Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History, I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we dive into the remarkable life of Captain Bertram Dickson, a pioneer military aviator whose contributions left an indelible mark on the early days of aviation and military history. On this day, 29 September 1913, Captain Dickson tragically passed away near Achnasheen, Scotland, a death stemming from injuries sustained in the world’s first recorded mid-air collision. His life, however, remains an inspiring tale of exploration, military innovation, and aviation foresight.

Born in Edinburgh on 21 December 1873, Dickson was far from a conventional military officer. His early career saw him assisting Sir Thomas Holdich on a boundary-mapping expedition in the Andes, defining the Chile-Argentina border—a feat that speaks to his adventurous spirit. Commissioned into the Royal Artillery in 1894, Dickson quickly displayed his versatility, serving in various foreign offices, including a posting in Van, Ottoman Armenia, where he was tasked with keeping a close eye on geopolitical tensions and Armenian dissidents. This part of his career hints at the possibility that his military work was not just typical officer duties, but could have involved covert intelligence operations.

However, it was in the sky where Bertram Dickson truly made his mark. By 1910, he had become deeply involved in the emerging field of aviation, training at the Farman flying school in France. His dedication earned him his pilot’s license in April of that year, making him the first British serviceman to officially qualify as a pilot. Just a few months later, in August, he participated in a major flying competition in Lanark, Scotland, securing a substantial prize for his long-distance flight.

But it was during the British Army manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain in September 1910 that Captain Dickson's vision for aviation in warfare took flight—both literally and metaphorically. Flying a Bristol Boxkite, he conducted what is regarded as the world’s first military reconnaissance mission by air, landing behind enemy lines to relay crucial information to his commanders. His aerial tactics caught the attention of some influential observers, including Winston Churchill and Lord Kitchener. As a result, his efforts helped inspire the creation of the Royal Flying Corps, the forerunner to the modern Royal Air Force.

Just weeks later, Captain Dickson found himself at the forefront of another aviation milestone, though a far more tragic one. On 1 October 1910, while flying in Milan, Italy, Dickson’s Farman biplane was involved in the first mid-air collision ever recorded. A French aviator, René Thomas, piloting an Antoinette monoplane, accidentally collided with Dickson in mid-flight. Both pilots survived, but Dickson was severely injured, suffering lasting damage that would plague him for the rest of his life. This crash marked a pivotal moment in aviation safety and the early recognition of the dangers that would come to define air combat.

Although Captain Dickson never flew again after the collision, his work behind the scenes continued to influence military aviation. In a chillingly prophetic report written in 1911 to the British government, he foresaw the future of air warfare with uncanny accuracy. He warned that in the event of a European conflict, both sides would field large air corps engaged in a fight for aerial supremacy, a prediction that would come true with devastating effect during World War I. His recommendations laid the groundwork for the formal establishment of the Royal Flying Corps in 1912, cementing his legacy as one of the key visionaries behind the militarization of aviation.

Unfortunately, Captain Bertram Dickson would not live to witness the full realization of his predictions. His health, irreparably damaged by the injuries sustained in Milan, continued to deteriorate over the next few years. On 29 September 1913, at the age of just 39, Captain Dickson passed away at Lochrosque Castle in the Scottish Highlands. He was laid to rest in the Cnoc na Bhain burial ground in the small settlement of Achanalt, a quiet resting place for a man who had soared so high in life.

The burial site offers a serene but poignant reminder of the man who, despite his short life, played a fundamental role in shaping the future of aviation. Today, the Strath Bran area, where Dickson is buried, is a frequent low-level training route for modern military jets, and it’s said that pilots often dip their wings in respect when they pass over his grave—an acknowledgment of the incredible legacy left by this pioneering Scotsman.

As we reflect on the life of Captain Bertram Dickson, we remember a man who not only ventured into the uncharted skies but also foresaw the critical role aviation would play in modern warfare. His work, his courage, and his vision have left an indelible mark on both Scottish history and the broader world of aviation.

Thank you for joining us on 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

Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald.

Today, we're delving into a dramatic and unique chapter in Scottish history, the Battle of the Inch, or the Battle of the Clans, which took place on September 28, 1396, in Perth. This battle was a trial by combat, organized by King Robert III of Scotland to end a long-standing feud between two rival clans, Clan Chattan and what was referred to at the time as Clan Quhele.

The clash was held on the North Inch of Perth, a grassy expanse by the River Tay, in front of a gathered crowd that included the King himself and members of his court. It wasn’t an ordinary battlefield, but a staged combat zone where thirty warriors from each clan were selected to fight to the death.

The exact identity of the opposing clan remains a matter of debate. Some sources suggest it may have been Clan Cameron, longtime enemies of Clan Chattan, while others claim it was an internal conflict between the Macphersons and Davidsons, both factions within Clan Chattan itself. Regardless of who their opponents were, the animosity was real, and King Robert III was determined to put an end to it.

The idea was to settle the feud not with a full-scale war but through a controlled, bloody contest of honor and strength. King Robert, along with his nobles and citizens, watched from specially erected stands, while barriers were built to keep the crowd from interfering in the deadly spectacle.

The stakes were high. Armed with swords, axes, and shields, the two groups of thirty men prepared for combat. But just before the fight was about to begin, one of Clan Chattan’s warriors fell ill, leaving their side one man short. In a surprising turn of events, a local warrior, Henry Wynd—also known as Hal o’ the Wynd, or Henry the Smith—offered to join the fray in exchange for a fee, should he survive. He agreed, and thus the battle commenced with thirty fighters on each side.

The battle that followed was vicious and brutal. As the two clans clashed, swords flashed and axes swung, causing a bloody and deadly scene. The death toll mounted quickly. The chronicles of the time describe a “murderous conflict,” with limbs severed and heads split by heavy claymores. The sound of bagpipes blared as the warriors fought relentlessly.

By the end of the battle, Clan Chattan emerged victorious, having lost nineteen of their own men. In contrast, their opponents were almost entirely wiped out, with only one surviving. This solitary survivor is said to have leaped into the River Tay, swimming to safety, while Henry Wynd, the volunteer, was among the eleven remaining Chattan warriors.

The Battle of the Inch was not just a contest of strength but a symbolic event, demonstrating the Scottish crown’s control over feuding clans. The victory granted Clan Chattan royal favor and bolstered their standing. As for Henry Wynd, his bravery and contribution to Clan Chattan’s triumph earned him a place within the clan. From him descended the Gow or Smith sept of the clan, solidifying his legendary status.

Historians and chroniclers over the centuries, including Andrew of Wyntoun, who wrote in the early 15th century, and later authors like Walter Bower and George Buchanan, have all provided accounts of the event, though the details vary. Walter Scott even immortalized the battle in his novel The Fair Maid of Perth, romanticizing the encounter as a ferocious and emotional fight, punctuated by the sound of bagpipes and the cries of the wounded.

While there is still debate over which clans were involved, no one questions the significance of this battle in Scottish history. It remains one of the most remarkable examples of trial by combat ever staged, illustrating both the ferocity of clan rivalry and the attempts by Scottish monarchs to impose order.

The Battle of the Inch did not end all clan disputes, but it stands as a symbol of the violent and tumultuous nature of Highland life in the medieval period. Clans would continue to feud for centuries, but this staged battle remains a memorable and vivid episode, a testament to how far leaders were willing to go to maintain peace—however temporary—in their realm.

So, as we look back on this day in 1396, we remember not just the clash of swords and the roar of battle, but the human desire for resolution, honor, and, in this case, the dramatic settling of scores in the public eye.

Thank you for joining me today on "This Day in Scottish History." I'm Colin MacDonald, and I hope to see you again for more stories from Scotland's storied past. 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’re heading back to the windswept shores of Fair Isle, Shetland, where, on the 27th of September 1588, a dramatic chapter in the Spanish Armada’s ill-fated campaign came to a tragic end. On this day, the Spanish ship El Gran Grifón, battered and broken by storms, was wrecked on the rocky shores of Fair Isle, marking a key moment in Scotland's involvement in this epic European conflict.

El Gran Grifón was no ordinary ship. As the flagship of the Spanish Armada’s supply squadron, she was a mighty 650-ton, 38-gun vessel. But she wasn’t originally built in Spain – she was, in fact, a Baltic hulk, constructed in Rostock, in what is now modern-day Germany. These hulks were chartered to support the Spanish Armada's massive campaign to invade England in 1588. Commanded by Juan Gómez de Medina, she played a crucial role in the supply chain for the Armada’s fleet. However, her story would take a sharp turn as the Armada's campaign went disastrously wrong.

The Gran Grifón’s troubles began early in the campaign. She was damaged during an encounter with the English ship Revenge in the Channel. Though she somehow managed to escape into the North Sea, it was clear that she was in serious trouble. Leaking and struggling to stay afloat, she, along with other ships of the Armada, found herself pushed north by violent storms, separated from the main fleet, and forced into treacherous waters.

As the Armada fought to survive, the Gran Grifón found herself caught in a series of strong storms, which drove her and two other ships, the Barca de Amburgo and the Trinidad Valencera, northwards. While the Barca de Amburgo foundered nearby, its crew split between the Gran Grifón and the Trinidad Valencera. The added strain on the Gran Grifón, now carrying 43 crew members and 234 soldiers, was immense.

By September, the ships had been battling the elements for weeks, crossing between Norway and Scotland’s Northern Isles. After one last fierce storm, the Gran Grifón limped towards Fair Isle, desperate for shelter and repairs. On the 27th of September, she anchored at Swartz Geo, but the elements were unforgiving. The tide drove the ship ashore, and she was wrecked on the unforgiving rocks of Stroms Hellier.

Despite the violence of the wreck, all of the crew and soldiers made it ashore. But their troubles were far from over. Stranded on Fair Isle, isolated from the rest of the world, they faced the harsh Shetland autumn. With little in the way of supplies, they endured two long months of exposure and starvation. Fair Isle’s remote location meant that it was some time before Andrew Umphray, the island’s owner, heard of their plight. Once he did, he brought Juan Gómez de Medina to the Shetland mainland, where he stayed with Malcolm Sinclair of Quendale.

Many of the survivors eventually made their way to Orkney, where they would become known locally as the “Westray Dons,” a nod to their Spanish origins. Others continued on to St Andrews and Edinburgh, but for some, the ordeal was far from over. Of the nearly 300 survivors from the Gran Grifón, 50 had already died on Fair Isle from their wounds, starvation, or exposure. They were buried in what became known as the “Spaniards' Grave,” a somber reminder of the men who died far from home.

The remaining survivors faced a perilous journey back to Spain. In a cruel twist of fate, their ship was attacked by Dutch gunboats, which had been alerted by the English Navy, despite Queen Elizabeth’s assurances that the survivors would not be harassed by English forces. Half of those on board were killed in the attack.

Centuries later, the wreck of El Gran Grifón was rediscovered and excavated by Colin Martin and Sydney Wignall in 1970, shedding new light on the ship’s story. In 1984, a delegation from Spain traveled to Fair Isle to pay tribute to the fallen sailors, planting an iron cross in the island’s cemetery in remembrance of those who had died so far from home.

The wreck of El Gran Grifón is more than just a footnote in the history of the Spanish Armada. It serves as a poignant reminder of the human cost of war and the perilous journeys that sailors of the time faced. Today, as we remember the events of the 27th of September 1588, we honor the legacy of those who perished in the waters off Fair Isle, and the deep historical connections between Scotland and Europe that continue to this day.

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

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

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we turn our attention to the remarkable and tragic story of Major Alexander Gordon Laing, the first European to reach Timbuktu from the north. On September 26, 1826, Laing’s life came to a sudden and violent end, just weeks after accomplishing a feat many had long believed impossible.

Born in Edinburgh on December 27, 1794, Laing was raised in an intellectual household. His father, William Laing, was a private teacher of classical studies, and Alexander was groomed for a life of scholarship. However, adventure called him far from Scotland’s scholarly circles, and by the time he was a young man, he had found his way to the distant shores of Barbados.

Laing’s early military career began in the British colonial forces, starting in Barbados in 1811. He obtained a commission in the York Light Infantry Volunteers in 1813 and, through determination, rose through the ranks. His military service took him to the West Indies, Sierra Leone, and deep into West Africa. By 1822, he had joined the Royal African Colonial Corps, where he was sent on several significant expeditions. It was here that his thirst for exploration began to take root. Laing conducted geographic and trade missions in the interior of Africa, searching for the source of the Niger River and striving to open new trade routes while helping to combat the scourge of the slave trade. These early expeditions, though successful, were only precursors to the journey that would define his legacy—his trek to the fabled city of Timbuktu.

At the time, Timbuktu held near-mythical status in European imagination. The city, which had been a thriving center of Islamic culture and trade since the 14th century, was believed to be filled with untold riches. European explorers had long dreamed of reaching it, but none had survived the perilous journey through the Sahara Desert.

In 1825, Laing set out on what would become his final expedition, supported by influential patrons such as Joseph Banks and Henry Bathurst, the British Secretary of State for the Colonies. His mission was to reach Timbuktu and gather vital information on the hydrography of the Niger River basin. Laing’s journey began in Tripoli in February 1825, and just before he set out across the Sahara, he married Emma Warrington, the daughter of the British consul in Tripoli. It was a bittersweet moment, as Laing knew his journey into the desert was fraught with danger.

He crossed the unforgiving Sahara in the company of a sheikh, and although the sheikh was later accused of plotting against him, Laing pushed forward. The trek was grueling, and Laing faced multiple attacks by Tuareg tribesmen who plundered his caravan, wounding him in 24 places and nearly taking his life. Despite these severe injuries and the loss of much of his supplies, Laing survived and pressed on, arriving in Timbuktu on August 18, 1826. His letters described his harrowing ordeal but also his success in reaching the city—making him the first European to do so from the north.

However, Laing’s triumph was short-lived. The political situation in Timbuktu was precarious, and the city's ruler, a Fula chieftain named Bello, was openly hostile to foreigners. Laing’s position became increasingly dangerous, and after spending only 38 days in the city, he decided to leave on September 24, 1826. His fate was sealed shortly after departing Timbuktu. Laing was murdered by his Arab escorts in the desert, mere days after setting out. His body was never recovered, and all of his notes and findings were lost.

The exact circumstances of his death remain shrouded in mystery. Some speculated that his murder may have been orchestrated by those who sought to prevent him from sharing Timbuktu’s secrets. Others suggested the involvement of French agents, as France was also keen on reaching Timbuktu and asserting influence over West Africa. However, no conclusive evidence of such a conspiracy ever emerged.

Laing’s widow, Emma, received the devastating news of his death, but his accomplishments would not go unrecognized. In 1903, the French government placed a plaque on the house where Laing stayed during his brief time in Timbuktu, commemorating his daring achievement. Despite his tragic end, Laing’s journey paved the way for future explorers. Just two years after his death, Frenchman René Caillié reached Timbuktu and returned to tell the tale, claiming the Société de Géographie’s prize for the feat.

Laing’s legacy is a testament to the spirit of exploration and discovery, despite the inherent risks. His journey exemplifies the dangerous and often deadly pursuit of knowledge that defined European exploration of Africa in the 19th century. Today, we remember Major Alexander Gordon Laing not only for his bravery and tenacity but for being a trailblazer who sought to connect distant cultures and uncover the hidden geography of Africa.

Thank you for joining us on this episode of This Day in Scottish History. I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. Join us next time for another story from the annals of Scotland’s past. Until then, Haste Ye Back!

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

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History! I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. On today’s episode, we remember the life and contributions of a remarkable figure in the world of medicine—John Hughes Bennett. Although born in London on August 31, 1812, Bennett's groundbreaking work and career were shaped largely by his time in Scotland. And on this day, September 25, in the year 1875, he passed away, leaving behind an extraordinary legacy in the field of medical science.

John Hughes Bennett’s name may not be as immediately recognizable to everyone, but his contributions have had a lasting impact on both the scientific and medical communities. In the mid-19th century, Bennett became a pioneer in the emerging field of histology, the study of tissues, and was one of the earliest champions of microscopy in medical research. His work brought about critical advancements in the way we understand diseases and laid the foundation for modern pathological research.

Bennett began his journey in medicine by apprenticing with a surgeon in Maidstone before moving to Edinburgh in 1833, where he quickly proved to be an exceptional student. Graduating with the highest honors in 1837, his dissertation was on the physiology and pathology of the brain—a signal of the scientific curiosity that would drive him throughout his career.

His real innovation, however, came when he began to emphasize the importance of the microscope in medical diagnostics. In 1841, after further studies in Paris and Berlin, Bennett returned to Edinburgh as a lecturer on histology. At the time, microscopy was a relatively new tool in medicine, and its potential was not widely recognized. But Bennett understood its value and became a leading voice in promoting its use to study disease at the cellular level.

One of his most significant achievements came in 1845, when he provided the first clinical description of leukemia, a blood disorder that until then had been a mystery to the medical community. In his landmark paper, Case of Hypertrophy of the Spleen and Liver in which Death Took Place from Suppuration of the Blood, published in the Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal, Bennett detailed what we now know as leukemia, coining the term "leucocythemia" to describe the disease. His work in this area helped to shape modern hematology and the understanding of blood diseases.

But that’s not where his contributions end. Bennett was also the first physician to describe aspergillosis, a fungal infection caused by the Aspergillus fungus. In his 1842 paper titled On the Parasitic Vegetable Structures Found Growing in Living Animals, he made the earliest known description of Aspergillus growing in the lungs of humans, opening the door to the study of fungal infections in medicine.

He was also a strong advocate for medical education reform. Bennett pioneered the teaching of physiology through practical classes, a radical approach at the time, and he was instrumental in making clinical medicine more scientific. His systematic teaching of the clinical use of the microscope in pathology and physiology, as well as his opposition to outdated practices like bloodletting, cemented his place as one of the most forward-thinking physicians of his era.

Another remarkable achievement was Bennett's role in introducing cod liver oil into medical practice. Today, we might think of cod liver oil as just another supplement, but in the 19th century, it was revolutionary. Bennett promoted its use as a therapeutic agent, particularly in treating conditions like tuberculosis, and this simple but effective treatment became widely adopted.

Throughout his career, Bennett published numerous influential works. His Clinical Lectures on the Principles and Practice of Medicine became a staple of medical education and were translated into several languages, broadening his influence well beyond Scotland. His textbooks on physiology, as well as his writings on tuberculosis, became essential reading for generations of physicians.

Bennett’s contributions weren’t limited to just science. He was also an advocate for progressive causes, including the admission of women to medical schools, something that would take many more years to come to fruition but which was essential in breaking down barriers for future generations of female physicians.

After a long and influential career, Bennett’s health began to fail in the early 1870s. Despite these challenges, he continued to contribute to medical research until his final days. In 1875, just weeks before his death, he attended a meeting of the British Medical Association in Edinburgh, where he was awarded an honorary Doctor of Laws degree. Unfortunately, soon after, he underwent surgery for kidney stones, a procedure that his weakened body could not recover from. He died in Norwich on September 25, 1875, and was buried in Edinburgh's Dean Cemetery beside two of his close friends, John Goodsir and Edward Forbes, both renowned scientists of their time.

Bennett’s legacy endures, particularly in the field of haematology, where his contributions to the study of leukemia continue to be celebrated. In 1901, the University of Edinburgh inaugurated the John Hughes Bennett Laboratory of Experimental Pathology in his honor. And in 1998, another laboratory bearing his name was opened, continuing his mission of advancing the study of blood diseases.

John Hughes Bennett’s work fundamentally changed the landscape of 19th-century medicine. He wasn’t just a doctor—he was a visionary who helped pave the way for modern medical practices, particularly in the use of scientific tools like the microscope to better understand disease. His contributions to pathology, haematology, and medical education remain pillars of medical science to this day.

Thank you for joining us on this journey through Scottish history and science. Be sure to tune in tomorrow for another fascinating look into the past. Until then, I’m Colin MacDonald, and this has been This Day in Scottish History. 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 traveling back to the turbulent 14th century—a time when Scotland was engulfed in political strife and power struggles. The date is September 24, 1332, and on this day, Edward Balliol, with the support of the English crown, was crowned King of Scots at Scone. This moment created a Scotland with two kings: Edward Balliol and the young David II, son of the legendary Robert the Bruce.

Today’s episode will explore Edward Balliol’s contested claim to the Scottish throne, his dramatic rise and fall, and how his coronation led to years of conflict during the Second War of Scottish Independence.

Edward Balliol’s Early Life

Edward Balliol was born around 1283, the eldest son of John Balliol, a former King of Scotland who ruled briefly from 1292 to 1296, and Isabella de Warenne. His early life was shaped by the political turmoil that followed his father’s reign. After John Balliol was forced to abdicate the Scottish throne in 1296, Edward spent part of his youth imprisoned in the Tower of London. Upon his release, he was placed under the care of his maternal grandfather, John de Warenne, 6th Earl of Surrey.

Though Edward’s early years were clouded by his father’s failed kingship, he was not without ambition. His link to the Scottish throne remained, and soon enough, powerful forces would call upon him to revive the Balliol claim.

The Road to the Scottish Throne

After the death of Robert the Bruce in 1329, Scotland found itself with a child king, six-year-old David II. Robert’s loyal regent, Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, acted as a stabilizing force for the young king. However, Randolph’s death in 1332 opened the door for political opportunism, and this is where Edward Balliol comes into the picture.

Balliol was approached by a group of men known as the disinherited—nobles whose lands had been taken by Robert the Bruce after the Scottish victory at Bannockburn. These men sought to reclaim their lost titles and property, and they saw Edward Balliol as their ticket back into power. Key figures in this group included Henry de Beaumont and David III Strathbogie.

With covert backing from Edward III of England, who had his own ambitions to control Scotland, Balliol and the disinherited launched an invasion. The timing was ideal, with Scotland in political disarray and no clear leadership following Randolph’s death.

Victory and Coronation at Scone

In August 1332, Balliol’s forces, bolstered by English adventurers, met the Scots at the Battle of Dupplin Moor. The Scots, led by the Earl of Mar, were decisively defeated. This victory paved the way for Edward Balliol to march on Scone, the traditional crowning place of Scottish kings. On September 24, 1332, Edward Balliol was crowned King of Scots, claiming his place as ruler, though his grip on the crown would soon be tested.

Scotland with Two Kings

Edward’s reign was fraught with instability from the start. Three months after his coronation, a loyalist force of Bruce supporters attacked his position at the Battle of Annan, forcing Balliol to flee back to England in the dead of night. This marked the beginning of what would be a repeated cycle for Edward Balliol—gaining control of parts of Scotland only to be quickly ousted by forces loyal to David II or other Bruce loyalists.

In 1333, Edward III of England openly declared his support for Balliol, and together they marched into Scotland, capturing Berwick and defeating the Scots at the Battle of Halidon Hill. Following this, Balliol ceded significant territory to Edward III, including the strategically important district of Lothian, in exchange for continued support. But even with English backing, Balliol’s reign remained precarious.

The Fall of Balliol

The Bruce loyalists were determined not to let Edward Balliol secure a lasting hold on the Scottish throne. In 1334, after struggling to consolidate his power, Balliol was once again driven from Scotland. His remaining forces were soundly defeated at the Battle of Culblean in 1335, effectively ending his serious bid for the crown.

Despite multiple invasions and military campaigns, Balliol’s fortunes never improved. In 1346, with David II captured after the Battle of Neville’s Cross, Balliol saw an opportunity to return. Yet, even then, his power was limited to a small region of Galloway, and by 1355, his influence had waned to the point of irrelevance.

The End of the Balliol Claim

In January 1356, after years of fighting a losing battle, Edward Balliol formally surrendered his claim to the Scottish throne. In exchange, he received a pension from Edward III and retired to England, where he lived out the rest of his days in obscurity, dying in 1364 near Doncaster. Despite his early aspirations and brief moments of power, Edward Balliol died childless, his dream of ruling Scotland unfulfilled.

Legacy and Reflection

The crowning of Edward Balliol on September 24, 1332, remains a pivotal moment in Scottish history. It symbolized not only the deep divisions within Scotland but also the ongoing threat of English intervention in Scottish affairs. Though his reign was short-lived and largely unsuccessful, Balliol’s bid for the throne added another chapter to the long and tumultuous history of Scottish independence.

Thank you for joining us today on This Day in Scottish History. I’m Colin MacDonald. Tune in tomorrow as we explore another fascinating moment from Scotland’s past. Until then, Haste Ye Back!

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

Welcome back to “This Day in Scottish History.” I’m your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we journey back to a pivotal figure in early-medieval Scotland, a man whose impact on the spiritual and legal world continues to be felt to this day: Adomnán of Iona. He passed away on this day, September 23rd, in the year 704. More than just an abbot, Adomnán was a saint, a statesman, and a scholar whose contributions resonate across both Scotland and Ireland.

Adomnán, also known as Saint Adomnán or Eunan, was born around the year 624 into the Northern Uí Néill lineage, a powerful Gaelic dynasty in what is now County Donegal in modern-day Ireland. His connection to the region was deep, not only by blood but by faith. He is thought to have been a relative of Saint Columba, the founder of Iona Abbey, which would play such an important role in his life.

Adomnán’s early life is somewhat shrouded in mystery, as is common for figures from that time. What we do know is that he joined the Columban monastic tradition, a network of monasteries tied to Iona Abbey. He likely spent his early years at one of these monasteries in either northern Ireland or the kingdom of Dál Riata, which spanned parts of modern-day western Scotland and Ireland. He was a man of rare intellect, and his education was extensive for the period—learning that would help shape the future of both the abbey and early medieval scholarship.

In 679, Adomnán became the ninth abbot of Iona, a role that came with immense spiritual and political responsibility. Iona Abbey was one of the most important religious centers in Gaelic Christianity, and as abbot, Adomnán was both a spiritual leader and a diplomat. One of his close associates was King Aldfrith of Northumbria, with whom Adomnán shared a strong relationship. In 686, he helped negotiate the release of 60 Gaels captured during a raid by Northumbrians—a reflection of his diplomatic skill and influence.

But it wasn’t just his diplomacy that set Adomnán apart—it was his profound sense of justice. Perhaps his most lasting legacy is the Cáin Adomnáin, or “Law of Adomnán,” also known as the “Law of Innocents.” This law, enacted in 697 at the Synod of Birr, was revolutionary for its time. It sought to protect non-combatants during times of war, particularly women, children, and clergy. This early form of humanitarian law was groundbreaking in an era of frequent conflicts, and it laid the groundwork for similar protections that would emerge much later in European legal traditions.

Another one of Adomnán’s significant works was his hagiography of Saint Columba, Vita Columbae, written between 697 and 700. This biography is one of the most important surviving works from early medieval Scotland, offering an invaluable insight into the life of Columba and the early Christian communities of the time. The stories it tells not only document Columba’s miracles and influence but also provide details about the Picts, who were the dominant people in northern and eastern Scotland during this period. Through his writing, Adomnán preserved a wealth of knowledge about Iona’s history, spirituality, and daily life.

Adomnán’s influence also extended beyond the abbey walls and into the wider Christian world. He wrote another treatise, De Locis Sanctis—“On Holy Places”—a description of key Christian pilgrimage sites, including Jerusalem, Rome, and Constantinople. This work was informed by the travels of a Frankish bishop named Arculf, who had visited these holy places and later shared his experiences with Adomnán at Iona. De Locis Sanctis was not only a spiritual guide but also a testament to the far-reaching connections of the Iona monastery.

Despite these great accomplishments, Adomnán’s life wasn’t without challenges. One of his most difficult tasks was attempting to reconcile the Columban monasteries of Iona with the Roman Catholic Church over the date of Easter. While many parts of the British Isles, including Northumbria, had adopted the Roman dating of Easter following the Synod of Whitby in 664, Iona held out, continuing to observe its traditional date. Although Adomnán personally accepted the Roman calendar, he could not persuade the monks of Iona to do the same during his lifetime, leading to a rare schism within the monastery.

Adomnán’s death on September 23, 704, marked the end of an extraordinary life dedicated to faith, justice, and scholarship. His influence, however, did not end there. In both Scotland and Ireland, he is venerated as a saint, and his feast day continues to be celebrated on this date. He is a patron saint of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Raphoe in Donegal, Ireland, and many institutions, churches, and schools throughout the region bear his name.

In 727, more than two decades after his death, Adomnán’s relics were brought to Ireland to renew the Cáin Adomnáin, reaffirming the enduring significance of his legal reforms. Today, Adomnán is remembered as one of the most important figures in early medieval Scotland and Ireland, a man whose life and work shaped the spiritual and legal landscape of his time.

As we remember Saint Adomnán today, we reflect on his legacy of peace, justice, and devotion. His vision for a world where the innocent were protected from the ravages of war continues to inspire, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, there are those who strive for compassion and justice.

Thank you for joining me on this journey through history. I’m Colin MacDonald, and this has been “This Day in Scottish History.” Haste Ye Back! Tune in tomorrow for another fascinating look into Scotland’s rich past.

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Welcome back to "This Day in Scottish History." I’m your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we travel back to a fateful moment in 12th century Galloway: the 22nd of September, 1174. This was the day that Gilbert, known as Gille Brigte, ordered a brutal attack on his own brother, Uchtred, a crime that reverberated across Scotland and England.

Now, before we dive into this dark chapter of history, let me explain that the name "Gilbert" is the French translation of Gille Brigte, which is what I’ll use for clarity. Gilbert, or Gille Brigte, was the Lord of Galloway, a title he shared with his brother Uchtred following the death of their father, Fergus, the founder of the Kingdom of Galloway. Fergus’s death in 1161 left his two sons to split Galloway, with Gilbert taking control of the west, and Uchtred ruling the east.

But by 1174, a rift had formed between these two brothers, a division that culminated in one of the most infamous acts of sibling rivalry in Scottish history. Their shared rule was already fraught with tension, but it was King William I of Scotland’s failed invasion of England that truly set things in motion. You see, William, known as "The Lion," had attempted to capture Northumberland, but his campaign ended in disaster when he was taken prisoner at Alnwick. And it was at this moment, when news reached Galloway of the king's capture, that Gilbert took a drastic step.

Benedict of Peterborough, a chronicler from the time, tells us that when Gilbert and his Galwegian followers heard of King William’s capture, they immediately returned to Galloway and expelled the royal officials from their lands. Any English or French settlers they found were slaughtered, and the fortifications King William had built in Galloway were besieged and destroyed.

Though Uchtred, Gilbert’s brother, had been part of King William’s campaign, he opposed these attacks. And here is where the story takes a dark and violent turn. Gilbert’s son, Mael Coluim, attacked Uchtred on a small island in Galloway, capturing his uncle. What followed was a gruesome act of revenge and power. Mael Coluim blinded Uchtred, castrated him, and cut out his tongue before finally killing him. It was a brutal and barbaric way to eliminate a rival, even by the standards of the time.

Gilbert, however, didn’t stop there. Having rid himself of his brother, he made a bold political move. He sent a message to King Henry II of England, asking for direct lordship over Galloway, effectively offering to rule the region without the Scottish crown’s oversight. In return, Gilbert promised Henry a large payment of 2,000 marks and an annual tribute of 500 cows and 500 swine. It was an audacious bid for power, but Henry’s response would be shaped by more than just politics.

When Henry’s envoys, Roger de Hoveden and Robert de Vaux, arrived in Galloway to assess the situation, they were horrified to learn about Uchtred’s barbaric murder. Uchtred, after all, was a cousin of Henry, and the cruelty of his death destroyed any hope Gilbert had of securing a deal with the English king. Instead, Henry and William of Scotland would sign the Treaty of Falaise, reaffirming William’s authority over Galloway and forcing Gilbert to come to terms.

Two years later, in 1176, Gilbert was summoned to England, where he was fined 1,000 marks by Henry II. As a show of good faith—and to ensure his cooperation—Gilbert had to hand over his son, Duncan, as a hostage. Though Gilbert remained in power for a few more years, his ambitions for independence were effectively crushed.

So, what was the legacy of Gilbert’s reign? In many ways, it was marked by his defiance of the Scottish kings, especially his hostility toward William the Lion. Unlike his brother Uchtred, who had attempted to maintain a more traditional Gaelic following and opposed the influence of Norman settlers, Gilbert sought greater autonomy and often clashed with the Scottish crown. His policies may have won him support from the Galwegian populace, but they alienated him from the Scottish and English rulers.

By the 1180s, Gilbert was still raiding Scottish-controlled areas of eastern Galloway, and tensions with King William remained high. But in 1185, just as these conflicts were reaching their peak, Gilbert met his end, likely in battle against William’s forces. His death opened the door for William to install Uchtred’s son, Lochlann—known in English as Roland—as the new Lord of Galloway. With Gilbert’s son Duncan still held hostage by the English, the line of succession shifted, and Galloway returned to a closer alignment with the Scottish crown.

The events of September 22, 1174, marked a turning point in Galloway’s history. Gilbert’s ruthless actions against his brother not only destroyed his family but also ended his hopes of securing independence from Scotland. His brutal tactics, particularly the horrific fate of Uchtred, shocked the political landscape of the time and ultimately backfired, leaving Galloway vulnerable to Scottish control.

That’s all for today’s episode. Thank you for joining me on this journey through one of the bloodiest sibling rivalries in Scottish history. Tune in next time for another chapter in "This Day in Scottish History." I’m your host, 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 to "This Day in Scottish History." I'm your host, Colin MacDonald, and today we turn our attention to a crucial moment in the Jacobite Rising of 1745—the Battle of Prestonpans, fought on September 21, 1745. Also known as the Battle of Gladsmuir, it was the first major engagement of the rebellion, and it ended in a decisive victory for the Jacobite forces under Charles Edward Stuart, or as many of you may know him, Bonnie Prince Charlie.

Let’s dive into the events leading up to this important day.

By early 1745, much of the British military was involved in the War of the Austrian Succession, leaving Scotland relatively unprotected. This presented an opportunity for Bonnie Prince Charlie, who sought to reclaim the British throne for the exiled House of Stuart. His landing in Scotland in July 1745 ignited the flames of rebellion. He was met with caution by many clan leaders, but key figures like Donald Cameron of Lochiel eventually lent their support, boosting the Jacobite cause.

On August 19, 1745, the rebellion officially began with the raising of the Jacobite standard at Glenfinnan. With the Scottish capital of Edinburgh in their sights, the Jacobite army, though small and poorly equipped, was determined. Meanwhile, the government forces, led by Sir John Cope, struggled to gather an effective defense. Cope, despite being an experienced soldier, was hampered by poor intelligence and the inexperience of his troops, many of whom had little combat training.

Cope's initial plan was to block the Jacobite advance by taking control of the Corrieyairack Pass, but he found it already occupied by the Highlanders and withdrew to Inverness. When he learned that the Jacobites were marching toward Edinburgh, Cope decided to take his troops to Dunbar by sea, hoping to regroup and defend the capital.

By September 17, 1745, Cope’s troops had begun disembarking at Dunbar, joining forces with a cavalry detachment led by Colonel Thomas Fowke. Cope believed he was well-prepared to crush the Jacobites, who numbered fewer than 2,000. However, as his forces marched toward Edinburgh, they found themselves facing the Jacobites near the small town of Prestonpans, just east of the city.

On the afternoon of September 20, the two armies made contact. Cope positioned his forces defensively, placing his troops behind marshland and along the embankments of the Tranent to Cockenzie Waggonway—a coal transport route that crossed the battlefield. Although Cope’s positioning was tactically sound, his army was undermined by several factors, including the inexperience of his men and the panic that had spread among his cavalry after a skirmish days earlier.

The Jacobites, led by George Murray, scouted the battlefield and quickly realized that a frontal assault across the marshy terrain would be disastrous. Instead, a local farmer named Robert Anderson guided the Jacobite army through a narrow path known as the Riggonhead Defile, allowing them to flank Cope’s forces from the east. At 4 a.m. on September 21, the Jacobites moved into position, undetected by Cope’s sentries.

As dawn broke, the Highlanders launched their infamous charge. The government artillery, manned by untrained sailors, proved ineffective, and the two dragoon regiments on the flanks quickly panicked and fled the battlefield. With their flanks exposed, Cope’s infantry was overwhelmed in a matter of minutes. The battle lasted less than half an hour, and the government forces were either killed, captured, or routed. Sir John Cope himself managed to escape, along with a few survivors, retreating to Berwick-upon-Tweed.

The Jacobite victory at Prestonpans was stunning. Around 300 government soldiers were killed or wounded, and another 500 were taken prisoner. Jacobite casualties were relatively light, with only around 40 dead and 80 wounded. For Bonnie Prince Charlie and his supporters, this victory was a massive morale boost, proving that the Jacobite cause was a real threat to the British government.

In the immediate aftermath of the battle, Sir John Cope wrote to his superiors, disclaiming responsibility for the defeat, and a subsequent court-martial cleared him of any wrongdoing. However, the defeat effectively ended Cope’s military career. Despite his personal exoneration, the battle became synonymous with his failure as a commander, immortalized in the satirical song, "Hey, Johnnie Cope, Are Ye Waking Yet?", which mocks his inability to stop the Jacobite forces.

For the Jacobites, the victory at Prestonpans solidified their control over much of Scotland and sent shockwaves through Britain. It also attracted international attention, with French support arriving in the form of arms and money in the weeks following the battle. However, the Jacobite leadership soon became divided over strategy. Prince Charles wanted to march south into England, while many of his Scottish supporters preferred to consolidate their gains in Scotland. This tension would continue to plague the Jacobite campaign and ultimately contribute to its failure at the Battle of Culloden in 1746.

The Battle of Prestonpans marked a high point in the Jacobite Rising of 1745. It demonstrated the ferocity and effectiveness of the Highland charge and showed that the rebellion was far from a mere local uprising. While the victory gave the Jacobites control over Scotland, it also exposed cracks in their leadership that would later prove fatal.

Thank you for joining me on this journey through history. As we remember the events of September 21, 1745, we’re reminded of the complex forces that shaped Scotland’s past and the enduring legacy of the Jacobite cause.

Tune in next time 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

Welcome back to This Day in Scottish History. I'm your host, Colin MacDonald. Today, we turn our attention to a landmark moment in maritime history that took place on September 20, 1967. On this day, the Queen Elizabeth 2, or QE2, the largest ship ever built in Scotland and the last great passenger liner constructed on the River Clyde, was launched from John Brown & Company's yard in Clydebank. This event marked the beginning of a storied career for one of the most iconic ships in modern history.

The QE2 was built for the Cunard Line and designed to operate as both a transatlantic liner and a luxury cruise ship. She served as Cunard’s flagship from 1969 until 2004, when she was succeeded by the Queen Mary 2. During her nearly 40 years of service, the QE2 became a symbol of luxury, speed, and elegance, sailing millions of miles across the world’s oceans.

The story of the QE2 begins with the decline of transatlantic sea travel in the 1950s and 60s. By 1957, more and more people were opting to travel by air, as jets like the Boeing 707 made crossing the Atlantic much faster than by ship. However, Cunard was determined to maintain its presence on the North Atlantic route and decided to commission a new ship to replace its aging liners, the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth. This new ship would not only continue the tradition of transatlantic crossings but also serve as a cruise ship, offering passengers a dual-purpose vessel that could operate year-round.

The QE2 was originally designed in Cunard's offices in Liverpool and Southampton, and she was constructed at the famous John Brown shipyard on the Clyde. The ship's hull, known as Number 736 during its construction, was a marvel of modern engineering. She was 963 feet long, had a top speed of 32.5 knots, and was powered by steam turbines, later upgraded to diesel-electric propulsion in the 1980s. Her design was sleek and modern, with interiors that reflected the cutting-edge style of the 1960s, and she was often described as having the look of a "very big yacht."

On September 20, 1967, Queen Elizabeth II herself was present to launch the ship. In a grand ceremony at Clydebank, the Queen used a pair of gold scissors—passed down from her mother and grandmother, who had launched the Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary—to cut the ribbon and christen the ship. After a brief and dramatic pause on the slipway, the QE2 slid into the River Clyde to the cheers of thousands of spectators. It was a proud moment for Scotland and the Clyde shipyards, which had been at the forefront of global shipbuilding for decades.

The QE2 officially entered service in May 1969 with her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York. She quickly became known as one of the most luxurious ships afloat, catering to an elite clientele and hosting celebrities, royalty, and heads of state. Although air travel dominated transatlantic crossings by this time, the QE2 kept the tradition alive with her annual voyages between Europe and North America, and she also embarked on regular world cruises.

In addition to her service as a passenger liner, the QE2 had a brief but significant role in the Falklands War in 1982. She was requisitioned by the British government to transport troops to the South Atlantic, and after a rapid conversion at Southampton, she sailed to the Falklands with over 3,000 troops and 650 volunteer crew members. After the war, the ship returned to passenger service, and her military contribution became a proud part of her legacy.

One of the most important moments in the QE2's long career came in 1986–87, when she underwent a major refit that replaced her steam turbines with modern diesel engines. This refit not only extended her service life but also made her more fuel-efficient and reliable, allowing her to continue sailing for another 20 years.

By 2008, after nearly four decades of service, the QE2 was retired from active duty. She had sailed over 5.6 million miles, carried 2.5 million passengers, and completed 806 transatlantic crossings. The ship was sold to Dubai, where plans were made to convert her into a floating hotel. However, the financial crisis of 2008 delayed these plans, and for several years, the QE2 sat idle in Dubai’s docks. In 2018, after extensive refurbishment, she was finally opened as a luxury floating hotel, welcoming guests from around the world to experience her storied past firsthand.

As we reflect on the events of September 20, 1967, we celebrate not only the launch of the QE2 but also the legacy of Scottish shipbuilding. The Clydebank shipyard may have closed its doors, but the ships it built, especially the QE2, continue to symbolize the skill, craftsmanship, and pride of Scotland’s maritime heritage.

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

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