Tag Archives: Scotland

‘The Faded Map,’ by Alistair Moffat

One of the most outstanding figures of the Dark Ages was St Adomnan. Much more than merely the biographer of St Columba, he was a politician and intellectual of considerable power. Perhaps his most notable initiative was the Law of the Innocents. At the Synod of Birr in central Ireland held in 697, he proposed that women, children and clergy be protected  from the brutal realities of Dark Ages warfare. Nothing else like it had been promulgated in Europe.

I bought Alistair Moffat’s The Faded Map on a sort of a whim. It’s not directly related to my central interests, but it seemed intriguing, and it relates to all that Arthurian stuff I’ve always been drawn to. And I’ve got to say, the book proved to be more than I hoped. Fascinating stuff, and written in a lively style.

“The principal focus of this book is failure,” the author writes. The subject is what we currently know as lowland Scotland and northern England, which until the early medieval period was generally occupied and ruled by British Gaels related to the Welsh. Threatened by Picts and Scots from the north, Anglo-Saxons from the south and east, and eventually Vikings (though they made shifting alliances with all these groups as circumstances dictated), these kingdoms were gradually pushed back and subsumed, so that their southern territories became parts of British Northumbria and their northern territories parts of Scotland.

The story is a fascinating one (at least to me), as it touches on much legendary material, and provides perspective on the Viking Age at the end. I was particularly gratified that the author entirely subscribes to the historical view endorsed by Prof. Titlestad in his (wonderfully translated) book, Viking Legacy, that ancient legend and poetry ought to be considered (cautiously) by historians:

But why should word of mouth be more untrustworthy than a written source? Who would rely on the British tabloid newspapers of the last thirty years as an honest record of anything? The bards of the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries are to be trusted no less – and no more – than the scribes of the same period.

In short, I found The Faded Map a delight to read. Highly recommended.

There are no Gaelic yes-men.

I’m currently reading a book of history, The Faded Map by Alistair Moffat. It’s about ancient Scotland. In it I found this passage, which is of particular interest when considering the English language, which is spoken by so many of our readers.

Scots Gaelic is not like English, German or any of the Latin-based languages of southern Europe. There is no word for yes or for no. If a Gaelic speaker asks A bheil an t’acras ort? (‘Are you hungry?’), the answers use the verb forms Tha (‘I am’) or Chaneil (‘I am not’). This makes for greater precision and clearer understanding on either side of a question.

In other words, one of my grandfather’s favorites jokes would have been impossible if he’d been a Gael. If somebody asked Grandpa a question of choice, like, “Would you like apple or blueberry pie?” Grandpa would answer, “Yes.” Taking advantage, as you see, of the ambiguity of our English usage. (And possibly getting himself more pie.)

Languages evolve to deal with universal and localized communication problems, but they solve them in different ways. No language is superior to any other.

Except for English, of course. English is the best. Sure, it’s irrational in many ways, but that’s just to keep the riffraff out.

Also, Norwegian is pretty good.

Witch Wood by John Buchan

Witch Wood by John Buchan, cover

Witch Wood, the story of a new minister in a rural parish of Scotland, is said to be author John Buchan’s favorite and his most critically praised. Buchan (1875-1940) wrote a number of novels and may be most remembered now for his 1915 spy novel, The Thirty-Nine Steps.

Witch Wood, published in 1927, is the moving account Rev. David Sempill’s arrival in Woodilee Village, Scotland, on August 15, 1644. We is warmly received and eager to minister to his flock in every duty required of him. Soon he learns of the nearby forest, named Melanudrigill or “The Black Wood” out of fear of spirits living within it. Sempill rebukes the idea as pagan superstition, but eventually discovers a weathered stone table in the midst of a forest clearing. What is written on it is “I. O. M.” — Jovi Optimo Maximo, Roman markings for an altar.

This and other signs tell him members of his own congregation practice the occult in secret. Sempill won’t simply dismiss an issue like that, but no one in his presbytery is willing to believe him. Some accuse him of imagining it. Arguments against him sound too familar.

He worries about his flock. “The profession of religion was not the same thing as godliness, and he was coming to doubt whether the insistence upon minute conformities of outward conduct and the hair-splitting doctrines were not devices of Satan to entangle souls.”

To his immediate superior, who does not believe a pious elder of the church could be involved in this and would prefer to keep the kirk united against the world, Sempill asks, “In the name of God, whose purity is a flame of fire, would you let gross wickedness go unchecked because it may knock a splinter off the Kirk? I tell you it were better that the Kirk should be broken to dust and trampled underfoot than that it should be made a cloak for sin.”

An epilogue in my edition reveals the source of the story; it’s an interpretation of real events during the war between Covenanters and Scottish Royalists. Without revealing more of the story, I want to tell you I worried at a few points that the heroes would not succeed and everything would come crashing down on their heads. I guess that’s a sign Buchan had me gripped.

Definitely a book for the scotophile. The most difficult part for me was that thirty percent of the text is the Scottish dialect of Woodilee folk.

“There’s ill news frae up the water, Mr. Sempill. . . . Marion puir body, has been ill wi’ a wastin’ the past twalmonth, and now it seems she’s near her release.”

“Me! I ken nocht. Me and my man aye keepit clear o’ the Wud. . . . Woodilee has aye been keened for a queer bit, lappit in the muckle Wud, but the guilty are come by an ill end.”

I’ve gotten more used to it, but with whole conversations written in this style, I felt I couldn’t keep up without a dictionary.

‘Strange Tales of Scotland,’ by Jack Strange

Broichan may have been put out by this blatant display of Christian power in his own back yard, so he predicted that a storm would batter the saint on his return to his west. The prediction was proved correct, but as Columba lived on a Hebridean island he was used to foul weather and returned home safely. Anyway it was a pretty safe bet to predict stormy weather in western Scotland; it would have been more impressive had Broichan said there would be a lasting spell of fair weather.

There are ancient ties between Scotland and Norway, which are next-door neighbors in maritime terms. That may explain why I’ve always had an interest in old Albion. Or not. In any case, Jack Strange’s book Strange Tales of Scotland caught my eye. I remember reading books of legend and folklore with great interest in my younger years.

Broadly speaking (though other kinds of tales pop up) the stories in this book deal with monsters like the Loch Ness monster (which is not the only one of its kind), supernatural beings like various kinds of elves or fairies, and ghosts. Ghosts are often associated with the histories of ancient castles, so you get the stories of the castles too.

I didn’t enjoy Strange Tales of Scotland as much as I hoped to. That may be partly the author’s part – I thought the book could have been organized better; it’s kind of a hodgepodge, jumping around the map at random. But more than that, all the stories seemed sadly familiar to me – folk tales tend to be repetitive. You have an infinite loop of abused and cast-off mistresses, innocent women convicted of witchcraft and guilty witches who escaped punishment, murdered babies, and bloodthirsty local Bluebeards. It all kind of depressed me after a while.

However, if you’re not familiar with the field, and appreciate the glamour of Scotland, you might enjoy this book more than I did. One could do worse.

Oh yes, he mentions the Fairy Flag of the McLeods (reputed to be Harald Hardrada’s banner). I appreciated that.

Why Did Emperor Hadrian Build His Wall?

For reasons that may seem clear only to some, the Roman Emperor Publius Aelius Hadrianus decided his empire could not subdue or survive in peace with the Scots, so he ordered a wall from Searius and Robuckus and had it assembled over an 84-mile stretch of gorgeous mountain property over thousands of acres of prime real estate.

Nigel Spivey reviews a book on Hadrian’s Wall, describing and explaining what can be known. And part of what is not known is the reason for the wall.

Hadrian proceeded to style himself Restitutor Orbis Terrarum, “restorer” of the lands of the world. But what “restoration” he brought to Britannia remains unclear. He made a single visit to the province in the year 122, following a tour of the Rhineland, where he had ordered the installation of a palisaded frontier-line. We presume that it was during his British visit that Hadrian developed the frontier concept further, and gave instructions for the wall and the Vallum. Arguably, then, Britannia was not restored but fractured. For that is what walls do: break, mark, and divide the earth’s surface. Britannia on the emperor’s coinage may seem the faithful subject. Once broken by a wall, however, she becomes a phantom figure—and perhaps has stayed so ever since.

(Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash)