Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we're delving into the life of a remarkable Glaswegian figure who left an indelible mark on the social, cultural, and industrial fabric of Scotland's largest city. On December 9, 1903, the Glasgow East End Industrial Exhibition opened its doors, an event shaped by the energy and vision of one David Fortune. While the exhibition itself was a milestone, it also serves as an entry point into the fascinating life of Fortune—a man whose legacy reflects the dynamism of Victorian and Edwardian Glasgow.

The Glasgow East End Industrial Exhibition of 1903-1904 was an ambitious endeavor, organized to raise funds for the Royal Infirmary. Though its financial success fell short of expectations, attracting over 908,000 visitors and yielding modest profits, it represented a culmination of Fortune's lifelong passion for industrial progress and social betterment. This exhibition was part of a larger legacy, following earlier triumphs like the East End Industrial Exhibition of 1890, whose surplus funds helped build the People’s Palace, an enduring cultural landmark.

The 1903 exhibition was held in Duke Street, a site designed for its predecessor, and featured machinery displays, illuminated exhibits, and artistic works. Fortune chaired the Executive Committee, demonstrating his exceptional organizational skills and community-driven ethos. His ability to galvanize support for such monumental events reflected his deep-seated commitment to improving society.

Born around 1842 in Glasgow, David Fortune was raised under modest circumstances. By the age of 18, he was working as a printer compositor and living with his extended family. However, he soon demonstrated an aptitude for leadership and innovation. By 1865, at just 23, Fortune became secretary of the Central Working Men’s Club, a role that marked the start of his journey as a pioneering organizer of industrial exhibitions.

His first foray into exhibition management came the same year, with Scotland's first Industrial Exhibition, held at the Royal Polytechnic in Glasgow. Fortune was deeply committed to showcasing the talents of working men, a mission that would define much of his later work. The 1865 exhibition boasted 500 exhibits, 400 of which were by working-class contributors.

Beyond exhibitions, Fortune was a tireless advocate for temperance. As secretary of the Irish Temperance League in Belfast during the 1870s, he introduced initiatives like coffee stalls, which became symbols of the movement. His passion for education also shone through his work as janitor and curator of Anderson’s University Museum in Glasgow, where he authored prize-winning temperance literature.

Fortune’s ability to combine pragmatic action with moral conviction was a hallmark of his career. In the 1880s, he rose to prominence as the manager of the stationery firm Sir William Collins, Sons & Co., and later as president of the Scottish Legal Life Assurance Society. In these roles, he demonstrated a keen sense of business acumen, addressing issues like child insurance while expanding the reach of these organizations.

Fortune’s legacy extended to cultural and civic life. As chairman of the 1890 East End Industrial Exhibition, he helped channel its profits toward the People’s Palace, which aimed to provide intellectual and social enrichment for Glasgow’s working-class population. The Bailie, a contemporary newspaper, described him as an "eager and enthusiastic worker" whose ventures consistently turned into successes.

Even late in life, Fortune’s contributions were recognized with a portrait in oils, presented during the Scottish National Exhibition of 1911. Painted by Francis Wilson, the portrait symbolized 50 years of public service, celebrating a life dedicated to social reform, industrial progress, and cultural enrichment.

David Fortune passed away on November 12, 1917, at the age of 75. His obituary in The Glasgow Herald described him as "a social reformer" and highlighted his broad-ranging contributions, from temperance advocacy to civic improvements. His estate generously supported causes close to his heart, including the Scottish Temperance League and children’s education.

Today, Fortune’s life serves as a reminder of the transformative power of community-driven leadership. From organizing industrial exhibitions to championing education and social welfare, he embodied the spirit of a city that, at the turn of the 20th century, was at the height of its industrial and cultural influence.

Thank you for joining us today on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald. Until next time, haste ye back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we journey back to December 8, 1972, when Wendy Wood, one of Scotland's most colorful and passionate advocates for independence, began her hunger strike for Scottish Home Rule. Wood’s bold action was yet another chapter in a lifetime of tireless campaigning for Scotland’s self-governance.

Born Gwendoline Emily Meacham on October 29, 1892, in Maidstone, Kent, Wood was an unlikely figure to become a symbol of Scottish nationalism. Raised in South Africa, her father was both a brewery manager and a painter, and her artistic lineage ran deep—her maternal grandfather, Samuel Peploe Wood, was a sculptor, and her great-uncle, Thomas Peploe Wood, was a painter.

In 1927, she adopted her mother’s maiden name to emphasize her Scottish roots, famously defending her right to campaign for Scotland by quipping, “One does not have to be a horse to be born in a stable.”

Wood’s career was eclectic. She was a gifted artist, sculptor, and writer, but it was her theatrical activism that made her a household name. A co-founder of the National Party of Scotland in 1928—later to merge into the Scottish National Party—Wood’s vision extended beyond party politics. By the 1930s, she championed a non-party approach to the cause of Scottish independence, often resorting to dramatic and headline-grabbing tactics.

One of her most infamous acts occurred on Bannockburn Day in 1932, when she led a group of nationalists into Stirling Castle, then an army barracks. There, they replaced the Union Jack with the Lion Rampant flag of Scotland. Her boldness became the stuff of legend, though Eric Linklater's claim that she flushed the Union Jack down a toilet led to a libel case. Wood won, but only received farthing damages—a symbolic victory in her lifelong campaign.

Wood’s activism spanned decades and causes, from opposing the use of the regnal title "Elizabeth II" in Scotland—arguing that Scotland never had an Elizabeth I—to campaigning for global justice. She supported Indian independence, commemorated victims of British concentration camps during the Boer War, and even lent her voice to the Icelandic side in the 1970s "Cod Wars" over fishing rights.

In 1949, she founded the Scottish Patriots, a non-partisan movement for independence, which attracted thousands of members by the time of her death.

At the age of 80, Wendy Wood embarked on a hunger strike for Home Rule on December 8, 1972. While the strike did not lead to immediate political changes, it underscored her relentless commitment to the cause. Her action was part of a broader resurgence of Scottish nationalism that ultimately paved the way for the 1979 referendum on devolution. Although the referendum fell short of its required threshold, it laid the groundwork for Scotland's eventual establishment of a devolved Parliament in 1999.

Beyond activism, Wood was a prolific writer and storyteller. Her books, including Tales of the Western Isles and her autobiography Yours Sincerely for Scotland, captured the essence of Scottish life, history, and culture. In the 1970s, she appeared on the BBC children's program Jackanory, sharing Scottish folktales as "Auntie Gwen."

For over a decade, she lived as a crofter in Moidart, embracing a simple life that informed her writing. Her later years were spent in Edinburgh, where she shared a home and studio with her partner, artist Florence St John Cadell.

Wendy Wood passed away in Edinburgh on June 30, 1981, at the age of 88. Her indomitable spirit and flair for the dramatic left an enduring mark on Scotland’s independence movement. In 2021, her contributions were commemorated with a memorial in Edinburgh’s Old Calton Burial Ground.

Wood’s hunger strike on this day in 1972 stands as a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who believe in the power of self-determination. Her life was a tapestry of creativity, courage, and controversy, woven together by an unshakeable belief in Scotland's right to govern itself.

Thank you for joining us today on This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow for another story from Scotland’s rich and inspiring past. Until then, I’m Colin MacDonald—Haste Ye Back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History! I’m your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we journey back to December 7, 1593, to the Battle of Dryfe Sands, one of the bloodiest clan conflicts in Scottish history. This fierce encounter near Lockerbie saw the Clan Johnstone and Clan Maxwell clash after more than a century of bitter rivalry. It was a day that would leave a lasting mark on the Scottish Borders and its warring clans.

The feud between the Johnstones and Maxwells had simmered for generations. By the late 16th century, they were locked in a deadly struggle for dominance over the West Marches. The rivalry escalated in 1585 when Lord Maxwell was declared a rebel by King James VI. Sir James Johnstone was appointed in his place as Warden of the West Marches. What followed was a series of raids and retaliations that left castles burned and blood spilled.

The fragile peace between the clans disintegrated completely in 1593 when a dispute involving Johnstone allies reignited old hostilities. Maxwell rallied an army of 2,000 men, including his own vassals and supporters from other powerful Border families such as the Griersons and Crichtons. With royal troops bolstering his forces, Maxwell marched into Annandale, vowing to destroy the Johnstones.

James Johnstone, outnumbered and facing the prospect of annihilation, called on his own allies. Reinforcements arrived in the form of warriors from the Clan Scott and the Grahams of the Debatable Lands. Johnstone assembled a force of around 800 men and chose the high ground near the confluence of the Dryfe and Annan rivers to make his stand.

Maxwell’s men advanced into the valley, where a small group of Johnstone fighters taunted them, luring them uphill. As the Maxwells pushed forward, the main Johnstone force charged down from their elevated position. The ensuing battle was savage and chaotic. Swords clashed, war cries echoed, and blood stained the frosty ground.

Maxwell himself fought valiantly but was overwhelmed and killed. His death marked the turning point of the battle. The Maxwells, now leaderless, were routed. Many were cut down as they fled, and those who escaped bore lasting scars from the Johnstone blades, giving rise to the infamous phrase "Lockerbie licks." By the end, 700 Maxwells lay dead, while Johnstone’s losses, though fewer, were still heavy.

Despite their victory, the Johnstones paid a steep price. Only 160 of their warriors survived the battle, and James Johnstone was later forced to seek royal clemency for his actions. The defeat was devastating for the Maxwells, but it didn’t bring an end to the feud. In 1608, John Maxwell, son of the slain Lord Maxwell, murdered Sir James Johnstone during a meeting meant to secure peace. Maxwell fled to the Continent but was eventually captured and executed in Edinburgh for the killing.

The Battle of Dryfe Sands remains a potent symbol of the fierce independence and relentless violence that defined life in the Scottish Borders. It was a time when loyalty to clan often outweighed loyalty to crown, and honor was measured by the sword.

Thank you for joining me today on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald, and I hope you’ll tune in tomorrow for another journey into Scotland’s past. Until then, haste ye back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we journey back to December 6, 1214, a date that marked the coronation of one of Scotland's most impactful monarchs, Alexander II, at Scone. A red-haired king of vision and determination, Alexander’s reign laid foundations that still resonate in Scotland’s history today.

Born on August 24, 1198, in Haddington, East Lothian, Alexander was the only son of King William the Lion and Ermengarde de Beaumont. From an early age, he was immersed in the politics of the day, including being sent to England as part of the terms of the Treaty of Falaise. At just 16 years old, he succeeded to the Scottish throne upon his father’s death, becoming King of Scots in December 1214.

His coronation at Scone, the traditional crowning site of Scottish kings, marked the beginning of a reign characterized by consolidation of power and a relentless pursuit of Scottish sovereignty. His youth, coupled with the political instability of the time, would prove a trial by fire for the young king.

The year after his coronation, Alexander faced rebellion from the clans Meic Uilleim and MacHeth, long-time adversaries of the Scottish crown. His decisive military action quelled the uprising, showcasing his ability to maintain order in a fragmented Scotland.

Alexander’s reign was also marked by territorial ambitions and a push for centralization. His assertion of control over the semi-autonomous regions of Argyll and Galloway reinforced the authority of the crown. The king’s uncompromising response to resistance, such as his brutal suppression of a revolt in Caithness in 1222, earned him the respect of the Church and the reputation of a steadfast ruler.

While Alexander demonstrated martial strength, he also wielded diplomacy as a powerful tool. His involvement in England’s civil unrest saw him ally with the rebellious English barons against King John. However, following John’s death in 1216, Alexander pivoted, establishing peace with John’s successor, the young King Henry III. This peace was solidified in 1221 through Alexander’s marriage to Henry’s sister, Joan of England.

Though the marriage produced no heirs, it symbolized a crucial moment of reconciliation between Scotland and England. This alliance, however, did not deter Alexander from pressing Scottish claims to northern English counties, a long-standing dispute with the English crown.

One of Alexander’s most enduring achievements came in 1237 with the Treaty of York. This landmark agreement defined the border between Scotland and England, largely unchanged to this day. It was a testament to Alexander’s skill in diplomacy and his commitment to securing Scotland’s territorial integrity.

The final years of Alexander’s reign were focused on asserting Scottish authority over the Western Isles, still under Norwegian control. Despite negotiations and attempted purchases, he was unable to bring the islands into Scottish hands. Undeterred, Alexander planned a military campaign but fell ill and died on the Isle of Kerrera in 1249 before it could be realized. His death left the matter unresolved, with the islands remaining a point of contention until the Treaty of Perth in 1266.

Alexander’s reign was pivotal in shaping Scotland’s medieval identity. His efforts to centralize power, secure borders, and protect the kingdom’s sovereignty paved the way for his successor, Alexander III, to build upon his father’s work.

The chronicler Matthew Paris described Alexander as a fiery, red-haired monarch whose resilience earned him respect from allies and adversaries alike. His legacy endures in Scotland’s history as a king who defined an era and whose influence can still be felt in Scotland’s enduring independence.

As we reflect on this day in 1214, we honor the coronation of a monarch who defined an era and whose influence can still be felt in Scotland’s enduring independence.

Thank you for joining me, Colin MacDonald, for another fascinating journey through This Day in Scottish History. Don’t forget to tune in tomorrow for more stories from Scotland’s storied past. Until then, slàinte mhath! Haste ye back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we look back at a key moment in Scotland's social and political history, as the country voted on the question of alcohol prohibition on December 5th, 1920. Though the majority of Scotland rejected the idea of banning alcohol in their communities, about 40 districts voted in favor, marking a significant chapter in the temperance movement that had long shaped public policy and attitudes towards alcohol.

The Temperance movement in Scotland, which advocated for the reduction or complete prohibition of alcohol, was a powerful force in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. In response to the growing influence of temperance campaigners, the UK Parliament passed the Temperance (Scotland) Act 1913, which allowed for local referendums on whether or not alcohol should be prohibited in individual districts. These referendums were a direct result of growing concerns about public health, social problems, and the disruptive effects of alcohol consumption in Scotland.

The 1913 Act was part of a broader temperance movement that saw significant political and social mobilization. Scottish reformers sought to reduce alcohol consumption, citing its links to poverty, domestic violence, and poor working conditions. However, these reformers faced strong opposition from brewers, publicans, and others within the alcohol industry, who formed their own committees to resist the growing temperance pressure.

The act allowed local areas—burghs, parishes, and wards—to hold a poll, where voters could choose between three options: maintaining the status quo (no change), reducing the number of alcohol licenses by 25%, or abolishing all licenses altogether (prohibition). For prohibition to succeed, it required more than a simple majority. It needed at least 55% of the vote in favor of "no licence," and at least 35% of all registered voters in the district to participate in the poll. This high threshold made it difficult for prohibition to succeed in many areas, especially in larger urban centers.

The first referendums took place in June 1920, with the bulk of voting happening in November and December of that year. Despite the efforts of the temperance movement, which had hoped to hold polls in over 1,000 districts, only 584 petitions succeeded. Voter turnout was relatively low, and when the votes were tallied, the results showed a clear rejection of prohibition. Across Scotland, 60% of voters chose "no change," meaning they wanted to maintain the existing licensing system, while 38% voted for complete prohibition, and just 2% supported a reduction in licenses.

Nevertheless, a number of areas did vote in favor of prohibition, with 40 districts choosing to go "dry." Some of these areas included Airdrie, Cambuslang, Kilsyth, Kirkintilloch, and Stewarton. Glasgow, which had a strong temperance movement, saw a number of wards voting for prohibition. However, due to the complicated voting system and the supermajority requirement, prohibition was only successfully implemented in four wards in Glasgow, despite a majority of voters in 11 wards supporting "no licence." This discrepancy illustrates the challenges and complexities of the 1913 Act's provisions.

While the overall vote was against prohibition, the results did not mark the end of the temperance movement or the issue of alcohol regulation in Scotland. In fact, the issue continued to spark debates and further votes in subsequent years. Many of the districts that voted to go "dry" held new votes within a few years, often with the support of the alcohol industry. By 1927, the majority of these votes had reversed prohibition, leaving only a handful of areas with alcohol bans. Lerwick, in the Shetland Islands, remained dry until 1947.

In the following decades, the 1913 Act and its provisions were gradually superseded by new legislation, most notably the Licensing (Scotland) Act 1959, which consolidated Scottish licensing law. However, the 1913 Act's legacy lived on, with some local areas continuing to hold votes on the issue of alcohol licensing well into the 20th century. The practice of holding local option polls eventually faded out, with the last of these votes taking place in the 1970s.

The temperance movement, though it never fully succeeded in its goal of nationwide prohibition, had a lasting impact on Scottish society. It helped to shape public policy on alcohol regulation and contributed to broader debates about public health, morality, and social order. The legacy of these debates continues today, as Scotland grapples with issues related to alcohol consumption, public health, and social responsibility.

So, as we look back on December 5th, 1920, and the outcome of Scotland's referendum on alcohol prohibition, we see how a powerful social movement intersected with political processes to shape the nation's future. While the majority of Scots rejected the idea of prohibition, the votes in favor in certain areas serve as a reminder of the deep divisions within the country over the issue of alcohol and its role in society.

Thank you for joining me on this journey through history. Tune in tomorrow for another fascinating episode of This Day in Scottish History. I'm Colin MacDonald, Haste Ye Back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we're turning the spotlight on an extraordinary moment in both animal conservation and international relations—an event that took place on December 4, 2011. On this day, two giant pandas, Yang Guang and Tian Tian, arrived in Edinburgh, marking the beginning of a special chapter for Edinburgh Zoo, Scotland, and the UK. These two pandas made history as the first giant pandas to live in the UK for 17 years, arriving from China as part of a 10-year loan agreement, which was later extended for an additional two years.

The arrival of Yang Guang ("Sunshine") and Tian Tian ("Sweetie") was much more than just a significant event for animal lovers. Their presence symbolized a growing friendship between Scotland and China. It was also part of a larger international effort to promote panda conservation and facilitate breeding programs that could help save this endangered species from extinction.

Let’s step back a little and look at how this historic day came to pass. It was a highly anticipated moment, and the pandas arrived in Edinburgh under a great deal of media attention. The flight from Chengdu, China, was specially chartered, and they were transported in custom-built crates that would ensure their comfort during the long journey. These crates were designed with their safety in mind—fitted with ventilation, sliding padlocks, and removable screens for easy observation. The pandas had a diet of bamboo, apples, carrots, and even a special "panda cake" to enjoy during their journey.

When the pandas touched down at Edinburgh Airport on December 4, 2011, they were met with a small entourage, including the Scottish Secretary, Nicola Sturgeon, and the Chinese Charge d'Affaires, along with a cheering crowd. It was a moment of celebration for many. Yet, the arrival of the pandas was not without its controversy. Animal welfare groups, such as OneKind, voiced concerns about the ethics of keeping such rare and endangered animals in captivity. They questioned whether this was an effective form of conservation, or if it was merely a commercial arrangement. Despite this, Edinburgh Zoo was hopeful that the pandas' presence would educate the public and raise awareness about the importance of conserving giant pandas in the wild.

Yang Guang and Tian Tian settled into their new, £250,000 home at the zoo, which featured two separate enclosures designed to meet their specific needs. The zoo team hoped that the pandas would breed, a goal that was of particular interest to conservationists. Tian Tian had given birth to twin cubs before, and Yang Guang had fathered cubs, though not with Tian Tian. Their breeding efforts would be closely monitored. Although no cubs were produced during their stay, their presence at the zoo contributed valuable insights into panda care, fertility, and veterinary practices, which had a direct impact on panda conservation efforts in China.

Yang Guang and Tian Tian's story is a testament to the increasing importance of international cooperation in animal conservation. But as the pandas became beloved by the public and a major tourist attraction for the zoo, it was always known that their time in Edinburgh would eventually come to an end. The 12-year loan had always been temporary. Preparations for their return to China were years in the making. In late 2023, after their long stay, Yang Guang and Tian Tian left Edinburgh to head back to their homeland, where they would continue their conservation journey at a sanctuary in Chengdu, Sichuan province.

The logistics of sending two giant pandas back to China were complex and meticulous. The pandas were placed in specially designed travel crates, the same ones used for their arrival in 2011. They had to undergo quarantine in both the UK and China to ensure that they would not carry any diseases. Alongside them were a team of keepers, a vet from Edinburgh Zoo, and even a Chinese keeper to help manage the animals during their flight. As the pandas were prepared for their departure, they were once again surrounded by their dedicated caregivers, who had formed emotional bonds with them during their years at the zoo.

The flight itself was a unique experience—on a specially chartered China Southern Airlines plane that had most of its seats removed to make room for the pandas' crates. Only four people, including the keepers and a vet, were allowed to be on board. The pandas were accompanied by fresh bamboo and monitored for their health throughout the flight. Their crates were carefully secured, and the journey to China was expected to take around 12 to 13 hours, with a handover at a halfway point between the two countries.

For the staff at Edinburgh Zoo, it was a bittersweet farewell. Many of the keepers had been with the pandas since their arrival and had cared for them over the years. Senior animal keeper Michael Livingstone described looking after the pandas as the highlight of his career. Despite knowing that the pandas’ departure was inevitable, it was still an emotional day for everyone involved. The pandas had become a symbol of not just conservation efforts, but of the friendships forged between countries through the shared love and care of these magnificent creatures.

Since their arrival in 2011, Yang Guang and Tian Tian had become beloved residents of Edinburgh Zoo. Their stay was filled with moments of joy for the public and the keepers. Visitors would come from far and wide to catch a glimpse of the pandas, and many of them were inspired by the work being done to conserve pandas in the wild. Over the years, millions of people learned about the challenges of panda conservation, thanks to the ongoing research conducted at the zoo. While the pandas may not have bred while in Edinburgh, their presence undoubtedly sparked global interest in protecting giant pandas and their habitats.

As Yang Guang and Tian Tian make their way back to China, their legacy lives on. They have left an indelible mark on the hearts of many in Scotland and beyond. The ongoing work in panda conservation continues to evolve, with new strategies and partnerships emerging every year to protect these vulnerable animals. It is hoped that the lessons learned in Edinburgh will contribute to the greater goal of ensuring a bright future for giant pandas, both in captivity and in the wild.

Thank you for joining me on this special episode of This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow as we delve deeper into another fascinating moment from Scotland's rich past. I'm Colin MacDonald, and as always, Haste Ye Back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Today, we turn our attention to a story that is equal parts incredible and tragic—the life and schemes of Gregor MacGregor, a man whose audacity and imagination brought financial ruin and death to hundreds but earned him a place in the annals of history. On December 3, 1845, MacGregor died in Venezuela, far from his Scottish homeland. Yet his legacy as the creator of the fictional Principality of Poyais lives on as one of history’s most audacious scams.

Born in Edinburgh on December 24, 1786, Gregor MacGregor was the son of a naval captain, Daniel MacGregor, and Ann Austin. Though his upbringing was unremarkable, MacGregor harbored grand ambitions. At the age of 16, he joined the Royal Navy, beginning a military career that would later take him across the Atlantic. Over the years, he served in the Spanish and Portuguese armies and eventually found himself fighting for Venezuelan independence from Spain. By 1817, MacGregor had styled himself as a general, leading a small force to capture the Spanish fort of San Fernandina on Amelia Island, Florida. His military career was daring but lacked the distinction he often claimed.

MacGregor’s most infamous chapter began in 1820 when he returned to Britain with an audacious story. He introduced himself to London’s elite as the "Cazique," or Prince, of Poyais—a tropical paradise he claimed to govern on the Mosquito Coast of Central America. According to MacGregor, the Indigenous king of the region had gifted him 12,500 square miles of land to develop. He painted a vivid picture of Poyais as a fertile, prosperous, and disease-free nation, ready to welcome British settlers.

MacGregor’s genius lay in the details. He presented an array of official-looking documents, including maps, land grants, and even a Poyais flag. In 1822, he published a 350-page guidebook promoting Poyais as a dream destination for those seeking opportunity and adventure. The book claimed the colony was pro-British, rich in natural resources, and free from the tropical diseases that plagued neighboring regions. The guidebook and MacGregor’s magnetic personality convinced many that Poyais was a golden opportunity.

Investors poured money into the venture, and settlers rushed to join the expeditions. In 1822, MacGregor raised a £200,000 loan in London. That September, the Honduras Packet set sail from London with 70 hopeful settlers. Months later, another ship, the Kennersley Castle, departed Leith with over 200 more, many of them Scots. These settlers arrived at Poyais to find not the bustling port and thriving settlements they had been promised, but an unforgiving jungle.

Disease, starvation, and despair quickly set in. The settlers tried to survive by building makeshift shelters, but they lacked the resources and leadership needed to succeed. Tropical diseases such as malaria and yellow fever claimed many lives. By the time a rescue ship arrived from British Honduras, more than 150 settlers were dead. The survivors were evacuated, some settling elsewhere in the Americas, while others returned to Britain, destitute and disillusioned.

The scandal erupted in Britain upon their return. Newspapers were filled with stories of MacGregor’s deceit, but astonishingly, he avoided prosecution. Instead, he fled to France, where he launched the same scheme anew. In Paris, MacGregor raised a further £300,000 loan, selling shares in the non-existent Poyais to enthusiastic French investors and recruiting settlers. This time, French authorities caught wind of the fraud before settlers embarked and seized the ship, briefly imprisoning MacGregor. However, he was acquitted due to a lack of evidence.

Unrepentant, MacGregor returned to Britain in 1826 and resumed his efforts to promote Poyais. By this time, his reputation had suffered irreparably. Competing conmen even began selling fake land certificates for Poyais, further eroding public confidence in his scheme. By 1837, MacGregor finally gave up on his dream of Poyais, retreating into obscurity.

In 1839, he returned to Venezuela, where his military service during the war for independence earned him a general’s pension. Despite his fraudulent past, he lived out his final years in relative comfort, passing away on December 3, 1845.

The story of Gregor MacGregor and the Principality of Poyais is a cautionary tale about human gullibility and the devastating power of a charismatic conman. Yet, it is also a story of how ambition and imagination, unchecked by morality, can spiral into disaster.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Tune in tomorrow for another fascinating journey into Scotland’s past. Until then, Haste Ye Back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we explore the poignant and fascinating story of Scarp, a once-thriving island in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. On this day, December 2nd, 1971, the island’s last resident families departed, leaving behind a landscape steeped in history, resilience, and tales of extraordinary innovation.

Scarp, known in Gaelic as An Sgarp, lies just west of Harris, separated by the Kyle of Scarp. Despite its beauty, life on this rugged island was never easy. Covering 1,045 hectares of rocky terrain with two dominating hills and minimal arable land, Scarp presented its settlers with both challenges and opportunities.

The island was first inhabited in 1810 by eight farming families, displaced by the infamous Highland Clearances on Harris. Over the next century, Scarp’s population grew to over 200. Crofting became the way of life, and islanders eked out a living through sheep and cattle farming, potato cultivation, and lobster fishing.

Yet even as the community flourished, the island's remote location and harsh environment took their toll. By the mid-20th century, as modern conveniences began to reshape life elsewhere in Scotland, Scarp remained rooted in tradition. Crofting, fishing, and reliance on limited local resources made survival increasingly difficult.

One of Scarp’s more curious claims to fame came in 1934 when German inventor Gerhard Zucker attempted to solve the island’s communication challenges with an ambitious experiment: delivering mail by rocket. Despite his hopes, the rockets exploded mid-flight, leaving only charred envelopes as a reminder of this innovative, if ill-fated, endeavor. The story of "rocket mail" remains a fascinating chapter in the island’s history, later immortalized in the 2006 film The Rocket Post.

Religion played a central role in the lives of Scarp’s residents. The Church of Scotland Mission House served as the island’s spiritual heart, hosting weekly prayer meetings and Sunday services. But even faith could not stave off the island’s slow decline.

By the 1960s, Scarp’s population had dwindled to a fraction of its former size. The closure of the primary school in 1967 and the post office in 1968 were devastating blows. By the 1971 census, only 12 people remained on Scarp. That December, the last families packed their belongings and crossed the Kyle to settle on Harris, marking the end of an era.

Today, Scarp is uninhabited, though its story lives on through the memories of those who once called it home. A few houses are now used as holiday homes, offering fleeting glimpses into the island’s past. Visitors can still see the remnants of crofts, the burial ground where Donald John MacLennan rests, and the stunning landscape that inspired artist Norman Adams, who spent summers painting on Scarp in the 1960s.

Ownership of the island has changed hands multiple times in recent decades, with its rocky shores and storied history attracting curiosity and speculation. Yet despite its uninhabited state, Scarp remains a symbol of the resilience and creativity of the people who lived there—whether in their daily struggle for survival or through bold experiments like rocket mail.

As we reflect on December 2, 1971, we honor the spirit of Scarp’s last residents and the legacy they left behind. Thank you for joining us on this journey through history. Tune in tomorrow for another story from Scotland’s rich past. I'm Colin MacDonald, and as always—Haste Ye Back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we delve into an extraordinary discovery that connects the rugged beauty of the Isle of Skye to a distant, prehistoric world. It was on December 1, 2015, that researchers uncovered a site that would forever change our understanding of Scotland’s ancient past—a massive collection of fossilized dinosaur footprints.

This discovery wasn’t just an exciting moment for Scotland but an important milestone in global paleontology. These footprints, etched into the rock for 170 million years, offer a rare glimpse into the middle Jurassic period, a time shrouded in mystery due to the scarcity of fossils from that era.

The footprints, found near Duntulm Castle on the northern tip of the Isle of Skye, now mark the largest dinosaur site in Scotland and one of the most significant in Europe. As we unravel the story behind this find, let’s step back into a time when Scotland was a subtropical land teeming with giant creatures.

On that fateful day in 2015, researchers from the University of Edinburgh were exploring the shoreline as the tide receded. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, its slanting rays revealed something astonishing: depressions in the rock forming a zigzagging pattern. At first glance, they might have appeared to be natural potholes, but upon closer inspection, the researchers realized they were standing on a prehistoric treasure trove.

The impressions were huge, some the size of dustbin lids, measuring up to 50 centimeters across. As the team studied the details, including the distinctive shape of toes and heel pads, it became clear that these were the footprints of sauropods—gigantic, long-necked herbivores related to dinosaurs like Diplodocus and Brontosaurus.

The site stretched across a 30-meter slab of rock, visible only at low tide. What made it particularly remarkable was the sheer number of tracks. There weren’t just a few stray prints; there were hundreds. These footprints, preserved in layers of rock, represent thousands of years of activity.

Dr. Steve Brusatte, the paleontologist who led the expedition, described it best: “This wasn’t just some lonesome dinosaur wandering through a lagoon. This was a busy scene, like a dinosaur disco, with tracks crisscrossing everywhere.”

Imagine, if you will, a subtropical lagoon, its brackish waters teeming with life. The sauropods, weighing upwards of 10 tonnes and reaching lengths of 15 meters, would have waded through shallow water, leaving their enormous footprints in the soft, muddy ground. Over time, sediments washed in by storms filled these impressions, preserving them as fossilized snapshots of a bygone era.

This find is a game-changer for our understanding of the middle Jurassic, a period where fossil records are notoriously sparse. The Isle of Skye has now earned its nickname as “Scotland’s Dinosaur Isle,” thanks to discoveries like this. Prior to the Duntulm find, other significant fossils had been uncovered on Skye, including smaller theropod tracks and even the world’s tiniest dinosaur footprint, discovered in 2002 at Score Bay. But this site, with its vast collection of sauropod tracks, is by far the most impressive.

What makes Skye’s fossil record so important is its context. During the Jurassic period, Scotland wasn’t the land of rugged mountains and lochs we know today. Instead, it was part of a shallow marine environment near the equator. The warm climate and soft sediment created ideal conditions for preserving footprints.

These discoveries not only tell us about the types of dinosaurs that lived in this region but also how they interacted with their environment. The distribution of the footprints suggests that sauropods frequented the nearshore lagoons, while theropods—a group that includes early relatives of Tyrannosaurus rex—roamed the mudflats and estuaries.

Despite their significance, these ancient tracks face many threats. The relentless tides and harsh Scottish weather gradually wear away the rock, and in some cases, human interference has also posed a problem. In one troubling incident, vandals poured plaster into some of the footprints in an attempt to create casts, risking irreversible damage.

To protect these treasures, conservationists and paleontologists have worked tirelessly to raise awareness. Scottish Natural Heritage has emphasized the importance of adhering to the Scottish Fossil Code, which encourages visitors to appreciate fossils without disturbing or removing them.

The discovery near Duntulm is not just a scientific milestone; it’s a reminder of the incredible history beneath our feet. Standing on the Isle of Skye today, it’s humbling to imagine these gentle giants lumbering through lagoons under a subtropical sun. Their legacy, preserved in stone, connects us to a time 170 million years ago when Scotland was part of a very different world.

As we marvel at this extraordinary site, let us also remember the responsibility we share in preserving it. Fossils like these are irreplaceable windows into our planet’s past, offering insights that can shape our understanding of evolution, climate, and ecosystems.

So, if you ever find yourself on the Isle of Skye, take a moment to walk along the shore at low tide. You might just find yourself walking in the footsteps of giants. But remember, these tracks are more than just curiosities—they are a national treasure, a piece of Scotland’s prehistoric heritage, and a gift to all of humanity.

Thank you for joining me on This Day in Scottish History. I hope today’s journey has transported you back to a time when dinosaurs ruled the earth and Scotland was a tropical haven. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for another fascinating tale from Scotland’s rich and varied past. Until then, I’m Colin MacDonald. Haste ye back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com

Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald, and today, we’re turning back the clock to November 30, 1872, a momentous day in the history of football. On this date, the first-ever official international football match took place between Scotland and England at Hamilton Crescent, Partick, in Glasgow. This groundbreaking encounter, which ended in a 0–0 draw, is officially recognized by FIFA as the dawn of international football.

Before this historic match, there had been a handful of unofficial games between the two nations. These were organized by Charles Alcock, the secretary of the Football Association, but they often sparked controversy. Many of the "Scottish" players in these games were based in England, which led to criticism from fans north of the border.

In 1872, a solution was found when Queen’s Park Football Club, Scotland’s leading team at the time, stepped forward to represent the nation. For the first time, an entirely Scottish team—drawn exclusively from Queen’s Park—would take the field. The match was scheduled for St. Andrew’s Day, an apt choice for showcasing Scottish identity and pride.

The venue for the game was the West of Scotland Cricket Club’s ground, Hamilton Crescent. Although primarily a cricket ground, it was adapted to host this historic match. On a snowy day, 4,000 spectators gathered to witness the event, paying a shilling each to attend. This was the same admission price charged earlier that year for the inaugural FA Cup final.

The Scottish players wore dark blue jerseys, a tradition borrowed from their rugby counterparts, who had worn similar colors with a thistle emblem in their match against England the previous year. England’s team wore white shirts and caps, contrasting sharply with the Scots’ attire. The game began slightly later than scheduled, kicking off around 2:20 PM.

The match itself was played under the early Laws of the Game, which were still evolving. Goalkeeping duties, for instance, were shared among the players, with Scotland’s captain Robert Gardner starting in goal before rotating with teammate Robert Smith. England followed a similar system, with Robert Barker and William Maynard alternating as goalkeepers.

Scotland played a formation featuring two full-backs, two half-backs, and six forwards, while England fielded an even more attacking lineup with eight forwards. Despite England’s aggressive setup, Scotland’s cohesive play—born from their shared experience at Queen’s Park—gave them an edge. The Scots excelled at dribbling and defending, frequently disrupting England’s advances.

Scotland came close to scoring on several occasions. In the first half, they had a goal disallowed after the ball was judged to have passed over the tape that served as a makeshift crossbar. Later in the game, Robert Leckie nearly secured victory with a shot that landed on top of the tape, narrowly missing the mark.

The English team improved their coordination in the second half, but neither side managed to find the net. Despite the goalless draw, the match was widely celebrated as a triumph of sport. Spectators cheered both teams enthusiastically at the final whistle, recognizing the significance of what they had just witnessed.

Reports from the time described the match as an outstanding display of skill and spirit. The Aberdeen Journal called it "the best game ever seen in Scotland," while the sports publication The Field praised the players for their energy and teamwork. The camaraderie between the teams and the fans further underscored the event’s success.

Though it ended without a winner, this match laid the foundation for international football. It established Scotland and England as pioneers in the global game and set the stage for what would become one of the sport’s oldest and most celebrated rivalries. Today, we honor the players who took part in that historic encounter and the visionaries who made it happen.

As we reflect on the events of November 30, 1872, we’re reminded of how far football has come—from a snowy cricket ground in Glasgow to the massive global phenomenon it is today. Yet the essence of the game—its ability to unite people and celebrate competition—remains unchanged.

Thank you for joining me on this journey through history. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for another tale from Scotland’s rich and fascinating past. Until then, haste ye back!

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bagtown.substack.com