This edited article about Robert Burns originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 704 published on 12 July 1975.

Robert Burns from the painting by Alexander Naismith

The most famous and best loved of Scotland’s poets was born on January 25th 1759, inside the cottage at Alloway in Ayrshire which his father had built with his own hands.

It was here that Robert Burns spent the first seven years of his life as the son of a farmer. At the age of 15 young Burns had learnt enough about farming to enable him to become a skilled ploughman, but though he once wrote of himself: “I have not the most distant pretensions to being . . . a Gentleman. I am simply Robert Burns, at your service. I was born at the Plough”, it is not true to say, as many have claimed in the past, that he was an uneducated illiterate who suddenly began to write poems without any knowledge of literature. Burns received careful instruction from his father and from his schoolmaster and, as a child, would take poetry books with him into the fields to read. From his mother he gained a wealth of traditional ballads and folk tales which was to help inspire some of his best poetry and at 16 young Burns wrote his first song, ‘Handsome Nell’.

His early love poems and country verses were published in 1786, making him the toast of Edinburgh at 28.

In 1791 he decided to become an exciseman at Dumfries and in his spare time carried out a most important literary task which many believe to be his finest achievement. This was the provision of songs for the Scots Musical Museum and Select Collection of Original Scottish airs. At this time also, he wrote in one day what is considered to be the greatest of his longer poems, ‘Tam O’Shanter’.

Then, in 1796, Burns found that he had to pay the final penalty for his intemperate drinking habits. On July 21st, 1796, Scotland’s finest poet died, at the tragically early age of 37.

This edited article about Fife originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 703 published on 5 July 1975.

A picture history of Malcom’s reign showing Margaret’s escape by boat; their marriage in Dunfermline Abbey; Malcom’s refusal to do hommage to William Rufus and the endless carnage and bloodshed in Northumberland. Pictures by Dan Escott

The people of Fife do not live in a county. They live in a kingdom. Their land of heather-hills, cornfields, and coal mines stretching far into the North Sea has always been called the Kingdom of Fife.

Why does this eastern area of Scotland claim this proud title? The coalminers, fishermen and weavers of Fife will tell you it dates back to the days when Fife was a feudal kingdom ruled by its own Pictish king.

Fife lost its king before the Conqueror came to Britain. There was much confusion over the rules of succession, which ended with a Scottish chief named Kenneth MacAlpin becoming ruler of the Scots and the Picts.

Centuries later, of course, the kingdoms of England and Scotland were united under one monarch.

Dunfermline, the chief city of Fife, was the seat of medieval kings in Scotland. The palace there was a royal residence from the time of Queen Margaret in the eleventh century until the sixteenth century.

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This edited article about the great Railway Derby of 1895 originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 703 published on 5 July 1975.

A GNR express drawn by one of the famous Sterling “singles” which took part in the 1895  railway derby, as did the a Precendnt Class locomotive (top left inset) on the East Coast line. Pictures by Harry Green

Two trains thundered through the night from London to see which could reach Scotland first. It was towards the end of the last century and Britain was gripped almost in a Derby Day fever by the great rail race to the north.

Rivalry between the companies operating competing routes, one along the east coast and the other along the west, first came to a head in 1888.

The east coast route opened the battle by admitting third class passengers to the 10 a.m. train which took nine hours to do the run from King’s Cross to Edinburgh. The rival west coast route, operating from Euston, already took third class passengers, but its journey was one hour longer.

Naturally, the third class passengers began to crowd the east coast trains and the west coast lost revenue.

Then the west coast cut an hour off their time, so it was a dead heat. The east coast replied by knocking half-an-hour off their time and reducing the journey to eight-and-a-half hours.

The war was on. West coast again went into the attack and announced that they, too, would do the eight-and-a-half hour run. But on the very day they achieved it, they received a severe shock from the east coast, who cut the time to eight hours.

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This edited article about Inverness District originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 700 published on 14 June 1975.

Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora Macdonald by Pat Nicolle

Stretching across Scotland from the Atlantic Ocean to the Moray Firth, dotted with glens, peppered with lochs, a wild, remote slice of country constitutes the area that was, until recently, Inverness-shire, Scotland’s largest county.

With the changing of the county boundaries it became on 16th May this year, part of the Highland Region. Within this is Inverness District, which is smaller than the former county.

However, the name of Inverness-shire will live on in local lore for it captures the spirit of the rugged Scottish Highlands. Here Britain’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis (4,406 ft.; 1,343 metres) fingers a cold, misty sky. Here, too, one of the most romantic stories and one of the most tragic battles in our history were enacted.

The story is Bonnie Prince Charlie’s and the battle was the Battle of Culloden.

Brought up in Rome at the court of his exiled father (James, The Old Pretender), the young “Bonnie” Prince Charles determined to reclaim the English throne from George II of Hanover for his own House of Stuart.

Thus decided, Prince Charles landed on the rugged coast of Inverness-shire at Loch-nan-Uamh in July 1745. With him was a small band of his followers, called Jacobites. Many of the clans were too busy with their own quarrels to pay much attention to the handsome Prince from overseas. But, at length, they chose a day to meet and decide whether or not to side with him.

The day selected was August 19, 1745. At the appointed time of eleven o’clock in the morning the Prince rode to Glenfinnan, near Loch Shiel, in Inverness-shire, to meet the loyal clansmen. But the immediate question was, would they come? Would they settle their own feuds in time?

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This edited article about William Brodie originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 697 published on 24 May 1975.

William Brodie, the real-life Jekyll and Hyde

The young ladies in the drawing-room could not stop talking about the handsome and prosperous bachelor who was coming to tea.

“What a wonderful husband he would make,” they said to each other. “He’s bound to marry soon. I wonder which one of us it will be?”

“Quiet!” said the girl keeping lookout at the window. “He’s knocking at the front door now. He’s dressed all in white – just like a saint.”

And saintly was just how William Brodie appeared to the wealthy merchants he mixed with in Edinburgh society. A bachelor of temperate habits, a city councillor, a skilful cabinet-maker and carpenter, he seemed faultless. The only thing held against him was his shyness and modesty that made him a difficult person to really know.

“He’s certainly polite and charming,” the girls of Edinburgh would say to their mothers. “But he seems a little too perfect. It is as if he is trying to hide something from us.”

They little guessed then that William Brodie was hiding plenty from them. Just what it was emerged in 1788 when Brodie – then forty-eight and still unmarried – was tried and executed at Tolbooth Prison as the leader of a gang of vicious underworld burglars who had long terrorized the city.

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This edited article about the Orkney Isles originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 697 published on 24 May 1975.

Viking raiders left Norway for the Orkney Isles

In a large room, deeply carpeted, two men in naval uniform stood in front of a wall-chart of the North Sea. The older man, a stick in his hand, traced a line slowly from the German naval base at Kiel across to a group of islands off the north coast of Scotland – the Orkney Isles.

The year was 1939, With Lieutenant Prien, commander of U-boat U47, Admiral Doenitz, Flag Officer (Submarines) of the German Navy, was planning the impossible – an attack on Scapa Flow, the largest expanse of water at the southern end of the Orkneys.

Scapa Flow is almost surrounded by small islands, and for two world wars ships of the British Home Fleet were based there.

The reasons for choosing Scapa as a naval base were these: firstly, the route from the Atlantic to Germany must pass either through the English Channel, or between North Scotland and Norway. Battleships at Scapa Flow could easily sail to intercept any enemy ships using this last passage.

Secondly, tides and currents swirl dangerously through the channels which separate the little islands around the Flow, making those channels extremely dangerous for shipping, so providing a natural defence from attack from the sea.

Thus thought the Admiralty. Admiral Doenitz, however, thought otherwise.

“You will note, Lieutenant,” he rasped, “that on the east side of the Flow, between the Orkney mainland and the island of Burray, there are two channels through which you might pass. They are partly blocked by sunken ships; you will sail between them. That is all. Heil Hitler!”

On October 8, 1939, Lieutenant Prien’s submarine slipped quietly out of Kiel and into the North Sea. Five days later, as dawn broke, Prien could see a faint blue streak on the horizon. It was Orkney.

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This edited article about Lord Darnley originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 696 published on 17 May 1975.

Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley by Sir James Linton

On a cold February night in 1567, Mary Queen of Scots bade farewell to her husband, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, lying ill with smallpox in a little house on the outskirts of Edinburgh. As she prepared to mount her horse in the thick snow outside, a servant, nicknamed Paris, appeared at the front door, his face black with dirt.

“Jesu, Paris,” Mary exclaimed, “how begrimed you are!” Then without waiting for an answer, she turned to her attendants and gave the signal to set off down the street towards the other end of the city where they were to attend a wedding party.

Three hours later, the still of the night was shattered by a violent explosion. The little house, called Kirk O’Field, in which Mary had left her sick husband, had been blown to pieces by gunpowder. In the garden lay the bodies of Lord Darnley and his servant, Taylor.

Quickly a crowd gathered round the two bodies, and at once they noticed something curious about them. Neither showed the slightest trace of gunpowder or any injuries arising from its detonation. Both men had been suffocated.

In a muddy field nearby a slipper was found. It belonged to Archibald Douglas, Darnley’s cousin.

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This edited article about Perthshire originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 688 published on 22 March 1975.

Rob Roy and his cattle-raiding exploits against Montrose

Often in the quiet nights the cottagers of Perthshire would hear strange sounds on the road outside – the sound of cattle being herded along, the soft murmur of men’s voices, the clink of a bridle as a mysterious midnight procession moved on its way.

It was wiser not to interfere. The cottagers put their heads under the blankets, and left well alone, for Rob Roy MacGregor was stealing cattle again.

On the face of it, Rob Roy was a farmer. He lived in Perthshire, at the turn of the seventeenth century. His interest in cattle, however, was not limited to grazing them. He called on farmers and offered to protect their herds against thieves for a sum of money.

“Aye, that’s well enough,” said the farmers, after Rob Roy had departed, “but who’s the biggest cattle thief in Perthshire? Rob Roy!”

When too many Perthshire cattle farmers had got to know his game, Rob Roy became a cattle-dealer. Men gave him money to buy cattle at market for them, but Rob Roy soon got tired of working for a small fee.

One day in 1711 he collected the money as usual – and made off with it to the Western Isles.

When Rob returned to Perthshire, he found that his family had been turned out of their home by the Duke of Montrose, because Rob Roy owed the Duke money. Seething with anger, Rob Roy vowed vengeance against Montrose.

“He shall pay dear for this!” he snarled, “his grand estates will provide me with food and my living. Not a single one of his cattle shall be safe from me!”

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This edited article about Edinburgh Castle originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 687 published on 15 March 1975.

Edinburgh Castle from the Grassmarket

Four hundred and forty three feet above sea level, perched high on a basalt rock, is the spectacular fortress which dominates the city of Edinburgh.

Probably the site of an Iron Age fort, Edinburgh Castle was rebuilt in the 7th century by Edwin, King of Northumbria.

In the 11th century the castle was used as the home of Malcolm III and his English queen, Margaret, who was later made a saint.

Her chapel, St. Margaret’s Chapel is the only building which has survived from the 11th century. In 1314, all the other buildings were destroyed to make the castle useless to the invading English.

King David’s Tower, a large L-shaped keep, was built in 1367 and a fragment of this still remains. By the late 13th century, the state records and royal treasure were kept at the castle.

In 1566, after the brutal murder of her secretary, David Rizzio at Holyroodhouse, Mary, Queen of Scots, moved to the castle to give birth in safety to her son, who was to become James VI of Scotland, and the First of England. After the kingdoms of England and Scotland were united under James in 1603, the castle was only occasionally visited by the reigning monarch and was used mainly as a fortress.

Inside the castle is the Scottish National War Memorial, the United Services Museum, and the great hall which contains a magnificent collection of weapons and armour.

The Scottish regalia, which consists of the crown, sceptre and sword of state, is kept there in the stone-vaulted Crown Room. The crown is made of Scottish gold set with 94 pearls, 10 diamonds and 33 gems.

This edited article about Andrew Carnegie originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 686 published on 8 March 1975.

A Christmas Reminder for Andrew Carnegie, who was often critisised for seeking fame

by founding colleges and  libraries instead of helping America’s chronic social problems

In the nineteenth century, America, and particularly the United States, represented hope and opportunity to millions of poor people in Europe. There, across the Atlantic, they hoped to find freedom from poverty, hunger and insecurity. Shipload after shipload of hopeful emigrants left ports in Germany, Italy, Russia, and the British Isles to cross the ocean and so gain a chance to get their share of the work and wealth which America offered them.

One of those ships was the “Wiscasset”, which left the River Clyde in Scotland on May 17, 1848, on a fifty-day journey to New York. Among the passengers was a fair-haired twelve-year-old Scot, Andrew Carnegie, the son of an out-of-work Dunfermline linen weaver.

Young Andrew knew a lot about poverty and above all, about the shame and degradation of poverty. He remembered only too well how grey and gaunt his father’s face had looked when lack of work and lack of money forced him to sell three of his four looms. Andrew also remembered vividly seeing his mother work night after weary night, stiching shoes in order to provide food for the family. Then came the dreadful day when William Carnegie, Andrew’s father, had to go to the manufacturer who employed him to beg and plead for more work.

“It was burnt into my heart then that my father, an honourable, upright, hard-working man, had been forced to humble himself just because he was poor,” Andrew Carnegie wrote later. “And then and there, came the resolve that I would cure that when I got to be a man.”

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