Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald, and today, we’re traveling back to October 29, 1312. On this day, the Treaty of Inverness was signed between Robert the Bruce of Scotland and representatives of King Haakon V of Norway. This treaty reaffirmed an earlier agreement, the Treaty of Perth, and played a vital role in cementing Scotland's hold over key territories in the Western Isles while easing longstanding tensions with Norway.

The roots of this story reach back nearly fifty years, to the Treaty of Perth in 1266. After years of conflict over the Hebrides and the Isle of Man, Scotland and Norway had come to an agreement: Norway, led by King Magnus VI, ceded these territories to Scotland in exchange for an annual payment of 100 marks. While this was a diplomatic victory for Scotland, it didn’t settle all disputes between the kingdoms. Norway continued to control Orkney and Shetland, and this lingering presence led to recurring points of tension. These territories in the North Sea held both strategic and economic importance, with access to fishing grounds and trade routes that each kingdom coveted.

By the time Robert the Bruce rose to power, Scotland was dealing with complex relations not only with England but with other neighbors, including Norway. Robert’s connection to Norway ran deeper than most Scottish kings, as his sister Isabella had been married to the former King Eric II of Norway. This familial tie provided a foundation for diplomacy, allowing Robert to take steps toward a more stable relationship with Norway, which he hoped would strengthen Scotland’s sovereignty and focus his efforts on securing independence from England.

On October 29, 1312, Robert the Bruce traveled to Inverness to meet with Norwegian representatives and address unresolved issues. The resulting Treaty of Inverness reconfirmed and expanded on the terms of the Treaty of Perth, setting a new path for Scottish-Norwegian relations.

One of the treaty’s key provisions was a clear statement affirming Scotland’s sovereignty over the Hebrides and the Isle of Man. This reaffirmation not only quieted any lingering Norwegian claims over these lands but also gave Scotland secure control of strategic island territories that bolstered its standing in the region.

To further solidify the agreement, Robert arranged a new payment structure, increasing Norway’s annual payment from Scotland to 200 marks. This adjustment was both a diplomatic gesture and a practical solution. By doubling the payment, Robert emphasized his commitment to peace and avoided any perception of lingering debt from the Treaty of Perth.

The Treaty of Inverness also addressed longstanding disputes over fishing rights and trade in the North Sea. For both Scotland and Norway, control of the sea and its resources was economically essential. By formally recognizing each kingdom’s fishing rights and trading privileges, the treaty diffused potential conflicts over these lucrative waters. This agreement benefited both kingdoms economically, reinforcing a spirit of cooperation that would ease interactions for years to come.

One of the most significant aspects of the treaty was its formal recognition of Scotland’s control over the Western Isles, including Lewis and Harris. With this acknowledgment, Scotland strengthened its territorial integrity, extending its influence across the northern waters and establishing more secure borders. For Robert, the success of this treaty was a major stride in consolidating his rule. It allowed him to stabilize relations with Norway, freeing him to focus more on his battles with England.

The Treaty of Inverness wasn’t just an exercise in medieval diplomacy. For Robert the Bruce, it was a vital part of his strategy to bolster Scotland’s independence. By forging stronger ties with Norway and clarifying Scotland’s borders, Robert enhanced his own power, unified Scotland’s territories, and built the nation’s standing on the world stage.

The legacy of the Treaty of Inverness is subtle but profound. The treaty brought an end to decades of disputed claims in the Western Isles and secured peace with Norway, helping to strengthen Scotland’s emerging identity as a distinct kingdom with its own national interests. For Robert the Bruce, this treaty was a testament to his diplomatic skill, complementing his battlefield victories with a lasting peace that enriched Scotland’s future.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. Join us tomorrow for another journey through Scotland’s past. 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 October 28, 1854, to Dunkeld, Scotland, where a fascinating yet often overlooked figure in Jacobite history, Charles Edward Stuart, Count Roehenstart, met his end. Roehenstart’s life story is one of remarkable lineage, lost fortunes, and a quiet yet determined claim to the Stuart legacy.

Charles Edward Augustus Maximilian Stuart, more commonly known as Count Roehenstart, was born around May 1784 in Paris, to a heritage that tied him to one of the most romanticized figures in Scottish history: his grandfather, Charles Edward Stuart, the famous “Young Pretender” or Bonnie Prince Charlie. Roehenstart’s mother, Charlotte Stuart, Duchess of Albany, was the illegitimate daughter of Prince Charles and Clementina Walkinshaw, who were lovers in the midst of the Jacobite cause. Although born out of wedlock, Charlotte was later legitimized and given the title of Duchess by her father.

The name "Roehenstart" itself reflects Charles Edward’s complex heritage. It’s a blend of “Rohan,” from his father, Prince Ferdinand de Rohan, and “Stuart,” an homage to his mother’s royal lineage. Given the politics and sensitivities of the time, it was wise for the young Charles to bear a name that nodded to his roots without fully revealing them.

From an early age, Charles Edward Roehenstart’s life was marked by displacement and a struggle for security. After his mother Charlotte’s passing in 1789, he was raised by his maternal grandmother, Clementina, who moved to Switzerland. Following her death in 1802, Roehenstart was left with a significant inheritance—though that, too, would soon be lost in the turbulent financial world of the early 19th century. He pursued his education in Germany, supported by his father, but the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars created further instability in his life.

Roehenstart’s journey took him to the courts of Europe, where he sought to establish a career as a soldier. He briefly served as a commissioned officer in the Russian army, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel before leaving in 1806. His life story paints him as a man constantly in search of stability and recognition, yet one beset by ill-fated attempts and, at times, star-crossed romances. He once fell in love with the sister of an heiress intended for him—a costly emotional blunder, as it turned out. These personal misfortunes were compounded by financial ruin; he faced bankruptcy when his Russian banker defaulted and his inherited investments in London were lost due to a financial collapse.

Undeterred by these setbacks, Roehenstart set sail for America in 1811, hoping to reclaim some of his fortune from a former business partner who had fled to Philadelphia. During his time in the United States, Roehenstart lived an adventurous life and built connections in high society, although ultimately his quest to recover lost wealth proved unsuccessful.

In 1816, Roehenstart returned to Britain and pursued an unusual mission: he sought the historical dowry of his great-great-grandmother, Queen Mary of Modena, widow of James II of England. Though the pursuit was fruitless, it marked a period in which Roehenstart reconnected with his Jacobite ancestry and the legacy of the Stuarts. In later years, Roehenstart openly asserted his royal descent, though few were inclined to take his claims seriously. He laid a passive claim to the Jacobite succession but never took active steps to restore his family’s lost throne. Instead, he attempted to maintain ties with Scotland’s noble families, including visiting the Duke of Atholl at Blair Castle.

Though he traveled across Europe, his life remained tinged with tragedy and loss. His first marriage, to Maria Antonietta Sofia Barberini, ended in heartbreak with her untimely death. His second marriage to Louisa Constance Bouchier Smith brought some companionship but no children, leaving him the last of his line. He settled in Paris but continued to visit Scotland in his later years, perhaps in search of the connection that the land of his grandfather held for him.

It was on one of these visits that he met his tragic end. In 1854, during a journey from Blair Castle, Roehenstart’s carriage overturned, resulting in injuries that would prove fatal. He passed away in Dunkeld on October 28, 1854. His gravestone in Dunkeld Cathedral bears a simple but poignant inscription: “Sacred to the memory of General Charles Edward Stuart Count Roehenstart… Sic transit gloria mundi”—meaning, “Thus passes the glory of the world.”

In death, as in life, Roehenstart’s story remained one of quiet perseverance. He held onto his identity and his heritage, embodying the enduring allure of the Jacobite legacy, even if it was as an obscure claimant rather than a powerful pretender. Roehenstart’s life speaks to the broader story of the Stuarts, who, despite their dreams of restoring their throne, found themselves scattered, impoverished, and reliant on the kindness of others.

In the 20th century, Roehenstart’s forgotten story was uncovered by historians, who examined his surviving papers and letters. His life, while largely overshadowed by his more famous ancestors, offers a unique window into the afterlives of the Jacobite cause and the personal toll that being “royal” in exile could exact.

As we remember Count Roehenstart on this day, October 28, we also reflect on the final echoes of the Stuart legacy. Though his claim to the throne was only ever a distant hope, his life captures the quiet persistence of a family whose story has left an indelible mark on Scottish history.

Thank you for joining us for This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald. Tune in tomorrow for more captivating tales from Scotland’s past. 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 turn our focus to one of the most defining moments in Scottish political history: the arrest of revolutionary socialist John Maclean on October 27, 1915, during the height of World War I. This day marked a pivotal moment in Maclean's life and the wider Red Clydeside era, forever etching his name in the annals of Scotland's radical history.

John Maclean, born on August 24, 1879, in Pollokshaws, Glasgow, was a schoolteacher by profession. Raised in a Calvinist, working-class household by Gaelic-speaking parents, Maclean's early life was shaped by the hardships of the industrial era. His father, a potter from Bo’ness, passed away when John was only nine years old, leaving his mother to raise the family. Despite these challenges, Maclean showed an early aptitude for education, eventually earning a Master of Arts degree from the University of Glasgow.

But teaching was not Maclean’s only passion. His political awakening came in the early 1900s, inspired by Robert Blatchford’s socialist work Merrie England. Maclean quickly recognized that improving the conditions of the working class required more than reform; it required revolution. He became a devoted Marxist, joining the Social Democratic Federation, and later the British Socialist Party (BSP), where he emerged as one of Scotland’s most outspoken critics of the capitalist system.

By the time World War I broke out in 1914, Maclean's activism had reached new heights. He viewed the war as nothing more than an imperialist conflict that pitted working-class men of different nations against each other in the service of capitalist interests. His fierce anti-war stance put him at odds with the British government, and it was this defiance that led to his arrest on October 27, 1915. Under the harsh Defence of the Realm Act, Maclean was charged for speaking out against the war, a crime that not only led to his imprisonment but also cost him his job as a teacher at Lorne Street Primary School in Govan.

Dismissed from his teaching post, Maclean transitioned to a full-time role as a Marxist lecturer and organizer, dedicating his life to educating workers on socialist theory. His goal was clear: to equip the Scottish working class with the knowledge and tools necessary to overthrow capitalism. He believed that Scottish workers, with their history of clan-based communal living, were uniquely suited to lead a revolutionary movement—a concept he referred to as "Celtic Communism."

In the years following his 1915 arrest, Maclean became increasingly involved in anti-war activities. His opposition to conscription and his efforts to mobilize the working class against the war made him a target for further arrests. In April 1918, Maclean was once again imprisoned, this time for sedition. His trial in Edinburgh has since become legendary. Conducting his own defense, Maclean delivered a 75-minute speech from the dock, one that remains a celebrated text among Scottish leftists to this day.

In his speech, Maclean declared that he stood not as the accused, but as the accuser, condemning capitalism as a system "dripping with blood from head to foot." He framed the war as a direct result of capitalist exploitation and vowed to continue his fight for the working class, regardless of the consequences. His defiance earned him a five-year prison sentence, which he served in the harsh conditions of Peterhead Prison, where he was force-fed during a hunger strike. This ordeal took a severe toll on his health, leaving him physically weakened for the rest of his life.

However, the armistice of November 1918 brought an early end to Maclean’s imprisonment. Upon his release, he was greeted as a hero by thousands of supporters in Glasgow, who viewed him as a martyr for the socialist cause. Maclean wasted no time in resuming his activism, standing as a Labour candidate in the 1918 general election, though he was unsuccessful in securing a seat.

Despite his waning health, Maclean remained undeterred in his mission to build a socialist republic in Scotland. He founded the Scottish Workers Republican Party in 1923, seeking to unite the ideals of socialism with Scottish nationalism. Though the movement never gained significant traction, Maclean’s vision of a workers’ republic—rooted in both Marxist theory and Scottish identity—continued to inspire future generations of Scottish socialists.

John Maclean’s life was tragically cut short when he died of pneumonia on November 30, 1923, at the age of just 44. His health had been permanently damaged by his time in prison and the brutal force-feeding he had endured during his hunger strikes. Yet, his legacy lived on. Maclean's funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Glasgow, attended by thousands who regarded him as a champion of the working class. His contributions to the Scottish left were so significant that Vladimir Lenin himself described Maclean as one of the "isolated heroes" of the world revolution.

John Maclean remains an iconic figure in Scottish history, a symbol of resistance against imperialism, capitalism, and war. His life and work continue to resonate with activists and socialists around the world, especially in Scotland, where his fight for justice and equality is still remembered with pride.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. Tune in tomorrow for another look at the moments that shaped Scotland’s past. 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 are heading to the Scottish Borders to explore a remarkable feat of engineering and design, the Gattonside Suspension Footbridge. Formally opened on October 26, 1826, this bridge has connected the town of Melrose to the village of Gattonside for nearly 200 years, providing not only a practical crossing over the River Tweed but also becoming a beloved landmark in the area.

In the early 19th century, bridge-building saw a period of rapid innovation, and the Gattonside Footbridge was one of the first chain suspension bridges of its kind in Scotland. This type of structure was becoming more popular due to its efficiency and the ability to span large distances with fewer supports in the water, making it ideal for crossing wide rivers like the Tweed.

The bridge was built using iron-link suspension chains, a wooden deck, and striking Gothic-style stone pylons that give the structure its distinctive and elegant appearance. These castellated masonry pylons, topped with crenellated heads and pointed arches, provide not just structural support but a visual reminder of the craftsmanship that defined early 19th-century engineering.

The engineering firm responsible for its construction, Redpath, Brown & Co., were pioneers of their time. The Gattonside Bridge was designed under the guidance of John Stevenson Brown, a former blacksmith turned engineer from Peeblesshire, who became renowned for his work with iron. His design for the Gattonside bridge not only displayed aesthetic flair but also employed advanced structural techniques, particularly in the use of iron-link chains and rod suspenders.

This footbridge was created specifically for pedestrians, although in its early years, it was sturdy enough to handle the occasional horse. At around 91 meters in length, the bridge was a significant achievement, allowing people from the surrounding countryside to easily reach Melrose without having to depend on ferries or long detours along the banks of the river.

The bridge’s narrow wooden deck, which measures just over four feet wide, allows pedestrians to enjoy an intimate and serene crossing of the Tweed, where they can take in breathtaking views of the surrounding Scottish Borders landscape. From the bridge, one can see the iconic Melrose Abbey in the distance, and the lush green hills that characterize this beautiful part of Scotland.

Like any structure of this age, the Gattonside Suspension Bridge has had its share of wear and tear over the years. By the late 20th century, it was clear that the bridge needed significant restoration. In 1991, a major reconstruction was carried out, preserving its historic chains and pylons but replacing the deck with a new wooden structure. Despite the updates, the bridge retains much of its original charm and continues to serve the local community as a functional and beautiful pedestrian crossing.

In fact, while the Gattonside Footbridge may seem a modest structure in comparison to larger suspension bridges, its design is an early and important example of the engineering principles that would go on to revolutionize bridge-building around the world. Suspension bridges are now synonymous with iconic structures such as the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, but in the 1820s, this method was still cutting-edge.

As we mark the anniversary of the Gattonside Suspension Footbridge’s opening, we are reminded of the deep connection between Scotland’s landscape and its people. The bridge has stood for almost 200 years as a testament to the innovation and craftsmanship of its builders. For the residents of Melrose and Gattonside, it is much more than just a crossing—it is a cherished part of their local heritage.

Although the bridge is now a Category B listed building, protecting it as a significant historical structure, it remains a vital part of daily life for locals and visitors alike. Whether it’s used for a peaceful riverside stroll, a shortcut between the village and town, or simply as a way to enjoy the natural beauty of the Scottish Borders, the Gattonside Suspension Footbridge stands as a reminder of Scotland’s enduring ability to blend functionality with beauty.

So, as we celebrate this historic milestone, we take a moment to reflect on the impact that thoughtful design and engineering can have on a community. The Gattonside Suspension Footbridge, opened on this day in 1826, remains an enduring symbol of innovation and connection. If you ever find yourself in the Borders region, a walk across this elegant bridge offers not only a journey across the river but a journey through time.

That’s all for today’s episode of “This Day in Scottish History.” I’m Colin MacDonald, and as always, haste ye back for more tales from Scotland’s past. Until then, keep exploring, and I’ll see you next time!

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. On today’s episode, we journey to the windswept shores of Ardrossan in Ayrshire, where a tragic event unfolded on October 25, 1769—the murder of Alexander Montgomerie, the 10th Earl of Eglinton. This story of power, pride, and misfortune involves a Scottish nobleman, a government excise officer, and the bitter tensions of the times. Let’s take a deeper look.

Alexander Montgomerie was born on February 10, 1723, the eldest son of the 9th Earl of Eglinton and his third wife, Susanna Kennedy, a celebrated beauty of the Scottish aristocracy. The 10th Earl inherited immense wealth and property, including the family estate of Eglinton Castle in Ayrshire. In addition to his status as a prominent landowner, he was a well-known figure in Scottish society, having served as Grand Master Mason of the Grand Lodge of Scotland between 1750 and 1751. Though he had no legitimate children, his influence extended beyond his estates. He even played a part in shaping young James Boswell’s early experiences of London high society, a relationship that Boswell documented in his famous London Journal.

But the Earl's life, filled with promise and progress, came to a tragic end in a fateful encounter with an excise officer named Mungo Campbell. Campbell, like Eglinton, came from a well-known Scottish family. He was the son of a former Provost of Ayr and had fought in the army before becoming an excise officer, tasked with enforcing customs duties—a job that often put him at odds with local landowners and smugglers.

In October 1769, tensions between the Earl and Campbell had already been brewing, largely over matters of poaching and rights to bear arms on the Eglinton estate. Campbell, who was known to be carrying a firearm, claimed he had permission to shoot game on nearby lands but not specifically on Eglinton’s property. According to reports, the dispute escalated when the Earl learned that Campbell had killed a hare while crossing through his land. Furious at what he saw as a violation of his rights and the law, Eglinton decided to confront Campbell.

On October 24, the Earl was traveling with his servants when he was informed that two men, one carrying a gun, had been seen on his property near the beach. Eglinton, leaving his carriage, rode ahead on horseback to confront them. One of these men was Mungo Campbell. When the Earl demanded that Campbell hand over his firearm, Campbell refused, stating he would rather die than surrender his weapon. What followed was a tense and tragic series of events. As the Earl moved towards Campbell, the excise officer retreated, eventually stumbling and falling. In a moment of panic, Campbell fired his gun, mortally wounding the Earl in the abdomen.

The Earl’s final moments were marked by dignity, despite the terrible circumstances. He was carried back to his carriage and transported to Eglinton Castle, where he received medical attention. Sadly, his injuries were too severe, and he succumbed to them the next day, on October 25, 1769. His last words reportedly expressed forgiveness for Campbell, stating he did not believe Campbell had intended to kill him.

The aftermath of the murder shook Ayrshire society to its core. Mungo Campbell was arrested and charged with murder. However, before he could face the public execution scheduled for April 1770, he took his own life while in custody, hanging himself in Edinburgh’s Tolbooth. This final act of desperation further stirred the public, who desecrated Campbell’s body before his friends could claim it for burial at sea.

The consequences of the Earl’s death were felt deeply within his family and community. His mother, Susanna, Dowager Countess of Eglinton, was devastated, retreating from public life. Meanwhile, many of Eglinton's tenants and local inhabitants, who had grown increasingly discontent with the Earl’s agricultural reforms and innovations, showed more sympathy towards Campbell than their fallen lord, believing that his death was a form of divine retribution for meddling in traditional ways of life.

This tragic event was not only recorded in contemporary newspapers but also left a lasting mark on Scottish literature and folklore. The Earl’s death became a subject of popular discussion, even inspiring the 1770 publication A Dialogue of the Dead: Betwixt Lord Eglinton and Mungo Campbell, which explored class tensions and the rights of commoners versus the aristocracy. John Galt, a notable Scottish novelist, later immortalized the incident in his novel Annals of the Parish, capturing the deep-rooted social conflicts of rural Scotland in the 18th century.

Despite his untimely death, the 10th Earl of Eglinton left a legacy through his contributions to Scottish agriculture and society. The village of Eaglesham in Renfrewshire, which he designed in 1769, still stands today, laid out in the shape of a capital “A” to symbolize his name. His brother Archibald succeeded him as the 11th Earl of Eglinton, inheriting the title but also the lingering sadness and controversy surrounding the family.

As we reflect on the events of October 25, 1769, we are reminded of how even in the quiet rural corners of Scotland, history can take sharp and tragic turns. The murder of Alexander Montgomerie remains a sobering tale of pride, duty, and the sometimes lethal consequences of human conflict.

Thank you for joining us on 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 focus on a dark chapter in Scottish criminal history, marking October 24, 1983. On this day, Dennis Nilsen, a man who would become known as one of Scotland's most notorious serial killers, went on trial at the Central Criminal Court in London, accused of six murders and two attempted murders. His story is chilling and complex, one that left an indelible mark not only on his victims' families but on all who followed the grisly details of his crimes.

Dennis Andrew Nilsen was born on November 23, 1945, in Fraserburgh, Aberdeenshire. Raised in a tumultuous household, Nilsen grew up as a quiet child, later joining the Army and serving in various capacities before settling in London. His early life, marked by emotional isolation and unresolved trauma, especially after the death of his grandfather, set the stage for a disturbed adulthood. Nilsen struggled with his sexual identity and developed macabre fantasies that would later manifest in his murders.

Between 1978 and 1983, Nilsen murdered at least 12 young men and boys, all of whom were vulnerable—many were homeless or outcasts from society. He lured them to his home under the guise of friendship, offering them food and alcohol before killing them through strangulation, sometimes in combination with drowning. His methods were methodical, and he would retain the bodies for days, sometimes weeks, engaging in bizarre rituals. Nilsen would bathe and clothe the victims before dismembering their bodies, disposing of the remains in increasingly desperate ways, including burning or flushing parts down the toilet.

Nilsen's crimes were discovered by chance when a plumber investigating blocked drains at Nilsen’s Muswell Hill residence found human remains. On February 8, 1983, Nilsen was arrested after police discovered more body parts in his flat, leading him to calmly confess to the murder of "fifteen or sixteen" victims.

His trial, which began on this day in 1983, was a national sensation. The focus of the prosecution and defense wasn’t whether Nilsen had committed these heinous acts—it was clear from his own confession—but rather his mental state during the killings. The defense argued that Nilsen suffered from diminished responsibility due to mental illness, claiming he was unable to control his violent urges. The prosecution, however, argued that Nilsen was fully aware of his actions and had planned his murders with calculated precision.

Psychiatric evaluations offered differing opinions. One expert described Nilsen as suffering from a personality disorder, marked by emotional detachment and a compulsive need for control over his victims. Another expert refuted this, stating that Nilsen was entirely rational during his killings, motivated by his desire to dominate others and relive the trauma of his grandfather’s death.

After weeks of testimony, the jury found Nilsen guilty of six counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder. He was sentenced to life imprisonment on November 4, 1983, with a recommendation that he serve a minimum of 25 years. In 1994, this was changed to a whole-life tariff, ensuring he would never be released.

Nilsen spent the remainder of his life in prison, where he died in 2018. Even in death, his legacy is one of horror, as he remains a subject of true crime interest and media coverage. His case continues to be analyzed for its psychological and criminological significance, as well as the failures of society to protect his vulnerable victims.

The trial of Dennis Nilsen, beginning on this day in 1983, serves as a grim reminder of the darkness that can exist within individuals and the lasting impact such crimes can have on communities and families.

Thank you for joining us on this sobering episode of "This Day in Scottish History." I'm Colin MacDonald, and I hope you’ll join me tomorrow as we explore another moment from Scotland’s past. 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 a defining moment in Scottish diplomacy—the signing of the Treaty of Paris on October 23rd, 1295, which solidified the Auld Alliance between Scotland and France. This treaty laid the foundation for one of the most enduring international alliances in European history, lasting over 250 years.

The Auld Alliance was born in the context of a turbulent period for both Scotland and France. England, under the rule of Edward I, posed a significant threat to Scottish independence. Edward's ambition to bring Scotland under English control led to a series of invasions and the appointment of puppet rulers, igniting the Wars of Scottish Independence. France, too, was entangled in ongoing conflicts with England, part of the broader Capetian-Plantagenet rivalry that had embroiled the two kingdoms for centuries. As both Scotland and France faced English aggression, it made strategic sense for them to unite against their common foe.

Let’s step back for a moment and set the scene for this historic alliance. In the late 13th century, Edward I of England had been asserting his authority over Scotland. Following the death of the Scottish king, Alexander III, in 1286, and his granddaughter Margaret, the Maid of Norway, Scotland found itself without a clear successor. This vacuum of power led to Edward’s intervention, as he aimed to control Scotland by supporting John Balliol’s claim to the Scottish throne, while effectively treating him as a vassal.

Balliol’s reign, however, was marred by conflict with Edward, and by 1295, the Scottish king had had enough of Edward’s overreach. He sought a way to resist English domination, and the opportunity came in the form of an alliance with France. King Philip IV of France, also embroiled in conflicts with Edward over territories in France, saw the potential in a pact with Scotland. The Treaty of Paris was signed on October 23, 1295, uniting these two nations against their shared enemy, England.

The Auld Alliance wasn’t merely a military pact; it was a comprehensive agreement that included provisions for mutual defense, economic cooperation, and cultural exchange. Should either kingdom be attacked by England, the other was bound to come to its aid. This clause proved to be of immense importance throughout the wars that followed. Additionally, the treaty allowed for closer economic ties, including trade agreements, and it even facilitated marriages between the French and Scottish nobility, further cementing their bond.

Over the centuries, this alliance had a profound impact on both countries. In times of war, Scottish soldiers fought alongside their French counterparts, most notably at the Battle of Baugé in 1421 during the Hundred Years’ War, where the Scots helped the French defeat the English. French military aid was also crucial to Scotland's own efforts to fend off English aggression during the Wars of Scottish Independence. The arrival of French forces and support in Scotland not only bolstered morale but provided vital resources and manpower to resist Edward I’s invasions.

The alliance wasn’t just about warfare, though. The cultural exchange between Scotland and France deepened through the centuries, leading to an infusion of French customs, language, and even architectural styles in Scotland. Many Scots sought education in French universities, particularly at the University of Paris, while Scottish merchants benefited from trade privileges in France. This close relationship fostered a sense of shared identity, particularly in opposition to English influence.

One of the most significant moments in the alliance occurred in 1513 during the Battle of Flodden, when King James IV of Scotland honored his commitment to France by launching an invasion of England. Unfortunately for Scotland, the battle ended in disaster, with the death of James IV and much of the Scottish nobility. Yet even in defeat, the Auld Alliance remained intact, demonstrating the depth of commitment between the two nations.

The alliance officially came to an end in 1560 with the signing of the Treaty of Edinburgh, as the Protestant Reformation reshaped the political landscape of Europe. With France undergoing its own internal religious conflicts, and with the ascension of Mary, Queen of Scots, who was wed to the French Dauphin but returned to a more Protestant Scotland, the political necessity of the alliance waned. Nevertheless, the legacy of the Auld Alliance endured, especially in the mutual affection and cultural ties that continued long after the formal treaty was dissolved.

In fact, traces of the Auld Alliance still linger today. During the First World War, Scottish soldiers were warmly welcomed in France, with many French citizens referring to them as the “auld allies.” In 1942, amid the dark days of the Second World War, Charles de Gaulle famously proclaimed, “In every combat where, for 600 years, the French were engaged, there were Scotsmen beside them."

The Auld Alliance serves as a reminder of the importance of unity in the face of shared adversity. For centuries, Scotland and France stood together against English aggression, and in doing so, shaped the course of European history. On this day, October 23, 1295, the Treaty of Paris marked the beginning of a partnership that would resonate through the ages, a powerful example of diplomacy and solidarity.

Thank you for joining me today on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald, reminding you that Scotland’s past is full of moments of strength, unity, and resilience. Haste ye back for our next episode!

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 turn our focus to one of the darkest moments in Scotland's industrial past: the Blantyre Mining Disaster of October 22, 1877. This tragic event marked Scotland's worst-ever mining disaster, claiming the lives of 207 miners and leaving an indelible scar on the community of Blantyre.

The disaster took place in the small coal-mining town of Blantyre, located in South Lanarkshire. At the heart of the tragedy were the No. 2 and No. 3 pits of William Dixon's Blantyre Colliery, a significant hub in the region’s booming coal industry. On that fateful morning, over 200 miners descended into the depths of the mine, unaware of the catastrophe awaiting them.

At around 9:00 AM, a massive explosion ripped through the mine. Flames shot up the mine shafts, followed by a thick, choking cloud of smoke and gas. The force of the explosion was so powerful that it blocked escape routes and destroyed the mine’s infrastructure, leaving those trapped underground with little hope. The youngest victim was a boy of just 11 years old, a heartbreaking reminder of how even children were not spared from the harsh realities of coal mining.

The cause of the explosion was later identified as an ignition of firedamp, a dangerous mixture of gases, primarily methane, that often accumulated in coal mines. Despite the known presence of firedamp in the mine, safety protocols were either inadequate or not enforced. It is believed that a naked flame may have ignited the gas, triggering the blast. Safety lamps, which were supposed to be used to prevent such accidents, were not consistently employed, and naked flames were common, a grim reminder of the disregard for miners' safety at the time.

The aftermath of the disaster was devastating for the community. The explosion left 92 widows and 250 children fatherless, plunging many families into poverty and grief. In an especially cruel twist, many of the miners and their families lived in tied cottages owned by the mining company. Just months after the accident, 34 widows were evicted from their homes, as the company raised legal summonses against them, adding insult to the already overwhelming tragedy.

Rescue operations were difficult and dangerous. The presence of afterdamp— a lethal mixture of gases left behind after a mine explosion— slowed efforts to reach survivors. Initially, four miners were found alive, but tragically, they succumbed to their injuries, highlighting the overwhelming dangers facing those who dared to rescue their fellow workers.

The disaster attracted nationwide attention, prompting an inquiry into mine safety. The investigation found that the mine’s ventilation system was inadequate, and there were severe lapses in safety protocols. Critically, firedamp-laden air from one pit was used to ventilate another, a practice condemned as highly dangerous. Despite these findings, the disaster did little to bring immediate improvements in mine safety, as further tragedies would strike the Blantyre Colliery in the following years. In 1878 and 1879, two additional accidents claimed more lives, showing the slow progress toward meaningful safety reforms in the mining industry.

The Blantyre disaster not only exposed the hazardous conditions miners faced but also shone a light on the wider social issues of the time. The callous treatment of widows, the use of child labor, and the lack of basic safety measures in the mines were all stark reminders of the cost of industrial progress. The miners had, in fact, gone on strike the previous year, seeking a wage increase to reflect the dangers of their work. They were not only refused but also evicted from their homes, as the company brought in replacement workers, many of them Irish immigrants, further deepening tensions within the community.

The legacy of the Blantyre disaster has not been forgotten. A granite memorial was erected by the mining company in remembrance of the 240 men and boys who lost their lives in the two major explosions of 1877 and 1879. The monument stands as a somber reminder of the lives lost in the pursuit of coal, the fuel that powered Scotland’s industrial revolution. A memorial window was also installed at St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Blantyre to honor the memory of the Catholic miners who perished in the disaster.

The disaster has also been immortalized in folk music. Irish folk singer Christy Moore recorded a song titled "Blantyre Explosion," which speaks to the tragedy and the loss felt by the mining community. The song, which appears on his album Ordinary Man, echoes the grief and anger that followed the disaster, capturing the spirit of a community forever changed by the events of that day.

As we reflect on the Blantyre Mining Disaster of October 22, 1877, we remember not just the miners who perished, but also the countless families left behind to pick up the pieces. It is a story of loss, of struggle, and of the high human cost of industrial progress. Scotland’s mining history is rich with tales of courage and tragedy, and the Blantyre disaster stands as a pivotal moment in that history, a stark reminder of the need for safety and humanity in the workplace.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. We’ll be back tomorrow with another story from Scotland’s past. Until then, 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. Today, we reflect on a tragic event that took place on October 21, 1971—a day that is etched into the memories of many in Scotland, particularly in the small town of Clarkston, south of Glasgow. It was on this day that a devastating gas explosion tore through a row of shops at Clarkston Toll, killing 22 people and injuring more than 100 others. The event remains one of the most harrowing disasters in modern Scottish history.

The explosion occurred around 2:52 pm on what was a typically busy afternoon in the shopping district. A gas leak from a fractured main had gone unnoticed, building up pressure in the underground space beneath the shops. The day before, several shop staff and customers had reported smelling gas, and engineers from the Scottish Gas Board were dispatched to investigate. However, despite their efforts, they could not find the source of the leak. The engineers were still present when, the following day, the gas ignited, resulting in a catastrophic explosion.

The force of the blast was unimaginable. It obliterated ten shops and caused the collapse of the car park built directly above the shopping row, sending cars and debris plunging into the street below. Among the worst-hit victims were shoppers, shop workers, and passengers on a bus that had just pulled up in front of the shops when the explosion occurred. The roof of the bus was caved in by the rubble, trapping passengers inside.

One of those passengers was Fay McIntyre, who was on the top deck of the bus, traveling back home to East Kilbride after a job interview in the city. She recalls seeing two women standing under the canopy of the shops just before the explosion. One of them was dressed in a red raincoat. Moments later, a thunderous boom shook the entire area. The bus was engulfed in debris. Fay’s arm became trapped under a heavy slab of concrete. Fortunately, the bus conductor freed her, and she was able to escape, though many others were not so lucky. Tragically, the woman in the red raincoat, whom Fay had just seen, was buried under the rubble and did not survive.

The human cost of this disaster was staggering. Neil MacPherson, who was only 13 years old at the time, lost his older sister in the blast. She had gone to the shops that afternoon, leaving her young children with a neighbor due to the rain. But she never made it home. Her body was found late in the rescue efforts, buried deep in the wreckage of the shop where she had been.

The aftermath of the explosion was chaotic, but it also revealed the incredible heroism of ordinary people. Eyewitnesses spoke of frantic efforts to rescue those trapped in the rubble. Local residents, shop workers, and passersby worked side by side with emergency responders, digging through the debris with their bare hands. Mechanics from nearby garages rushed to pull survivors from the wreckage. Nurses and medical personnel clambered over the still-smoking rubble to offer help.

Among the heroes was Dr. William Gibb, a chemical engineer and expert witness in cases of explosion. He was tasked with investigating the cause of the disaster. His findings were sobering. A crack in a cast iron gas pipe, located about three feet underground, had caused the gas leak. The pipe had not been properly supported and was subject to stress from the vibrations of cars driving over it. Over time, corrosion had weakened the pipe, leading to the fatal crack. Once the gas filled the underground voids beneath the shops, it only needed a spark to ignite it, creating a chain reaction that spread through the entire row of buildings.

A Fatal Accident Inquiry was launched just weeks after the disaster. Four months later, on February 11, 1972, the jury concluded that no individual or organization was to blame. They ruled that the explosion had been caused by an accidental fracture of the gas main due to "stress and corrosion." However, for many, the findings left a bitter taste. Neil MacPherson, who lost his sister, believes that the Gas Board did not take the complaints of a gas smell seriously enough. Others, including Dr. Gibb’s son, have suggested that there was likely more fault to be found than the inquiry concluded.

The Clarkston explosion left scars on the community that have never fully healed. For years, the site was marked only by the rebuilt shops and a small plaque that was erected 30 years after the disaster. For many, this memorial seemed inadequate to honor the scale of the tragedy. On the 50th anniversary in 2021, a minute’s silence was held to remember those who lost their lives.

It’s important to recognize that this disaster was, and still is, a profound event in Scotland’s history. For the families who lost loved ones, it remains an indelible memory. For the Clarkston community, it is a reminder of how fragile life can be, and how one tragic incident can change a place forever.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History. Today, we honor the memory of those lost in the Clarkston explosion and reflect on the lessons learned from that tragic day. I’m Colin MacDonald. Haste ye back for our next episode, as we continue to explore the rich and sometimes sorrowful history of Scotland.

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Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we’re stepping back in time to October 20, 1956—a day that marked the end of an era for public transportation in Dundee. On this day, the last tram ran on the Dundee Corporation Tramways, bringing to a close nearly six decades of electric tram service in the city.

Dundee’s tramway system was a crucial part of the city’s fabric. It began operating under the corporation’s control in 1899, but the story actually goes back further, to the 1870s. Horse-drawn trams were first introduced in 1877 by the Dundee and District Tramways Company, which leased the system from the city. In 1885, they switched to steam trams, giving Dundee one of the most advanced urban transport systems of its time.

By the late 1890s, though, it was clear that electric trams were the future. In 1897, Dundee Corporation decided to take over full control of the tramway network and, within three years, began converting the system to electric trams. On July 12, 1900, the first electric tramcars ran on the Perth Road route, and by May 1902, the entire system had been electrified, making Dundee one of the first cities in Scotland to fully embrace this modern technology.

The trams quickly became a vital part of Dundee’s daily life, connecting neighborhoods, businesses, and communities. The city expanded the network over the next few decades, and by the 1920s, the system was at its peak with over 100 trams in service, running along a route network that spanned over 15 miles.

However, as the world moved on, so did transportation technology. The corporation introduced motor buses in 1922, which gradually began replacing some of the tram routes. Still, Dundee was committed to its trams, and a significant rebuilding program was launched in the 1930s to modernize the aging fleet. The new trams, particularly those used on the Lochee route, offered smoother rides and were equipped with cutting-edge technology like air brakes and quieter, more efficient bow collectors.

Despite these efforts, by the end of World War II, it became clear that the tramways were facing an uphill battle. The infrastructure needed costly repairs, and new vehicles were required. In 1952, the Dundee Corporation decided to phase out the tram system in favor of buses. The closures began in stages, starting with the Moncur Crescent route in April 1952, followed by several more in 1955 and 1956.

The final curtain fell on October 20, 1956. That day, the last tram made its way from Maryfield Depot to Lochee in a farewell procession. Crowds gathered to witness the historic event, many of them riding the trams for one last time. The tramcars were soon scrapped, their metal sold for salvage, and Dundee’s streets were left to the diesel buses that took their place.

While the trams are long gone, their legacy lives on. They played a pivotal role in shaping Dundee’s growth and development in the early 20th century, providing a reliable, efficient means of transport during a period of significant urban expansion.

Interestingly, Dundee also experimented with another innovative form of transport—trolleybuses. In 1912, the city briefly ran a trolleybus line, making it an early adopter of this new technology. However, the roads proved unsuitable for these trackless trams, and complaints about dust and bumpy rides led to the service being discontinued in 1914. It was the first trolleybus system in Britain to close, but it’s another example of Dundee’s willingness to explore new ways of moving people around.

As we look back on October 20, 1956, we remember not just the end of the tramways, but also the broader history of public transportation in Dundee. From horse-drawn trams to steam-powered locomotives, electric trams, and even trolleybuses, the city has always been at the forefront of transport innovation.

Thank you for joining us on This Day in Scottish History as we revisited the final journey of Dundee’s trams. Don’t forget to tune in tomorrow for another fascinating story from Scotland’s past. I’m Colin MacDonald, and as always, Haste Ye Back!

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