Peter Williamson – Aberdeen Child Slave Part 4

 Aberdeen City, Articles, Community, Featured, History, Information  No Responses »
Jun 102011
 

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With thanks to Mike Shepherd.

Peter Williamson was kidnapped from Aberdeen harbour in 1743 and shipped as a child slave to the American colonies. Following the death of his master, he married into a wealthy family and set up a farmstead on the frontiers of the province of Pennsylvania.

On the 2nd of October 1754 his farm was raided by Indians, set ablaze and Peter was captured and used as a slave by the Indians to help carry booty from their raiding expeditions.

After two months in the winter camp, the Indians set off with Peter on a new raiding campaign.

“I began to meditate on my escape; and though I knew the country round extremely well, having been often thereabouts with my companions, hunting deer and other beasts, yet was I very cautious of giving the least suspicion of such my intention. However, my keepers thought proper to visit the mountains in search of game for their sustenance, leaving me bound in such a manner that I could not escape.  At night, when they returned, having unbound me, we all sat down together to supper on two polecats, being what they had killed, and soon after (being greatly fatigued with their day’s excursion) they composed themselves to rest as usual.

Observing them to be in that somniferous state, I tried various ways to see whether it was a scheme to prove my intentions or not; but after making a noise and walking about, sometimes touching them with my feet, I found there was no fallacy. My heart then exulted with joy at seeing a time come that I might in all probability be delivered from my captivity, but the joy was soon damped by the dread of being discovered by them, or taken by any straggling parties. To prevent which, I resolved, if possible to get one of their guns, and if discovered die in my defence rather than be taken. For that purpose, I made various efforts to get one from under their heads (where they usually secured them) but in vain.

Frustrated in this my first essay regarding liberty, I dreaded the thoughts of carrying my new design into execution; yet after a little consideration, and trusting myself to divine protection, I set forward, naked and defenceless as I was. A rash and dangerous enterprise!

Such was my terror, however, that in going from them I halted and paused every four or five yards, looking fearfully towards the spot where I had left them, lest they should awake and miss me; but when I was about two hundred yards  from them I mended my pace, and made as much haste as I could to the foot of the mountains, when on a sudden I was struck with the greatest terror and amaze at hearing the wood-cry, as it is called, and may be expressed – Jo hau! Jo hau! – which  the savages I had left were making, accompanied with the most hideous cries and howling they could utter.

The bellowing of lions, the shrieks of hyenas, or the roarings of tigers, would have been music to my ears in comparison to the sounds that then saluted them.

They now having missed their charge, I concluded that they would soon separate themselves and hie in quest of me. The more my terror increased, the faster did I push on; and scarce knowing where I trod, drove through the woods with the utmost precipitation, sometimes falling and bruising myself, cutting my feet and legs against the stones in a miserable manner, but though faint and maimed, I continued my flight until break of day, when, without having anything to sustain nature but a little corn, I crept into a hollow tree, in which I lay very snug and made thanks to the Divine Being.

But my repose was in a few hours destroyed at hearing the voices of savages near the place where I was hid, threatening how they would use me if they got me again. However, they at last left the spot where I had heard them, and I remained in my circular asylum all that day without further molestation.

At night I ventured forward again, frightened and trembling at every bush I passed, thinking each twig that touched me to be a savage.”

After three days on the run he spotted what looked to be a white plantation.

“In the morning, as soon as I awoke, I continued my journey towards the nearest cleared lands I had seen the day before, and about four o’clock in the afternoon arrived at the house of John Bell, an old acquaintance, where knocking at the door, his wife who opened it, seeing me in such a frightful condition, flew from me like lightning, screaming into the house.

This alarmed the whole family, who immediately fled to their arms, and I was soon accosted by the master with his gun in his hand. But on my assuring him of my innocence as to any wicked intentions, and making myself known (for he took me to be an Indian), he immediately caressed me, as did all his family, with a deal of friendship, at finding me alive, they having all informed of my being murdered by the savages some months before.

They for two or three nights very affectionately supplied me with all necessaries, and carefully attended me until my spirits and limbs were pretty well recruited, and I thought myself able to ride, when I borrowed of these good people a horse and some clothes, and set forward for my father-in-law’s house in Chester county, about 140 miles from thence, where I arrived on the fourth day of January, 1755.

Now returned, and once more at liberty to pursue my own inclinations, I was persuaded by my father-in-law and friends to follow some employment or other; but the plantation from whence I was taken, though an exceeding good one,  could not tempt me to settle on it again. And their being at this time a necessity for raising men to check those barbarians in their ravaging depredations, I enlisted myself as one, with the greatest alacrity and most determined resolution to exert the utmost of my power in being revenged on the hellish authors of my ruin.

General Shirley, governor of New England, and commander-in-chief of his Majesty’s land forces in North America, was pitched upon to direct the operations of war in that part of the world.

Into a regiment immediately under the command of this general, was it my lot to be placed for three years. The regiment was intended for the frontiers, to destroy the forts erected by the French.”

From: Peter Williamson “The Life and Curious Adventures of Peter Williamson, Who was Carried off from Aberdeen and Sold for a Slave”. York, 1757.

To be continued.

 

One Legged Tap Dancing Poet Meets Enormous Snake

 Aberdeen City, Articles, Community, Creative Writing, Featured, Information, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Jun 032011
 

Last week’s Voice featured Aberdeen entertainment icon Sid Ozalid, his life, his act, his impact, the release of his new book, and news of ‘not to be missed’ performances in the city. Well, If you did happen to miss out on catching Sid live on Friday and Saturday, then fash yersel not – this week we present a brief account of the missed mayhem, and a poem from ‘Mr Elastic Brain’.

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Sid Ozalid jetted in from Sunny Amsterdam last Friday for a whistle stop tour of Aberdeen to promote his fab new book ‘Mr Elastic Brain – The Life and Poems of Sid Ozalid’.

The previous week he had done three gigs in London and the week before that three gigs in Holland, so he was keen to make it a hat trick and do three gigs in Aberdeen.

This meant two gigs on Friday night and a book signing/performance at 1UP on the Sat afternoon.

Below –
Sid Ozalid performs ‘Tartan Underpants’  accompanied by Dave McLeod.

Lots of people made one gig, a few brave people made it along to two gigs, but apart from Sid and his lovely wife only one person made it to all three:  a Mr Colin MacLean who had driven up from the Kingdom of Fife to see Sid after an absence of 26 years.

Colin and Sid had performed together in 1977 in one of Aberdeen’s first punk bands, ‘The Enormous Snakes,’ and Colin had gone on to work with Sid as one of his All-Stars over a number of years, taking in the Edinburgh Festival and supporting The Clash at Inverness Ice Rink.

The first two gigs sizzled with professionalism, wit and dancing. The 24 year-old MC at Geesalaff Comedy Night, Miss Anna Devitt said:

“I was exhausted just watching; he was non-stop, how can someone this old have so much energy?  My mum is a big fan and told me to get one of his books, the book truly is amazing, so I told mum to get her own copy.”

The third gig at 1UP, the sole suppliers of Sid’s book in Aberdeen, was the most surreal by far.

Sid performed ‘Salvador Dali’s Hat’, ‘Three Fat Ladies at the Bingo Hall,’ and thrashed himself with a daisy — but nothing had prepared him for two drunk shoppers and a man in an electric wheel chair.

The drunk shoppers really giggled at Sid’s antics, but thought nothing of standing next to him flicking through CD’s and asking his opinion on Hip Hop and Jazz classics.

Sid took all of this in his stride and was set the extra challenge of being nimble on his feet when the electric wheelchair man was so taken by the performance he decided to join in, whizzing to the stage and joining Sid on the first electric wheelchair elastic brain dance routine ever seen in Aberdeen. Sid may well have been the dance teacher to the Queen at one time in his life, but nothing had prepared him for this!!

Some nice people had ordered Sid’s book from Amazon and brought it along to be signed, and other nice people bought copies of the book at 1UP, and there then followed a good half hour of chatting and book signing.

A special mention must go to Fred Craig of 1UP who had brought along one of Sid’s original book/records from 1982 ‘Songs and Stories from a Suitcase Extravaganza.’  Fred wanted this signed, and in return Sid was rewarded with a well deserved cup of tea.

With all profits going to MIND for better mental health Sid was a happy man.
http://www.mind.org.uk/

Tartan Underpants
tartanpic

They are groovy they can dance
They can put you in a trance
That’s my tartan underpants
Tartan underpants ooh
Tartan underpants ooh

You can use them as a tent use then as a hanky
One thing is sure there’s never hanky panky
In my tartan underpants
Tartan underpants ooh
Tartan underpants ooh

I don’t drink whisky don’t eat haggis
Go to bed with a girl from Paris
In my tartan underpants
Tartan underpants ooh
Tartan underpants ooh

My pants are funky they know what to do
Goodbye boxer shorts it’s the Y Front crew
That’s my tartan underpants
Tartan underpants ooh
Tartan underpants ooh

I’m a boring old folk singer
Philip is my name
My mother is a miner
My sisters on the game

I’ve a face like a scrotum
Wear an Arran jersey
Nobody likes me
I’ve got bad breath
Claymore !!!

My old sheep ran away
my dog is very angry
He hasn’t slept all week
And likes a drink of shandy
Ben Nevis !!!

Peter Williamson – Aberdeen Child Slave Part 3

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Jun 032011
 

With thanks to Mike Shepherd.

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Peter Williamson was kidnapped from Aberdeen harbour in 1743 and shipped as a child slave to the American colonies. Following the death of his master, he married into a wealthy family and set up a farmstead on the frontiers of the province of Pennsylvania.
On the 2nd of October 1754 his farm was raided by Indians, set ablaze and Peter was captured.

This was never going to be the cross-culture-bonding-with-the-native-Americans epic beloved of modern Hollywood films, but something more prosaic. Peter was captured as a slave to help carry booty for the Indians from their raiding parties on frontier farms. His experiences during this time were brutal. Once the summer raiding season had ended, the Indians returned to their winter camp.

“A great snow now falling, the barbarians were a little fearful lest the white people should, by their traces, find out their skulking retreats, which obliged them to make the best of their way to their winter quarters, about two hundred miles farther from any plantations or inhabitants; where, after a long and tedious journey, being almost starved, I arrived with the infernal crew.

The place where we were to rest, in their tongue, is called Alamingo. There were found a number of wigwams full of their women and children. Dancing, shooting and shouting were their general amusements; and in all their festivals and dances they relate what successes they have had, and what damages they have sustained in their expeditions, in which I came part of the theme. The severity of the cold increasing, they stripped me of my clothes for their own use, and gave me such as they usually wore themselves, being a piece of blanket, a pair of moccasins, with a yard of coarse cloth to put round me instead of breeches.

They in general wear a white blanket, which in war time, they paint with various figures, but particularly the leaves of trees, in order to deceive their enemies in the woods. Their moccasins are made of deer skins, and the best sort have them bound round the edges with little beads and ribbons.

On their legs they wear pieces of blue cloth for their stockings, they reach higher than the knee, but not lower than their ankles. They esteem them easy to run in. Breeches they never wear, but instead thereof, two pieces of linen, one before and one behind. They are very proud, and take great delight in wearing trinkets, such as silver plates round their wrists and necks, with several strings of wampum (which is made of cotton, interwoven with pebbles, cockle-shells, etc) down to their breasts; and from their ears and noses they have rings and beads which hang dangling an inch or two.

The females are very chaste and constant to their husbands, and if any young maiden should happen to have a child before marriage, she is never esteemed afterwards. As for their food they get it chiefly by hunting and shooting, and boil or roast all the meat they can eat. Their standing dish consists of Indian corn soaked, then bruised and boiled over a gentle fire for ten or twelve hours. Their bread is likewise made of wild oats or sunflower seeds.

Scalping knife, powder and shot, are all they have to carry with them in time of war – bows and arrows are seldom used. They generally in war decline open engagements; bush fighting or skulking is their discipline; and they are brave when engaged, having great fortitude in enduring tortures or death. No people have a greater love of liberty or affection for their neighbours; but are the most implacably vindictive people upon the earth; for they revenge the death of any relation, or any great affront, whenever occasion presents, let the distance or time be so remote. To all which I may add they are inhumanly cruel.

At Alamingo I was kept for near two months until the snow was off the ground. A long time to be amongst such creatures and naked as I almost was. Whatever thoughts I might have of making my escape, to carry them into execution was impractical, being so far from any plantations or white people and the severe weather rendering my limbs in a manner quite stiff and motionless. However, I contrived to defend myself against the weather as well as I could by making a wigwam, with the bark of the trees, covering the same with earth, which made it resemble a cave, and keeping a good fire near the door.

At length the time arrived when they were preparing themselves for another expedition against the planters and white people; but before they set out they were joined by many other Indians from Fort Du Quesne, well stored with powder and ball they had received from the French.

We arrived at the Blue Hills where we encamped for three days. A council of war was held, when it was agreed to divide themselves into companies of about twenty men each; I was left behind with ten Indians. Here being left I began to meditate on my escape. “

From: Peter Williamson “The Life and Curious Adventures of Peter Williamson, Who was Carried off from Aberdeen and Sold for a Slave”. York, 1757. To be continued.

Peter Williamson – Aberdeen Child Slave Part 2

 Aberdeen City, Articles, Community, Featured, History, Information  No Responses »
May 262011
 

peterwilliamsonpic
With Thanks to Mike Shepherd.

Peter Williamson was kidnapped from Aberdeen harbour in 1743 and shipped as a child slave to the American colonies.

Last week’s article gave Peter’s own account of his kidnapping; this week describes what happened next.

Peter was bought for $16 by a fellow scot Hugh Wilson and indentured to serve him for seven years. Hugh was humane and looked after Peter well providing him with an education.

“With this good master I continued till I was seventeen years old, when he died, and as a reward for my faithful service, he left me $200 currency, his best horse, saddle and all his wearing apparel.

Being now my own master, having money in my pocket, and all other necessaries, I employed myself in jobbing around the country, working for anyone that would employ me, for near seven years.  When thinking that I had money sufficient to follow some better way of life, I resolved to settle, but thought one step necessary to follow some better way of life. Thereto was to be married, for which purpose I applied to the daughter of a substantial planter, and found my suit was not unacceptable to her or her father, so that matters were soon concluded upon, and we were married.

My father-in-law, in order to establish us in the world in an easy, if not affluent manner, made me a deed of gift of a track of land that lay on the frontiers of the province of Pennsylvania containing about 200 acres, 30 of which were cleared, and fit for immediate use, whereon was a good house and barn. The place pleased me well, and happy as I was in a good wife, yet did my felicity last me not long.  About the year 1754, the Indians began to be very troublesome on the frontiers of our province, where they generally appeared in small skulking parties, with yellings, shoutings and antic postures, committing great devastations. “

The fateful 2nd of October 1754, my wife went from home to visit some of her relations. As I stayed up later than usual, expecting her return, how great was my surprise, terror and affright, when about eleven o’clock at night I heard the dismal war-cry or war-whoop of the savages and to my inexpressible grief soon found my house was being attacked by them.

I flew to my chamber window and perceived them to be about twelve in number. They making several attempts to get in, I asked them what they wanted. They gave me no answer, but continued beating, and trying to get the door open. Having my gun loaded in my hand, I threatened them with death if they should not desist. One of them that could speak a little English, threatened me in return, “That if I did not come out, they would burn me alive in the house. If I would come out and surrender myself prisoner, they would not kill me”. Little could I depend on the promises of such creatures, and yet if I did not, inevitable death by being burnt alive must be my lot.

Distracted as I was in such deplorable circumstances, I chose to rely on the uncertainty of their fallacious promises, rather than meet with certain death by rejecting them; and accordingly went out of my house with my gun in my hand, not knowing what I did, or that I had it. Immediately on my approach, they rushed on me like so many tigers, and instantly disarmed me. Having me thus in their power the merciless villains bound me to a tree near the door; then they went into the house, and plundered and destroyed everything there was in it, carrying off what movables they could; the rest together with the house they set fire to.

Having thus finished the execrable business about which they came, one of the monsters came to me with a tomahawk in his hand, threatening me with the worst of deaths if I would not willingly go with them, and be contented with their way of living.”

From: Peter Williamson “The Life and Curious Adventures of Peter Williamson, Who was Carried off from Aberdeen and Sold for a Slave”. York, 1757. To be continued…

Mr Elastic Brain – The Life And Poems Of Sid Ozalid

 Aberdeen City, Articles, Community, Creative Writing, Featured, Information, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 252011
 

By Fred Wilkinson.

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The year is 1979. I am at Aberdeen’s 62 Club to watch a selection of local punk bands, and my attention is drawn to an unfamiliar name on the bill.
Sid Ozalid? A band?  A guy? Pretty punk if slightly strange kind of a name though, which for an 18 y.o. punk diehard was somehow reassuring.
On stage appeared a tall, skinny, slightly weird-looking guy with no guitar. Not punk – not punk at all, which in the circumstances was all the more intriguing.

What happened next was somewhere between seeing the light and being scarred for life.

Out of a sudden discharge of nervous energy came an onslaught of surreal, silly verse spliced seamlessly with a bunch of broken anecdotes delivered at a pace leaving no pause for appraisal; accompanied by incongruous, disjointed, directionless dance moves which somehow worked – they must have worked, as somehow, he stayed on his feet.

Then it was over. I had not moved. I was still staring at the empty stage, and I remember thinking: “I hope no-one asks me what I made of Sid Ozalid.”  Devoid of reference points, my thoughts were a long time coming. Yes, I found it funny, and yes I was immensely entertained – I just didn’t know why! Neither punk nor Python, neither Cutler, Cooper nor Cooper-Clarke, Sid Ozalid certainly breathed the same air, but did not walk on the same planet.

Would I perhaps find a clue to understanding what made Sid tick from his publicity around at the time? –

“Legend has it that Sid Ozalid was born sometime during an eruption of earwigs.

“Sid arrived on earth from the planet OZ in the year 1898. His spaceship was disguised as an old brown suitcase that was full of inflatable toys.

“During this period he specialised in walking backwards into hat stands.

“Six years later he split from Flying Ozalids to form Sid and Sam the Ozalid Twins. This dynamic duo thrilled audiences with their routine entitled ‘The First pickled Onion in Orbit’, but alas this too came to an abrupt end due to lack of cupboard space”

– Alas, No.

Fast-forward to the following evening.

Three troublesome fat ladies, a conductor named Russ and a womanising fire raising tortoise had taken up permanent residence in my consciousness, and it seemed that the only way to exorcise these delightful demons, and at the same time come to terms with the experience was via demonstration to the uninitiated.

And so there I was outside with my brothers and sister and a few chums, recounting those fragments of verse I could recall whilst attempting in vain to recreate those unique ‘dance’ moves.

Perhaps an observer of the ‘lite’ version would be better placed to help me understand what it was about Sid that had so affected me. No chance. They stood – as I had stood, and stared – as I had stared, and laughed. That evening, each time another chum arrived in our company came the call:

” Hey Fred, go dae yer Sid Ozalid, watch ess, it’s really funny “

The previous evening Sid had performed for around 15 minutes. Twenty four hours later, I must have performed twice as long armed with only about 30 seconds of Sid’s material. More than once, passers-by stopped on the other side of the road … then moved on when they ascertained I was not in need of medical assistance.

As I look back I realise this was a solid indication that Sid Ozalid would be around for some time to come, and would become, if not a legend, definitely an icon of the Aberdeen Entertainment scene.

I was not the only one for whom Sid Ozalid presented an enigma:

” he auditioned and was invited to perform on two different talent shows. Once again the producers liked what Sid was doing but did not know how to describe him. They settled for ‘eccentric’. ” – Douglas John Mclean Cairns

Thirty two years on, having enjoyed many more of Sid’s performances, yet being no closer to understanding exactly how to explain what it is about Sid Ozalid’s act that entertains, amuses and excites me, I find myself charged with the task of reviewing his brand new book:

“Mr Elastic Brain – The Life And Poems Of Sid Ozalid”.

Having just finished reading it, I find myself desperate to tell everyone to go get themselves a copy as soon as possible, but as with my impression of that first performance, I struggle to articulate why it will be worth more to you than a tenner. But I will try.

These days, I know Sid Ozalid by his not so ‘pretty punk, and kinda reassuringly strange’ name Douglas Cairns …. which is actually more reassuring.

So, where to start?

This is an autobiographical book in four parts, about Sid Ozalid, written by Douglas John McLean Cairns. Or is it? As with all things Sid Ozalid, it is the equivalent of an ‘any-way-up’ cup as the first part of the book demonstrates.

Even to someone as familiar with the writer as I am, It startles me to discover that the madness which fuelled the performances of Sid Ozalid and brought so much pleasure to many also had an alter ego in the shape of a mental illness which had a devastating effect on Douglas Cairns for a period in 2001 – and as a consequence, all but put an end to Sid.

“People had always told Sid he was mad. He thought they were joking until the dawning of the new millennium, suddenly he had a doctor’s certificate to prove what people had been telling him for years.” – Douglas John Mclean Cairns.

Here it is we find – in between some hilarious stories of Sid’s outrageous antics and adventures – an honest account of the extent of Douglas’ illness, punctuated by humour of a nature that can only be explained in terms of Douglas’ story being written by Sid.

It is difficult to pinpoint where ownership of the pen changed, but what results is uniquely unsettling, and simultaneously entertaining. For Sid to joke about Douglas’ dark and desperate situation is surely to run the risk being regarded as sick … but then, at the pertinent time, they are both sick aren’t they?

I don’t have the recipe, but I am pretty sure the main ingredient is his ability to appeal to our inner child.

However, at no point does the humour mask the pain, the lighter asides serving only reinforce the severity of the debilitating condition by way of contrast. It is a brave piece of writing, sandwiched between hilarious tales of the more familiar and wonderful madness of The Artist Formerly Known As Sid Ozalid.

The major portion of the book’s contents is a collection of Sid’s wonderfully bizarre and humorous poems and songs which were the mainstay of his act from 1977 to the present day. Similarities with this material and that of Spike Milligan are impossible to ignore. However, to leave it at that would be to compare a wedding cake with a rowie on account of their flour content.

So am I any closer to putting into words what is the magical appeal of Sid Ozalid?

Well I don’t have the recipe, but I am pretty sure the main ingredient is his ability to appeal to our inner child.

Didn’t we all spontaneously giggle and cackle as babes in response to the simplest and the silliest of things? A pulled face? A silly noise? The poking out of a tongue? A sudden unexpected movement or gesture? Anything at all unusual yet unthreatening? When did we stop being so spontaneously and so thoroughly amused? Did we stop giggling, or did our adult entertainers decide our needs for entertainment lay elsewhere?

If nothing else, Sid Ozalid demonstrates that our inner child is still with us and desperate for a giggle, and the mere fact he knows our tickly spot is enough to make us all the more tickly.

If there should ever be an Aberdeen Entertainers Hall of Fame, Sid Ozalid will be there. He will be neither a statue in the foyer, a framed picture on a wall, or a prized prop or instrument in a glass case. The broom cupboard will be as good a place as any to start your search, but when you track him down he will be possibly be represented by that item described within the spontaneous lyrics of a similarly strange and hilarious Scots band.

” I’ll perhaps take a piece of white bread and I’ll paint it brown so you think it is brown but when you toast it it’s actually white for the paint falls off “ ( from the album Hairy Scalloween by The Pendulums. )

Footnotes.

Mr Elastic Brain – The Life And Poems Of Sid Ozalid by Douglas John McLean Cairns is published by Chipmunka Publishing which specialises in giving a voice to people with mental health and other issues.

  • The profits from sales of Mr Elastic Brain are being donated to MIND – a leading mental health charity.

“We campaign vigorously to create a society that promotes and protects good mental health for all – a society where people with experience of mental distress are treated fairly, positively and with respect.” – http://www.mind.org.uk/

  • Aberdeen Voice will present a sample of Sid’s poetry in the coming weeks – if that’s OK with Sid, or Douglas, or both – so you can judge for yourselves should you miss all three performances in town this weekend.

Geesalaff Comedy Night
Friday, May 27 at 8:00pm
Cellar 35, Rosemount Viaduct
( Sid onstage around 21.00pm )

The Big Acoustic Night Out!/ Traditional Amplified Music Session
Friday, May 27 at 9:00pm
The Blue Lamp, 121 Gallowgate
( Sid onstage around 22.30pm )

Book Launch and Performance !!!
Saturday, May 28 at 4:00pm
1 UP Records – 17 Belmont Street

Child Slavery In Aberdeen – The Story Of Peter Williamson

 Aberdeen City, Articles, Community, Featured, History, Information  No Responses »
May 202011
 

With Thanks to Mike Shepherd.

sugarhousepic1

In 1743, thirteen year old Peter Williamson was kidnapped from Aberdeen harbour and shipped as a slave to the American colonies. He endured many experiences there, being captured by the Indians and held by them for three months, escaping to join the British army to fight against the French.

He eventually managed to return home to Aberdeen, where he declared that the local merchants and magistrates had been complicit in his kidnapping. They imprisoned him, only releasing Peter after he signed a declaration that his accusations were untrue.

He later sued a number of Aberdeen officials in the High Court, winning his case. It was revealed in court that as many as 600 local children had been kidnapped and sold into slavery between 1740 and 1746. He wrote an extraordinary book on his experiences, The Life and Curious Adventures of Peter Williamson, Who was Carried off from Aberdeen and Sold for a Slave.

This is how it starts:

“Know, therefore that I was born in Hirnlay, in the parish of Aboyne, and County of Aberdeen, North Britain, if not of rich, yet of reputable parents, who supported me in the best manner they could, as long as they had the happiness of me under their inspection; but fatally for me, and to their great grief, as it afterwards proved. I was sent to live with an aunt in Aberdeen.

When under the years of my pupillarity, playing on the quay, with others of my companions, being of a stout, robust constitution, I was taken notice of by two fellows belonging to a vessel in the harbour, employed (as the trade then was) by some of the worthy merchants of the town, in that villainous and execrable practice called Kidnapping; that is, stealing young children from their parents, and selling them as slaves in the plantations abroad.

Being marked out by these monsters of impiety as their prey, I was cajoled on board the ship by them, where I was no sooner got, than they conducted me between the decks to some others they had kidnapped in the same manner. At that time I had no sense of the fate that was destined for me, and spent the time in childish amusements with my fellow sufferers in the steerage, being never suffered to go upon deck whilst the vessel lay in the harbour, which was until such a time they had got in their loading, with a complement of unhappy youths for carrying on their wicked commerce.

In about a month’s time the ship set sail for America. I cannot forget that when we arrived on the coast, we were destined for, a hard gale of wind sprung up from the southeast, and, to the Captain’s great surprise (he not thinking he was near land) although having been eleven weeks on the passage, about twelve o’clock at night the ship struck on a sand-bank off Cape May, near the Capes of Delaware, and to the great terror and affright of the ship’s company, in a short time was almost full of water.

The boat was then hoisted out, into which the captain and his fellow villains – the crew – got with some difficulty, leaving me, and my deluded companions, to perish, as they then naturally concluded inevitable death to be our fate. The ship being on a sand-bank, which did not give way to let her deeper, we lay in the same deplorable condition until morning, when, though we saw the land of Cape May, at about a mile’s distance, we knew not what would be our fate.

The wind at length abated, and the captain (unwilling to lose all her cargo), about ten o’clock, sent some of his crew in a boat to the ship’s side to bring us onshore, where we lay in a sort of a camp, made of the sails of the vessel, and such other things as we could get. The provisions lasted until we were taken in by a vessel to Philadelphia, lying on this island, as well as I can recollect, near three weeks. Very little of the cargo was saved undamaged, and the vessel entirely lost.

When arrived and landed at Philadelphia, the capital of Pennsylvania, the captain had soon people enough who came to buy us. He, making the most of his villainous loading, after his disaster, sold us at about $16 per head.  What became of my unhappy companions I never knew; but it was my lot to be sold to one of my countrymen, whose name was Hugh Wilson, a North Briton, for the term of seven years, who had in his youth undergone the same fate as myself, having been kidnapped from St. Johnstown, in Scotland. “

From: Peter Williamson – The Life and Curious Adventures of Peter Williamson, Who was Carried off from Aberdeen and Sold for a Slave, York, 1757. To be continued…

A Narrow Escape From The Child ‘Support’ Agency.

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Apr 292011
 

Following on from last week’s accounts from disabled citizens and benefits, Aberdeen Voice presents yet another example of government departments harrassing the people they were designed to assist.
Jake Williams recounts a worrying series of events which all started with an unexpected, unexplained and outrageous bill.

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In 2008 I received shocking news from the Child Support Agency.

With no other information or explanation other than the statement “suspended debt reinstated”, £18,800 was added to my bill, and my employer was instructed to act on their behalf by taking money from my wages.

My ‘liability’ to the CSA had varied between zero and £6 per week, for the years that I had been paying, so they had no reason to disbelieve my approximations and claim that on that particular day I had earned so much that I could owe nearly £19,000.

I appealed the decision but they would not consider the appeal unless I was able to provide proof of my earnings on 22 Jan 1998. No other date would do.

I pleaded that it was 10 years ago and I had thrown away my self-employed accounts for that period. But I filled in the form as well as I could, and where it says, “continue on a separate sheet if necessary”, I wrote a letter giving a general account of my employment during that period.

But this winter they took me to court for the money and threatened seizure of my property, my wages, and my driving licence, and/or imprisonment.

I got legal aid for “assistance” but I had to do most of my own talking in the court. My lawyer, Judith Forbes of G. Mathers and Co, was friendly and helpful, and conducted the behind-the-scenes negotiations with the CSA’s lawyers, using whatever p45s and dole letters I still had, but the CSA stood firm.

The turning point hinged on those good old principles of British law: who you are, and whom you know. Acting on my behalf, Malcolm Bruce MP asked the CSA how they had arrived at the stated figure of £18,800.

Rather than try to justify it, they responded that it had been recalculated and it was now  £460

– Big difference!

I’m not claiming to be a special pal of the MP, I am sure he would have done the same for any constituent, but it was only because I am literate and have a wide experience of campaigning and lobbying that I was able to persuade an MP and a court to take me seriously.

But the CSA was still claiming thousands of pounds of court expenses from me – despite the whole affair having been their fault. They had lost the case, their claim had been fiction, and so they should have paid my expenses.

So I countered this by asking that the sheriff claim, from the CSA, my expenses: Five overnight trips to Aberdeen, with time off work to go to court, raised blood pressure and many sleepless nights.

Behind the scenes, the lawyer argued the £460  “debt” down to £224 with no expenses either way. I paid up, so I suppose that is a wonderful triumph considering that the CSA had been determined to bankrupt me, as they have already done to lots of other people.

See: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/more-fathers-jailed-over-child-support-2265787.html

I have since written to the police, the Lord Advocate, and Justice Minister Kenny MacAskill, asking them all to prosecute the CSA and their lawyers Harper Macleod, for perjury and fraud.

I’ll let you know what happens next.

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