12 March, 2015

As I start this entry, I am on the 8A bus heading east from Inverness City Center, headed to the site of one of the bloodiest battles in Highland history. More on the history of this place to follow.

On this last full day here at Inverness I once again find that seventy two hours is barely enough time to be anywhere and come out feeling like I have done anything but scratch the surface of what is there. It is entirely likely that I will one day return here as a starting point for a summer time tour of the upper Highlands and islands.

Writing on my new tablet — the Galactic Savage — I am immediately aware of two things: one, that I need a genuine word processing app, and two, I must secure a detachable keyboard before the onscreen thumb typing makes me crazy. Time to consult the interwebs about that. More and more, however, this device is proving itself useful to me.

Back on the bus to the city. The day has taken a wintry Scotch turn. I was able to tour the battlefield before the rain blew in. The weather on the moor was likely quite like that on the day nearly 270 years ago when the Jacobite uprising was stopped here in this boggy heather.

The history of the Battle of Culloden Moor is more than just the hours slaughter of the Jacobites hoping to restore the Scottish Crown to the Stewart Prince. It begins long before that. The Wikipedia can give a far better and thorough history of the conflict.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Culloden

The battle for Scottish independence is not a new thing. It goes back a thousand years at least. Time and again it is the Highlanders that are behind the desire to be free. These are a fierce people who have wanted to stand on their own in the world for countless generations.

On the left of the path are the graves the Jacobite Highland Clansmen.

clan Mackintosh

There is a comprehensive visitors center that details the story of the events that led up to the day in 1745 that the two forces met on this boggy field. Exiting the rear of the museum, there is a 45 minute walk that tours the main points of the battlefield. This is perhaps one of the best audio-guides that I have ever used. The way points are triggered by GPS, and there is additional information, complete with pictures and animations on an Android powered touchscreen, available between stations on the tour.

Like Omaha Beach the land here bears few scars of the brutal events that took place, but like the Norman beach there is an echo in the air of the tragic loss of life. Towards the end of the loop, the path comes to the stones marking the mass graves of the Highlanders who died that day. It is estimated that more than 1500 men lost their lives in the fateful charge. The men were buried together with their fellow clansmen. Stones mark the spots where the different clans lay in their eternal rest.

To the Scots this ground is more than just a memorial to fallen ancestors. It is a hallowed war grave, and a part of the national psyche. For on that day, it was more than just a battle, more than just an uprising against the crown that was lost. Following the conflict the wearing of Tartan was banned, and the Highlanders lost a large part of their identity.

There are not so many pictures from the day. Like my day in Normandy a year and a half ago, the things that are here cannot be photographed. It is an experience for the mind, heart and soul. I left the moor with a feeling that I understand the Scots, particularly the Highlanders, just a bit more. Building on my experience learning of the battles of the Highland Picts against the Romans, of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace against Edward Longshanks in the battles of Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn, through to the WWI Highland Fusiliers, I have come to understand that these are a proud, rugged and fierce people. They have a strong national pride – I have not seen the Union Jack flying anywhere, but the Blue and White Cross of St. Andrew is everywhere – and loyalty to their fellow countrymen that is truly respectable. Even across clans, when the call is made, “Are there no true Scots?” they will all rise together as one people.

I do not know the history of it, but Walker is a Scottish name. While I am clearly an American mutt from many generations and many different international bloodlines in the UK and Western Europe, I know that there is Scots blood in me, and I am proud.

A few more pics around Inverness as I prepare to head for Aberdeen.

A wee bit aboot tha hielan’ coo.

fin