right to enforce their laws on their clansmen was abolished.
Highlanders were forbidden from wearing their highland dress or carrying weapons and were obliged to take the following oath. -
"I, (name), do swear as I shall answer to God at the great day of judgement, I have not, nor shall have in my possession any gun, sword, pistol or arm whatever, and never use tartan, plaid, or any part of the highland garb; and if I do so, may I be cursed, may I never see my wife and children, father, mother or relations, and lie without a Christian burial in a strange land, far from the graves of my forefathers and my kindred; may all this come across me if I break my oath."
The Clan system collapsed and families were evicted from their feudal lands to make way for the more profitable farming of sheep. Many of these people remained homeless and starving as the land that was left for inhabitation was poor and unable to support them.
Forced out of their country in order to survive, thousand of highlanders emigrated to the United States, Canada, South Africa, New Zealand and Australia.
Inspiration - Do we find it or does it find us?
My husband had come to stand beside me in front of the window and, like me, was staring in awe at the magnificence of the view.
“What is that island?” I asked.
“I think its Eilean Munde,” he replied.
“Isn’t that where the MacDonald brothers buried their father after the massacre of Glencoe?” I replied. (Following the massacre of Glencoe, Alastair MacIan, the 12th chief of the MacDonald clan is said to have been secretly buried here by his sons.)
“Yes, I think it is,” he said, softly.
“I want to go to the village.”
“Well it’s not far from here, we can go after breakfast if you want," he offered.
“I would like that a lot, thank you,” I said, struggling to take my eyes off the island.
A gentle mist hung teasingly above it, obscuring it in parts.
I wanted, desperately to brush it away, and to see what mysteries it hid.
We stood on the quiet street that runs down the centre of the village of Glencoe.
Great mountains rose up around us as we wandered up a small hill towards the Glencoe memorial.
“What date is it?” I asked.
“It’s the 12th, why?” replied my husband.
“Well, tomorrow is the anniversary of the massacre,” I said, pointing to a sign on the memorial which read, ‘Massacre of Glencoe, 13th February 1692.’
I looked back down the hill and into the village.
Tidy little cottages lined the street. Grey clouds of smoke rose from chimneys and hung poignantly against the clear blue of the morning sky.
Suddenly I could smell it –
The sickly, metallic copper stink of fresh blood and death.
I could hear the terrifying crackle of flames as they leapt around the walls of cottages. I could see the smoke as it hung thickly and heavily in the air.
Cries of panic and terror as families stumbled from their burning homes; the blaze of musket fire, the sulphurous smell of a fired gun and the bodies which lay upon the snow filled streets.
Without realising it, I had found the inspiration for my story.
“What is that island?” I asked.
“I think its Eilean Munde,” he replied.
“Isn’t that where the MacDonald brothers buried their father after the massacre of Glencoe?” I replied. (Following the massacre of Glencoe, Alastair MacIan, the 12th chief of the MacDonald clan is said to have been secretly buried here by his sons.)
“Yes, I think it is,” he said, softly.
“I want to go to the village.”
“Well it’s not far from here, we can go after breakfast if you want," he offered.
“I would like that a lot, thank you,” I said, struggling to take my eyes off the island.
A gentle mist hung teasingly above it, obscuring it in parts.
I wanted, desperately to brush it away, and to see what mysteries it hid.
We stood on the quiet street that runs down the centre of the village of Glencoe.
Great mountains rose up around us as we wandered up a small hill towards the Glencoe memorial.
“What date is it?” I asked.
“It’s the 12th, why?” replied my husband.
“Well, tomorrow is the anniversary of the massacre,” I said, pointing to a sign on the memorial which read, ‘Massacre of Glencoe, 13th February 1692.’
I looked back down the hill and into the village.
Tidy little cottages lined the street. Grey clouds of smoke rose from chimneys and hung poignantly against the clear blue of the morning sky.
Suddenly I could smell it –
The sickly, metallic copper stink of fresh blood and death.
I could hear the terrifying crackle of flames as they leapt around the walls of cottages. I could see the smoke as it hung thickly and heavily in the air.
Cries of panic and terror as families stumbled from their burning homes; the blaze of musket fire, the sulphurous smell of a fired gun and the bodies which lay upon the snow filled streets.
Without realising it, I had found the inspiration for my story.
Culloden Moor, Inverness, Scotland
The evening sun hovered teasingly along the horizon. The snow glistened and crunched beneath my feet like a bed of shattered crystals. A long, clear, frozen icicle hung from a lone tree which stood proudly beside an ancient cottage in the middle of the field.
Culloden Battlefield - The location of the last significant battle on British soil.
Fought on the cold grey morning of the 16th April 1746 – this was a battle between the house of Stuart and the house of Hanover for the British throne.
Today the wind howls hauntingly across gravestones and memorial cairns which pepper the ground of the open space of the field. Blue flags fly where the Jacobites once stood, red flags mark the Hanoverian positions, iconic reminders of the brave and bloody battle that ended the Highland way of life.
Charles Edward Stuart, acting in his father’s name, landed in Kinlockmoidart with the intention of leading an uprising to restore his father to the British throne.
He gathered his forces near Glenfinnan and slowly they made their way towards Edinburgh, then down to Manchester and finally to Derby. They were only 100 miles from London when they made the decision to turn back.
The 5000 strong army made their way back through England and then up into Scotland where, at Culloden, a final confrontation with a 9000 strong Hanoverian army, lead by the Duke of Cumberland, ended the battle between the two houses once and for all.
The battlefield laid silent, save for the murmurs of dying men. The air hung heavily with the smoke and smell of fired muskets and the bodies of the brave and fearsome men, who had followed their Prince, stained the ground of Culloden.
The Scottish Highlands - changed forever – in this place, on this day in 1746.
Culloden Battlefield - The location of the last significant battle on British soil.
Fought on the cold grey morning of the 16th April 1746 – this was a battle between the house of Stuart and the house of Hanover for the British throne.
Today the wind howls hauntingly across gravestones and memorial cairns which pepper the ground of the open space of the field. Blue flags fly where the Jacobites once stood, red flags mark the Hanoverian positions, iconic reminders of the brave and bloody battle that ended the Highland way of life.
Charles Edward Stuart, acting in his father’s name, landed in Kinlockmoidart with the intention of leading an uprising to restore his father to the British throne.
He gathered his forces near Glenfinnan and slowly they made their way towards Edinburgh, then down to Manchester and finally to Derby. They were only 100 miles from London when they made the decision to turn back.
The 5000 strong army made their way back through England and then up into Scotland where, at Culloden, a final confrontation with a 9000 strong Hanoverian army, lead by the Duke of Cumberland, ended the battle between the two houses once and for all.
The battlefield laid silent, save for the murmurs of dying men. The air hung heavily with the smoke and smell of fired muskets and the bodies of the brave and fearsome men, who had followed their Prince, stained the ground of Culloden.
The Scottish Highlands - changed forever – in this place, on this day in 1746.
Scottish Highlands, Glenfinnan - 1745
In the early afternoon of August the 19th 1745, Prince Charles Edward Stuart landed at the north end of Loch Shiel, hoping to rally support for his father’s claim to the British Throne.
His reception was not a grand one and for a time it appeared as though little more than two hundred men were willing to support the uprising.
But then, the mountains around Loch Shiel echoed a distant whisper of promise as the march of pipers descended.
The ground trembled and the mountains roared as the clans arrived and Charles Edward Stuart raised his standard on a hill in Glenfinnan.
Today a monument stands at the head of Loch Shiel, commemorating the bravery and courage of the men who fell in support of their Prince.
Erected in 1815 and designed by the Scottish architect James Gillespie Graham, the monument is now in the care and custody of the Scottish National Trust.
A tall thin tower with a lone Highlander at the top, the monument is a poignant and imposing sight and well worth the effort of climbing.
I would however issue a word of caution to small children or those unsteady on their feet. The tower is a copy of a medieval castle’s staircase, built as a defence against intruders. The narrow, uneven, winding stone stairs are designed to trip you up, you are warned.
His reception was not a grand one and for a time it appeared as though little more than two hundred men were willing to support the uprising.
But then, the mountains around Loch Shiel echoed a distant whisper of promise as the march of pipers descended.
The ground trembled and the mountains roared as the clans arrived and Charles Edward Stuart raised his standard on a hill in Glenfinnan.
Today a monument stands at the head of Loch Shiel, commemorating the bravery and courage of the men who fell in support of their Prince.
Erected in 1815 and designed by the Scottish architect James Gillespie Graham, the monument is now in the care and custody of the Scottish National Trust.
A tall thin tower with a lone Highlander at the top, the monument is a poignant and imposing sight and well worth the effort of climbing.
I would however issue a word of caution to small children or those unsteady on their feet. The tower is a copy of a medieval castle’s staircase, built as a defence against intruders. The narrow, uneven, winding stone stairs are designed to trip you up, you are warned.
AN INRODUCTION TO ‘WHEN FATE DICTATES’
In 1688, the Protestant William III and Mary II deposed the Roman Catholic King of Britain, James II. The English, whilst not ecstatic about their new monarch, were content.
The Highlands of Scotland however were still very much in support of the deposed King James II and proved, at best, difficult to appease.
Finally in 1691, in an attempt to gain control and peace in the Highlands, King William negotiated an amnesty scheme with the clan leaders of the Highlands.
A requirement of the scheme was that all clan chieftains take an oath of allegiance to William and Mary before
the 1st January 1692. A lot of clan chiefs left taking the oath until the last minute, yet despite this, all but one, MacDonald of Glencoe, made the deadline.
A combination of bad luck and a fierce snow storm prevented MacDonald from taking the oath on time. However, MacDonald returned to Glencoe, believing his oath legal and his clan safe.
The authorities chose to make an example of the MacDonald clan declared the oath invalid.
They ordered a military force of Campbells, loyal supporters of the crown, under the command of Robert Campbell into Glencoe.
Under the guise of friendship the Campbells convinced the MacDonalds that they had come in peace. The MacDonalds welcomed their old adversaries into their homes, entertained, fed them and shared their food and clothes.
Very early on the morning of February 13th 1692 the following order was issued to Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon.
‘You are hereby ordered to fall upon the Rebels, the MacDonalds of Glencoe, and put all to the sword under 70. You are to have especial care, that the Old Fox and his Sons do upon no account escape your Hands, you are to secure all the avenues that no man can escape: this you are to put in Execution at five a Clock in the Morning precisely, and by that time or very shortly after it, I’ll strive to be at you with a stronger party. If I do not come at five, you are not to tarry for me but fall on. This is by the King’s Special command, for the good and safety of the country, that these miscreants may be cut off root and branch. See that this be put in execution without Feud or Favor, else you may expect to be treated as not true to the King or Government nor a man fit to carry Commission in the King’s Service. Expecting you will not fail in the fulfilling hereof as you love yourself, I subscribed these with my hand...’
signed] Robert Duncanson
For Their Majesties Service
To Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon
In the context of my story, Corran is a MacDonald; a highlander, born and raised by her grandmother on the fertile farmland of Glencoe.
The MacDonalds were no saints themselves; personally responsible for a great many atrocities against the Campbells they had spilt their fair share of blood in the name of clan rivalry.
However, what made the events of February 13th 1692 so heinous was the matter of ‘murder under trust’.
Simon is a Campbell of Glenlyon, a highlander, serving as a soldier for the English king, as did many Campbells.
I have tried to show, through Simon, how many of the Campbell soldiers had no stomach for the orders they had been given. Indeed it is questionable whether the soldiers, garrisoned with the MacDonalds for eleven days, had any knowledge of the job they had been sent to do, prior to the morning of February 13th 1692.
The Campbells, although politically astute and supporters of the English king, were still Highlanders, bound like any other Highlander to their Highland code.
The events of February 13th 1692 broke that code in the worst possible way and I sincerely doubt this would have been done willingly if at all by many.
The Highlands of Scotland however were still very much in support of the deposed King James II and proved, at best, difficult to appease.
Finally in 1691, in an attempt to gain control and peace in the Highlands, King William negotiated an amnesty scheme with the clan leaders of the Highlands.
A requirement of the scheme was that all clan chieftains take an oath of allegiance to William and Mary before
the 1st January 1692. A lot of clan chiefs left taking the oath until the last minute, yet despite this, all but one, MacDonald of Glencoe, made the deadline.
A combination of bad luck and a fierce snow storm prevented MacDonald from taking the oath on time. However, MacDonald returned to Glencoe, believing his oath legal and his clan safe.
The authorities chose to make an example of the MacDonald clan declared the oath invalid.
They ordered a military force of Campbells, loyal supporters of the crown, under the command of Robert Campbell into Glencoe.
Under the guise of friendship the Campbells convinced the MacDonalds that they had come in peace. The MacDonalds welcomed their old adversaries into their homes, entertained, fed them and shared their food and clothes.
Very early on the morning of February 13th 1692 the following order was issued to Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon.
‘You are hereby ordered to fall upon the Rebels, the MacDonalds of Glencoe, and put all to the sword under 70. You are to have especial care, that the Old Fox and his Sons do upon no account escape your Hands, you are to secure all the avenues that no man can escape: this you are to put in Execution at five a Clock in the Morning precisely, and by that time or very shortly after it, I’ll strive to be at you with a stronger party. If I do not come at five, you are not to tarry for me but fall on. This is by the King’s Special command, for the good and safety of the country, that these miscreants may be cut off root and branch. See that this be put in execution without Feud or Favor, else you may expect to be treated as not true to the King or Government nor a man fit to carry Commission in the King’s Service. Expecting you will not fail in the fulfilling hereof as you love yourself, I subscribed these with my hand...’
signed] Robert Duncanson
For Their Majesties Service
To Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon
In the context of my story, Corran is a MacDonald; a highlander, born and raised by her grandmother on the fertile farmland of Glencoe.
The MacDonalds were no saints themselves; personally responsible for a great many atrocities against the Campbells they had spilt their fair share of blood in the name of clan rivalry.
However, what made the events of February 13th 1692 so heinous was the matter of ‘murder under trust’.
Simon is a Campbell of Glenlyon, a highlander, serving as a soldier for the English king, as did many Campbells.
I have tried to show, through Simon, how many of the Campbell soldiers had no stomach for the orders they had been given. Indeed it is questionable whether the soldiers, garrisoned with the MacDonalds for eleven days, had any knowledge of the job they had been sent to do, prior to the morning of February 13th 1692.
The Campbells, although politically astute and supporters of the English king, were still Highlanders, bound like any other Highlander to their Highland code.
The events of February 13th 1692 broke that code in the worst possible way and I sincerely doubt this would have been done willingly if at all by many.
August 27, 2011
Growing into childhood
To outgrow childhood you need to ‘grow up’ and I think some find this easier than others.
Whilst I didn’t particularly enjoy the process I don’t believe I resisted it either. However, what I did lose along the way was the ability to fantasize.
Married at nineteen, a mother by the time I was twenty, living, bizarrely enough in a flat just outside London, left very little time for make believe.
Hard core reality proved all consuming for the largest part of twenty years.
Many ‘real’ adventures later however the Fairies returned.
Now before you all go calling for the psychiatrists, I would just like to add that I don’t really believe in fairies, or Santa, or the tooth fairy.
What I mean to say is that I reached a point in my life where I could afford to allow my mind to indulge in fantasy.
This time was not planned or arranged.
I didn’t wake up one morning and decide that now was a good time to find my imagination.
What I did do, however, for the first time, was to spend a day with my husband in York and somehow in those twenty four hours I found magic again.
My mind opened and like a sponge absorbed everything it saw.
In those twenty four hours I felt like that little girl with her magic tree and although it took many more trips to York and the Scottish Highlands before I found the confidence to share my imagination, it was without doubt that first trip to York that made the writing of ‘When Fate Dictates’ possible.
Whilst I didn’t particularly enjoy the process I don’t believe I resisted it either. However, what I did lose along the way was the ability to fantasize.
Married at nineteen, a mother by the time I was twenty, living, bizarrely enough in a flat just outside London, left very little time for make believe.
Hard core reality proved all consuming for the largest part of twenty years.
Many ‘real’ adventures later however the Fairies returned.
Now before you all go calling for the psychiatrists, I would just like to add that I don’t really believe in fairies, or Santa, or the tooth fairy.
What I mean to say is that I reached a point in my life where I could afford to allow my mind to indulge in fantasy.
This time was not planned or arranged.
I didn’t wake up one morning and decide that now was a good time to find my imagination.
What I did do, however, for the first time, was to spend a day with my husband in York and somehow in those twenty four hours I found magic again.
My mind opened and like a sponge absorbed everything it saw.
In those twenty four hours I felt like that little girl with her magic tree and although it took many more trips to York and the Scottish Highlands before I found the confidence to share my imagination, it was without doubt that first trip to York that made the writing of ‘When Fate Dictates’ possible.
