Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we turn our focus to a pivotal figure in British history, born on this day, November 19, 1600, in the grandeur of Dunfermline Palace in Fife—Charles Stuart, the future King Charles I. His life, reign, and downfall would cast a long shadow over Scotland, England, and Ireland.

Born as the second son of King James VI of Scotland and Anne of Denmark, Charles was not initially destined to rule. His early years were shaped by frailty; he was a weak and sickly child who remained in Scotland when his parents relocated to England in 1603 following James’s accession to the English throne. By the time Charles joined his family in England in 1604, he had begun to overcome many of his early health challenges, though he retained a stammer throughout his life.

The trajectory of his life shifted dramatically in 1612 with the sudden death of his elder brother, Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales. Charles became heir apparent, assuming the titles of Duke of Cornwall and Duke of Rothesay. Later, in 1616, he was formally invested as Prince of Wales. Despite these honors, Charles’s upbringing was overshadowed by comparisons to his late brother, known for his charisma and vigor, qualities Charles seemed to lack. Nevertheless, he honed his skills as a horseman, marksman, and patron of the arts, developing traits that would later define his court.

Charles ascended the throne in 1625, following the death of his father, and his reign was immediately marked by tension. A staunch believer in the divine right of kings, he viewed his authority as unassailable and resisted efforts by Parliament to limit his powers. His choice of advisors, most notably the Duke of Buckingham, his financial policies, and his religious decisions fueled discontent. His marriage to Henrietta Maria of France, a Catholic, deepened divisions in a kingdom already riven by sectarian conflict.

Religious strife, always a volatile issue in Scotland, reached a boiling point during his reign. Charles’s attempt to impose an English-style prayer book on the Scottish Church provoked widespread resistance. This culminated in the Bishops’ Wars of 1639 and 1640, which eroded royal authority and set the stage for the broader conflicts of the British Civil Wars. These wars saw Scotland, England, and Ireland embroiled in a violent struggle over governance, religion, and sovereignty.

Charles’s inability to reconcile his belief in absolute monarchy with the growing demands for parliamentary authority led to the English Civil War in 1642. Over the next several years, his forces clashed with those loyal to Parliament. Despite his efforts, Charles suffered a series of defeats, culminating in his capture in 1646. The political drama intensified when Charles negotiated secretly with various factions, attempting to exploit divisions among his opponents.

In 1649, Charles was tried and convicted of high treason by a court that questioned the very notion of monarchic immunity. On January 30 of that year, he was executed in a shocking public spectacle outside the Banqueting House in London. His death was unprecedented—a reigning monarch tried and executed by his own subjects—and sent shockwaves throughout Europe.

Charles’s execution and the subsequent abolition of the monarchy marked a profound turning point in British history. His legacy is complex. To his supporters, he was a martyr for royalist principles and the Church of England. To his detractors, he was a tyrant whose stubbornness plunged the kingdoms into chaos. The monarchy itself would be restored in 1660 under his son, Charles II, but the scars of the civil wars would linger.

Born in the ancient halls of Dunfermline Palace, Charles Stuart’s life reflects the profound interweaving of Scottish and British history. From his early years in Scotland to his dramatic downfall as king, his story embodies the enduring struggles over power, faith, and governance that shaped the British Isles.

Thank you for joining us today. Tomorrow, we’ll delve into another chapter of Scotland’s rich and varied past. I’m Colin MacDonald, and 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 to "This Day in Scottish History." I’m your host, Colin MacDonald, and today, we journey back to an event that shaped not only Scotland but the broader movement for women’s equality in education. It’s November 18, 1870, and the Surgeons’ Hall Riot is about to take place. This dramatic moment in Edinburgh was a turning point in the fight for women to study and practice medicine—a struggle led by a group of extraordinary trailblazers known as the Edinburgh Seven.

Let’s set the scene. Imagine Victorian Edinburgh, a city bustling with progress and intellectual ferment but one where certain doors remained firmly closed to women. Medicine, a prestigious profession, was considered a man’s domain. In 1869, Sophia Jex-Blake, a determined and capable woman, sought to challenge this status quo. She applied to study medicine at the University of Edinburgh and fought for her admission to be approved. Her success was historic, and six other women soon joined her in becoming the first female medical students in Britain. Together, they would come to be known as the Edinburgh Seven.

But their path was far from easy. From the moment they began their studies, the Edinburgh Seven faced hostility. Many male students viewed them as interlopers, and some faculty members openly opposed their presence. Day by day, they endured verbal abuse, intimidation, and outright harassment. Yet, despite this, they continued to attend classes, study, and excel academically. Their courage and determination were undeniable, but the opposition they faced would escalate to an appalling crescendo on this very day in 1870.

The morning of November 18 was cold, and the women were making their way to Surgeons’ Hall to sit for an anatomy exam. They likely knew the exam itself would be challenging, but nothing could have prepared them for the scene that awaited them outside the hall. A mob had gathered—dozens of male students and several hundred onlookers—intent on intimidating and humiliating them.

As the women approached the gates, the crowd grew louder, shouting insults and obscenities. Mud, refuse, and other debris were thrown at them. Some reports even suggest that animal waste was hurled in their direction. When they reached the entrance, the gates were slammed shut in their faces.

Accounts differ on what happened next. Some say a sympathetic janitor opened the gates to let the women in, while others credit supportive male students. Regardless, the women eventually gained entry to the hall, battered but unyielding. Yet even inside, their ordeal wasn’t over. A live sheep, a pet of the college affectionately known as “Poor Mailie,” was deliberately released into the exam room to create chaos. Imagine the pandemonium—an already tense atmosphere disrupted by a frantic animal darting around the hall.

Still, the women persevered. They completed the exam despite the distractions and hostility. Their strength and composure in such circumstances were remarkable, but the events of that day didn’t end when the exam concluded. As they left the hall, the mob outside was still waiting.

At this point, a group of male students known as the Irish Brigade stepped in to protect the women. They formed a protective barrier and escorted them away from the building. By the time they reached safety, the women were covered in mud, shaken, and exhausted, but they had withstood the worst that their detractors could throw at them.

The public reaction to the Surgeons’ Hall Riot was swift and significant. Newspapers across Scotland condemned the rioters. The Scotsman, a leading publication, denounced the behavior of the mob as “cowardly and degrading.” Public opinion began to shift, with many rallying to the Edinburgh Seven’s cause. The riot, intended to humiliate these women, instead shone a spotlight on their courage and the injustice they faced.

Sophia Jex-Blake didn’t let the matter rest. She publicly accused a male student, Mr. Craig, of being one of the instigators of the riot. This led to a libel case, as Craig sued her for defamation. In court, Jex-Blake and her colleagues stood their ground, and while the verdict technically went in Craig’s favor, the damages awarded were only a single farthing—a token amount that underscored the court’s lack of sympathy for his case.

The riot and its aftermath marked a turning point. Although the Edinburgh Seven would eventually leave the University of Edinburgh without completing their degrees due to systemic barriers, their struggle ignited a broader movement. Women across Britain and beyond were inspired by their bravery.

Sophia Jex-Blake went on to earn her medical degree abroad and later returned to Britain to become one of the first female doctors in the United Kingdom. She also played a key role in establishing medical schools for women, ensuring that the next generation wouldn’t face the same barriers.

In time, the University of Edinburgh itself would change. Today, women make up a significant portion of the medical faculty, and the Edinburgh Seven are remembered as pioneers who helped pave the way for gender equality in education and beyond. In 2015, a Historic Scotland plaque was unveiled at Surgeons’ Hall to commemorate the riot and honor these extraordinary women.

As we reflect on the events of November 18, 1870, we’re reminded of the courage it takes to challenge entrenched norms and the resilience needed to persist in the face of adversity. The Edinburgh Seven didn’t just fight for their right to study medicine; they fought for the principle that women deserved the same opportunities as men—a principle that continues to shape our world today.

Thank you for joining me as we revisited this powerful chapter in Scottish history. I’m Colin MacDonald, and I hope you’ll join me again tomorrow for another look at the stories that have shaped our 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 delve into a defining moment in Scotland’s past. On November 17, 1292, the fate of the Scottish throne was decided in a landmark ruling by a panel of auditors led by Edward I of England. Their decision declared John Balliol the rightful King of Scots, ending years of uncertainty but setting the stage for turmoil that would shape Scotland’s future.

The events leading up to this decision were steeped in tragedy and tension. In 1286, King Alexander III died suddenly, leaving his granddaughter Margaret, the Maid of Norway, as his sole heir. At just three years old, Margaret’s rule required the guidance of the Guardians of Scotland, a group of nobles tasked with governing the realm. However, Margaret’s untimely death in 1290 left Scotland without a clear successor.

Thirteen claimants came forward to vie for the throne. The two strongest claims belonged to John Balliol and Robert de Brus, the 5th Lord of Annandale. Balliol argued his right to the crown based on primogeniture, the principle of inheritance through the eldest line, while Brus emphasized proximity of blood, claiming he was a generation closer to the late King Alexander III.

Fearing the outbreak of civil war, the Guardians sought the help of Edward I of England to mediate. This decision would prove controversial. Edward agreed to arbitrate but demanded recognition as Scotland’s feudal overlord, a claim deeply resented by the Scots. Desperate to avoid conflict, the Guardians had little choice but to concede to Edward’s demands.

Edward convened a court of 104 auditors to hear the cases. He personally appointed 24 of them and presided over the proceedings. Balliol and Brus were each allowed to appoint 40 auditors of their own, ensuring their interests were represented. The cases were argued passionately, with each side presenting evidence and appeals rooted in both legal precedent and Scottish tradition.

Balliol’s claim was straightforward. His mother, Devorguilla of Galloway, was the eldest daughter of Margaret of Huntingdon, sister of William the Lion. By primogeniture, Balliol’s line had the strongest hereditary right to the throne. Brus, however, countered with the argument of proximity, claiming his descent through a younger line brought him closer in blood to Alexander III.

Other claimants, such as John Hastings and Floris V, Count of Holland, presented their own arguments, but none matched the strength of Balliol’s or Brus’s claims. Hastings, for example, proposed that the kingdom be divided among the descendants of Margaret of Huntingdon, an idea that was swiftly rejected.

On November 17, 1292, the court rendered its decision. Edward ruled in favor of John Balliol, recognizing primogeniture as the guiding principle for succession. Balliol was crowned King of Scots shortly thereafter, but his reign was overshadowed by Edward’s interference.

Edward treated Scotland as a vassal state, frequently summoning Balliol to English courts and overturning his decisions. This heavy-handed approach earned Balliol the nickname “Toom Tabard,” or “Empty Coat,” reflecting his lack of real authority. The Scots grew increasingly resentful of Edward’s overreach, and tensions boiled over in 1296 when rebellion erupted, marking the beginning of the Wars of Scottish Independence.

Though the Great Cause resolved the immediate question of succession, it exposed Scotland’s vulnerability during a time of interregnum. Edward’s ambitions and Balliol’s weak rule plunged Scotland into conflict, but it also galvanized the Scottish people in their struggle for freedom. Figures like William Wallace and, later, Robert the Bruce emerged as leaders in the fight for independence.

The events of November 17, 1292, are a reminder of the complexities of leadership and the enduring spirit of the Scottish people. While the decision to crown Balliol brought temporary resolution, it set the stage for a long and arduous fight for Scotland’s sovereignty.

Thank you for joining me on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald. Haste ye back tomorrow for another exploration of Scotland’s rich and dramatic past.

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 the tale of an outlaw whose life ended on this day, November 16, in the year 1700. The story of James Macpherson, or Jamie Macpherson as he is often remembered, is one of defiance, music, and legend—a tale immortalized in song and folklore.

Macpherson was born around 1675, the illegitimate son of a Highland nobleman from Clan Macpherson and a Romani woman. His father acknowledged him and raised him among the clan until his untimely death in a cattle-retrieving expedition. Left an orphan, Jamie was taken in by his mother’s Romani family. Known for his striking strength, exceptional swordsmanship, and skill with the fiddle, Macpherson would later become a figure both feared and admired.

In the rugged Highlands, where cattle raiding and protection rackets were often seen as honorable pursuits, Jamie Macpherson carved out a reputation for himself. He led a band of outlaws, offering extralegal protection to cattle herds and earning a reputation akin to a Highland Robin Hood. Tales of his exploits filled the markets of Banffshire and Aberdeenshire. Always accompanied by music, Macpherson’s band marched with a piper at their head, a spectacle that made him both a folk hero and a marked man in the eyes of local lairds.

The powerful Duff of Braco became determined to bring Macpherson to justice. In the autumn of 1700, during the Saint Rufus Fair in Keith, Macpherson was ambushed and captured after a fierce struggle. Taken to Banff, he faced trial under charges of robbery, bearing arms in public, and the damning accusation of being "ane Egiptian," a crime in Scots law at the time. His conviction was all but assured.

While awaiting execution, Macpherson composed a song that would outlive him. Known as Macpherson’s Lament, Macpherson’s Rant, or Macpherson’s Farewell, it is a haunting melody filled with defiance and sorrow. On the day of his execution, Jamie is said to have played the tune on his fiddle beneath the gallows. After finishing, he offered the instrument to his clansmen, but when no one stepped forward, he smashed it, declaring, "No one else shall play Jamie Macpherson’s fiddle." He then faced his death, either being hanged or, as some accounts suggest, throwing himself from the ladder in a final act of defiance.

One of the most intriguing aspects of Macpherson’s story is the tale of his pardon. It is said that a rider was en route to Banff with a pardon from the Laird of Grant, but Duff of Braco, determined to see the execution carried out, ordered the town clock to be set 15 minutes ahead. The execution proceeded, and the pardon arrived too late. While this story may be apocryphal, it underscores the sense of injustice that has come to surround Macpherson’s death.

Jamie Macpherson was the last man hanged in Banff under Scotland’s heritable jurisdictions. His legacy as an outlaw, musician, and symbol of defiance has endured for centuries. His lament has been performed by countless artists and remains a poignant reminder of his life and times.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow for another journey into the past. Until then, I’m Colin MacDonald, urging you to 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 stepping back to the night of November 15, 1824, when one of the most destructive events in Edinburgh’s history—the Great Fire of Edinburgh—erupted. Over the next five days, flames ravaged the heart of the city, destroying hundreds of homes, businesses, and historic landmarks. This catastrophic fire not only changed Edinburgh's skyline but also led to significant advances in firefighting and urban planning in Scotland and beyond.

The Great Fire of Edinburgh began around 10 p.m. on November 15th, in James Kirkwood's engraving workshop on the second floor of Old Assembly Close. The close, a narrow alleyway off the High Street, became a deathtrap as flames spread with frightening speed through the densely packed, wooden tenements. Edinburgh's newly formed fire brigade, led by its young firemaster, James Braidwood, responded quickly. This brigade, Scotland's first permanent firefighting force, had been established only two months prior, making this fire its first real test. Equipped with the latest fire engines of the time, they arrived at the scene, but difficulties finding a water supply slowed down their response, allowing the fire to reach uncontrollable levels by 11 p.m.

In Edinburgh’s medieval Old Town, narrow closes and tightly packed multi-story buildings created the perfect environment for the blaze to spread. The fire raced down Fishmarket Close and across the roofs of High Street tenements, propelled by a southwesterly wind. By midnight, the inferno had engulfed four tenements, threatening to consume the entire area. The Tron Kirk’s spire caught fire, and molten lead from its roof began to rain down as firemen, battling flames from within the church, were forced to retreat. The Old Assembly Hall, a landmark that had lent its name to Old Assembly Close, was consumed within hours.

On Tuesday evening, just as the fire seemed under control, a second outbreak ignited on the top floor of an eleven-story building overlooking the Cowgate. This sudden resurgence added to the fire’s devastation and led many to speculate that divine punishment, or even arson, was to blame. In truth, it was likely a smoldering ember reignited by shifting winds. This secondary blaze threatened to consume Parliament Hall, the Law Courts, and nearby St. Giles Cathedral, buildings critical to Edinburgh’s civic and legal life. Throughout the night, firefighters and volunteers alike worked to save these structures, with many citizens watching from a distance, captivated by the fire’s “grand and terrific” glow.

Among the onlookers were some of Edinburgh’s most prominent figures, including law lords and other civic leaders. Young artist David Octavius Hill, who would later gain renown as a pioneer of photography, created vivid watercolors of the scene. His works captured the intense glow of the flames and the silhouetted crowds as Edinburgh's grand buildings succumbed to the blaze.

By Wednesday, a fortunate downpour helped quell the fire, though smoldering hotspots persisted for two more days, finally extinguishing on Friday, November 19th. By the time the fire was contained, entire sections of Edinburgh’s High Street were unrecognizable. Some 400 homes had been destroyed, leaving up to 500 families homeless. Thirteen people, including two firefighters, lost their lives in the disaster, and countless others were injured. Historic buildings, including the birthplace of famed Scottish biographer James Boswell and the Edinburgh Courant newspaper office, were reduced to ashes.

In the fire's aftermath, public criticism arose against Edinburgh’s young fire brigade, but an official inquiry exonerated Braidwood and his team. The investigation found that confusion and outdated municipal laws had hindered firefighting efforts, as multiple officials issued contradictory orders. To address this, a new regulation was enacted giving the city’s firemaster full authority during firefighting operations—a policy that later influenced firefighting protocols across Britain.

The Great Fire also prompted substantial improvements in Edinburgh’s firefighting infrastructure. The number of fire hydrants, or “firecocks,” was more than doubled, and the fire brigade was re-equipped. Additionally, the fire inadvertently paved the way for architectural renewal in Parliament Square, an area that had long been hampered by opposition from property owners. These properties, damaged beyond repair, were finally cleared, allowing for the completion of the Scottish Law Courts in 1829.

The architectural response to the fire dramatically altered the Royal Mile. Many buildings along High Street and Parliament Square were rebuilt as elegant, five-story Georgian tenements, marking a shift from the towering medieval tenements that had once defined Edinburgh’s skyline. Surviving sections incorporated older structural elements, while the Tron Kirk’s iconic spire was redesigned and rebuilt by 1828. In 1829, St. Giles Cathedral was refaced in ashlar to repair and mask fire damage, solidifying its place as an Edinburgh landmark.

James Braidwood, the city’s firemaster, would go on to become a central figure in firefighting history. He is often credited as a pioneer for developing more organized and strategic firefighting techniques. His legacy is honored with a statue in Parliament Square, placed there in 2008 to commemorate the stand he and his team took to save St. Giles Cathedral. Created by Glasgow sculptor Kenneth Mackay, the statue was funded by Dr. Frank Rushbrook, a former firemaster himself. Today, this statue stands as a testament to the bravery of those early firefighters who fought tirelessly to save their city from ruin.

The Great Fire of Edinburgh serves as a powerful reminder of the city’s resilience. Out of devastation came reform, rebuilding, and a strengthened sense of community. Thanks for joining me today on This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow for another journey back in time. 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 delving into a moment that sparked a revolutionary shift in medical treatment and the understanding of the human mind. On November 13, 1841, Scottish surgeon James Braid attended a demonstration in Manchester, England, that set him on a path to become the father of modern hypnotism.

Born in Kinross, Scotland, in 1795, Braid was a well-established surgeon by the time he witnessed the now-famous demonstration by French mesmerist Charles Lafontaine. Lafontaine claimed to use “animal magnetism,” which he asserted could influence his subjects through a mysterious, unseen force. Braid, a skeptic of such mystical claims, initially believed mesmerism was nothing more than illusion or the product of an overly active imagination. But on this day, he saw something that he could not explain away: one of Lafontaine's subjects, under trance, seemed genuinely unable to open their eyes.

Curious, Braid decided to conduct his own experiments to understand this phenomenon. He noticed that by simply having a subject focus intently on an object, often a small, bright one, they could enter a trance-like state with no need for the magnetic “passes” Lafontaine employed. Braid found that this induced state was not dependent on any supernatural force but rather was a natural response involving intense concentration and suggestion. Braid’s observations inspired him to coin a new term for this phenomenon: "hypnotism," from the Greek word hypnos, meaning sleep, although he quickly clarified that the trance he induced wasn’t the same as ordinary sleep.

This discovery led him to publish his landmark book Neurypnology in 1843, in which he outlined his theory that hypnotic effects were solely the result of a specific physiological condition of the nervous system rather than some magnetic fluid or mystical energy. His revolutionary approach rejected the mystical explanations that mesmerists embraced and placed hypnotism firmly within the realm of science. Braid was adamant that hypnotism was not a “universal remedy” or cure-all but could serve as a valuable tool within medicine, especially in treating certain nervous disorders.

What made Braid’s approach remarkable was his commitment to grounding hypnotism in empirical observation and experimentation, aligning it with principles of physiology and psychology. Through his careful documentation and methodical approach, he legitimized hypnotism within medical circles, opening the door for its use in both therapy and surgical procedures. For instance, Braid was a pioneer in exploring the use of hypnotism as a form of anesthesia, well before chemical anesthesia became common practice in surgery.

His work in hypnotism was just one aspect of his illustrious medical career. Known for his skills as a surgeon, Braid had performed hundreds of successful operations, including groundbreaking treatments for conditions like clubfoot and spinal curvature. Yet, his legacy would be most deeply felt in his pioneering work in hypnotism, which, thanks to his efforts, grew from a fringe practice into a field that gained scientific respectability.

However, Braid’s work did not go unchallenged. The notion of hypnotism—especially one untethered from religious or mystical interpretations—faced strong opposition. In fact, he drew the ire of the clergy, particularly in 1842, when a clergyman named Hugh Boyd McNeile in Liverpool denounced hypnotism as a form of “Satanic agency.” Braid, unflinching, defended his scientific position, even offering McNeile an invitation to attend one of his lectures, hoping to clarify misconceptions. Unfortunately, McNeile declined, and the controversy continued. Nonetheless, Braid stood firm in his belief that hypnotism was a natural and valuable phenomenon rooted in the workings of the mind and body.

By challenging and scientifically redefining hypnotism, Braid’s work laid the groundwork for modern hypnotherapy. His influence extended internationally, especially in France, where pioneers like Étienne Eugène Azam, Paul Broca, and Ambroise-Auguste Liébeault built upon his findings. Today, Braid’s influence can be seen in therapeutic practices that utilize suggestion, concentration, and focus to help treat psychological conditions.

As we reflect on the events of November 13, 1841, we remember James Braid as a trailblazer who used science to unravel the mysteries of the human mind, sparking a legacy that lives on in both medicine and psychology.

Thank you for joining us for another journey through history. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for more fascinating stories on "This Day in Scottish History." 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’re looking back at one of Scotland's longest and most harrowing missing persons cases: the 1976 disappearance of Renee MacRae and her three-year-old son, Andrew. This story, spanning almost five decades, unfolded with twists and mysteries that left the people of Scotland — and the wider UK — gripped for generations.

On the chilly evening of November 12, 1976, Renee MacRae left her home in Cradlehall, Inverness, after dropping her nine-year-old son, Gordon, at her estranged husband’s house. She then set off with Andrew, heading south along the A9, reportedly to visit her sister in Kilmarnock. But that journey never concluded. Later that night, a train driver noticed Renee’s BMW engulfed in flames in an isolated lay-by about twelve miles south of Inverness.

When police arrived at the scene, they found Renee’s car burned out and abandoned. Inside, they found only one clue that hinted at a more sinister event: a blood-stained rug, the blood type matching Renee’s. There was no sign of Andrew or Renee, and their fate remained unknown. Reports soon emerged that on the night of her disappearance, witnesses had seen a man dragging what appeared to be a large bundle, possibly her body, close to where the car was discovered. A nearby quarry was also the site of an alleged sighting of a man with a pushchair — and though it was never confirmed, many suspected this was Andrew’s.

This case quickly became more than just a missing persons investigation, as police uncovered complexities in Renee’s life that suggested this may have been more than a tragic accident or random act of violence. Renee was, at the time, in a clandestine relationship with a man named William (Bill) MacDowell, a married accountant who worked with her estranged husband, Gordon MacRae. Friends of Renee later testified that she and MacDowell had been romantically involved since the early 1970s and that Andrew was, in fact, MacDowell’s son. On the night of her disappearance, Renee hadn’t been planning to visit her sister but instead had intended to meet MacDowell, who had reportedly promised her a fresh start and a life together.

As police investigated, the web around MacDowell began to tighten. Despite initially denying involvement in her disappearance, his behavior raised suspicions. Just days after Renee and Andrew vanished, MacDowell claimed she’d called him twice, a detail he omitted in police interviews. Friends described Renee as devoted to her young son, making it highly unlikely she would have vanished voluntarily. But with no bodies and only circumstantial evidence, the police faced a daunting challenge.

An initial search of nearby Dalmagarry quarry in the months following her disappearance turned up nothing definitive, though searchers reported a strong odor beneath the soil. The investigation, already facing budget limitations, had to stop short, leaving some officers haunted by the suspicion they’d been close to finding the remains of Renee and Andrew.

The case went cold until 2004, when a documentary on Scotland’s Grampian Television revived public interest. This brought about a renewed investigation that led to another excavation at Dalmagarry quarry. However, the search again proved fruitless. Over the decades, rumors circulated that Renee and Andrew might have been buried beneath the A9, then undergoing major construction. Yet aerial photographs from that period suggested no disruption to the earth on the day of her disappearance, ruling out this theory as well.

The mystery continued to evolve, but it wasn’t until 2018 that a major break emerged when police began searching Leanach quarry near Culloden Battlefield. This search once again failed to produce the physical evidence investigators hoped for, but more witnesses came forward, providing chilling insights into the events of 1976. One such witness reported that MacDowell had attempted to hire him to kill Renee and Andrew through an acid attack, a claim that police took seriously. It was even alleged that MacDowell had removed and burned part of his car’s flooring shortly after their disappearance, adding to the suspicion surrounding him.

Finally, in September 2019, MacDowell was formally charged with the murders of Renee and Andrew MacRae, and in September 2022, he was found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment with a minimum term of 30 years. Yet MacDowell maintained his innocence until his death in early 2023, less than six months into his sentence, leaving lingering questions as he never disclosed where the bodies of Renee and Andrew might be hidden.

This case serves as a haunting reminder of how justice delayed can still be justice achieved, albeit bittersweetly. For nearly five decades, Renee and Andrew’s family had hoped for closure. Though the conviction provided some measure of resolution, their bodies remain missing, leaving a scar on Inverness and beyond, and a hole in Scotland's collective memory.

Thank you for joining us for today’s somber journey into the past on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald, and I invite you to join me next time as we explore another chapter of Scotland's storied past. Until then, take care and 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 reflect on November 11, 1918—a date forever etched in history as the end of the First World War. On this day, after four years of relentless and brutal conflict, an armistice came into effect, bringing a halt to the fighting that had devastated nations and reshaped societies. In Scotland, this day marked a bittersweet end to what had become known as "The Great War"—a conflict that left an indelible mark on the nation's history and people.

For Scotland, the First World War was one of the most destructive conflicts it had ever faced. Known for its fierce warriors and proud tradition, Scotland saw many of its brightest and strongest youth leave home, never to return. It’s estimated that around 147,609 Scots lost their lives in this conflict, an extraordinary number for a country that made up only a tenth of the UK’s population. Scottish soldiers made up a fifth of Britain’s total war dead—a staggering statistic that meant Scots died at twice the rate of their counterparts south of the border.

When Britain declared war on Germany in 1914, Scottish recruiting offices overflowed with eager volunteers, their spirits lifted by a sense of patriotic duty and camaraderie. Caught up in the fervor of defending Europe against what was seen as a German menace, young Scots men and women felt the call to serve. Within the first year of the conflict, a quarter of Scotland’s coal miners had enlisted, and recruitment offices in Glasgow saw a rush like no other city in Britain. In some battalions, a thousand men would sign up within a single day.

As the young men of Scotland joined the fight, they faced early training that was, at first, almost lighthearted—a “Dad’s Army” sort of initiation, where broom handles sometimes replaced rifles in drills. But when they reached the front lines in France, they entered a world of horrors they could scarcely have imagined. Trench warfare meant enduring filthy conditions, the omnipresent threat of disease, and, worst of all, wave after wave of near-suicidal attacks.

One of the earliest and most notorious battles to involve Scottish soldiers was the Battle of Loos in October 1915, the first major British offensive of the war. Scottish regiments were ordered over the top and into open ground, advancing toward German lines in what would become a tragic slaughter. The British had attempted to use poison gas, but the wind betrayed them, blowing the deadly fumes back toward their own lines. Despite the catastrophic start, Scottish soldiers pressed on under relentless enemy fire, becoming easy targets for German machine gunners. By the end of the battle, 50,000 British lives had been lost, with Scotland bearing a heavy portion of the toll.

And yet, the horror continued. The Battle of the Somme in June 1916 was another grim chapter, with Scottish regiments among those taking the full brunt of a campaign that would become infamous for its staggering loss of life. Led by Edinburgh-born General Douglas Haig, the battle was intended to bring a decisive victory. But Haig’s belief in a powerful attack proved tragically misplaced. Highland Light Infantry soldiers, along with other Scottish regiments, were again ordered into the firestorm, advancing across No Man’s Land to the sound of bagpipes. On that first day alone, over 20,000 allied soldiers lost their lives, and by the battle’s end, the Scots had endured some of the heaviest losses of the entire war.

While Scottish soldiers fought bravely at the front, the people of Scotland were hard at work supporting them from home. The Clyde Valley became a hub of munitions production, with nearly 250,000 Scots engaged in manufacturing supplies for the troops by 1917. Scottish shipyards worked tirelessly to turn out vessels for the war effort, while women took on new roles in factories, producing essential supplies from blankets to the war's newest invention—tanks. This was a transformative time for Scottish women, who had been at the forefront of the suffragette movement before the war. Their work during the conflict demonstrated their abilities and raised their standing in society, helping to secure them the right to vote in the years that followed.

Despite the unity of purpose on the home front, Scotland was not immune to social tensions. Rising costs of living and stagnant wages led to widespread discontent among workers, particularly in the shipyards and munitions factories. Skilled laborers in particular began to resent the sacrifices demanded by the war effort. Strikes and rent protests erupted, with workers demanding fairer treatment, and this unrest foreshadowed the emergence of "Red Clydeside," a period of significant socialist and labor activism that would shape Scotland's social and political landscape for decades to come.

In the end, the Great War was supposed to be "the war to end all wars." For Scotland, it very nearly put an end to an entire generation. The armistice on November 11, 1918, marked the beginning of peace, but it also left Scotland to mourn and rebuild. The war's staggering losses left many communities with few men of working age and families with empty seats at their tables. In the years that followed, Scotland grappled with its grief and set about honoring its fallen—those 147,609 Scots whose lives had been cut short in service to a cause they believed in.

Today, we remember them. On this day in Scottish history, we pause to reflect on the sacrifices made and the resilience shown in the face of almost unimaginable hardship. As we observe Remembrance Day, let us honor those brave souls who gave everything for the freedom and peace we cherish.

Thank you for joining us today on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald. Until next time, Haste Ye Back.

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Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we’re traveling back to November 10, 1871, to witness one of the most famous encounters in exploration history: the meeting of Dr. David Livingstone, the legendary Scottish explorer, and Henry Morton Stanley, the determined American journalist. This was the day when, after years of silence, the elusive Dr. Livingstone was found in Ujiji, a small village near Lake Tanganyika. Stanley’s greeting, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” has echoed through time as one of history’s most iconic phrases, symbolizing discovery, endurance, and the relentless quest for knowledge.

Dr. Livingstone’s journey to this point began in Blantyre, Scotland, where he was born in 1813. Raised in poverty, he began working in a cotton mill at the age of ten, but his life was transformed by an insatiable curiosity and a deep Christian faith. Driven by a sense of purpose, he studied medicine and theology in Glasgow and, in 1841, traveled to southern Africa as a missionary and physician with the London Missionary Society. But Livingstone’s mission was far greater than preaching the gospel; he sought to bring an end to the East African slave trade and to explore the vast, uncharted regions of Africa, whose landscapes and peoples were virtually unknown to the Western world at the time.

Over three decades, Livingstone journeyed thousands of miles through deserts, rainforests, and along rivers, discovering landmarks such as the Zambezi River and the great Mosi-oa-Tunya waterfall, which he famously renamed Victoria Falls. As he ventured into remote territories, Livingstone developed a reputation as a compassionate figure among local tribes. He saw his expeditions as not only scientific and geographical but also moral. His hope was to chart new routes that would open up legitimate trade in Africa, ultimately offering an alternative to the slave trade and improving lives across the continent.

In 1866, Livingstone embarked on what would be his most challenging and final mission: to uncover the source of the Nile River. This mission would take him deep into central Africa and prove to be an excruciating ordeal. Livingstone suffered from tropical diseases, a scarcity of supplies, and the occasional hostility of the local environment. As months turned into years without any word from him, speculation about his fate grew. His last dispatches had reached the coast in 1867, after which he was presumed lost or even dead. Yet many held out hope, knowing his tenacity and resilience.

Halfway around the world, an American newspaper, The New York Herald, was intrigued by the mystery and sent one of its star journalists, Henry Morton Stanley, to find the famous explorer. After two years of hardship and perseverance, Stanley finally reached Ujiji on the shores of Lake Tanganyika on November 10, 1871. There, to his astonishment, he found the elusive Dr. Livingstone. According to Stanley’s accounts, his first words to Livingstone were, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” This courteous but somewhat humorous greeting was made all the more memorable by the fact that, in this remote African village, there was no other European in sight.

Their meeting lasted several months as Stanley tended to Livingstone’s failing health and listened to his accounts of the horrors of the slave trade and his unshaken resolve to combat it. Despite Stanley’s pleas, Livingstone refused to return to Britain. His mission, he felt, was far from complete. Instead, Livingstone pressed onward, determined to achieve his goals even at great personal cost. He would ultimately succumb to illness in 1873 in what is now Zambia, dying alone in the land he had dedicated his life to exploring.

Livingstone’s remains were returned to Britain and buried in Westminster Abbey, yet his legacy extended far beyond his final resting place. His efforts to end the slave trade, along with his belief in Africa’s potential for “Christianity, Commerce, and Civilization,” inspired generations of explorers, missionaries, and reformers. While his views aligned with Britain’s imperial goals, Livingstone differed by fostering deep respect for African communities and advocating for change based on partnership rather than conquest.

Today, statues, museums, and place names throughout Africa and Scotland honor Dr. Livingstone. His encounter with Stanley remains a landmark in the history of exploration, a testament to his resilience and humanity. As we remember this momentous day, we’re reminded of Livingstone’s enduring dedication to humanitarianism and discovery—a legacy that continues to inspire.

Thank you for joining me on This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow for another extraordinary chapter in our shared history. I'm Colin MacDonald—Haste Ye Back!

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Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we’re heading back to an extraordinary and mysterious event on November 9, 1979—an encounter that has intrigued UFO enthusiasts and skeptics alike for decades. Known as the Livingston Incident, or the Robert Taylor Incident, this event is one of Scotland's most compelling UFO tales, involving a forester named Robert "Bob" Taylor and what he described as an encounter with an extraterrestrial spacecraft in Dechmont Woods, near Livingston, West Lothian.

On the chilly morning of November 9, Robert Taylor, a forestry worker with the Livingston Development Corporation, parked his pickup truck near the M8 motorway and set off into Dechmont Woods with his dog. His routine workday took a surreal turn when, according to his report, he encountered a strange object hovering in a clearing about a quarter-mile from his vehicle. Taylor described this "flying dome" as a massive, dark metallic sphere, roughly 20 feet in diameter, with a rough, sandpaper-like texture. It had an outer flange that seemed to hold small propeller-like arms, making it look like nothing he’d ever seen before.

As he approached the object, Taylor said he noticed a strong, acrid smell, “like burning brakes.” Things quickly turned more unsettling. According to Taylor, two smaller spheres—resembling sea mines—suddenly emerged from the main object, rolled toward him, and latched onto his legs, dragging him toward the hovering dome. Taylor reported feeling completely immobilized and then lost consciousness.

When he regained his senses, the mysterious craft was gone. Disoriented and unable to restart his truck, Taylor walked home, his clothing torn, face and legs muddy, and visibly shaken. His wife was alarmed at his appearance and immediately called both a doctor and the police. The doctor treated him for grazes and bruises on his chin and thighs, injuries that seemed to match his account of being dragged across the ground.

The police, skeptical yet duty-bound to investigate, accompanied Taylor back to Dechmont Woods. They found peculiar markings in the clearing: indentations in the ground that resembled ladders, along with other unusual impressions nearby, which Taylor attributed to the smaller, mine-like spheres. Although police had no immediate explanation, they recorded the incident as an assault due to the physical injuries Taylor sustained—making this case the only UFO encounter in the United Kingdom officially investigated as a criminal assault.

This unprecedented move sparked widespread public interest and drew the attention of ufologists, who regarded Taylor’s account as one of the most credible UFO sightings on record. A plaque now marks the location of the encounter, installed by the Livingston Development Corporation in 1991, making Dechmont Woods a pilgrimage site for UFO enthusiasts.

As with many stories of the unknown, however, Taylor’s encounter attracted skeptics and alternative explanations. Some proposed medical reasons for his experience. Patricia Hannaford, a physician and founder of the Edinburgh University UFO Research Society, suggested that Taylor might have suffered an isolated episode of temporal lobe epilepsy, possibly brought on by a previous bout with meningitis. Temporal lobe epilepsy can cause intense sensory hallucinations, including strange smells and visual disturbances, which might explain Taylor’s experience without invoking the extraterrestrial.

Another skeptic, Steuart Campbell, visited the site with police investigators. Campbell noticed PVC pipes in a nearby field and speculated that these may have left the peculiar ladder-like marks in the clearing, believing Taylor may have stumbled upon construction materials that created an unusual mirage effect. Further theories emerged in later years, including suggestions that he might have experienced a minor stroke or disorientation due to exposure to nearby chemicals, or that he was confused by the appearance of a saucer-like water tower in the vicinity.

Yet despite these explanations, Taylor remained firm in his account. He never wavered in his conviction that what he encountered that day was otherworldly. Throughout his life, he continued to speak openly about the experience, becoming a respected figure among UFO enthusiasts who saw him as a credible witness to something extraordinary. He passed away in 2007, but the mystery of the Livingston Incident endures.

Today, the Dechmont Woods remain a popular destination for those intrigued by the paranormal, with walking trails and an information board highlighting the incident. Those who visit often find it difficult to imagine a spacecraft landing amid the now-mature forest, yet the haunting atmosphere of the woods seems to bring Taylor’s story alive in a way that no report can capture.

Was the Livingston Incident a genuine extraterrestrial encounter, or a combination of natural phenomena and a medical episode? Ultimately, the truth behind Robert Taylor's experience may remain as hidden as the footprints in that forest clearing.

Thank you for joining us on this journey through Scottish history. Whether you believe in UFOs or prefer the scientific explanations, stories like Robert Taylor’s remind us of the enduring allure of the unknown. Join us again tomorrow for another fascinating episode of This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald, and 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