We all love the web. Information undreamed of by our parents and grandparents is just a short search away. With just a few mouse clicks we can research the history of the transatlantic ice trade of the 1840s, the life and times of Field Marshall Edmund Ironside, and the reason why a chap by the name of Verner Sebisch lies buried in a Moray cemetery. Duncan Harley writes.
The web can advise us what our normal blood pressure should be, whether it would be wise to host a barbecue next Sunday, weatherwise; and, if we search hard enough, what the average person in Torry eats for lunch on a typical wet Tuesday.
Then of course there is Maggieknockater.
For those not in the know, Maggieknockater, or in the Scots Gaelic, Mathg an Fhucadair, is a village on the A95 between Craigellachie and Keith.
Well known in country dancing circles and part of the extensive lore of the Whisky Trail, it’s quite a mouthful.
When asked where they live, locals often tell the enquirer Craigellachie, or even Dufftown, rather than the truth. Seemingly if they say Maggieknockater, the enquirer often falls down laughing.
Folk in the North East villages of Glass, Lost, Jericho and Knock apparently have the same problem.
For those living in the village of Premnay just north of Inverurie, the situation is even more problematic since both the Ordnance Survey maps and the roadside signposts spell Premnay as Auchleven, meaning that no one can even find the place, never mind laugh at the residents!
If you check the web for the name Maggieknockater you are likely to find explanations ranging from ‘arable land on the forest’s lower slopes’ to ‘the fullers field’. However there is much more to the place than that. For a start, Mary Queen of Scots may have stayed at the nearby Gauldwell Castle during her tour of Scotland in 1561.
Mind you, she stayed at some seventy Scottish castle residences during her travels, so perhaps Maggieknockater requires a somewhat greater claim to fame to justify the long name.
The Maggieknockater school was of course closed in the 1960s and the local church was famously turned into a home in the early 1970s. What was once a smithy is now a garage but still in the hands of the MacLean family, which has lived there for quite a few generations. Maggieknockater formerly had a post office which seemingly opened in June 1876 and closed in the mid-20th century.
Not much going for the place perhaps, unless you count the bees.
It seems that up until the late 1960s there was large apiary in the village.
It was started by an Aberdonian by the name of George McLean who made heather honey on a grand scale and sold it far and wide.
Crate loads of the stuff went to Ireland and outlets all over the UK, but the best was sold at the roadside to passing motorists who saw the Maggieknockater Apiary as a welcome pit stop on the road to either Craigellachie or Keith.
George was in fact one of the most prominent beekeepers in Scotland.
A farmer, grocer and blacksmith, he was also the secretary of the North of Scotland Beekeepers’ Association for a time.
The man died some years ago at a very ripe old age but his legacy lives on in the Scottish country dance “The Bees of Maggieknockater”.
Internationally famous and a favourite of those in the know, it runs something like:
‘1- 8 1s cross RH and cast 1 place, dance RH across with 3s and end 1M+3L also 1L+3M in prom hold facing out to pass corner person RSh. 9-24 All dance 4x½ Reels of 3 on sides (to right to start, then left, right and left) with 1s+3s changing partners in centre at end of each ½ Reel to progress Men clockwise and Ladies anticlockwise. End in centre 1s facing down and 3s facing up. 25-32 1s dance between 3s turning 3s with nearer hand 1½ times, crossing over to own sides and turn 4th person 1½ times (Men RH and Ladies LH). 2341.’
It’s a fun dance indeed, which was devised by an Englishman by the name of John Drewry. The dance is a 32-step jig, requiring four couples to dance facing each other. Forres Country Dance is the usual tune used. Seemingly John, a computer programmer from Aberdeen, was inspired by the banks of beehives at Maggieknockater; although in fact he never took the time to stop and buy any of George’s honey!
John wrote some 300 Highland dances but perhaps this is his finest. While in Banff, Alberta in the 1980s, he witnessed a comedy sketch of the dance written to Rimsky Korsakov’s ‘Flight of the Bumble Bee’. Sadly George McLean missed it by a few years, but he would probably have been proud of the spectacle.
As regards the web, Edmund Ironside was the man in charge of Britain’s coastal defences in 1940, Verner Sebisch was one of 4 crewmen who died when their Junkers ju 188 bomber crashed 5km northwest of Rothes in the midsummer of 1944, and the folk of Torry eat various things for lunch on a typical Tuesday.
As regards blood pressure? Make an appointment to discuss this with your GP, since you can never completely trust the web.
The Bees of Maggieknockater is a lovely Highland dance. Next time you are on the A95 between Craigellachie and Keith, take a wee minute to remember George and John, as you pass the village.
After all, they combined to make Maggieknockater internationally famous.
We hid a wee bit dander T’wis jist the ither day Gied in by Castle Fraser The sun wis oot tae play . Doon past the adventure playgrun Wi its tepee an ither things Intae the bonnie wa’d gairden Tae see fit naitur brings . Big daisies an ither flooers Brocht colour there’s nae doot An we myn’t tae close the gates Tae keep the rubbities oot . A fylie sin a’ve seen sae muckle Bees an butterflees in ae sector Flittin aroon fae flooer tae flooer An githerin up aa the nectar
Syne throwe the widdlan waak Tree taps sweyin in the breeze We cam upon the bonnie pond Hame tae dyeuks an dragonflees . A gweed fyle there we sat Surroondit bi naitur’s glory The reeds an bonnie grasses War pairt o oor day’s story . We climm’t up the windin path An cam upon some coos Faa lookit ower the fencie Did they wint tae hae a newse? . The magic o iss bonnie waak Wi a beauty hard tae beat A sweir doon throwe the trees A heard the patter o Hobbits’ feet
Sunshine floodin throwe the windas
Fillin rooms wi its golden glow
Memories o the fairmhoose kitchen
Ma mither workin tae and fro’
Birdsong burstin fae the hedges
Cocks crowin at the open doors
Yet peace an quairt wis aa aroon
As wi wint aboot oor chores
Faint ripplin fae the dam weir
As its watters spill’t intae the burn
The Ord jined wi the Leuchar
Alang its banks I kent each turn
A still can smell the new mown hey
An surroonded bi the clover
A lay and listen’t tae the laverock
As heich abeen me it did hover
Stirks’ breath in November frosts
Content in the coort they stey
Jist slowly stirrin fae their rest
Fin aetin their neeps and hey
Collies barkin at the merest soond
Their alert sinses at the ready
Thae sentinels faa kept ye safe
Faa’s devotion wis ayewis steady
Turriff’s resident population of 5,743 received a welcome boost over the weekend of 4 and 5 August when the 149th annual Turriff Show was held at The Haughs, just outside the town centre. The Turra Show as it is called locally, is one of the highlights of the farming and agricultural year in NE Scotland, and quite rightly so, writes Duncan Harley.
Farming folk from all over the UK descend on the town during the show weekend seeking livestock prizes, farming machinery and, quite frankly, lots of fun. Bargains are struck, tractors and combines are purchased and, just occasionally, wedding matches are made – just as they have been for the last century and a half of the Show’s history.
With a claimed entries total of over 802 horses and ponies plus some 43 goats on the Sunday, over 450 cattle and 580 sheep, including the return of the Bluefaced Leicester Progeny Show sheep, Turra Show is perhaps the biggest show of its kind in Scotland still going strong after 150 years of traditional agricultural shows.
The Open Dog Show on the Sunday, complete with the ever popular rabbit and cavy sections, is now affiliated and upgraded to 2-star official status. Added to this, the poultry show and the popular Companion Dog event on the Monday makes this a completely irresistible event for the non-agricultural breeders and pet fanciers of the area.
The quite exciting sideshows, funfair and extreme catering franchises also make Turra a Mecca for those seeking a weekend of bacchanalian beer and wine-soaked revelry.
With over 249 trade stands, a very well attended food fayre plus the indoor shopping mall to tour around, Turra Show is a family fun-filled affair indeed. The show exhibition hall with its lifestyle theme and the ever popular home cookery demonstrations will, as ever, attract the homemakers.
And why not?
Those seeking extreme fun should head for that Special Forestry Area and the Special Educational Area to entertain and even educate the children amongst us.
The Industrial Marquee at Turra Show is one of the largest in the country with over 1745 home-based craft exhibits and an excellent horticultural show featuring large turnips and a few enormous marrows to salivate over.
The Turriff Show is always a veritable feast and a huge fun weekend for all the family. Each of the two show days has an extensive ringside entertainment programme with many special attractions including in 2013, the awesome Quad and Motorcycle Flying Daredevil Stunt Show by Jason Smythe’s Adrenaline Tour.
Jason comes from a professional racing background in Motocross. He started competing when he was seven, progressing from multiple regional champion to British schoolboy champion, British amateur support class winner before turning pro at eighteen.
In the professional ranks he has competed in all three classes at World Championship, 125cc, 250cc and 500cc and the World Supercross Tour as well as becoming Luxembourg national champion.
At Turriff, Jason thrilled the crowd by powering his quad bike over 31ft in the air above his articulated rig before landing safely, to loud applause.
On Sunday, Turra’s family day featured some exciting Terrier Racing with Cyril the Squirrel, fine sulky-trotting, pony carriage driving and of course the famous Turriff Pipe Band.
The same day’s Showground grand finale was, as always, the Vintage Tractor and Vehicle Parade featuring agricultural vehicles from the past century, including vintage Fergusons and the local Anderson collection of Field Marshall Tractors.
A sight to salivate over indeed!
On Turra Monday the Parade of Champions was, as is fitting, a splendid climax to what must be the finest surviving agricultural show in NE Scotland.
Norman Christie of Woodside Croft, Kinnellar, Aberdeenshire came best of show in the 2012 Turra Show with his Clydesdale Anguston Amber and in this years show Norman’s quite majestic Amber Anguston came show best reserve.
This year’s best of show was Arradoul Ellie May from Buckie owned by Ian Young. The cattle “Aberdeen Angus” section was headed by Idevies Kollar of Ellon and the British Blonde champian was Whistley Dollar entered by former Turra Show chief Eric Mutch. The sheep and goats also won prizes but were unnamed as were the cavies.
Turriff, of course gained international fame almost 100 years ago as the Scottish town which stubbornly resisted Lloyd George’s National Insurance Act and its provisions for medical and unemployment benefits for farm workers and their families.
Both Lloyd George’s Liberal government and the Marxists of the time rallied against the stance of Robert Patterson of Lendrum Farm who, perhaps unwittingly, became both the focus and the willing local hero of this often humorous but politically quite sad affair. That of course is another side of the Turriff of years gone by.
The anniversary of the Turra Coo is fast approaching though, but that’s another story.
The North East countryside is littered with heritage in the form of architecture from the near and distant past. There are Roman marching camps, castles galore and of course a multitude of Pictish circles and standing stones. Duncan Harley writes.
Most of these structures were built for a purpose. Each night the while on the march the Roman army constructed a temporary camp, complete with rampart and ditch, as a defence against attack while in hostile territory.
Grampian had many of these structures and examples can be still seen at Durno, Kintore and Auchinhove.
The Castles and big houses were in many cases also defensive structures but in more recent history they became potent symbols of the wealth that the area generated through agriculture and trade. Debate of course continues over the true purpose of the standing stones and stone circles.
Places of worship and mystical ceremony say some. Others, including myself, wonder if many of the circles were simply settlements. After all, folk in those distant times needed a place to live.
Then of course there are the follies.
There are various definitions describing follies ranging from, “a building with no practical use whatsoever,” to the rather grand sounding description as, “a building constructed primarily for decoration, but either suggesting by its appearance some other purpose, or merely so extravagant that it transcends the normal range of garden ornaments or other class of building to which it belongs.”
Personally I like the definition used by RCAMS (The Royal Commission for Ancient Monuments Scotland) which says simply and clearly, “a structure with little or no practical purpose, often found in 18th century landscaped gardens and taking many forms including towers, castles, temples, cairns and hermit’s cells”.
Towers and temples seem to be the most common types of folly, perhaps due to their visual impact both on the landscape and on the viewer who comes upon them for the first time.
However some follies, such as the Shell Hoosie in Dunnotter Woods near Stonehaven, break this rule completely.
This tiny domed building has its internal walls ( pictured top right ) decorated and completely covered with thousands of sea shells. Built by Lady Kennedy of Dunnottar House in the early nineteenth century and restored in 1999, it has the appearance of a large beehive when seen from the outside but from inside it feels very much like a hermits cave.
Banchory of course has Scolty Tower, a 20 metre tall granite monument, built in 1842 to the memory of a General William Burnett who fought alongside Wellington in the Napoleonic Wars.
Also known as General Burnett’s Monument, there is some debate whether this tower is a true folly due to its commemorative purpose and, somewhat like McCaigs Tower above Oban, local opinion is divided as to the towers status.
Following decades of neglect it was restored in 1992 at a cost of £20k using funds raised by the Rotary Club of Banchory.
Then there is the intriguingly named Temple of Theseus, built around 1835 in the grounds of Pitfour House, Fetterangus near Mintlaw.
A real hidden gem, the building is a scaled down version of the 6th century BC Temple of Hephaestus in Athens and occupies a waterside position on the shores of Pitfour Lake.
Theseus of course was the heroic slayer of the Minotaur, a half-man, half-bull monster which lived in the Labyrinth created by Daedalus on the island of Crete. Using nothing more than a ball of string to trace his steps and of course a trusty sword, Theseus defeated the Minotaur in an epic battle in the heart of the Labyrinth and thus saved the youth of Athens from being devoured by the evil monster.
The Temple of Theseus in Mintlaw has, as far as I am aware, no claim regarding the housing a Minotaur, however there is a basement area with a bath like structure which it is said once accommodated the late Admiral Ferguson’s alligators. I am happy to report that the lake seems to have a healthy wildlife population and that there was no indication that alligators still lurk in the shallows on the day of my visit.
The building is in a fairly desperate state of repair however and is currently subject of a planning application which would allow the building of nine houses on the Pitfour Estate with a £900k enabling development element for restoration purposes.
According to a spokesman for Banff and Buchan planning department, the application is likely to be approved within the next few months with funding being made available for not only restoration of the temple and lake area with its associated bridges but also to improve public access.
The Pitfour Estate is well worth a visit if you are in the area although a copy the Ordnance Survey map for Fraserburgh (OS Landranger number 30) will help since the public access routes to parts of the estate are not well marked.
If you are feeling really adventurous and fancy a wee flutter, you might just want to head up to the Forestry car park at Drinnies Wood just north of Fetterangus to visit the site of the Ferguson family private racecourse.
This was complete with an Observatory Tower from which they would take tea while watching the horse racing! The tower, built in 1845 by Admiral George Ferguson 5th Laird of alligator fame, is still in existence and is open to the public, but the racecourse has largely vanished.
There are, no doubt, many more hidden follies in the Aberdeen area. If you know of any please get in touch.
Now where did I put my betting slip and binoculars?
A problem in rural Scotia The scourge o modern day Fan fowk faa hiv the money Buy second hooses faar tae stay . Noo some young eens in the kwintraside Leave skweel an wint tae bide An gyaang tae wark near tae hame Be it Skite or Deveronside . Bonnie hooses in rural villages Snappit up bi fowk fae toons Tae spend a wikk eyn or holidays Oot-buyin local quines an loons . Holiday hames they are ca’ed Faar ainers dinna bide at aa Bit rint them oot tae tourists Is iss nae bliddy eese ava
Duncan Harley reflects on Life, the Universe and Everything. A sideways look at the world and its foibles.
What’s in the Box?
For reasons best known to herself the daughter of the Laird of Balquhain made a bet with a stranger that she could bake a batch of bannocks in less time than it took him to build a road to the top of Bennachie.
Of course the stranger was the devil himself and on losing the bet he turned the unfortunate lady to stone as she fled from his advances.
This late Pictish monolith dates back some 1200 years and stands 3.2 metres tall.
There are over 200 known symbol stones in Scotland and many more of them displaced or built into walls and dwellings. The Maiden Stone is probably the finest example of these.
In the last 10 years or so the Maiden Stone has been boxed up during the winter months. It’s not a pretty sight. An upright coffin like box greets the visitor with a sign which reads:
“This temporary shelter will be in place until the spring. It has been fitted to protect the site from the combined effects of rain and frost over the winter months.”
Inside the box is The Maiden Stone, one of the finest Pictish monuments in the north east of Scotland.
Or is it all an illusion?
Royal Mail (Type C) Pillar Box – Painted in Post Office Red
In 1840 Rowland Hill suggested the idea of roadside pillar boxes for use in the UK mainland. Folk at that time seemingly took their letters to the post office for posting and the postal authorities were keen to grow the communication business using modern innovations. These were pre-internet days of course but the railways were about to revolutionise both transport of goods and mass communication.
Letter boxes were already being used in Europe of course. However there were no roadside letter boxes in the British Isles until about 1852, when the first pillar boxes were erected at St Hellier in Jersey at the recommendation of one Anthony Trollope (author of Barchester Towers and Framley Parsonage), who at the time was working as a Surveyors Clerk for the Post Office.
In 1853 the first pillar box on the UK mainland was erected at in Carlisle. A similar box from the same year still stands at Barnes Cross in Dorset and is seemingly the oldest pillar box still in use today on the mainland.
In Scotland there were protests when the first boxes made in the reign of Elizabeth II were produced. These bore the inscription “E II R” but there were objections because Queen Elizabeth is the first Queen of Scotland and of the United Kingdom to bear that name, Elizabeth I having been Queen of England only.
After several “EiiR” pillar boxes were blown up and vandalised by Scottish Nationalists protesting “No Unlimited Sovereignty for Westminster in Scotland” including one in the Scottish capital, the General Post Office (as it was at that time) had the remaining boxes North of the border replaced with ones which only bore the Crown of Scotland with no Royal cipher.
This is one such box and it sits proudly outside the main postal depot in Inverurie.
It is I think a Royal Mail (Type C) Pillar Box of 1950’s circa and is painted in that familiar Post Office Red paint unlike its Irish counterparts which are in Green or those strange metallic pillar boxes from the Greek Games of 2012.
I use it often but wonder who would want to spend their entire working day cooped up inside such a confined environment.
Bus Shelters.
Bus shelters were once boringly functional affairs built by local councils. Some were iron-and-glass edifices covered in peeling municipal green paint. Others were made of brick and some in rural areas even had thatched roofs.
Then in 1969, two advertising billboard companies, “More O’Ferrall” and “London and Provincial”, joined together to form a company called Adshel.
The idea behind the new firm was simple. Adshel would supply bus shelters to local authorities for nothing in return for the right to display advertising on them. In the early 1970s, it began installing its very first shelters in Leeds.
It’s a big market. But quite how big can be hard to find unless you dig into the National Public Transport Data Repository at http://data.gov.uk/dataset/nptg
There you can find out which place in Britain has the least bus stops – and which the most. Seemingly the Shetland Isles have the least at only 168 while Greater London has a massive 24,122!
I think that this inequality is a brilliant argument for Scottish Independence.
Comments enabled – see comments box below. Note, all comments will be moderated.
Duncan Harley reflects on Life, the Universe and Everything. A sideways look at the world and its foibles.
The SS Politician – Whisky Galore
On the 4th of February 1941 during an Atlantic gale the SS Politician ran aground just off the Island of Eriskay in the Outer Hebrides.
The crew got ashore safely and the locals took them in and gave them shelter.
Now this was wartime and there was rationing of all sorts of items including eggs, butter and, somewhat crucially, whisky. When the folk of Eriskay learned from the crew of the “Polly” that the ship had 264,000 bottles of best highland malt in its hold, an unofficial salvage operation was launched.
Word soon spread all across the Hebrides and soon fishing boats were heading to fishing grounds all around the wreck during the hours of darkness to liberate the contents of the ship’s hold before the winter storms broke up the hull and destroyed the cargo forever. It was all quite innocent and seemingly legitimate.
But this was not the view of the local customs officer, one Charles McColl, who was incensed at the outright thievery that he saw going on. None of the whisky had paid a penny of duty and, as he railed against this loss to the public purse, McColl whipped up a furore and made the police act.
Villages were raided and crofts turned upside down. Bottles were hidden, secreted, or simply drunk in order to hide the evidence.
The rest is history.
The 1947 Compton Mackenzie novel Whisky Galore, which was made into an Ealing Comedy film in 1949, tells a good tale about the episode. In reality though, many islanders went to jail for up to six weeks for offences ranging from theft, to evasion of excise duty.
I can well understand the islander’s actions though. Faced with a gift from the sea of the water of life, known in the Gaelic as usquebaugh, what else were they to do?
In the course of that most severe of winters when the temperature plummeted to around minus 26 degrees
Many years ago when I lived in an Aberdeenshire village, I met in with a man by the name of Ronnie who lived in the croft house left to him by his mother who had been a seer. He had two brothers who were men of the cloth and he, Ronnie, had a special relationship with the water of life.
In the winter of 1981/82 I think it was, Ronnie, who was an affable sort of chap ran out of funds and took in some lodgers in order to keep body and spirit alive. In the course of that most severe of winters when the temperature plummeted to around minus 27 degrees in neighbouring Braemar, resulting in the deer foraging in the streets in desperation for sustenance, Ronnie was faced with a stark choice. Either heat the house or buy whisky.
Being a clever man he found a middle way. He burned the doors, floorboards and stairs for heating and using the income from his lodgers, bought whisky.
I drove past the scene today. The croft house is, somewhat surprisingly, still standing and looks just as it did all those years ago.
I have lost all contact with the man but wish him well.
Chelsea Tractors
One of the hazards of living in Aberdeenshire is the proliferation of those huge Chelsea Tractor vehicles which the oil rich buy and then attempt to use on the rural roads.
With names like Defender, Land Cruiser and Outlander they are often driven by diminutive men and women who only ever drive off road on the grass verge at my local Tesco’s car park.
Some of these monsters are so long and wide that the drivers really should sit a special driving test just to get to drive them round corners.
When met on a country road they often dominate the whole road and avoid the puddles lest they get mud on their vehicle of choice. We actually have a Humvee in my locality! I understand the owner lives in a flat in Inverurie and commutes to Dyce each day doing 55mph at a roaring 4mpg. The daily journey includes fuel stops every few miles and the occupants require a stepladder to get into the vehicle.
Don’t get me wrong though, these muscle cars have their place. I well remember a desert trip North of Cairo where a pal and I travelled off road for hours exploring Roman settlements and collecting Amphora. The North East of Scotland has both but most are well within reach of a well surfaced road.
This is a shot is of my local supermarket car park. The grass has been churned up by 4 X 4 enthusiasts who routinely park off road then proudly load shopping into the vehicles in the hope that they will somehow appear macho.
Seemingly the driver of a towel supply company has had quite enough. Taking direct citizen action he has used his van to block off the affected area.
I commend the drivers action and have photo shopped the van’s number plate to protect his/her identity.
The Butcher’s Arms
I find pubs fascinating.
Full of all sorts of humanity, they provide an insight into other folk’s lives which would be difficult to achieve by any other means.
You can walk in, do a bit of chat and walk right out again if you have met an axe murderer. Easy, no worries and a good kidney flush at the very least.
A decade or so ago, I frequented a pub in Glasgow populated by a quite varied spectrum including journalists, musicians, actors, students and Spanish Civil War veterans, plus a smattering of local manual labourers which completed the mix.
It all worked fairly well, at least up until 10pm on a Saturday night at which point it was best to make excuses and vacate the premises before the inevitable football rivalry came to the fore and the glasses began to fly.
I have often wondered in the intervening years why they sold wine by the pint. White Tornado it was called as I recall.
Glasgow also had a pub in Pollockshaws by the name of “The Office,” which was very handy indeed if you required an excuse for coming back late from work.
Then there was the Foundry Bar in Arbroath where I lived there for a while. A lovely place, by the seaside with an unheated open air pool and a sit in chipper where you had to use an old fashioned pre-metric penny to use the loo. Bingo on a Saturday night in the hall above Woolworth’s, boats in the harbour full of fish and a great big lighthouse flashing a few miles offshore just to keep you awake at night.
The town in those days had a mix of townsfolk, farm folk, fisher folk and Royal Marines. Each had their own public house and God help those who dared to mix and match. The local harbour still holds some dark secrets, I think.
The Foundry Bar however was different. Anyone could walk in providing they could sing, play a fiddle or simply enjoy the impromptu music. A brilliant place indeed!
No fights, no hassle and an old tea chest to sit on if you got there early enough.
There are some pubs, however, that I am not fond of. Not because they are bad pubs or difficult establishments though. Simply because of their names. I can cope quite happily with The Kintore Arms, The Black Bull, Filthy McNasties and even The Ploughman’s Lunch, as long as he has not eaten it already.
Sadly the Butcher’s Arms has never quite done it for me. Connotations of those Tesco’s horse burgers perhaps, or simply an uneasy relationship with raw, bloody, meat. I don’t really know for sure.
I often wonder if the management of this public house and the other 1200 similarly named establishments in the UK, would consider a name change to something like My Lovely Cow or even Aren’t Horses Great Ted? But that’s just a personal preference.
Full Metal Harry
We have heard a lot from the Royal Press correspondents in the last week or so about the third in line to the throne’s prowess with a machine gun, and I for one am certainly not about to get into a debate here except to state the obvious, which is of course that such guns are banned in the UK unless the powers that be can be convinced that citizens have a legitimate reason for possessing them.
The whole sorry tale somehow reminds me of an ex-soldier I saw interviewed a few years ago on a current affairs programme.
He was jobless, having left the army after several years of exemplary service. At his Jobcentre Plus interview he was asked about the skills he had learned during his time in the army.
“Well” he said – in a Geordie accent –
“I’m quite an ace with a machine gun and I can strip one down and reassemble it in the blink of an eye, so if you want someone killing, then I’m your man!”
Needless to say the Jobcentre staff struggled to find the ex squadie a job in his previous line of work.
So what would Harry need to do to get some target practice in, on the UK mainland?
He could join an Armed Response Unit I suppose, although self restraint and maturity are normally required to be taken on in such a role. Plus of course he would need to walk the beat as a uniformed bobby for a couple of years before even being considered for the job. Being sworn in, sworn at and spat upon on a typical Friday night down on Union Street may not be his scene though I suspect.
I am guessing that Royal Protection Duties would be also be out due to protocol issues.
He could of course provoke a riot. That would do it!
Far fetched?
the troops have returned home to discover that all is not well in Scotland
Not really, look at the Miners Strike, the 2011 London Riots which have been somewhat euphemistically called “England’s Summer of Disorder” and of course the numerous more recent examples in Eastern Europe and the Middle East where the ruling classes have fired upon the populace to make them see things their way.
In short, when the people are not happy with the governing classes, there may be trouble ahead.
The 31st of January is of course the anniversary of the Great Storms of 1953 which I wrote about last week. It’s also the date of the demise of the Young Pretender – Charles Edward Stuart – in Rome in 1788 after a protracted relationship with Brandy.
But who remembers the Battle of George Square which took place on the 31st January 1919?
Picture the scene if you will.
The “War to end all wars” has recently ended and the troops have returned home to discover that all is not well in Scotland. There are few jobs for the returning heroes and working conditions are poor with low wages and a long working week.
The workforce which had been in reserved occupations manufacturing the arms and tools for war are unhappy with the cuts in the standard working week due to the fact that the war has ended and there is no longer much demand in France for barbed wire, bullets and explosives.
Plus of course the Bolshevist revolution has taken place leading to the early demise of the Russian Royal Family by a firing squad.
So on Friday 31st January 1919, after a general strike by 40,000 workers in the industrial heartland of Scotland, there was a mass rally in Glasgow’s George Square. Now the aim of the rally was to hear the response of the UK government to the workers demands so the Lord Provost, Sir James Watson Stewart, and the Trades Council President, Mannie Shinwell, duly entered the City Chambers to have a wee natter.
Sadly things got out of control. As they talked, the police baton charged the assembled crowd. A magistrate tried to read the Riot Act but had the document taken from his hands and ripped up and things just got from bad to worse.
seasoned troops from south of the border were instructed to open fire if required to do so
The failure of the police to control the riot prompted the Coalition Government under one David Lloyd George to react. After Scottish Secretary Robert Munro described the riot as a “Bolshevist uprising” troops armed with machine guns, tanks and a howitzer arrived to occupy Glasgow’s streets.
The howitzer was positioned on the City Chambers steps facing the crowd, the local cattle market was transformed into a tank depot, machine guns were posted on the top of the North British Hotel, the Glasgow Stock Exchange and the General Post Office Buildings.
As is usual in such situations no local troops were used. The Scot’s battalions who had recently returned from France were confined in Maryhill Barracks while seasoned troops from south of the border were instructed to open fire if required to do so.
Amazingly, there was no major bloodshed as far as I am led to believe. There must have been broken heads and limbs via the initial police action but I can find no record of deaths.
The troops did not open fire although the tanks were deployed in Glasgow’s George Square. I can only assume that the government of the day decided that it would be a bad idea to provoke social change via bloodshed.
Mannie Shinwell and some other trade union activists were jailed for a bit and a 47 hour working week was agreed. Until the 1922 General Strike, things smouldered on of course, but that’s another story.
I have no information about what transpired in Aberdeen or Aberdeenshire on the 31st January 1919 and would ask folk to get in touch with any memories of that day. I did however find a reference to Aberdeen Trades Council discussing the issue and agreeing to mount a protest against the “continued imprisonment of the Clyde Strikers” and I have no doubt that given the politics of the time there must have been folk from the North East not only attending the demonstrations but serving with in the military in the area.
I sincerely hope that the third in line to the throne will not only read this but will have a wee look at the helicopter door gunner sequence in Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket.
Comments enabled – see comments box below. Note, all comments will be moderated.
The web can advise us what our normal blood pressure should be, whether it would be wise to host a barbecue next Sunday, weatherwise; and, if we search hard enough, what the average person in Torry eats for lunch on a typical wet Tuesday.
It was started by an Aberdonian by the name of George McLean who made heather honey on a grand scale and sold it far and wide.
