With the exception of around 60,000 native Gaelic speakers, most Scots are English monoglots: that is they can only speak, read and understand English. All languages impart a ‘view’ of the world, and as a result we see our land and our culture through the medium of the English tongue. Gaels, people who speak Gaelic, see things differently and look at the world in more descriptive way. There are several decorative words to describe hills and weather for example, which makes sense in a mountainous landscape prone to getting all four seasons in one day. Animals too are part of this natural mix and in many cases have rather interesting names – damh an allaidh is a spider, but means the little fierce stag. It is a look at the world through very a different lens than our more commercial, urban and rather one-dimensional viewfinder.

There were once six languages in common currency through Scotland – Gaelic, British (Old Welsh really), Pictish (similar to Welsh), Norse, English and Latin, and each one brought its own unique viewpoint and in the placenames left behind we not only have an enriched map, but it gives us the chance to see the country through our ancestors eyes, to read the land and perhaps discover a geography or significance long lost to us. There are around 100 working distilleries across Scotland stretching from the foaming Solway shore to the Orkney Islands, and in their names we have a rare opportunity to see a forgotten world.

The word ‘whisky’ itself comes from the Gaelic, uisge beatha which translates as ‘the water of life’ and originates from the Latin aqua vitae. The skills required to distil a spirit probably arrived into Scotland through the monastic community around the time of the Black Death in 1351. Then, as a potential cure-all, the knowledge of the water of life spread across the country. These skills were first explored and perfected during the halcyon days of the Arab Renaissance in the 8^th and 9^th centuries, and indeed some of the words we use in whisky making such as Alcohol, Alembic and Alchemy come from the Arab language.

At the time whisky making became universal across Scotland, the principal language of the countryside was Gaelic; only the Lothians, Borders and through the Clyde valley did other tongues exist (and Norse in the Northern Isles – which was still part of Norway), and so many of the place names or farm names that the distilleries would adopt in due course originate in Gaelic. Today, Gaelic is only really spoken in the Western Isles to any great degree, although there are significant numbers of speakers in the communities of Skye, Islay, Mull and the myriad of smaller islands in between. There are also pockets on the mainland, especially Argyll and Wester Ross and until the 1980s Gaelic was still spoken in the remote glens of Perthshire.

English arrived into the southeast with the arrival of the Germanic Anglo-Saxons in the decades following the collapse of Roman rule in Britain. The Angles (who would give their name to England) carved out a substantial kingdom in east centred on the impressive Bamburgh Castle near Berwick and stretching from the Firth of Forth to the Humber estuary. Including important strongholds and towns such as Edinburgh and York the kingdom of Northumbria was an impressive and powerful entity. Originally, a form of Old Welsh was spoken in Edinburgh and Lothians, but from place names you can see the switch to English with towns such as Coldingham or Haddington using the ‘ton’ or ‘ham’ suffix. The only distillery in the area is Glenkinchie, which at first glance would appear to sound pretty Celtic in nature, but not so. It actually comes from a French family name (De Quincey), which dates back to the Anglo-Norman arrival in the 12^th century.

King David I, who ruled Scotland in the first half of the 12^th century had grown up in the Norman court in England; and on returning to Scotland to take up the throne he brought with him new ideas of kingship, governance and social order that he learned, liked and adopted while in the south. He brought north the Feudal System. To implement this he invited hundreds of Anglo-Normal minor-nobles to Scotland and gave them land and title. Names we find familiarly Scottish today – Murray, Bruce, Grant, Menzies and so on all hearken back to this cultural invasion. The De Quinceys (the family originated from Cuinchy in France) were part of this and were presumably given lands in the Pencaitland area to the south and east of Edinburgh.

David also established Royal Burghs on the European style; towns with special market privileges and money making rights (which in turn would help fill the royal coffers too). Trade took off, and the language of that trade was English, now firmly established, and it became the language of commerce. It is significant to notice the dearth of royal burghs north of the Highland line where Gaelic would dominate until the dawn of the 20^th century. Even the French speaking Normans would bow to in inexorable rise of English.

The old British languages of Pictish and Welsh were first subsumed by Gaelic and then relatively quickly by English – especially in Ayrshire, Lanarkshire, Angus and Aberdeenshire. Yet, there are threads of these old, long dead tongues in a few of the distillery names.

Dominating the Firth of Clyde the long shadow of the jagged peak Goatfell stretches long across the water towards Ayrshire in the dying embers of the day. The Isle of Arran is Scotland in miniature, with the mountains in the north and rolling farmland in the south; it is a stunning beautiful place. The distillery is in the small village of Lochranza, and it takes its name from the island, which itself probably comes from the Brythonic Old Welsh meaning ‘High Place’; very apt.

Fettercairn distillery in the Mearns south of Aberdeen owes its name to the Pictish language. The Picts (and that’s not even what they called themselves) are famously obscure as they left no written records but a plethora of elegantly carved standing stones littered across the countryside. They are our ancestors, but their culture vanished a little over a thousand years ago as the new realm of Alba (Scotland) formed with the various linguistic strands weaving together. By necessity a warrior people, they seemingly protected their mountain homeland with a blanket of forest where the rivers left the hills and meandered into the Lowlands, the best known example being Birnam Wood. Perhaps Fettercairn (Faither Cardden), which means wooded slope and lies right on the Highland line hearkens back to this.

Interestingly, Glenfiddich which was marketed as the Glen of Tranquillity (from a wildly tenuous etymological origin), but actually means ‘The valley of Fid’, which it is supposed is a Pictish personal name (it certainly isn’t Gaelic or English). Thus the world’s biggest selling malt retains a link to our Pictish past, which I think is great.

Whisky making in Scotland was for centuries made by farmers, a small-scale operation that didn’t morph into the global behemoth it became until the 19^th century. It is a reasonable assumption then that many of the distillery names, which tend to reflect their location, have an agricultural meaning. Dailuaine (green meadow), Miltonduff (Milltown of Duff), Lagavuillin (lag a mhuillin – the mill in the hollow), Tomintoul (Tom an t-sabhail – the hill with the barn) and  Auchentoshan (the corner of the field) are but a few examples that take us back to a more agrarian past. Dalmore, Inchgower and Balblair also have a similar background.

Sometimes the barn or the farm belonged to important individuals, and like many Celtic places personal names play a key role in the etymology of a location. One of the most famous whiskies in the world is Macallan, whose name is derived from a venerable and ancient clergyman, St Fillan (Magh Fhaolain – Plains of Fillan), a key Christian evangelist in the dark and distant past. There are other religious connections as well – Balvenie is from Baile Bhainidh and means Beathan’s Farm; Beathan was a medieval Bishop of Mortlach. Kilchoman, Islay’s newest distillery, derives from St Chomman’s Church; while Deanston, an English name, is self-explanatory.

Aberfeldy takes us even further back, into the world of Gaelic superstitions, which themselves originate in the ancient Celtic religions. The town and distillery in Gaelic is Obar Pheallaidh, the mouth of the stream of Peallaidh (a reference to the multi-waterfalled Moness burn). Peallaidh was an Urisk or water-demon under the control of the fairy folk. There are a surprising number of references to these supernatural creatures throughout the hills of Breadalbane, which may be suggestive of a cult lasting well into historical times. Many of the old traditions, superstitions and the beliefs of our ancestors were borne from the old gods, and those in turn were worshiped in the very shapes and nature of the countryside around them: forests, rivers, mountains and so on. And this tendency to describe the land in poetic form or literal prose has remained.

Ben Nevis, both the high peak and the distillery below it are rendered in Gaelic as Beinn Neibhis, which translates as the venomous mountain, perhaps due to the biting winds that stream down from its snow-capped plateau. Tomatin near Inverness is the Juniper Hill (tom aitionn), Benromach is the shaggy mountain and Mortlach, Mór Ulach is simply the big hill. In each you can see the various ways our ancestors described hills due to their shape or appearance. In a similar way there are two Gaelic terms for a valley – Strath (srath) and of course Glen (Gleann), which is a well-used prefix to many distilleries: Glenmorangie (Gleann Mór Innse – valley of the big meadow); Glen Ord (Gleann an t-Órd – valley of the rounded hill); Glenlivet (Gleann Liobhat – valley of the smooth place) and Glenfarclas (Gleann feur glas – valley of the green grass).

Many distilleries, especially on the islands are coastal, which was important in terms of transporting the whisky to far away markets by boat. Of the eight distilleries on Islay, only Kilchoman is away from the shoreline and all the rest have their warehouses right down by the high-tide mark. This of course will affect the characteristic of the malt, with sea air bringing in a saltiness and an iodine element to the flavours. Bowmore, the oldest on the island dating back to 1779 is Bogh Mór in Gaelic, meaning big reef; Bruichladdich is stony bank by the shore; Caol Ila is the Sound of Islay (the stretch of water separating Islay from Jura) and Laphroaig is Lag a’ mhór aig – the hollow by the big bay.

Islay is not the only distillery with a coastal connection – Oban (An t-Óban), is a shortened version of a name that means the little bay of lorn. The distillery established here in 1794 is older than the town, which grew through the 18^th century to become the principal port in Argyll and the gateway to many of the Hebridean Islands. Scapa in Orkney instead derives its name from the Norse language, brought to the Northern Isles in the 9^th century and which wasn’t replaced by English until well into the 15^th. It means nothing more complicated than ‘boat’ (Skalp), and it sits on the famous large and sheltered harbour of Scapa Flow, wartime home to the Royal Navy. Talisker on Skye also has a Norse origin, t-hallr Skjaer, which is sloping rock – presumably down to the sea.

Some of the names reach back to a different Scotland, a warlike Scotland when there were numerous lordships and clan territories; only paying lip service to a central authority in the shape of the king. The ancient Province of Moray, much larger than the current county of the same name and encompassing much of what would become the rich whisky making country of Strathspey, has its origins in an old Celtic term meaning lands by the sea (Moraibh); Glen Moray distillery based in Elgin preserves this name.

Moray lay to the north of the tough knot of mountains that are the Grampians, where lonely passes, often snow bound for several months sliced through to connect north to south. Key then and now is the bleak Drumochter Pass. Today it houses the main railway and trunk road between the big cities of the Central Belt and the Highland Capital, Inverness. Two distilleries, one at either end show the strategic importance that this route always held. In Pitlochry is Blair Athol, a generic name given to the wider fertile lands of the Tummel and Garry Rivers, before you started climbing up into the pass (Blair Castle, seat of the Duke of Atholl sits in the modern village of Blair Atholl). It used to be thought that Blair Athol (Blar Athall) meant the plains of New Ireland; but more recently a re-evaluation of the language seems to suggest – Meadow of the Northern Passes, and this makes much more geographical sense.

At the other end of the Drumochter is Dalwhinnie, (Dail Chunnaidh), the field of the champion. It was here that many of the clans mustered from the north and west before drawing swords and marching through the narrow defile to the arable lands in the south. It is not beyond the imagination to see these warriors of old competing in trials of skill and strength before setting off. Highland armies were always feared by Lowland Scots, and to the south of the town of Crieff and looking towards the mountains is Tullibardine, which comes from Tullach Bhardainn, the hill of warning. This is a fairly straightforward etymology for a place that has long held strategic importance between the rugged hills of Highland Perthshire to the north and the crossings of the River Forth to the south.

There are many other names out there with illuminating meaning: Auchroisk (Ath ruaidh-uisge) – shallow ford on the red stream; Clynelish (claon lios) – sloping garden; Tobermory (Tobar moire) – Mary’s Well; Edradour (Eadar da dhobhar) – between two waters; and, Aberlour (Obar Lobhair) – the mouth of the noisy stream, are but a few examples. And, there are names, Bladnoch is one, that we may never know the origins; but a little mystery while sipping a dram is always good.

Whisky is always more than a golden liquid in a glass, it’s part of the very fabric of Scotland; and looking at the meaning of their names it becomes obvious just how much so.

Scotland is known the world over for its natural beauty, its wilderness and stunning landscapes; all rich in a flora and fauna increasing rare acrossWestern Europe. Yet, Scotland is also renowned for some famous and familiar breeds of domesticated animals as well.

Recent genetic work has shown that all modern cattle breeds in Europe draw their descent from a herd of aurochs (prehistoric wild cattle) living in Iran around 10,500 years ago; native European aurochs (which survived until 1627) it seems were never domesticated, and leave no markers on modern herds. From the Middle East, strains of cow were developed to produce milk, beef, leather or all three; they were adapted to deal with climate, geography and the needs of the farming community and they followed the Neolithic agricultural revolution as it spread across the continent 6000 years ago; finally reaching the British Isles.

Perhaps our oldest breed of cattle, or at least the one most unchanged is the iconic Highland Cow – famed for its long shaggy coat, fierce looking horns and doleful expression. They are maybe the most photogenic cow on earth; a delight for tourists. The origin of Highland Cattle is obscured by the mists of time; but the evolution of their thick coats, marbled fat reserves and survival abilities among the winter hills hints at a very ancient development, perhaps into the Iron Age when the climate deteriorated. There appears also to have been two principal stocks – one with shaggy red hair, and the other with an equally shaggy black coat.

Until the late 18^th century the Scottish Highlands was a cash poor, cattle economy; where cows were as good as money. Cattle-raiding was not only ubiquitous but expected; and it led to many of the skirmishes associated with those wilder times. Very often landowners would pay men to look after their cattle and protect them from thieves, and in return they would receive a retainer. This payment was known in Scottish legal terms as ‘Black Mail’; and is the origin of our more sinister modern term. The ‘black’ element in the word was for Black Cattle – which was the most common form of the breed until Victorian times.

As the Highlands shifted from a cattle economy to a sheep based one, the numbers dwindled to almost nothing; but Queen Victoria kept a herd of Red Highland Cows at Balmoral – and many of the modern ‘ginger’ coloured beasts can be traced to this and other smaller ‘show herds’. In recent years, there has been an effort to increase the numbers of black cattle again, and they’re becoming once more common on our hillsides. Highland Cattle make for excellent beef in an otherwise unproductive landscape; especially when cross-bred with other breeds. Other famous Scottish cattle breeds include – Aberdeen Angus, which dates to the 1840s and is now the most common cow in the USA; and the Galloway, one of the oldest and best established breeds of beef cattle in the world.

A Highland cow in Glen Nevis

Another Middle Eastern domestication would also come to call Scotland home: sheep. Like Cattle, sheep were first domesticated around 10,000 years ago in the Middle East and Iranian Plateau; probably from wild flocks of Mouflon and Urial. Again, like cattle they were bred to adapt to the vagrancies of the European continent – from lush lowland plains to the harsh uplands of the Alps and north. They would prove a very adaptable and valuable animal, providing not only milk and meat but wool for clothing; something especially prized in the cold north. Scotland would qualify in that category, but the ancient sheep of our ancestors has long since vanished, except in one small and very remote corner of the kingdom – Soay.

The island of Soay is part of the incredible St Kilda archipelago, and the sheep found there are one of the last remnants of the original breeds brought to northern Europe over 5000 years ago. They display archaic characteristics and the wool is plucked, not sheared; a genuine throwback to a lost world. These sheep are of course rare, but most of our principal commercial flocks are descended in some degree from these ancient breeds. By far the most populous sheep on Scotland’s hillsides are the Blackface and the Cheviot; which are to be found across the globe. Both originate in the Borders, and date back to around the 14^th century, replacing the Old Scottish Short-Wool. Both breeds have been improved and crossed with other types through the centuries and are now the mainstay of most wool and mutton producing countries. It was the introduction of the Blackface into the Highlands in the late 18^th century that precipitated the Highland Clearances and changed the landscape forever.

Where you have sheep you need shepherds and shepherds need dogs to corral and control the flocks. As a country with millions of sheep, it is no coincidence that we’ve produced some of the most well known breeds of sheepdog. The Shetland Collie is a popular breed; but perhaps the most iconic is the Border Collie. Bred with a huge desire to herd, making them poor pets, the Border is one of the most energetic, agile and intelligent of all dogs. They probably descend from a breed known as the Landrace, and name was first coined in 1915; and all have the lineage of one dog called Old Hemp who died in 1902. As well as sheep farming, Scotland’s landscape has also been the home of game sports; as a result several dog breeds have developed to work in this field.

The Terrier is an old breed of dog, and was used to catch rabbits, flush out game birds and hunt rats; and the Westie, is probably the most internationally famous of our terriers. Scottish whites have been recorded since the 16^th century, but mainly as anomalies or novelties; it wasn’t until the late 19^th century that there was a concerted effort to raise a white field dog. In the grouse moors of Scotland the terriers were sent in to chase the birds out of the heather so the guns could shoot them; however, as they themselves were reddish in colour they were often the victims of an errant shot. So, Edward Malcolm of Portalloch in Argyll began to experiment with breeding lighter coloured dogs. Known originally as the Portalloch Terrier, by 1903 a familiar looking breed was emerging. He renamed the breed the ‘West Highland White Terrier’ and by 1930 the dog we all know and love was pretty much with us. Today it is the 3^rd most popular terrier in Britain and in the top third of all dogs in the USA. A global success story. There are other Scottish Terriers including – the black Scottie Dog; the Skye Terrier (Greyfriers Bobby); Border and Cairn.

Border Collie

In the Northwest Highlands, on the Glenaffric estate another breed was developed to retrieve shot wildfowl and ducks from lakes and rivers. A dog was needed with a soft mouth, great sense of smell, good temperament and ideal for swimming in cold water. Combining several dog types including Labrador and Spaniel; the Golden Retriever; one of the world’s favourite dogs was born. Used today as airport drug and bomb sniffers, guide dogs for the blind, and still as game dogs, the Golden remains one of the most popular of pets in most countries due to their soft, easy nature.

Most of Scotland’s indigenous breeds have some connection to farming; and in the days before machinery the heavy work on the farm was done by horses. The greatest and most beautiful of all was the Clydesdale; a powerhouse draughthorse. Originally one of the smaller breeds of draught, in comparison with the huge Shire Horse, it was bred from Flemish stallions imported to Scotland and crossed with local mares around the end of the 18^th century. They became popular as heavy horses in farms across Lanarkshire and in 1826 the term ‘Clydesdale’ was first coined. Their versatility and strength gained them a worldwide reputation. As the need for horses on farms declined after the Second World War the Clydesdales became show horses, and from the 1940s through selective breeding they were produced to be larger and taller – now standing at 18 hands (72 inches) – bigger even than the Shire.

If Scotland was producing the biggest horses, it was also using the smallest. Away in the far north are the Shetland Islands, a windswept and marginal land for farming; where a tough, hardy and compact horse was needed to till the fields and pull the cartloads of peat. The origins of the Shetland Pony go back into the Neolithic where native wild horses were domesticated; later cross-breeding with the Celtic (Highland) pony around 1500BC and horses brought from Scandinavia by the Vikings a thousand years ago created this small (10 hands / 40 inch), tough breed. During the Industrial Revolution thousands were shipped to the mainland to work in the coal mines; and thousands more across the seas. The Shetland is a well recognised and popular breed globally. It is pound for pound the strongest of all horses (it can pull twice its own weight – a Clydesdale can only pull half); and like its relative the Highland Pony, they’re still employed in places were even tractors fear to tread.

 Scotland is rightly proud of all the inventions and discoveries that it has given the world, but let us not forget also the range of versatile and familiar breeds we see in fields and on pavements in every country that have a distinct Scottish origin; another example of our indelible mark

On Sunday 7^th of August 1548 the five year old Queen of Scotland was smuggled under cloak of darkness from the realm of her ancestors and shipped across the sea toFrance. The immediate and most dangerous reason for the move was the real threat posed by her uncle, the wife-slaughtering king of England, Henry VIII who had invaded Scotland with plans to capture the young monarch, bring her to London and have her marry his own son; thus creating a union under his imperial crown. Mary’s mother had other ideas; and she was equally as conniving, for in Marie de Guise Henry had met his match.

Mary of Guise was born in November 1515 in the small city of Bar-le-Duc, in what was then the independent Duchy of Lorraine (now part of France). Her father was the Duke of Guise, a cadet branch of the ruling House of Lorraine. He had thrown his lot in with the French king, Francis I and served in his military; and being of royal blood he was accorded high privilege at court. It was into this ivory tower of pomp and ceremony that Mary was introduced. In 1534 she was married at the Louvre to Louis, Duke of Longueville; the king’s own cousin. The marriage was short-lived however as the hapless duke died in 1537. Mary was still young and very eligible, and that made her both powerful and a valuable pawn in the inter-dynastic world of European politics. Both France and Lorraine began scouting for a replacement.

Bar-le-Duc – Where Mary of Guise was born

Henry VIII had recently become ‘available’ again following his beheading of Anne Boleyn in 1536 and made advances; one that went as far as proposal. Francis was not keen on such a marriage, and neither was Mary. She famously quipped: “I may be a big woman, but I have a very little neck.” However another British king had also re-entered the nuptial market; and one with much closer ties to France – King James V of Scotland.

James V was only 17 months old when he inherited the throne following his father’s disastrous invasion of Henry’s England and subsequent annihilation at the Battle of Flodden in 1513. So, following something of a Stewart tradition, the country once again found itself with a boy king and the bloody machinations of the various factions and regents that orbited him. His father, James IV, had invaded England as part of his treaty obligations to France known as the Auld Alliance, and James V was determined to maintain that alliance as a bulwark against the English. He was a staunch Catholic, and his uncle’s decision to break with Rome had driven a wedge between the two; and true to form the Scots climbed back into bed with the French.

In 1537 James travelled to France and married Francis’ rather sickly daughter Madeleine; thus cementing the agreement. They returned to Scotland, but riddled with tuberculosis the young queen died shortly after arriving. After what must have been a fairly short mourning period, James began to scan the horizons again. Both France and Scotland were keen to maintain the alliance; Francis did not want Mary of Guise to marry Henry VIII, and so a very convenient solution presented itself. In 1538 the two were married and Mary travelled to Edinburgh as queen.

Mary of Guise

To begin with, following her coronation Mary’s new life seemed to be following the traditional pattern of royal consort – palace decorating and the bearing of children. She first bore two sons, who bizarrely died in infancy on the same day; and eventually a third child, a girl Mary. The cold and wet Scottish court must have seemed a million miles from the gilt and glamour of the French; and the nation too was far from genteel. There were wild, unruly Highlanders in the north, lawless Reivers in the south and a nobility hell-bent on squeezing every ounce of power and money from the crown: and, of course there was the never ending problem of England.

In the unfolding saga of Henry’s schism with Rome, James had resolutely refused to go along or even discus the subject with him; it led to a severe deterioration that in 1542 saw James launch an invasion of the Northwest of England. Like his father’s attempt at Flodden it was a disaster, although not a bloodbath and the king himself was absent from the battle at Solway Moss. James was at Falkland in Fife, while Mary was at Linlithgow about to give birth. On hearing the news first that his army had been crushed by a force a sixth of the size, and then that his wife had given birth to a daughter the king fell into a deep depression. Six days later, only 30 years old he died. Baby Mary was now Queen of Scots.

Scottish politics had always ping-ponged between England and France; and the first regent chosen to rule in Mary’s name was the Earl of Arran, who shifted Scotland back into the English camp. Whether or not he really understood the despotic nature of Henry is unknown, but he certainly misjudged the situation. The English king, perhaps now deranged by the syphilis that would finally kill him, undertook a mission to secure Mary’s future marriage to his son Edward. It was all too late by the time Arran realised the maniac he was dealing with, and his rejection of the advance led to an invasion, known somewhat euphemistically as the ‘Rough Wooing’, when the Tudor king’s army laid waste the south of Scotland. Arran’s position became untenable; and the situation dire. Marie de Guise wasted no time in getting her daughter out of the clutches of the English king and safely over the sea to France.

Arran clung on, but his regency was terminal and in 1554 Mary of Guise herself was appointed in his place – having secured already the help of the French in defending Scotland from the English. With Henry finally dead, she had better relations with the boy king Edward VI, and then following his death with Bloody Mary Tudor. In early 1558 Mary Queen of Scots was married to the Dauphin of France, and a union between the two countries seemed inevitable. Although, the accession of Protestant Elizabeth in England a few months later was an issue, and stored up trouble for later.

Anyone living at the start of 1560 would have believed that Scotland and France were destined for royal and political union – Mary’s husband was now king, and she the consort queen; Elizabeth was isolated, the only great champion of the protestant faith in Europe. The Protestant lords in Scotland, and their leader the firebrand John Knox were scheming behind Mary of Guise’s back, and she had to act the despot herself to maintain order – using increasing numbers of French troops in what looked like an army of occupation. But, 1560 would prove a momentous year in Scottish history.

In June of that year Mary of Guise fell ill and died, and it unleashed a torrent. The Treaty of Edinburgh followed, whereby all French and English troops left Scotland. However, the Protestant lords were in constant communication with Elizabeth and her armies remained on alert. This would become increasing important over that hot summer, when John Knox returned and in August Parliament passed the law outlawing Catholicism and proclaiming Scotland a Protestant nation; a full Reformation. The Scottish Protestants had placed their security in Elizabeth, and it paved the road to Union. At the end of the year the king of France died. Catholic Mary, Queen of Scots was heading home to a nation that did not know her, despised her religion, hated her mother’s intolerance and had placed their faith in a queen of England, whose throne she was now heir to. Dark clouds loomed large on the horizon.

Mary of Guise is often overlooked, living in the shadow of her more famous and tragic daughter; but not since St Margaret in the 11^th century had one woman affected the course of Scottish history as she, nor left such an imprint as this intelligent and beguiling individual; finally beaten by untimely deaths and unique circumstance.

From the very start of European settlement in North America, the new arrivals brought their various alcohol making skills with them. The most profitable early colonies were in the Caribbean; where sugar and tobacco were making the merchants back in Glasgow, Liverpool and London very, very rich. One of the key markets for the sugar were the emerging towns and cities in England’s thirteen Colonies, such as Philadelphia and Boston. So, with the colonies awash with sugar it was natural that rum became the principal spirit produced, and the poison of choice. Whiskey, produced from grain, was also being made in the Americas, but on a miniscule scale by comparison; and usually by Scottish or Irish emigrants.

In 1603 James VI of Scotland inherited the English throne, and headed off to London. During his reign he oversaw the ‘plantation’ of tens of thousands of Lowland Scots into the Irish province of Ulster, essentially as an experiment of social restructuring. The Protestant Scots were granted lands, which meant the forcible eviction of the native Catholic Irish population – the root of much of Northern Ireland’s problems today. The incomers, filled with the work ethic of Calvinism transformed the bog and heathland of the province into a rose-garden – a breadbasket of grain production. Whisky making was a big part of the economy, but the divide between those who had and those who had not in Ulster was widening. Due to various economic reasons, droughts and subsidised opportunities in the New World many of these Ulster-Scots sailed across the Atlantic to a new home: perhaps as many as 100,000 in first half of the 18^th century alone. There was also a constant flood of migration from Scotland at the same time, which would increase dramatically in the decades following the Battle of Culloden in 1746, and the ravages of the Highland Clearances that came after.

Islay and Jura - One of Scotch Whisky's Homelands

Many of the Scots and Ulster Scots (now generally referred to as Scotch-Irish) settled in the familiar-looking farmland of Pennsylvania or New York, where they raised their crops, which in the main was rye. The traditions and work practices of the old country came with these new arrivals, and whisky making was a mainstay of many of these farming communities. Production was relatively high, but the markets generally local – and although some would get through to the bigger populations along the coast, it was no match for king rum. That was all about to change.

During the American Revolution the Royal Navy blockaded the main ports; which at a stroke all but cut the supply of sugar and molasses, the key ingredient in rum production. Thirsty revolutionaries and loyalists alike turned to a spirit being made inland, and with home-grown raw materials. Whiskey, as it was now spelt, took over from rum as the mainstay liquor of the soon to be United States. It was sought over enough that it became a substitute currency in many regards. Congressional leaders and senior army officials, including George Washington himself, took to making their own whiskey – with which they could either supply the soldiers at a lower cost, or trade to purchase other essentials and provisions.

After the war, the United States of America found itself saddled with significant debt, accrued in the cost of operating a war machine. Washington looked again to the value of whiskey production to help. Congress levied a tax on whiskey making, but this incensed the Scottish/Irish settlers of western Pennsylvania to such a degree that they refused point blank to pay. Being stubborn Celts, they really dug their heels in and wouldn’t budge an inch – even after the government sent in the troops during what became known as the ‘Whiskey Rebellion’. Faced with such an immovable object; and one holding plenty of trump cards,Washington had to offer a deal.

The Whisky Rebellion of 1794

The Governor of Virginia was the great statesman Thomas Jefferson, and at the president’s invitation he devised a re-settlement plan for the pesky Scotch-Irish farmers. In the 1790s Kentucky was a large frontier county in western Virginia, and Jefferson saw this open land as the perfect solution. Clear out the natives and shoehorn in the wild moonshiners. Kentucky is a verdant, fertile corner of the world, and the settlers were offered sixty acres each to carve out as their own, as long as they built a permanent dwelling and planted corn. It was a fair deal, and thousands took the Federal Government’s offer. With the move from rye to corn, whiskey making in the States headed off down a new path.

Back during the revolution the French had been such a help to the Americans, that in the years following the war new settlements and counties that popped up adopted French names. So, as the population of Kentucky County increased, the State split it into several smaller entities: and one of these was called ‘Bourbon County’, named after the French royal family. With a rich soil and fair climate combined with its limestone filtered water, the county was ideal for whiskey making

The distillate is produced as a clear liquid, and like all other spirits in the whisky family it requires time in an oak barrel to mature; and there was plenty of virgin forest to go around. Wood was also a substitute for the peat used back in Scotland and Ireland to heat the grain during malting, and this of course meant that the American stuff would be smoke-free: a further differentiation from many Scotches.

According to a story, which is in all probability untrue the Reverend Elija Craig, a famed whiskey maker, was a bit on the thrifty side – so, instead of using new barrels for each batch he would reuse the ones he already had. In order however, to impart flavour and colour to the spirit he would char the inside of the cask. A process which is today used in the Scotch industry, as virgin oak is too full of tannin for the gentler spirit produced in Scotland’s distilleries, was then revolutionary. It helped with the mellowing of the spirit, especially on the long-haul trips to far away markets like New Orleans. He, coming from the county named this more mature spirit Bourbon. Whether this is true or not is really neither here nor there; the county was producing large quantities of spirit and the name stuck.

By 1810 there was an estimated 2000 distilleries, and then as now the majority were in Kentucky and neighbouring Tennessee– and in the years that followed, as new markets opened up with the ever-westwards advance of the United States and the industrial growth of the eastern cities, Bourbon was the drink of choice across the nation. The 1820s saw one last Scottish input into the process: in the person of Dr James Crow, an immigrant from Inverness. Crow refined the art of adding spent mash – that is an unfermented grain-soup, with yeast still active, into the new batch. This gave the brew a bitter edge, and so was coined the term ‘sour mash’, which is so associated with Bourbon. With this, the evolution from single malt Scotch was complete. Within twenty years the Federal Government officially classified ‘Bourbon Whiskey’, and adopted it as the ‘Native Spirit of America’.

Bourbon Maturing in American Oak Casks

The 18^th amendment, enacted into law in 1920 all but destroyed the Bourbon industry. Better known as Prohibition, the amendment forbade the production and selling of alcoholic liquor and beverages throughout the United States for nearly 13 years. It was a crippling blow, and virtually every distillery was closed and broken up (a meagre handful were legally kept open to produce alcohol for medical purposes). The stories of bootleg booze, gangsters like Al Capone and speakeasies are legion and legend; but with the Kentucky distilleries in bits, the drink had to be smuggled in from abroad – and the only producers able to meet the demand were the big Scotch companies. The Whisky Barons, like Johnny Walker and Tommy Dewar had revolutionised the whisky industry with their blended brands, and were distilling on an industrial scale. As virtually the only gig in town, Scotch became the default hard liquor of choice in the States. Prohibition was the greatest market opportunity ever gifted the Scotch industry; and all at the detriment of America’s home grown labels.

Only now is Bourbon recovering from the hammer-blow dealt by the 18^th amendment; for less is still produced and sold today than in 1919. Once the restrictions were lifted, people in America had become not only accustomed to Scotch whisky, but loved it. Furthermore, as the law was swept away demand for alcohol went through the roof, and once again Scotch was the only industry big enough to meet that demand. Both Bourbon, which had to rebuild completely, and Irish whiskey were outmuscled to such an extent that they nearly went extinct. Thankfully, in the last twenty to thirty years Bourbon whisky has seen a rebirth – ironically part of this is on the back of the fashionable growth in Scotch malt whisky, which is so individualistic. Americans are now looking to explore their own spirit heritage, and brands: the Bourbon trail, established in 2004, is part of that; new micro-distilleries are popping up all over the place; and old names are being resurrected as once again a fiery phoenix rises from the ashes.

The Glenfinnan Viaduct in the west Highlands is an iconic image: a long, curving bridge spanning a deep valley amid a stunning backdrop of mountain and lake. You’ll find it on postcards, calendars, tourist board advertising and in several movies. Perhaps the most famous is in the Harry Potter films, when the train is crossing the bridge and the car is flying past: it’s just a perfect location. But, it is not alone –Scotland, a land of breathtaking landscape coupled with a rich and unique history has provided movie-makers from Hollywood to Bollywood with some great places to film their masterpieces.

The Harry Potter films, a phenomenon in our lifetimes had to be filmed in the UK due to regulations on child actors working abroad; and also JK Rolling who wrote the books based in Edinburgh was insistent that Scotland be showcased. So, as well as the famous Glenfinnan Viaduct the movie was also shot in various locations across the country, including in dramatic Glencoe with its towering walls of craggy mountain. This is a favourite spot for many directors and from Highlander with Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery to Braveheart with Mel Gibson its wonderfully rugged features have been well capitalised on the big screen.

Highlander was a fantastic film; and as well as showing off the dramatic landscapes of the West Highlands it included one of the most photogenic places in the country: Eilean Donan Castle near Kyle of Lochalsh. This wonderful castle with its fairytale backdrop and imagery has also been used in a number of other films – including James Bond’s The World is not Enough. Scotland is pretty well known for its castles; and along with Eilean Donan other sites have been well used: Duart Castle (Entrapment with Catherine Zeta Jones and Sean Connery); Blackness Castle (Hamlet with Mel Gibson) and Lauriston Castle in Edinburgh (Prime of Miss Jean Brodie with Dame Maggie Smith).

Certain films, even blockbusters like Rob Roy, the Queen or Mrs Brown have a Scottish theme anyway, which kind of makes Scotland a necessary ingredient in the filming. With wonderful scenery these movies usual depict the more beautiful or historic aspects of the country; while others such as Trainspotting (with Euan MacGregor) tend to reveal its grittier side. Edinburgh and Glasgow, or locations within each city – due to the unaltered nature of the architecture – also get used a lot, from the Inspector Rebus TV dramas to Brad Pitt’s latest flick: World War Z (where Glasgow is used for the filming, while it’s meant to be set in Philadelphia). This is not uncommon, where well used and tried and tested teams, crews and researchers will use Scotland even though the story is set somewhere else: Mission Impossible (with Tom Cruise) or Chariots of Fire (St Andews Beach substituted for a beach in Kent whose backdrop now no longer looks like it did in the 1920s) are two examples.

Scotland’s wilder and more untouched landscape is also a land of myths and legends and of superstitious peoples. So, very often horror films such as the Wicker Man (with Edward Woodward) or Dog Soldiers (with Kevin McKidd) are set on remote islands or in the deep and ancient forests of the Highlands. Even the story of the Holy Grain got written into Scottish folklore, at Rosslyn Chapel. This was picked up by Dan Brown in his uber-famous book, the Da Vinci Code and some of the scenes at the end of the film with Tom Hanks are taken from Rosslyn. Monty Python’s version of the Grail story is also part filmed in Scotland– using Doune Castle and Rannoch Moor for several of the scenes.

The latest Disney CG big production and likely smash hit is ‘Brave’: an animated film set in Scotland. And while a cartoon, it does depict several actual places in the country, especially the Calanais standing stones on the Isle of Lewis. There is no doubt that the multi-Oscar wining Braveheart put Scotland on the map, showcased the history and the scenery of our small but diverse nation, and did wonders for Scottish tourism; but filming in Scotland has a long history stretching back to movies like the Thirty Nine Steps (directed by Hitchcock) – and, with great logistical specialists, enthusiastic researchers and a greater awareness of what Scotland can offer the studios this is a relationship that will continue to grow and keep Scotland and the Scots firmly on the big screen and in the limelight.

A great thing about a Vacation Scotland tour is that it takes you to corners of the country that perhaps you would never venture to otherwise. As well as scenery and history, what I love as much as anything are the local tales and folklore – and no tale is more bizarre, indeed more gruesome than the one encountered upon taking a trip to Ayrshire and the southwest.

As well as all the usual stops like Robert Burns’ Country at Alloway, Culzean Castle (ancient seat of the Kennedy family) and the beautiful forests of Galloway, the Ayrshire trail also throws up some surprises; and one is the story of the ruthless, cruel and frightening figure of Sawney Bean; and it’s not a tale for the faint hearted.

Along the Ayrshire coast near the town of Girvan the cliffs are fairly spectacular and full of caves – some of which were still inhabited up until the 1970s (albeit by strange bearded hermits), sometimes by whole families: and not all were cute and cuddly. Bannane Cave, between Girvan and Ballantrae was home to a family of monsters – the Beans. Whether or not Sawney Bean ever existed, or is simply fabricated from a mosaic of various myths, half-truths and actual events and people is unclear; but the legend remains pretty enduring; and never fails to chill the blood.

According to that legend, Alexander ‘Sawney’ Bean was born in East Lothian to the east of Edinburgh around the mid 16^th century. He was the son of a ditch digger and hedge trimmer on one of the large estates dotted around this particularly arable part of Scotland, and the young Bean was expected to follow his father into the trade. Scottish estates were highly labour intensive at the time and required a lot of sweat and toil to get things done, and I’m pretty sure ditch diggers did a fair amount of that toiling. This caused a problem for young Sawney, who realised from an early age that he’d no stomach for honest hard work. Instead he got himself in tow with a rather vicious, and equally lazy young woman, and they decided to elope and head to the west where they wouldn’t be known, and they could ply their trade of theft and highway robbery. This wasn’t an uncommon crime in the 16^th century, but the Beans would add a whole new macabre dimension.

Sawney and his ‘wife’ located themselves in the cave at Bannane, which is entered by a narrow slit in the rock, completely blocked at high tide, over 200ft deep, and involving a steep climb. This isolated and virtually inaccessible cave concealed their lair for over 25 years as they not only robbed, but murdered their hapless victims. Hiding in the cave during the day, they crawled out like vermin at nightfall and preyed on locals and travellers alike. Once murdered, they hauled the bodies back down to the cave to hide their crime, but this was only the start. With more bodies than they knew what to do with, they started eating them in a cannibalistic orgy – often throwing the left-over parts into the sea, where the tide washed them onto nearby beaches and shorelines, giving the very disturbed locals a fair dose of the heebie-jeebies. Soon though there would be many more mouths to feed.

Ayrshire Coast - Where the Beans plyed their ghoulish trade

Over the course of their 25 years in hiding, the clan grew to a staggering 48, all fathered through incest deep in their bloody nest of rock and sea: in all, there were eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons and fourteen granddaughters, and all entered the family business. This of course led to many more deaths, and what they didn’t eat they pickled. The disappearances didn’t go unnoticed by the locals as you would expect, but the Beans were so secretive that they were completely unaware of the murderers in their midst. Despite numerous manhunts and searches, they simply couldn’t be found and other scapegoats – often tavern landlords – were punished instead. Their luck wasn’t to last forever.

One night the Beans attacked a married couple riding from a local fair, but for the first time they’d met their match as the young man was skilled in combat, and was able to fend them off. His wife however was hauled from the cart and killed in a brutal attack, but before they could overpower the husband a crowd began to arrive on the scene, and the clan fled back to the safety of their cave. With their existence now revealed, the king himself led a manhunt with a team of over 400, and several bloodhounds. The men couldn’t find the cave, but the eager bloodhounds, scenting the dismembered remains located the home of the fiends. The men entered the cave and found a truly nauseating scene of severed limbs, pickled remains and dried body parts hanging from the roof: and all around lay jewels, trinkets and money.

Finally caught, the Bean Clan was taken in chains to Edinburgh where they were executed at the Port of Leith without trial. The men were bled to death, and the women burnt – cannibalism was seen by the king as tantamount to treason and the execution befitted the crime in his eyes. With their demise a reign of sickening terror stretching back over a quarter of a century was finally brought to an end.

Whatever the truth, the story of Sawney Bean and his cruel, evil and ghoulish family has remained in the psyche of the people of South Ayrshire, and is truly one of the most disturbing stories from Scotland’s dark past: sweet dreams!

For the last 50 years or so the Northern Corries of the Cairngorm Mountains have been a winter playground for skiers and snowboarders alike, with months of deep snow covering the high peaks. In summer however, with only a few secluded snow patches left, these craggy slopes become the preserve of the intrepid few who want to climb deep into the broad plateau. And, this vastness is really what defines the Cairngorms, or Monadh Ruadh: an empty, barren, snow-speckled, rocky morass wedged between the fertile, whisky rich Strathspey to the north, and the rolling, forested hills of Royal Deeside to the south.

At well over 3700ft for the most part, these mountains are as close as we can get in the British Isles to a true wilderness and an arctic climate. Topping out at 4296ft, the highest peak is the remote Ben Macdui (Beinn Mac Duibh) – a great dome of pink granite rising high above the cleft of the Lairg Ghru Pass. From the top on a clear day ridge after ridge, peak after peak stretches out before it, blue in the haze; it’s a sublime scene and by yourself it affords a degree of solitude hard to find anywhere else. It also hides a dark secret.

Ben Macdui

We have all at one time or another had the uneasy feeling of not being alone, a sense that can often be heightened when hiking by yourself, but here in the heart of the Cairngorms, on lonely Ben Macdui this feeling runs much deeper: inducing a dread and intense fear. For centuries the local people have believed that the mountain is haunted by a giant ghost known as ‘Am Fear Liath Mòr’ – the Great Grey Man. The story would however, become mainstream in the early years of the 20^th century, with a strange after-dinner talk.

Norman Collie, a university professor and an experienced hill-walker, was giving a speech at the AGM dinner of the Cairngorm Club, and it sparked to life the legend of the haunted mountain: “I was returning from the summit”, began Collie, “when I began to think I heard something other than my own footsteps on the rocks. For every few steps I took I heard a crunch, and then another, as if something was walking after me, but taking steps three or four times the length of my own. I listened in the mist, but could see nothing. As I walked on, and the eerie crunching came closer I was seized with terror and took to my heels, staggering blindly among the boulders for mile after mile. Whatever you make of it, I don’t know but there is something very queer about the top of Ben Macdui, and I will not go back there again by myself I know.”

Another famous mountaineer, Dr Kellas (who would die on an Everest expedition in 1921), came across Collie’s story, and it reminded him of a strange incident on the mountain, and his account was published in the local newspaper: “Kellas and his brother had been chipping for crystals in the late afternoon below the summit of Ben Macdui, when they both saw a giant, grey figure come towards them out of the mist. The figure then momentarily disappeared from view as it entered a dip. The two men made a run for it, allegedly pursued into Coire Etchachan.”

It would be these two stories that would set the trend for other reported incidents in the Cairngorms. All would tell of either lumbering footsteps crunching towards them, or of huge grey figures looming out of the swirling mists. Most can be explained as paranoia and the effects of loneliness on these high hills – especially when the mist descends as it often does, and even more so if already primed with the tales. Not all can be flights of fancy though, and some require deeper investigation.

Wendy Wood, one of the pioneers of the Scottish National Party and about as rounded and rational person you could ever meet, was gripped by a blind panic when walking through the Lairg Ghru Pass. After hearing a strange noise, and thinking it might have been a fallen climber she went to see if she if she could help. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the feeling that she was being followed by someone, or something, with an enormous stride. Spooked, she took off down the hill, not stopping until she reached the Whitewell Farm, some five miles off. Wendy Wood knew nothing of the legend. Others did know of it, and dismissed it out of hand.

Wild Plateau of the Cairngorms

Peter Densham, a local forester and climbing enthusiast, decided one day in 1945 to climb Ben Macdui and arrived at the summit cairn around noon. It was a clear day and the panorama from Britain’s second highest mountain that day was breathtaking. However, the mist soon descended and he decided to finish off his lunch and make his way back. Knowing the hill well, he was in no way disturbed by the mist and poor visibility. Setting off he soon heard the familiar ‘crunch, crunch’ on the plateau behind him. Intrigued rather than afraid he went to investigate, thinking of the Grey Man and the paranoia of others. As he got closer he too was suddenly accosted by a sense of foreboding and his desire to flee the mountain became intense. Without even thinking, instinct took over and he was soon running hell for leather to the valley below, barely missing the steep cliffs of Lurchers’ Crag. Peter Densham was left shaken, and utterly convinced that something unnatural stalked the mountains.

The stories of this kind are legion, most only hear the noises, but some actually see strange figures. Seaton Gordon: “It was a cold and stormy day with frequent snow showers when I crossed the high plateau to Coire an t-sneachda, when I saw a man of greyish complexion following me. He was in his shirt-sleeves and had no coat about him, although the day was bitterly cold. When I reached the edge of the corrie the mysterious figure disappeared.” He thought it bizarre, but not frightening. Seaton Gordon was one of the great Cairngorm experts, and not given over to fairy tales and fabrication.

There have been many theories as to what people are seeing or hearing as they wander these remote hills. Often the events take place when the mist is low, leading some experts to claim that the sightings at least are the phenomenon known as a Brocken Spectre (a shadow silhouetted on the mist). But, these are rare and wouldn’t explain why two men sitting saw a figure walking towards them. It also can’t explain the noises. That might be the action of freeze-thaw on the rocks as the temperature drops in the mist, but it is a strange thing. The Great Grey Man has a Gaelic name, in a part of the world where Gaelic hasn’t been spoken for over 150 years – suggesting a long standing tradition. Indeed locals have, and still do, take the apparition for granted.

Undoubtedly, most sightings and incidents are tricks of the light, natural phenomena and the work of overactive imaginations; and similar accounts of haunted mountains were commonplace across the Highlands in days gone by. But, Ben Macdui is a large, isolated and lonely mountain and maybe deep in its granite kingdom the otherworld still walks with earthly feet.

The Kingdom of Scotland is really a patchwork of territories: of counties and regions, of Earldoms and Lordships, of Clan lands and great provinces. Each in its own way reflects the diversity of our small country; from the old Scandinavian world of the Northern Isles, to the Gaelic communities of the Hebrides and all the way to the smoky industrial cities of the Central Belt. All these dissolute parts come together like the threads of tartan to weave a land where we are all Scots. These provinces however in their ancient names reflect a more fractured past, taking us all the way back to the birth of the kingdom, and a study of these names is a fascinating glimpse into the world of our forefathers.

Some of the names draw upon the violent struggle that it takes to make a nation. The March in the south, was defended for centuries by the Border Reivers, warriors loyal only to their own kin, and the great Marcher Lords. The word ‘March’ comes from the old English word Mearc meaning a ‘boundary sign’ (the Anglo Saxon kingdom of Mercia has its roots in the same word), and these lords guarded the border between Scotland and England. Boundary lords were often awarded greater authority due to their responsibility, and in Scotland such titles evolved into the rank of ‘Marquess’.

The north was also a boundary land, this time with the Vikings. At the height of their power Norse territory included all of the Northern Isles, the Hebridean Islands and the mainland stretching almost to Inverness. Here was the borderland: and to the Norse it was called Suðrland, the ‘Southern Lands’ (from their point of view), which naturally evolved into English as Sutherland. Many place names across Sutherland, Caithness and the Orkney and Shetland Islands still reflect their settlement and long-standing influence. Yet, for all that – in Gaelic the name for Sutherland, Cataibh, reflects an ancient culture long pre-dating the Vikings. Cataibh means the ‘Land of the Cat People’ and the word is to be found in other places too – Caithness being Cat Nis or Cape of the Cat People (Caithness is the nose-like peninsular province of the far north), and even the old name for Shetland was Innse Cat – Island of the Cat People. Who these Cat People were may never be known, but it is likely they were an Iron Age people who revered the Wildcat and used it as a totem symbol of strength.

Towards Sutherland

Shetland takes its modern English name from the shape of land – the Norse for Shetland was Hjaltland, meaning the hilt (shape) of a sword. This evolved into old Scots as Ȝetland. The ‘ȝ’ was an old Scottish letter sounded a bit like a ‘y’. It looked more like an old ‘z’ however, and so the islands became Zetland, and ultimately Shetland. There were many other districts that would also take their names from the way they looked, or how they were situated.

The once powerful semi-kingdomof Moray (centred today on Inverness and Elgin) comes from Moireibh, meaning ‘Sea Settlement’. This probably was a name given to it by Gaelic arrivals and may refer to the importance of the old Pictish capital of Burghead right on the sea. This wasn’t the only land to draw its name from its coastal position. In the west is the wild province of Argyll, seat of the mighty Campbell clan, and once heart of the old sea-kingdom of Dalriada (assumed into Pictland in 853). It is a world of islands, fjords and peninsula. The name derives from Gaelic – Earra Ghaidheal, the ‘Coastline of the Gael’, which is particularly fitting geographically.

East of Argyll is a tough knot of mountain and valley, which would have in times past cut it off from Pictland. We don’t know what the Picts called this area, but in Gaelic it is Bràghad Albainn, which has been anglicised into Breadalbane, and means ‘Heights or Slopes of Scotland’. Further south was the Lennox, an important medieval province straddling both Highland and Lowland to the north of Glasgow. It takes its name from the Gaelic Leamhnachd meaning, ‘Land of Elm Trees’. Elms are broadleaved trees, which perhaps due to the geography of area grew well. The name of the district is retained in Vale of Leven (and Loch Lomond used to be ‘Loch Leven’). Badenoch, in the central Highlands is also a name that reflects a particular geographic characteristic – from the Gaelic Bàidenach, meaning ‘flooded land’. There is no doubt that even today the area is pretty boggy, but in the past there were many lochs now long vanished, and late snowmelt causes the myriad of streams leading to the Spey to flood the landscape. 

Loch Lomond in the Lennox

Some places however take us even further back, to a time when Scotland was an assortment of tribes and petty kingdoms – the world the Romans encountered. Tribes that were friendly to Rome however had a lot to gain, both in terms of their economy (the Romans had to be fed) and for security against their enemies. The tribes on the Fife peninsular were probably one such people. Their geography probably helped them to form a larger tribal unit as well, and almost cut off from the rest of the country, their ‘individuality’ may well be retained in folk culture. As a province, earldom and county the name has always been kept, indeed it is endearingly called the ‘Kingdom of Fife’. To the Romans it was Fib, and in Gaelic is Fiobh. Of all Scotland’s place names this is probably the one that was actually used by its own people over 2000 years ago.

The inference from this is that names change, often repeatedly, over the centuries before sticking. They stick as writing evolves or because the folk tradition becomes ingrained. Some of the provinces of Scotland are derived from personal names, an etymology that can only have its roots in some pretty potent figures, a hero-worship culture and strong oral folk heritage. The lands of Angus (Aonghas) and Gowrie (Gobharaidh), take us back to a time when Gaelic warlords from the west were gifted lands in the east by Pictish kings seeking the assistance of their ‘skills’. Alternatively, it may have come about with the Gaelic-ising of the Pictish court after the Scottish union in the 9^th century. The Earldom of Mar (Marr) may also have a personal root, but one that remains solidly Pictish; and the district of Kyle (Coila) in Ayrshire may have a link to the semi-legendary British king, Coel Hen (Old King Cole).

My own home province is Atholl (Athall), which comes from the old Gaelic Ath Fodhla. Traditionally, it was thought that Atholl meant ‘New Ireland’, and may show this same cultural shift; but a re-examination of the etymology may suggest that it means: ‘Passage to the North’. This is a far more apt description as Atholl acts like a funnel driving all routes north from the Lowlands through the mountains towards Moray.

All these places show us not only a world as seen by our ancestors, but to the politics of the day – he who names the land stakes a claim to owning it.Scotlandis a country hard fought to make and keep, and in this patchwork all her peoples; be they Viking, Gael, Briton or Anglo-Saxon wove their thread: not only by fighting, but in the very names they gave, and the legacy that leaves behind.

Many of Scotland’s place names reflect a distant past when evangelical monks wandered the country trying to convert the locals during the so-called Dark Ages. Many of these priests left an indelible mark, and were canonised as Celtic Saints; and one such was St Mael Rubha (who’s name we find in Loch Maree) who preached in the Northwest Highlands over 1300 years ago. In 672 he established a monastery on a remote peninsular in Wester Ross overlooking the islands of Raasay and Skye; in what was at that time Pictish territory. Although Mael Rubha came from Bango rin Ireland, his monastic community was named in the Pictish language as Aporcrossan (meaning the confluence of the Crossan River).

Eventually, around the 10^th century the Pictish tongue gave way to the Gaelic language still spoken in the area; and the monastic community and wider area became known (and it still known) as A’ Chomraich, which means the ‘Sanctuary’; a reference back to the safety afforded by the monastery in what were wilder times. The boundary of this sanctuary was marked by several crosses, of which a couple still survive – and it is probably because of this, along with the similarity to Crossan, that the area was rendered into English as ‘Applecross’.

The monastery is long gone, and for a thousand years the fertile western slopes have been given over to farming and famous for breeding healthy and tender cattle. The only issue was getting them to market. The route along the coast was long and arduous (no road until the 1970s), swimming to Skye is untenable and to the east lies a great barrier of mountain with few natural passes. But, one does exist. Climbing from the Applecross shore the Bealach na Bà – the Pass of the Cattle, boasts the greatest single ascent of any road in the British Isles, from sea level to 2054ft at the summit; and is the third highest road in the country. It must have been some effort to steer a herd of cattle over this imposing crossing. The route down the other side is even more treacherous, if that was at all possible.

Descending from the Bealach na Ba

Today, most people get to Applecross from Lochcarron by taking the reverse route east to west. This section of the road is the closest we get in Scotland to the kind of road you see in the Alps, with tight switchbacks and severe gradients as the road ascends rapidly up the hillside to the Bealach. Coming from either direction, on a clear day the views from the summit across to Skye, Knoydart and Rhum are staggering. I doubt though that the drovers taking their cattle over this fearsome pass, would have tarried long to enjoy the vista.

The Great North Road, the A9 Highway slices northwards into the Highlands at Dunkeld and then follows the Rivers Tay and Tummel to Pitlochry before reaching a formidable barrier at Killiecrankie. For centuries the narrow gorge and steep mountain slopes looming large above have provide an engineering challenge for any road builder carving a route north into the Central Highlands and beyond. A tough knot of rock, which forms the sharp peak of nearby Ben Vrackie runs across the River Garry about four miles south of Blair Atholl, causing the river to cut down rather than meander as it does further upstream. The result is the dramatic Pass of Killiecrankie.

The Pass of Killiecrankie

Killiecrankie is also an evocative name, jumping out at us from the pages of Scottish history; for it was here in 1689 that the Jacobites (supporters of the exiled king, James VII) led by their inspirational leader, John Graham of Claverhouse defeated the government forces in battle as they sought to recapture Blair Castle. Unfortunately for the cause, Claverhouse was killed at the very end of the skirmish and the cause floundered two weeks later at Dunkeld.

In those days a very rough track made its ponderous way through the defile close to the river; but later road designers, chiefly General Wade chose to place the main route further up the hillside overlooking the gorge and the wide Vale of Atholl beyond. Little changed until the 1990s when a new 4-lane highway was constructed at considerable expense and one of Scotland’s great bottleknecks was by-passed. The village of Killiecrankie then returned to a peace and quiet it had not enjoyed for centuries. Today the detour though the village is worth it; or for the more adventurous the road on the other side of the gorge through Tenandry affords some fantastic views. Chief among them is a stop near the Garry Bridge, where you can look right up the pass to the snow-capped peaks of Beinn a Ghlo. In autumn, when the trees are a blaze of colour there are few places in the country that can dazzle the senses as Killiecrankie.