HATS IN THE AIR

           

One of the many real if undramatic losses to civilisation in recent times is the virtual disappearance of hats. A generation or two ago, and for centuries before, nobody would dream of venturing out of doors bare-headed, which was the mark of a person of the lower orders. In past times hats often denoted class – wide brims for the bourgeois, flat hats for the plebs – and the decline of hats is partly explained by the blurring of class distinctions. I hereby proclaim the joy of wearing hats and propose a Great Headgear Revival and call upon you all to cover your thatch and re-assert your individuality not just with your warm heart but also with the top of your head.

Undeniably hats define the man. Where would de Gaulle be without his kepi, Schweitzer without his solar topee or LBJ without his Stetson?  Not quite forgotten but fading in the memory, yet restore the hat and the vivid colours and personalities surge back. The examples are legion: Zapata in a huge sombrero: Greek liberator Theodoros Kolokotronis in his flamboyant casquette: Bonnie Prince Charlie sporting his bonnet and white cockade: Anthony Eden in his eponymous black Homburg: Maurice Chevalier in his jaunty boater: Frank Sinatra in his snap-brimmed fedora: above all, Charlie Chaplin and Stan and Ollie in their often battered Bowlers.

  

Maurice Chevalier

Charles de Gaulle

Kolokotronis

Charlie Chaplin

Bonnie Prince Charlie

Lyndon Johnson

The Bowler has indeed gone through many phases. Designed by London hatters T&W Bowler in 1849 for the gamekeepers of Lord Leicester, as the branches of trees knocked off their top hats, the Bowler was adopted by the working classes here and in the US. In the American West, Bowlers were the preferred headgear of goodies like Bat Masterson and baddies like Billy the Kid. As the cap rose in popularity in the UK, the black Bowler gradually moved up a class and became the uniform of respectable bank managers and the mufti headgear of off-duty officers of the Brigade of Guards.

Politicians liked to get into the act.  Adolf even donned a Tyrolean effort; Harold MacMillan wore a rather unconvincing Cossack hat to ingratiate himself to the Russians on a détente expedition, while Chairman Mao wore a proletarian cap, although he was privately rather a dandy.

Talking of proletarian garb, I like the story of the laconic Yorkshireman inspecting the shelves at his local branch of tweedy Dunn & Co. “And what’s your fancy, Sir?” asks the attentive shop assistant, to be answered “Well as a matter of fact, it’s fishing and fooking, but Ah came ‘ere for a flat ‘at!”

At least in the eyes of the High Tory Duke of Wellington, headgear, especially when combined with radical opinions, could condemn a whole assembly: “I never saw so many shocking bad-hats in all my life” exploded the Duke on encountering the new House of Commons after the 1832 Reform Act.

But what, I hear you ask, of the ladies? It is less true to say that that the hat defines the woman. Ladies’ hats are frivolous and decorative confections, not badges of office. Ladies try to avoid other sisters wearing the same chapeau and hats enliven formal gatherings of all kinds, but these days they are seldom de rigueur except for the Enclosure at Ascot and royal weddings. The Royals maintain the tradition, with mixed success. Her Majesty can look radiant but too often looks grumpy: Camilla’s hats are sometimes a feathered or flowered disaster-zone: Fergie’s daughters’ recent fascinators did not much fascinate me: but Princess Diana carried her hats very well and Princess Kate looks promising.

H M The Queen

 

                                                            Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall

Fergie's Daughters

Princess Kate

Princess Diana

Anyhow, I say Hurrah for Hats and I hope readers male and female echo my cry. My dear Father always bought his brown felt Trilby from Lock’s, the famous hatters in St James’s Street, but my native Scotland also has its own distinctive headwear, Glengarry, Balmoral or Tam o’Shanter. So I will don my tartan Tammie and proudly stride around the streets of Athens, to the wonder and admiration of my Greek friends and neighbours.

SMD

22.02.2012

Text Copyright Sidney Donald 2012

GREECE IN AGONY

For longer than I care to remember, Greece has been struggling economically, largely a crisis of its own making, but tragic nonetheless. A divorce from the Eurozone seems inevitable but both parties are in denial and are not taking sensible steps to make the divorce as painless and orderly as possible, although much pain and some turmoil is probably unavoidable.

Briefly to recap, Greece is in its 5^th year of recession, industrial production slumped 7% in the last 12 months, recorded unemployment is 19%; a first rescue package of €110bn was extended in May 2010 with many conditions but has failed to arrest Greece’s decline; a second Eurozone/ ECB/IMF bailout package of €130bn, linked to a private bondholders’ 50% haircut, has been exhaustingly negotiated but its availability is not confirmed. The fact is that the Greek economy is collapsing, projections for recovery by 2020 are fanciful and it has no prospect of repaying its huge debts.

Discussions between Greece and the so-called “Troika” are currently abrasive. Greece reckons it has done all that was asked and is frustrated by new demands from Brussels and the leading paymaster, Berlin. The Troika, hugely exasperated by dealing with Greek politicians, who have prevarication and dishonesty form, want close control of the disbursement of the second package and the detailed implementation of its conditions. It is not satisfied by Greek assurances. The troika has a team in Athens headed by IMF’s energetic Poul Thomsen, a Dane, and the Eurozone has nominated its commissioner to oversee Greek compliance, a mild-appearing German, Horst Reichenbach. Tempers have been raised by caustic comments about Greek good faith made by the German finance minister Wolfgang Schauble, probably a sensible enough person, but looking like an economic Dr Strangelove with his rather snarling manner in his wheel-chair.  His comments have provoked a rare rebuke from Greece’s venerable President 82-year old Karolos Papoulias.

As usual the truth lies somewhere in the middle. Surprisingly to many, Greece has over-delivered on austerity. Its primary deficit has been reduced from 10% to 2% so before debt servicing Greece is almost self-sustaining. This has been achieved at great social cost with very high new taxes, especially on immobile property, a poll tax euphemistically called a solidarity tax, rises in VAT, and savage cuts in all government expenditure like education, hospitals and defence. Greece has however failed to push through structural reforms to liberalise business, reform labour laws and remove bureaucratic obstacles to many aspects of life. By their nature some of these will always take longer to implement, but Greece’s public administration is systemically dysfunctional, and there are powerful vested interests in the trades unions and professions opposed to change. Thirdly Greece is lagging behind in its privatisation programme, but frankly the expectations were over-stated and anyhow who would invest in Greece given its current political and currency uncertainty?     

The Troika has handled matters in a very cack-handed way. The Eurozone, let alone the EU, is a clumsy institution, divisions are easy to identify and consensus hard to establish. The Mediterranean countries are somewhat sympathetic, if impotent, but the wealthy Northern Europeans are indignant about Greek sins and an AAA bloc of Germany, Austria, Netherlands, Luxembourg and Finland has been formed, determined, it seems, to punish Greece with a Calvinist and Lutheran self-righteousness. The troika’s prescription of ever more austerity is economically illiterate; deflation can only strangle an already feeble economy. If Greece stays in the Eurozone, it needs some kind of new Marshall Plan, but nothing so imaginative has emerged or is likely to emerge from Brussels.

The mood in Athens is darkening. Youth unemployment exceeds 40% and a good riot is an attractive diversion; the government, headed by colourless unelected technocrat Loukas Papademos, has little popular support with its main constituent PASOK only showing 10% approval; the hard Left has about 45% support, much stimulated by the police last week gassing in Syntagma Square iconic leftists composer Mikis Theodorakis and aged Resistance hero Manolis Glezos; the Right is gaining strength but a military coup is unlikely. Greeks are glued to their TVs and radios, avidly following the Lilliputian manoeuvres of their deplorable political elite.

This corrupt, incompetent and overpaid elite has made no sacrifice itself (save the President who yesterday offered to forego his salary) but has instead characteristically swooped like wolves on the poorest and most defenceless. Pensions have been cut by more than 20% and support withdrawn from council house tenants and the disabled while children shiver in unheated schools. I have myself seen able-bodied Greeks scouring dustbins; well-dressed unemployed people queue for food at soup kitchens and sleep rough. Weeping fellow-Hellene Cypriots send blankets and coats for the poor in Athens. As if deliberately to light a fuse, the troika now want EU administrators in all departments (naked colonialism), all political parties, including the opposition, to sign up to their bail-out terms (some hope!) and insist that Greece indefinitely postpones its very necessary elections (so much for democracy). Its demands are probably unconstitutional and illegal.

Unsurprisingly populism abounds with raw hatred of the Eurozone vocally expressed, Nazi memories rekindled (“at least we did not make soap from the flesh of Jews” a TV commentator said last night in response to a German insult) and wartime reparations demanded. The Dutch (“notorious drug traffickers”) and the Finns ("who are they?”) are routinely abused. The Eurozone is seen as only wanting to protect its pet euro-project and its bloated banks. None of this is very helpful, even if there are grains of truth embedded.

Greece needs to reject the second bail-out; announce a debt default; re-introduce a devalued drachma; hold elections and find totally new leaders. The country would have a chance to become competitive, whether inside or outside the EU, and run itself in its own way. The political elite will resist, fearing for their jobs and their necks, but they have lost the people and the current nightmare must end. I do not believe the consequences for the eurozone would be as drastic as some fear. In any event, let the Devil take the hindmost.

SMD

18.02.12

Copyright Sidney Donald 2012

FIVE MORE SCOTTISH HIGHLIGHTS

This is the second of two articles praising five sights in my native Scotland. Again I apologise in advance that my selection may mean I have overlooked other readers’ cherished favourites, but I hope nevertheless that my choices give some pleasure.

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My first highlight is The New Town of Edinburgh, laid out to the inspired 1767 plans of James Craig when the Old Town of Edinburgh became overcrowded. The New Town took at least until 1830 to take shape and it is the work of many architects including Robert Adam, David Rhind, WH Playfair and David Bryce. It is built principally in the Georgian style and the broad streets, elegant terraces, crescents, squares and circuses delight the eye.

Moray Place, Edinburgh

Prominent among the fine streets is George Street, home of the Assembly Rooms, with spacious Charlotte Square at the West end and stately St Andrew Square at the East, graced by Sir William Chambers’ glorious Dundas House, registered office of recently humbled Royal Bank of Scotland. Queen Street and many others to the North illustrate the sophisticated architectural unity of this part of Edinburgh.

Most famous of Edinburgh’s avenues is Princes Street, originally built as a residential area but for long entirely devoted to commerce.  It spans the bracing walk from the Caledonian Hotel to the majestic Balmoral.  Many of the famed local shops are no more, but that Edinburgh institution, Jenners, still thrives and douce ladies sip tea, gossip and eat scones with ancestral enthusiasm. As only one side of Princes Street is built, lovely vistas unfold over Princes Street Gardens to the Mound and the Castle.

Princes Street from the Scott Monument

Princes Street has been much embellished by the excellent Scottish National Gallery, with its great international collection also including Scottish luminaries like Raeburn, Ramsay and Willkie, and the rather less successful Royal Scottish Academy, both by Playfair. However the most spectacular structure is the Victorian Gothic Scott Monument (1844) by Kemp, a tribute to Sir Walter Scott, whose poetry, historical novels and championing of Scotland so entranced Europe.

The New Town above all epitomises the Scottish Enlightenment of the 18^th century when David Hume was the centre of a group of original thinkers including Dugald Stewart and Adam Ferguson in Edinburgh supplemented by Adam Smith in Glasgow and Thomas Reid in Aberdeen. With its major contribution to European intellectual life, Edinburgh has truly earned the epithet “The Athens of the North”

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My next highlight is quietly rural as I take you to The Scottish Borders. The area only has a population of 100,000 and the main occupation is sheep farming and the declining woollen industry, although lovely cashmere, tweed and lambswool knitwear can still be found at local mill shops.

The area was once famed for its substantial medieval monasteries at Jedburgh (Augustinian), Melrose (Cistercian), Dryburgh (Premonstratensian) and Kelso (Tironensian). Sadly the abbeys became targets for banditry, looting and English punitive raids stung by the depredations of the Border Reivers. The abbeys fell into various degrees of ruin and none survived the Scottish Reformation in 1560. But even today their revered outline gives character to their little border towns and Sir Walter Scott and Field Marshal Douglas Haig are both buried at peaceful Dryburgh.

Melrose Abbey

These little Border towns have another claim to fame. The Borders are like Wales in that their national sport is Rugby Union; association football dominates other parts of Scotland but never the Borders. Famous Scottish rugby international players and their clubs can provide a roll-call of the Border towns: John Rutherford (Melrose), Roy Laidlaw (Jed Forest), Gregor Townsend (Gala), Jim Renwick (Hawick) and John Jeffrey (Kelso), astonishing talent to emerge from so modest a catchment area.  Huge pleasure was also dispensed by Bill McLaren, unrivalled BBC rugby commentator for over 50 years and a rugby player for Hawick in his youth. McLaren’s “He’s like a demented ferret up a wee drainpipe!” was perhaps said of a darting scrum-half like Jed Forest’s Gary Armstrong.

The Borders have a glittering array of great stately homes like Manderston, Floors Castle, Mellerstain or Thirlestone but I prefer to focus on the man who did most to romanticise the Borders and Scotland, Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) and his inspiring house at Abbotsford.

Abbotsford

Abbotsford, completed in 1825, is a mixture of Late Georgian and Scottish Baronial architecture and is situated on the banks of the River Tweed near Melrose. Scott had prospered as first a poet and then as the immensely popular author of the Waverley Novels, the historical novel genre which he effectively invented. His works were read in Europe and throughout the English-speaking world, although his prose style is not to modern taste. He had been the impresario of George IV’s visit to Edinburgh in 1822, doing much to heal the divisions of Scottish society between Highlander and Lowlander, and was awarded a baronetcy.

A banking crisis in 1825 ruined him financially but rather than declare bankruptcy he decided to write himself out of debt and although he still owed money on his death at Abbotsford, his trustees were able to settle his debts in full from his royalties not long after. The ghost of Sir Walter smiles over his beloved Tweed and his gardens at Abbotsford, a heroic Scot, exemplary in his genius and integrity

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My next highlight takes me to home territory as we go to my birthplace Aberdeen and its Hinterland. The third city of Scotland with a population of 217,000, Aberdeen has an illustrious history, has been long prosperous and has been greatly enriched by the industries connected to North Sea oil.

Union Terrace Gardens with the Central Library (hidden), St Mark's Church and His Majesty's Theatre – known as Education, Salvation and Damnation!

Situated mainly between the mouths of the River Dee and River Don, Aberdeen grew mightily in the 19^th century when splendid Union Street was laid out, with its buildings all faced in the local sparkling grey granite which is so characteristic of the area. The city prospered through fishing, textiles, paper-making and ship-building, all now largely history. North Sea oil industries have more than filled the gap and the city continues profitably to provide services to a prosperous farming hinterland.

It was a proud boast of Aberdeen that it had two universities, Kings College, founded

in 1495, based in Old Aberdeen and Marischal College, founded in 1593, in New Aberdeen, when England itself only had two, Oxford and Cambridge. The two universities united in 1860 and now the main campus is at Kings, in a lovely part of Aberdeen near to twin-spired St Machar’s Cathedral, mainly from the 15^th century. The impressive 1906 Marischal College in central Aberdeen is the second largest granite building in the world after the Escorial near Madrid.

Marischal College, Aberdeen

Trawling and fish processing used to be Aberdeen’s most famous activity but  overfishing, especially of herring, and new technology have changed that and the main fleet has moved to the bustling ports of Peterhead and Fraserburgh further North in Buchan. But angling for salmon or trout is a great attraction on the Rivers Dee and Don, not to mention the Ythan and Deveron to the North. Royal Deeside is of surpassing beauty particularly in the autumn and the drive west to Banchory (salmon can be seen leaping upstream at nearby Bridge of Feugh), Aboyne, Ballater and Braemar following the shimmering Dee is an unforgettable experience. Donside is very attractive too at Inverurie, Alford and Kildrummy amid peaceful scenery.

Salmon leaping at Bridge of Feugh, Deeside

Aberdeenshire is famed for its castles and royal connections but I would like also to remember its rural traditions. The North East is wonderful farming country, after past generations did the backbreaking job of clearing the fields of stones. Much of the land is of excellent quality and grain farming prospers alongside its famed livestock.

In the old days, bachelor farm labourers lived in Spartan “bothies”, outbuildings attached to the farm. To entertain themselves they composed and sang Bothy Ballads, traditional songs ranging from the sad to the boisterous and some recalling their favourite places or country events, always in the broad Doric dialect still widely spoken here. Songs like “The Bonnie Lass o’ Fyvie”, “Barnyards of Delgaty”, Aikey Fair” or “Where the Gadie rins” strike more nostalgic chords than almost anything else and are much cherished.

The hard early 20^th century farming life in Kincardineshire (known as The Mearns), in the area round Drumlithie  and Auchenblae, is similarly eloquently evoked in the excellent 1932 novel “Sunset Song” by Lewis Grassic Gibbon, deservedly one of Scotland’s favourite books and a fine introduction to the North East.

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No portrait of Scotland would be complete without reference to lovely Loch Lomond and the Trossachs. The 19^th century song “The bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond” is probably the first one any Scots child learns, extolling love and regretting exile. Loch Lomond is easily accessible, being less than 20 miles from Glasgow and is the largest freshwater lake in Great Britain. With its 30 islands and surrounding hills, it is overwhelmingly beautiful, encapsulating all that is memorable about the scenery of this country.

Loch Lomond

Loch Lomond is neither wild nor remote. You are merely happily catapulted from the populated Lowlands to the edge of the Highlands, to a gloriously spacious playground where care-worn visitors can relax completely in healthy pursuits, hill-walking, sailing, cycling or merely sightseeing. The Trossachs is the large adjoining hilly area taking in the agreeable tourist villages of Callender and Aberfoyle, (outlaw Rob Roy McGregor was born beside nearby Loch Katrine), the sailing centre of Garelochhead and the hill-walking base of Crianlarich, to name but a few.

At the western end of the Trossachs on the shores of majestic Loch Fyne, celebrated for delicious seafood and kippers, stands Inveraray. Perhaps one should not bear an ancestral grudge too long and maybe Clan Campbell has sufficiently atoned for its massacre of Clan Donald at Rathlin in 1642 or its betrayal of the code of hospitality with its foul and infamous Massacre of the Macdonalds of Glencoe in 1692, which horrified all Europe. In any event the Campbells prospered and eventually rose to the Dukedom of Argyll and the 2^nd Duke started to build iconic Inveraray Castle in 1746, in the Palladian and baronial style to designs by Roger Morris and William Adam. With its turrets and tower, armour, portraits and grand reception rooms, it is everyone’s romantic idea of a Scottish chieftain’s domain.

Inveraray Castle by Loch Fyne

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My final highlight takes us to the Isle of Skye, largest of the islands of the Inner Hebrides. Skye is a true Highland region as you have to penetrate wild and empty Lochalsh, Knoydart or Morar even to get there. Recently connected to the mainland by road via the Skye Bridge at Kyle, the only remaining ferry is the Southern approach from Mallaig to Armadale.

Skye is another world, God’s country, with lovely sea lochs, many offshore islands, a heavily indented coastline and the famous Cuillin Hills brooding to the west and providing challenging rock-climbing. I usually stayed at the delightful Skeabost Hotel where delectable scallops, oysters and crayfish were readily available and you could play gentle golf at the head of Loch Snizort. Such a place on such an island clears out all the cobwebs of the mind and refreshes your whole being.

In the North West corner of the island is civilised and imposing Dunvegan Castle, seat of the chief of Clan MacLeod. It is the oldest continuously inhabited castle in Scotland, having housed the MacLeods for at least 800 years and displays a collection of clan relics and portraits by Raeburn, Ramsay and Zoffany. Outside in Loch Dunvegan, grey Atlantic seals bask lazily.

Dunvegan Castle, Skye

Distinguished as the MacLeods were, they were eclipsed by Clan Donald who had castles throughout the Highlands and were the largest and most powerful clan. The clan grew to prominence in the 12^th century under Somerled and his grandson Donald as they became the feudal Lords of the Isles, controlling all the lands and islands from the Isle of Man to the Butt of Lewis, patrolling their realm in fleets of galleys. Even after the Lordship of the Isles was surrendered to the King of Scotland in 1493, Clan Donald remained potent in Gaelic Scotland. Wed to the Stuart Jacobite cause, almost all the Clan lands were forfeit after the disaster of Culloden in 1746. "Now, there’s the end of an old song."

To the South West of Skye stands the Clan Donald Centre at Armadale in Sleat - the Macdonalds of Sleat had not forfeit their lands, prudently backing the Hanoverians – and it celebrates all the achievements of Clan Donald. I am a worldly London Scot long remote from my ancestral background, but imagine the mixture of pride and guilt, the bursting emotion, as I read there the words of the 16^th century Gaelic bard:

Ni h-eibhneas gan Chlainn Domhnaill,
ni comhnairt bheith 'na n-eagmhais;
an chlann do b'lhearr san gcruinne
gur dhiobh gach duine ceatach.

It is no joy without Clan Donald, 
  It is no strength to be without them; 
  The best race in the round world; 
  To them belongs every goodly man.

Crest of Clan Donald

SMD

16.02.2012

Text Copyright Sidney Donald 2012

FIVE SCOTTISH HIGHLIGHTS

I have not described splendid aspects of my native Scotland and this shortcoming will now be rectified with two brief articles, each covering five sights which I have particularly enjoyed. Every Scotsman has his favourites and I apologise in advance for omitting many well-loved and cherished places.

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First stop is Old Edinburgh, the historic centre of the capital before its expansion into the New Town in the 18^th century, broadly the Royal Mile from the Castle to the Palace of Holyroodhouse and the adjoining streets. It is packed full of Scottish history. The magnificent Castle itself, still a military facility, houses the Scottish regalia, royal apartments, the 15^th century siege cannon, Mons Meg, the venerable St Margaret’s Chapel but essentially it is the symbol of Scotland, proud on its volcanic Rock. The Esplanade parade ground outside hosts the famed August military Tattoo at Festival time.

Edinburgh Castle

Descending from the Castle you pass Ramsay Garden the picturesque if sanitised reconstruction of the high tenement buildings which made the city so overcrowded in the 16^th and 17^th centuries and their scale, and sinister narrow closes, still dominate the area. The Kirk’s 19^th century Assembly Hall is perched monumentally on top of the Mound. Not much further down the High Street, we pass the impressive baroque Bank of Scotland head office, now sadly in bad odour, before coming to the heart of old Scotland, with Parliament House, now housing the law courts and beyond St Giles, the Presbyterian High Kirk of Edinburgh, with its distinctive crown steeple. St Giles was the scene of the 1637 riots sparked off by Jenny Geddes throwing a stool at the Prayer Book-reading preacher, eventually followed by Covenant and Civil War. Not far off is the Old College of Edinburgh University built in 1817 by Playfair from designs by Robert Adam, although the university itself dates from 1583.

Pubs, hotels, and restaurants abound, often bearing the names of famous or notorious locals, like cabinet maker and burglar Deacon Brodie, half-hanged Maggie Dickson or faithful Skye terrier Greyfriars Bobby. The students, legal profession and museums give this part of Edinburgh its lively intellectual atmosphere, fortified by the many tourists.

                                                Palace of Holyroodhouse

The High Street continues down past influential but deeply unlovable John Knox’s House and the Tron Kirk till it becomes the Canongate with its Kirk but the area was transformed by the opening here of the devolved Scottish Parliament Building in 2004, designed by the Catalan architect Enric Miralles. The building is striking but out of sympathy with its surroundings, although it has its admirers.  At this east end of the Royal Mile we finish with the Palace of Holyroodhouse, steeped in Scottish history and a royal residence since the 13^th century. It has had a chequered career of fire, looting and neglect and what are now seen are mainly late 17^th century rooms, much restored, apart from flighty Mary, Queen of Scots’ quarters, scene of many a 16^th century violent or amorous incident. Holyrood makes a fitting climax to any tour of Old Edinburgh, as it epitomises our turbulent, cosmopolitan and ambitious nation.

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For our next stop we cross country to Edinburgh’s great rival, the fine city of Glasgow. Once thought irredeemably industrial, Glasgow has many pleasant surprises, its warm people, its fine architecture and its vibrant social atmosphere. Not least among its surprises is The Burrell Collection, beautifully situated in Pollok Park in South Glasgow.

This astonishing collection of some 8,000 objects is the creation of Sir William Burrell (1861-1958) who donated it to his native city in 1944, although he was still buying more and donating all up to his death aged 96. Burrell was a ship-owner who, with his brother, ordered vessels in a slump when they were cheap and sold them in a boom. Two large fleets were managed in this way and Burrell finally sold out and concentrated on collecting in 1916. He was very rich but was careful in his purchases, not being an art Croesus like America’s Hearst. His gift stipulated that the collection be housed at least 16 miles from then air-polluted central Glasgow and it took the Council over 20 years and a legal move to soften these terms before a suitable site were found. A sumptuous new gallery was built, specifically tailored for the collection, recreating Burrell’s rooms at his home Hutton Castle for some items, and finally opened in 1983. It is one of the glories of Scotland.

                                                Stained Glass panels

The collection reflects the well-informed traditionalist taste of Burrell. Its very strongest parts are in late-Medieval and early Renaissance objects, especially ravishing tapestries and exquisite stained glass, but also embracing sculpture, church art and ceramics of the same period. The collection of French painting is also remarkable with works by Degas, Cezanne, Fantin-Latour, Sisley and Manet. The range of the collection is dizzying with fine objects from ancient civilisations, Assyria, Persia, Egypt, Greece and Italy: Chinese ceramics and jades, Japanese prints, Oriental carpets: European silver, furniture and glassware; early paintings, armour: Medieval stone portals and windows are built into the fabric of the building.

                        Ferreting (detail)               Franco-Burgundian Tapestry

It all adds up to a magnificent gallery of European significance in lovely surroundings. On no account should you miss it!

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My next highlight is rather a cheat as it is an activity rather than a single sight. I choose Golf as a pre-eminent Scottish activity and I use Gleneagles as an example of all that is attractive about it.

I had the good fortune in my youth, when it reopened after the war and in the 1950s, to be taken on regular family holidays to lovely Gleneagles Hotel and we used to play golf mainly on the classically beautiful Queen’s Course. I have visited the Hotel intermittently since then; it is now, after much investment, one of the most opulent and welcoming hotels in Scotland. Spacious rooms, wonderful food, a great Spa, many other sporting facilities and its superb situation in the Perthshire hills make Gleneagles the quintessential golf hotel.

Gleneagles Hotel

My own skill at golf was mediocre but other members of the family were much more competent. Yet you did not have to be a great player to appreciate the beauty of the undulating courses, the streams, bunkers and deep rough to be avoided, the holes to be satisfyingly completed, the fun to be had and the fresh air to breathe.

Scotland has numerous courses and very often an excellent hotel nearby. The links at Turnberry in Ayrshire complement its fine 5-star hotel and nearby are championship courses at Troon and Prestwick. Edinburgh is well served with matchless Muirfield at Gullane, by Dalmahoy and North Berwick overlooked by the Bass Rock. Glasgow is not far from exclusive Loch Lomond but there are many other more modest courses. The Dundee area is blessed with verdant Blairgowrie and challenging Carnoustie, while Fife hosts the world-revered home of golf at St Andrews. My native North East has Royal Aberdeen at Balgownie, to be supplemented by Donald Trump’s glorious links course Trump International soon to open at Balmedie and there is the traditional course among the high rough and sand-dunes at Cruden Bay – take plenty of spare golf balls! Further North is the classic Nairn while the pick of the Highland courses is

Royal Dornoch.

Golfing in 1920s costume at Milngavie, Scotland

I have mentioned only some of the leading courses but golf is hugely enjoyed at all levels and at many smaller venues, private and municipal. In Scotland golf is a democratic sport practised by a very wide public. A golfing visitor would surely find somewhere to suit him and if he is merely a spectator he should come anyway to majestic Gleneagles for the 2014 Ryder Cup!

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For something completely different, I now move to the area of my birth and to the Castles of Aberdeenshire. I particularly focus on those which were mainly built in the characteristic Scottish Baronial style in the early 17^th century. There are examples throughout Scotland but there is a concentration of survivals, all much restored, in Aberdeenshire – the so-called Castles of Mar.

Ceiling of the Nine Muses, Crathes Castle

        

                                         

                                                       Craigievar Castle

  

Two Castles, Craigievar (1610) near Alford and Crathes (1596) at Banchory are similar in style. Craigievar was the seat of the Forbes-Sempill family and Crathes that of the Burnetts of Leys. Both are hardly castles but rather fortified tower-houses with their distinctive narrow entrances and defensive turrets and the fine salon in the top storey. There is a medieval flavour of battlements and painted wooden ceilings at Crathes while the elaborate plaster ceilings at Craigievar are more Jacobean. Further west and up the Dee is wildly romantic Braemar Castle (1628) seat of the Farquharsons of Invercauld, long ruined but now renovated and reopened in 2008.

The laird family connections often last many generations – 653 years claimed for the Irvines of Drum Castle, 10 miles from Aberdeen. Inevitably the buildings often have a variety of styles with Drum combining a medieval keep with a Jacobean mansion house and a Victorian extension – upper-class Victorians loved this part of Scotland, spending much of the sporting season here and following the court at Balmoral.

Castle Fraser

On a rather larger scale is Castle Fraser (1575-1636) an elaborate Z-plan castle near Kemnay. It was the seat of the Fraser family but was sold to Lord Cowdray who donated it to the National Trust of Scotland in 1976. Not far away is the similarly imposing Fyvie Castle, near Turriff, on a site of some antiquity, but with the main section built in 1599 and the property passing through the hands of the Seton, Gordon and Leith families.

Fyvie Castle

The interiors of these castles vary in interest but few go much further than having agreeable period furniture, family portraits and historic mementos. I have however shown the exteriors with many photographs to illustrate that Scotland had a very distinctive architectural style in a Golden Age, roughly from the Union of the Crowns in 1603 to the outbreak of the Civil War in 1638. They are fascinating places and give enormous pleasure.

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When people think of Scotland, the image foremost in their minds is of wooded glens, windswept mountains and the fuming sea. My final highlight embraces all of these scenes as I visit Mull, Staffa and Iona in the Inner Hebrides.

Mull is easily accessible with a 40 minute car ferry service from Oban to Craignure. You immediately see beautiful seascapes, peaceful woods, burns tumbling down the hills and the brooding peaks of Ben Buie and Ben More. You also enter the lost world of Gaeldom at Duart Castle still the seat of the chief of Clan Maclean, ruined Moy Castle, ancient seat of the Maclaines of Loch Buie but abandoned in 1750 or, to the north, the ruined Mull stronghold of the Lords of the Isles, Clan Donald, at Aros.

When I visited Mull I always stayed at the delightful boutique hotel Tiroran House with its manicured gardens by the shores of ravishing Loch Scridain on the Ardmeanach Peninsular. Now in new ownership it retains its personal management style and its friendly custom of asking the residents to meet for drinks before dinner and socialise, followed by delicious local produce.

Loch Scridain, Mull

Tiroran House makes a good base for exploring the island, up north to the colourful fishing village of Tobermory with its painted houses or over west to the small island of Ulva, where you can consume scrumptious local oysters at the modest ferry boathouse. Like the rest of the island, Ulva has been greatly depopulated since the 19^th century Clearances with a former peak of 800 souls reduced to 16, thriving on tourism. Nearby is the tiny island of Inch Kenneth, legendary resting place of some Scottish kings and home in the 1940s to Unity Mitford, unhinged admirer of Hitler.

Most visitors to Mull take a motor boat from Fionnphort to Staffa and, weather permitting, disembark to enter gingerly Fingal’s Cave, the very impressive, if sometimes over- praised, sea cave notable for its hexagonally jointed basalt columns. It is world famous through Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture and has had a succession of eminent visitors from Wordsworth, Keats to Queen Victoria. The island is made even more agreeable by its large population of jaunty tame puffins.

Fingal’s Cave, Staffa

The other unmissable trip from Mull is the short ferry hop to Iona, the celebrated cradle of Celtic Christianity in Scotland. St Columba is believed to have landed there from Ireland in AD 563, erected the first church and sent his missionaries to the Highlands and Islands. Despite Viking raids, the island became a place of pilgrimage and housed a Benedictine Abbey, under the auspices of Somerled, Lord of the Isles, in the 13 century, rebuilt in 1420. Iona Abbey was meticulously restored from its medieval ruins by the Duke of Argyll from 1899 onwards, much helped by the ecumenical Iona Community. Many Scottish kings and clan chiefs are buried here and more recently Labour Party leader John Smith.

Iona is a sacred place and, especially as I am a Scotsman with a Greek wife, Dr Samuel Johnson’s words in 1773 resonate still:

“That man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona.”

Iona Abbey

SMD

11.02.12

Text Copyright Sidney Donald 2012