Scotland and the Greater UK

Britishness
As a child hatched into this world a few short years after the Second World War, I grew up with a strong sense of Britishness. There was a palpable feeling of improvement and of moving towards better times after wartime austerity. There was a coronation and a new Queen and a supreme sense of pride in being British. There was still a residual Empire and the Queen kept acclaiming the significance of the Commonwealth, with Great Britain as its central focus. Mr Churchill delivered statesmanlike speeches and Prime Minister Macmillan, in his rigid authoritarian and unmistakably British style, reminded us that “We’d never had it so good”.

To a child, Great Britain seemed supreme, and I remember feeling hugely proud to be British. Interestingly, then, the Conservative Party consistently won most votes in Scotland.

As the child became adolescent, Great Britain seemed to lose its magnitude and instead of the certainty of authoritative leaders, we had The Beatles, a vibrant young pop culture, Carnaby Street, mini cars and miniskirts and a general ceding of privilege in favour of the generation I belonged to – a generation which had never experienced war nor hardship.

Still the sense of Britishness prevailed, manufacturing industry was strong and, on the back of that, industrial workers felt strong allegiance to strong trade unions which were British-wide institutions. Utilities and railways were publicly owned throughout the whole of the UK and this, also, fostered a strong sense of cohesion.

The Britain I see now bears no resemblance to those earlier memories: There is clearly no Empire and at best a residual Commonwealth. Trade unions are weaker, British Rail has been privatised with ownership fragmented amongst a range of providers. The unspoken glue which cemented Great Britain together is no longer there and the Union flag seems associated with either far right extremism or the “long live Britain as a fair and pleasant land” folks. There seems to be no sense of cohesion, nor any vision of where we’re trying to get to. National pride and a sense of serving a greater whole have been replaced by acquisitive two-dimensional consumerism and self-interest.

Scottishness
To that child, being Scottish was incidental. We learnt at school that Scotland was a nation with its distinctive legal system, and institutions. But my parents, one from Liverpool, one from Perth, made no great play of it and the educational system played it down. TV portrayed Scotland as a quaint land of Brigadoon, The White Heather Club’s formulaic dancing, and Jimmy Shand Music, and Scottish actors were generally allocated quaint or eccentric cameo roles in the cinema. But the fact that the Royal Family holidayed here seemed to my young perception to lend the country some gravitas.

Contrast that with now, when Scotland is confident of its place and there’s a strong sense of identity and self-belief. Since devolution in particular there’s a real sense of politics being relevant and of being able to move things forward in a distinctively Scottish way. As Britishness has waned, it seems that the opposite has been the case with Scottishness.  

Scotland’s Place in The Union
History taught me that Scotland surged forward after political union with England, in terms of prestige and national wealth. Scotland was key in driving forward the UK's home and international interests. It was one of the power houses of Empire: It built the railways, the locomotives and the ships that facilitated transport and trade with the British Empire. Very largely Scotland advanced the inventions, innovation and scientific discoveries which drove Great Britain and the Empire forward. (Which is not to belittle Stevenson and Brunel and their worthy achievements). I'm reading a book at the moment about Thomas Telford, the engineer who planned and constructed countless projects across the UK, including of course the Caledonian Canal. I hadn't realised until reading it that Telford also build many of Scotland's fishing harbours. He was, as people will know, a Scotsman, but the reality is that that ambitious project roll-out was financed by the UK for the benefit of the whole UK.

On the back of that Glasgow became the second city of the Empire and Edinburgh developed its splendid Georgian new town. So how did a confident and expansionist post-union Scotland sink from that worthy role to the Scotland I knew as a child, an authoritarian country where folks are coy about exerting individualism, take comfort in a national mediocrity, and look for support from, rather than making demands of, the pubic agencies whose proper role is to implement our collective wishes.

A Wee Walk in the Braes of Balquhidder.

The weekend didn't get off to just the best of starts:  After arriving at our hotel in the gloaming, checking in, unpacking and generally putting our stamp on the room, I thought a wee walk before bath and pre-dinner drinks would be just fine.  It would stimulate the circulation and the appetite and consolidate the geography of our surroundings.

So, I emerged into the hotel courtyard to be met by the collie - a wonderful dog.  Totally unassuming, totally silent and with no desire to make bodily contact.  He was content to keep a distance of some 5ft. between us and seemed to like being a couple of feet in front as well.  He seemed to enjoy human company without the need to interact.

The curving drive was marked by ground-level marker lights and looked an ideal saunter in the darkness.  150 yards or so, it would lead to the single track public road, and 5 minutes each way along that would justify a dram in the bar before sharing a hot bath with Kathleen.  Yes, the bath is designed for two.  One of the gravest mistakes we made with our house was to omit that essential of the Hammam.

As the marker lights ended I could just make out in the reflected light the stone threshold pillars at the junction with the public road.  A mid-way course between them should be just about right.   But alarmingly and without warning my left foot dropped some 10 or 12 inches and my left shoe filled with cold water, sludge, leaves and a small collection of obscure invertebrates.  I had forgotten there was a cattle grid, and the round section rails were designed to shed footwear downwards.  Collie, having slipped through the paved pedestrian gate, turned and smiled.

A keek through the curtains as daylight dawned killed thoughts of a Munro day.  Cloud down to 300 metres and wind-driven rain thrown on to the window.  This continued through breakfast and gratifyingly took all the pressure off savouring smoked haddock and flavoursome poached eggs.  By 10:00 am. however the rain slowly ceased, the wind subsided, the cloud thinned, brightness grew and an irresistible urge to be outdoors developed.

The West Highlands after heavy rain are amazing.  Soft moist warm air, seemingly extra rich in oxygen and drawing out all the scents of the landscape.  Who could bear to be indoors?

Pushing uphill through wet thigh-high bracken, trousers were quickly soaked.  Soaked trousers led to soaked socks and soon each boot had a centimetre or so of fresh Highland water in it.  Those of you familiar with Scottish hill-walking will recognise this.  After reaching the top of the glen-side slope and scrambling up a craggy crest the glen floor disappeared from view and an, I suspect, seldom visited landscape hoved into view.  Undulating moor, peat hags, views to familiar recognisable and previously visited hills - Beinn Tulaichean, Stob Binnean, Beinn More, Beinn Lawers, Beinn Vorlich, Stuc a Chroin, Ben Ledi, Ben Lomond, and all the while brightening sky with patches of blue and shafts of sunlight bringing colour and texture to the hills.

The great thing about a wander through the quieter hill corners of Scotland is the sense of both solitude and place:  No waymarkers, no paths, no cairns, and yet there are local areas with a real sense of intimacy and 'presence'.  Hollows and bluffs which are home to hefted Blackfaces shy of human contact.

I was drawn by a craggy top named on the map Stob Caol at 734 metres, and spent a good 15 minutes or so there savouring the wilderness views.  What a super wee country we're privileged to live in.

A saunter downhill and then across a peat-hag ridden moor brought the glen into view again, and a steep descent to the public road.  Some descents seem alarming in their steepness but the sting can always be taken out by careful use of shelves and grassy rakes.

A shared dram in a shared bath, a log fire and a few slices of Inverlochlaraig venison made a perfect end to an idyllic day.