Neil Gunn Takes a Look at The Highlands

By the age of forty-six Neil Gunn quit his job as a Civil Servant in the Customs and Excise Service, sold his house Larachan in Inverness, and purchased a converted lifeboat the Thistle to embark upon a sailing tour of the Hebrides in 1937 along with his wife. The result inspired his classic book Off in a Boat (1938) – the ‘simple record of a holiday in a boat’ – heralded a successful writing career.

A fisherman’s son from a large family of nine to James Gunn and his second wife Isabella Miller, Neil Miller Gunn (1891–1973) was born in the fishing and crofting village of Dunbeath in the county of Caithness. Early in his boyhood he went to Galloway, and then to the Edwardian streets of London and Edinburgh. At only fifteen years of age he became a clerk in the Civil Service, and at nineteen was promoted to an officer in the Customs and Excise. From 1923 until 1937 – when he resigned to devote his time to becoming a full-time writer – he supervised a Highland distillery, and became an authority on whisky.

Neil Gunn was a prolific and distinguished twentieth-century novelist and dramatist, a leading writer of the Scottish Renaissance. His novels such as The Silver Darlings (1941) and The Atom of Delight are set in the Highlands but are philosophical in tone and allegorical in nature, reflecting wider contemporary issues. Gunn entered the Civil Service in 1911 and spent time in London and Edinburgh before returning to the North as a customs and excise officer based in Inverness.

Gunn was obviously no stranger to the Highlands and stayed in various locations just to the north of Inverness for the remainder of his life. He was born and bred a Caithness Highlander and therefore would be better placed than many to review Calum Maclean’s The Highlands. The review was transmitted on the Scottish Home Service on the 24th of June, 1959, and is here reproduced from the BBC transcript:

I hadn’t got through the introduction to this book before I knew exactly where I was, and so settled down to enjoy myself. But let me quote the remark that did it, thrown off by the author in a way that would have brought a laugh at any ceilidh. It refers to one of the three great poets of Scottish Gaeldom. Here it is: “Duncan Ban MacIntyre, a Presbyterian and tenant on the Campbell Breadalbane estates, fought in the Hanoverian ranks at the battle of Falkirk. He ran away as fast as he could, chuckling inwardly over the discomfiture of the Hanoverians or, as he called them, ‘the English-speaking folk’.”

The touch of exaggeration, the humour, is a characteristic way of saying that for the true Gael, whatever side he may have found himself fighting on, there was always finally one side, and in his heart he knew it. Chiefs were brutal for their own ends, religious zealots thundered away, Westminster could divide and destroy, but the folk themselves cared finally for their own way of life, their own tongue, for that warmth of human relations which their poets and their story-tellers and their composers made memorable.

This then, is what the author, Calum Maclean, never forgets as he wanders about the Highlands. As a Celtic scholar and member of Edinburgh University’s School of Scottish Studies, he rarely misses what he is looking for. In the process he displays the gorgeous spectacle of the Highlands: Lochaber, Morar and Moidart, northward through the glens to Wester Ross and Sutherland. Over a score of full-page photographs do their wonderful best to bear him out. But scenery is not what he is really after, nor is he much concerned to discuss Highland economics today, and once or twice I caught myself disputing the accuracy of some historical point; but all that is, in a real sense, by the way, for that the author is searching for, with his recording gear, is the hidden Highlands, for the men and women who can still tell the ancient stories for nights on end or sing hundreds of Gaelic songs, and the truly astonishing thing is the quantity of the essential spirit of the old Gaelic culture that still survives. This, I feel, is what gives the book its permanent value, over against so many books published in our day about the Highlands. For, after all, unless the Highlands had a distinctive way of life, that would enrich the human spirit today, why bother with a Crofters’ Commission or other bodies concerned to keep the old Highland stock on their own land and sea?

If I appear to commend the spirit of this book highly, let me add that, as a Caithness man, I failed to find the word Caithness in the index, though the book’s title is THE HIGHLANDS. But then they always were a tolerant and active folk up in Caithness – today, in fact, the only radio-active folk in Scotland, –  and it may be that the School of Scottish Studies had it in mind to devote a whole volume to this remarkable county.

The review is short and sweet as well as being extremely positive. Perhaps because of illness that first struck in 1956, and consequently disrupted the writing process of The Highlands, left Maclean in an invidious position where he had to rein in his ambition to cover the whole of the Highlands. Caithness which Maclean must have visited is all but absent and other areas such as Kintyre, Braemar are barely mentioned. Nevertheless, Gunn obviously sympathised with a kindred spirit and a writer who explored the Highlands from an insiders’s perspective. In short, Gunn recoginsed all that was good about Maclean’s book – the humour, the emphasis upon Highland folk and, more importantly, their stories and songs that were ignored by conventional books, just as popular it would seem then as now, about the Highlands. If Calum Maclean heard the broadcast then, rest assured, he would have been pleased indeed.

Illustrations:
Neil Gunn.

Calum Maclean. Photograph by Dr Werner Kissling taken in Kirk Yetholm in 1956.

Dustjacket of the first edition of The Highlands, showing Glencoe.

References:

Calum Maclean, The Highlands (London: B. T. Batsford, 1959)

NLS, ‘Neil M. Gunn reviews “The Highlands” by Calm I. Maclean, published by B. T. Batsford Ltd., Dep.209/Box 10/1(d)

Neil Gunn Truast [www.neilgunn.org.uk]

A Great Gael: A Review of Calum Maclean’s The Highlands

Some sixteen years passed by before Calum Maclean’s book The Highlands, first printed in 1959, was republished by Club Leabhar in 1975. The following is a review by John MacLellan that appeared in The Scots Magazine. MacLellan in his favourable review remembers reading the book on its first appearance and is of the opinion (shared by many) that some memorable passages left a lasting impression:

It speaks volumes for a writer’s integrity, for the sincerity of his belief in what he is saying, when the very words and images he uses to express himself, remain indelibly engraved upon the reader’s mind. For me, the late Calum I. Maclean triumphantly passes this test. For, although it’s seventeen years since I first read The Highlands, his loving portrait of his native Gaeldom, there are scenes in it, and comments and judgements, which I have never forgotten, simply because they are so positive and so patently consistent with the man’s own identity and with his convictions. When the book first came out in 1959, the cultural heritage of the Gaelic was in even a more parlous state than it is now, for many of its last custodians were nearing the end of their days. I suppose that most of those grand story tellers, who passed their treasures on by word of mouth to Calum Maclean are now gone beyond recall, but, thanks to them and thanks to him, much that must have been lost for ever has been rescued, literally from the grave, and preserved for posterity.

Now the book has been reprinted by the Club Leabhar, the Highland Book Club, with financial support from the Royal Celtic Society, Edinburgh, as an elegant memorial to a gifted and gallant Highlander and an acknowledgement of the legacy he left to future generations of his race.

What of those impressions of Calum Maclean’s work which have stuck in my own mind since I first read them only a few months before his tragic and premature death? One example of his fearlessness in stating the truth, as he saw it, occurs in his description of the gentry at the Argyllshire Gathering: “A special covered enclosure is reserved for ‘members,’ namely county families and their friends, and the general public is not admitted. The stand is usually full of sophisticated, painted, and ungainly women with their husbands masquerading in their kilts and plaids and their young sons, home on vacation from school in England, replete with impeccable non-Scottish accents and kilts and shepherds’ crooks twice their own size.” And later Maclean chanced to be in the cocktail bar of a large Oban hotel when a party of county folk arrived on their way to one of the Highland Balls, “for the exclusive enjoyment of the ‘quality’.” “I had,” he wrote, “the rare the rare opportunity of scrutinising them at close range, and what struck me most was how utterly English they were both in mannerisms and speech. The sober truth is that there is no longer any Scottish or Highland aristocracy and there has not been for a very long time.”

I have never forgotten this passage because it goes to the very heard of Gaeldom’s tragedy. The process of alienation between clansmen and chief, after Culloden, inseparable from the Anglicization on the Highland gentry, led inevitably to the virtual persecution of much of the race, and the vitiation of its ancient language and culture. Calum Maclean carried the sorrow of this betrayal in his heart, and made the cause of rescuing what he still could of that martyred heritage, his mission during the last nine years of his short life.

The charm of the man shines through these pages as he pursues his odyssey through the historic territories of the clans—Lochaber, Morar, Arisaig, Moidart, Ardgour, Ardnamurchan, Morvern, Badenoch and the rest—names dear to Highland hearts, which no reforming bureaucrat can ever hope to extinguish. The book is the story of his travels in these places and stories they passed on to him. As he put it himself: “I have to find living people whose memories were not dead.” At the time Calum—who had been employed by the Irish Folklore Commission—was on loan to the School of Scottish Studies, and a colleague has estimated that during the period covered by the book, he used nearly 100 miles of tape, collecting his material, even then warning that this was “far from being enough.”

It is immensely sad that Calum Maclean was not spared to carry on his task, but Gaeldom owes him an everlasting debt for what he did accomplish in a life which must be an inspiration to all who believe, as he did, that Highland culture is a unique and priceless possession which civilization cannot afford to lose. The new edition is enriched by an affectionate memoir by Sean O’ Suilleabhain of the Irish Folklore Commission and by poems in Gaelic and English by John Macleod and by Calum’s two brothers, the late John Maclean and Dr Sorley Maclean.

Sorley Maclean, writing to the late Frank Thomson, who had assisted with the new edition, on the 19th of December 1975, thanked him for all his help and also for the two copies that he had sent to him:

Dear Frank,

The two books arrived yesterday, and they certainly look well. I am very pleased indeed with them, and so I daresay all our family will be. You have done a great job. What a pity you did not get the job when you first asked me. Still, it is good to get it done now, and I do hope it will be as much of a success financially as it is aesthetically.

I wonder if you have sent a copy to Sean O’ Suilleabhain; if not, tell me and I will do it myself. Meanwhile my great gratitude to you and all the very best.

Le deagh dhùrachd agus mìle taing, agus bliadhna mhath ùr.

Somhairle MacGill-Eain

References:

Club Leabhar Ltd., Acc. 12149/9, National Library of Scotland

Calum Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhirnis: Club Leabhar, 1975)

John MacLellan, ‘A Great Gael’ [Review of The Highlands], The Scots Magazine, vol. 104, no. 6 (March, 1976), pp. 645–46

Image:

Front cover of the second edition of The Highlands (1975)

Lèirmheas: “The Highlands”

B’ ann bho pheann Fhionnghlaidh I. MhicDhòmhnaill a tha an lèirmheas seo a’ tighinn. Dh’fhoilliseachadh an lèirmheas seo anns an iris air an robh Gairm. Bha Fionnlagh MacDhòmhnaill (no Finlay J. mar as fheàrr as aithne do chuid) na fhear-deasachaidh air an iris còmhla ri Ruaraidh MacThòmais nach maireann. Chuireadh an dithist aca an iris air chois ann an 1951 agus bha Fionnlagh an sàs ann gu ruige 1964. Bha Fionnlagh na ùghdar cuideachd agus sgrìobh e trì leabhraichean aig a bheil cliù fhathast: Crowdie and Cream (1982); Crotal and White (1983); agus The Corncrake and the Lysander (1985). Mar a bhiodh dùil, bha fèill mhòr air “The Highlands” dar a thàinig e a-mach an toiseach ann an 1959: 

Chan eil ràithe nach sinn a’ faotainn ultach leabhraichean mu Ghaidhealtachd na h-Albann, a’ mhórchuid dhiubh air an sgrìobhadh le coigrich a thug sgrìob a tuath le camara agus a dh’fhiach ri luaidh a dheanamh air glinn ’s air na beanntan, agus air sluagh neònach aislingeach air an do thachair iad. Bithidh feadhainn de na leabhraichean sin a’ toirt gàire oirnn; bithidh feadhainn dhiubh a’ toirt na buidhich oirnn. Ach is tlachd mór a th’ ann leabhar fhaotainn air a sgrìobhadh le Gaidheal leithid Chlauim ’Ic’Illeathain. No Calum Beag Ratharsach mar as fheàrr as aithne do chuid againn e.

 

Ged a tha leabhar mu’n Ghaidhealtachd air a sgrìobhadh le Gaidheal chan eil sin r’a ràdha gu bheil an leabhar math oir uaireannan is am fear bho’n taobh amuigh as coimeasaiche air beachd a’ ghliocais a thorit air dùthaich no air sluagh. Ach tha Calum air a dheadh uidheamhachadh. Tha e ionnsaichte agus sgileil mar fhear cruinneachaidh òran agus sgialachdan. Chan eil e dheth fhéin leòmach no faoin Ghaidhealach.

 

Tha an leabhar a’ tòiseachadh le roimh-ràdh anns am bheil e a’ tearraideachadh gnè agus brìgh na dùthcha ris an can sin a’ Ghaidhealtachd agus as a sin tha e a’ comharrachadh mar a cholm eachdraidh agus gluasad nan sluagh na Gaidheil mar as aithne dhuinn an diugh iad. Tha e a’ sealltainn mar a dh’ fhàs na fineachan agus na teaghlaichean móra ann an ceàrnaidhean sònraichte de ’n dùthaich. Ann an deich duilleagan fichead no mar sin tha e a’ toirt ruith thairis air na suidhichidhean as an do shnìomhadh ’s an do shnaigheadh dualchasan nan daoine mu am bheil e a’ dol a bhruidhinn.

 

Tha e a’ tòiseachadh a shiubhail ann an Loch Abar oir mar a tha e fhéin ag ràdha ‘cha bhiodh Gaidhealtachd ann as aonais Loch Abair’. Tha e a’ toirt cùnntais air an blàran ’s air na laoich a chunnaic Loch Abar troimh na lìnntean agus tha e a’ toirt beò móran de eachdraidh an àite troimh na seanachasan a bha aige ri feadhainn de na seabhaltaich air an do thachair e leithid Iain ’IcDhòmhnaill am bard. Sin alt cho tlachdmhor ’s a tha aig an ùghdar so. Tha e a’ toirt an leughadair aghaidh ri aghaidh ri Gaidheal (mar Iain ’ic Dhòmhnaill) air am bheil e fhéin measail agus á bial a’ Ghaidheil sin tha an leughadair a’ faotainn tuigse air an duine fhéin agus air an dùthaich a dh’ àraich e.

 

Agus chan ann leam leat a tha beachdan Chaluim fhéin.

 

Agus chan ann ’gam mìlseachadh a tha e ’gan cur an clò.

 

Tha e a’ deanamh tadhail air Mórair, Arasaig agus Mùideart ann an aon chaibidil. Air Aird Ghobhair, Aird nam Murchan agus a’ Mhorbhairne ann an caibidil eile. An uairsin Bàideanach, Gleann Urchardan agus Gleann Moireastan. An sin Strath Glas, taobh sear Siorrachd Rois, agus Inbhir Nis. Dùthaich MhicAoidh agus taobh siar Siorrachd Rois, Lathurna agus taobh siar Pheairt.

 

Is e an call gu bheil an leabhar cho goirid, oir dh’ fhaodadh an t-ùghdar so leabhar a sgrìobhadh mu gach sgìreachd air am bheil e a’ toirt iomraidh.

                                                   F[ionnlagh] M[a]cD[hòmhnaill]
 

Tobar:

Fionnlagh MacDhòmhnaill, ‘The Highlands’ [Lèirmheas], Gairm, air 28 (An Samhradh, 1959), td. 378

 

Ìomhaigh:

Còmdachd den chiad chlò-bhualadh

“The Highlands” is the authentic voice

Reproduced in full is a review from The Scotsman by Farquhar Macintosh of Calum Maclean’s The Highlands (1959):

 

At first sight this volume might appear to the casual observer as no more than another picture book about the Highlands. But closer scrutiny soon reveals that it is a picture book with a difference. Its author, Calum Maclean, is not another outsider with a little knowledge but an informed and intelligent native. This it is that makes the book distinctive and its publication an event.

 

Few areas have suffered so much as the Highlands at the hands of their interpreters. Travel writes like Pennant and MacCulloch could find little that was right, and the romantic writers who followed them could find little that was wrong. But the picture which they presented, of ruined homesteads and ruined castles, of picturesque but bracken-covered landscapes, of fairies in the glen and water-horses in the tarn, created an illusion difficult to dispel. Even if it were true, it would be wrong to conclude that the area which it purports to portray has no real, present-day significance. As Alastair M Dunnett has put it in his “Quest by Canoe”, “it would be as valid to assume form the ruined Parthenon that ancient Athens boasted nothing better than a roofless culture.”

 

Faithful picture

Formal historians have been scarcely more enlightened. Lacking a knowledge of Gaelic and a real understanding of the people who spoke it, they have helped to perpetuate the legend that “Highland” and “barbaric” are somehow synonymous; and even yet, as Mr Maclean asserts, this insinuation has not been entirely erased from the official text-books in the Scottish schools. Every reason, therefore, to welcome a book of this kind by a Gaelic-speaking Highlander equipped for the purpose.

 

True, it may have the odd omission and the occasional inaccuracy, but the overall picture is faithful and true. Here is one who speaks with authority and not as the scribes.

 

Mr Maclean, who was born on Raasay, is on the staff of the School of Scottish Studies at Edinburgh University, and he brings to his task the learning and training of a student of folk culture. His primary concern is, therefore, cultural: he concentrates not so much on people as on people, and on the traditions and way of life that they have come to foster and develop.

 

In an admirable introduction and in the chapters which follow, the reader gets an authentic account of the storied past, the uncertain present, and still more doubtful future. Here one may meet with so much that is absent from our modern city, with plain living and high thinking, and with that independence of mind and spirit whose replacement by a servile, standardised mass mentality Smuts once saw as the greatest human menace of our time.

 

The book in fact, is largely written in terms of individuals, the self-taught singers, players and story-tellers who, unable to stereotype their art by reading or writing, have ripened it in the memory and given it a wonderful spontaneity and a timeless appeal.

 

Religion also occupies an important place; and the economic background has indeed not been overlooked. In this respect indeed, the book is at once a condemnation and a challenge: a condemnation of past wrongs and present neglect, and a challenge to authority to act now ere it is too late. For one thing is certain: the Highland cannot, by their own efforts, fit into a complex industrial State; and the State has not hitherto cared enough to find a place for them.

 

Losing battle

It is not surprising, therefore, that the dominant impression one gets from this book is that the way of life which it describes is fighting a losing battle almost everywhere against the social and economic forces of the day. I agree with the author’s strictures on the system of education and about the need to give Gaelic a prominent place in the curriculum; but unless the economic problem is satisfactorily solved the culture is doomed.

 

Basically this means the rehabilitation of crofting agriculture, because on its preservation and promotion as a dignified and rewarding way of life depends the preservation of the language and the distinctive culture associated with it. But only good land will make good crofts, and until the present  Commission has been given power and resources to acquire and resettle the rich inland straths which saw wholesale evictions at the time of the Clearances it will not succeed in its task.

 

One is grateful to Mr Maclean and his publishers for this attractive volume, with its magnificent photographs, and one hopes it will reach the large public which it deserves. If it does it should help to bring to the Highlands a more enlightened visitor, who will respect their traditions and the susceptibilities of their people.

 

Reference:

Farquhar Macintosh, ‘“The Highlands” is the authentic voice’, The Scotsman (23 April 1959), p. 8

 

Image:

The “Forty-five” Monument at Glenfinnan by Noel Habgood reproduced from the first edition of The Highlands. The monument was erected in 1815 by Alexander MacDonald of Glenaladale to commemorate the Jacobite Rising of 1745