The Emperor's New Kilt: The Two Secret Histories of Scotland

By Jan-Andrew Henderson

Did you know? The kilt was invented by an English factory manager. Most tartans date from 1822. Scotland had electric lighting 70 years before Edison 'invented' it. King Arthur and Robin Hood were both Scottish. Thought not.

The Emperor's New Kilt reveals the two secret histories of Scotland. The things Scots are famous for but shouldn't be. And the things they are not famous for but should be.

'A useful antidote to mythmaking… His disclosures are fascinating' - The Scotsman Newspaper
'Original and fresh' - Aberdeen Press and Journal
'Amazing' -The Daily Record 'Absolutely fascinating' - Scottish Connection, BBC Radio
'Excellent' - Carluke Gazette

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan-Andrew Henderson
• Release date: Feb 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9781648268847

Jan-Andrew Henderson

Jan-Andrew Henderson (J.A. Henderson) is the author of 40 children's, teen, YA and adult fiction and non-fiction books. He has been published in the UK, USA, Australia, Canada and Europe by Oxford University Press, Collins, Hardcourt Press, Amberley Books, Oetinger Publishing, Mainstream Books, Black and White Publishers, Mlada Fontana, Black Hart and Floris Books. He has been shortlisted for fifteen literary awards in the UK and Australia and won the Doncaster Book Prize, The Aurealis Award and the Royal Mail Award - Britain's biggest children's book prize. 'One of the UK's most promising writers' - Edinburgh Evening News 'One of the UK's best talents' - Lovereading.co.uk 'Jan Henderson writes the kind of thrillers that make you miss your stop on the bus' - Times Educational Supplement 'A moving, funny and original writer' - The Austin Chronicle 'Jan Henderson has written some incredible books… One of my favourite authors' - Sharon Rooney (My Mad Fat Diary. The Electrical Life of Louis Wain. Barbie) 'If there were more books like yours out there, maybe people would be reading more' - Charlie Higson (Young James Bond and The Enemy series)

Book preview

The Emperor’s New Kilt

The Two Secret Histories of Scotland

Jan-Andrew Henderson

––––––––

A Black Hart Publication

Scotland. Australia

First published 2000 by Mainstream Press

Republished and revised 2020 by Black Hart

Black Hart Entertainment.

32 Glencoul Ave, Dalgetty Bay, Fife KY11 9XL.

Janandrewhenderson.com

Copyright © 2020 by Jan-Andrew Henderson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

The rights of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been ascertained in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Book Layout © 2019 BookDesignTemplates.com

Cover Design by Panagiotis Lampridis

The Emperor’s New Kilt by Jan-Andrew Henderson.

ISBN 978-1-64570-601-4 (Print) 

ISBN 978-1-64570-602-1 (eBook)

Copyright © 2019 by Jan-Andrew Henderson

There is only one thing wrong with Scotsmen, there are too few of them.

Winston Churchill (1874-1965), addressing the House of Commons

The typical Scot has bad teeth, a good chance of cancer, a liver under severe stress and a heart attack pending. He smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and regularly makes an exhibition of himself. He is forever trying to cover up the pathological cracks in his character

Journalist Alan Bold

Here’s tae us; wha’s like us? Damn few an they’re a’ deid

Scottish Toast

For Charlie Guy. Honorary Scot.

Chapters

Chapters

Introduction

McArthur

Shakespeare Hath Murdered Truth

The Acid Reigns

The Prince of Thieves

The Bruce

England, My England

The Forgotten Journey Of Henry Sinclair

The Emperor’s New Kilt

Dark and Stormy Knights

Set in Stone

The Stripe That Goes Both Ways

Scots Away

Where Credit is Due

Prince Charming

The Tartan Curtain

Five Nations

The Poets Cornered

We. The People

The Poets Cornered Again

The Origin of The Origin of the Species

Great Scott

Soldier Blues

The Edison Con

Fantasy Island

Oh, The Horror!

Broadcast News

The Flying Scotsmen

The Mean Machine

Hard to Swallow

One Hump or Two?

I Think Therefore Och Aye

The Secret History of Scotland

Select Bibliography

About the Author

Introduction

The history of Scotland has always been fascinating - no other country has managed to combine fact and legend so superbly that it’s hard to separate one from the other.

As a result, many of the fondest Scottish imaginings have dubious origins at best. The world-famous Highland Games are a perfect example. Events like tossing the caber may not have the panache of Olympic events (then again, the Highland Games don’t have the hop, skip and jump) but they do have a valid historical connection. In the years after the Jacobite rebellions, when highlanders were prohibited from owning weapons, these tests of strength were how would-be combatants kept them-selves buff.

But the star of the Highland Games, apart from the beer tent, is the Scottish dancer. There are monks in Tibet who have post-cards of Scottish dancers - pre-pubescent girls in mini kilts and velvet jackets prancing up and down on top of blunt crossed swords.

Yet, when you stop to think about what these dancers are actually doing, this most popular of tourist attractions is a parody of everything it stands for. The highlanders were warriors who stamped and crashed their feet in time to the wail of the pipes, working themselves into a fighting frenzy, intended to reduce their enemies to a state of terror. When they danced on swords, they were the bloody swords of fallen enemies.

Scottish dancing, on the other hand, is as threatening as a toothless poodle - with costumes to match and more steps than the Eiffel Tower. The whole enterprise couldn’t be further re-moved from what it is supposed to represent.

It is often difficult to work out what is genuinely Scottish and what isn’t, and the Scots don’t help. They tend to buy into their own mythology, without caring about its authenticity. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just want to separate the two a bit.

Highland cows, for instance, are as popular a subject for postcards as the highland dancer - so everyone assumes they are ancient Scottish beasts. The cattle roaming the northern hills for centuries were small and dark. The long-haired, orange ‘coos’, famous in Scotland today, are the result of European cross-breeding in the 18th century.

The beautiful landscapes of the highlands are a similar case. Many of Scotland’s vast pine forests, so appealing to tourists, were planted in the last century. The country’s indigenous species was the silver birch, now comparatively sparse. Upper New York State looks more like ancient Scotland, than modern Scot-land does.

Taking offence at these particular aspects is fruitless, how-ever. Highland cattle were black - now they’re orange. The highlands were covered in birch, now they’re covered in pine. Either way, you don’t get many hairy orange cows anywhere else and a hillside covered in regular rows of green can still take the breath away.

The bagpipes may well have originated in Egypt and been brought to Britain by the Romans. Or they could have come from Ireland. Same with Haggis, which might have also been imported by Roman legions, or Viking raiders.

No matter. They have become as Scottish as the kilt or the tartan. But how Scottish are kilts and tartans?

Not as much as you might imagine.

That’s what I have tried to address in this book - and the results might come as a shock.

The Emperor’s New Kilt isn’t attempting to knock down myths for the sake of it - although it’s great fun. I just want to strip away the fable, to see what’s really underneath. That often means discovering something unpleasant - and the case of the Scots is no exception. But, to a far greater extent, what is underneath is something exceptional - which is a very pleasant find indeed.

It’s odd. The Scots are a nation who will tell everyone within earshot, and at great length, how good they are at fighting. Then they’ll tell you how they invented everything in the world. Then they’ll tell you how good they are at fighting again. We really did invent an astonishing amount of things and, yes, we were quite good at fighting - even though we tended to get beaten in most battles. But that’s merely scratching the surface.

Many Scots heroes don’t turn out to be as admirable as they first seem, and some of the nation’s most famous legends are based on pure Scotch Mist. On the other hand, Scots influenced the world in ways they hardly comprehend and, consequently, have rarely gotten credit for. Admittedly, influencing the world is not necessary a good thing. After all, Hitler did it. This book isn’t out to make moral judgements, just present facts.

Scotland is a nation of genuine duality and has two secret histories. The bad side has been submerged under an avalanche of tartan tat and shortbread - while some of its most impressive achievements have been buried under that same pile.

A few of the things I’ve written about cannot be definitively proved. Yet, I reckon I’ve got close enough to give pause for thought, so I count that as a win.

The Emperor’s New Kilt records some of the things Scots are famous for but shouldn’t be - and things they’re not famous for but should be.

Of course, all history is subjective.

But no other subject has quite such a history.

McArthur

Small and mean though this place is, great and special honour will be conferred upon it, not only by the kings of the Scots and their people, but also by the rulers of barbarous and foreign nations

Adomnan (624-704). Life of Columba

It has long been claimed the legendary ‘King Arthur’ is based on a real historical character - legends usually are. The problem arises when anyone tries to work out exactly who he was. Though historians are a fairly peaceable bunch, the Arthur debate has led to historical fisticuffs, the Knights of the Round Table would be hard pushed to quell.

Over the years, it has come to be accepted that the original Arthur was either English or Welsh - and that he lived around the 6th century. Though no historical character has been found that really fits the bill, medieval writings place Arthur in south western Britain. Over the centuries, the notion that this mythical Dudley-Do-Right was Welsh has worked its way into the national consciousness. Yet, there isn’t much evidence to support this.

The Historia Brittonium, often attributed to a Welsh monk, Nennius (b. 769), mentions a military leader called Arthur, who won twelve battles against the Saxons. Nennius also claimed Arthur man-aged to slay nine hundred and forty Saxons on his own, at the battle of Bodon, making one wonder why he needed any knights at all. An-other pointer that Historia Brittonium isn’t too accurate, is the fact two of the battles took place 100 years apart.

The creation of a legend almost begs embellishment but one aspect of Nennius’ Arthur is conspicuous by its absence. The monk never claims Arthur is a Welshman (or Briton, as they were called back then). He merely says Arthur fought with the kings of Briton, against the Saxons.

If Arthur was fighting the Saxons, it is natural to place him around the Saxon stronghold of southern England. However, Nennius and his contemporaries also called the people of Bernicia ‘Saxons’ (Though the historian Bede (c. 672-735), pointed out Bernicians were not Saxons but Angles). Bernicia was situated in north east England and stretched into southern Scotland.

The Historia Brittonium, in that case, could have been describing battles in southern Scotland. Nennius might even have been recounting a 6th century war fought between the Celtic Britons, aided by Scots and their enemies, the Picts and Bernicians.

In those conflicts a real character emerges, who has not been widely considered. The Britons were aided by a warrior named Arturius. Arturius was a prince, not a king of the Scots, but Nennius only calls Arthur a leader, not necessarily a king.

The Annals of Wales are also cited as proof for a southern Arthur and mention a Medraut (sounding acceptably close to his arch enemy Mordred), dying in battle. However, parts of the Welsh annals were copied from earlier Irish annals, featuring Irish and Scots characters.

The ancient poem, The Gododdin, also references the legendary Arthur. Although the Gododdin tribe inhabited Wales, they originally came from the Lothian region (around what is now Edinburgh), where Arturius was killed in battle against the Picts. This gives added credence to the notion that Arturius died aiding Britons in southern Scot-land and may even have been the leader of a Scottish/Briton coalition .

In the 12th century, the legend of King Arthur really took off, thanks mainly to the writings of Geoffrey of Monmouth (1095-1155). Monmouth knew how to spin an exciting yarn and wasn’t about to let anything as mundane as the truth get in his way. He was the first to claim Arthur as a king, and a king of Britain at that. He also placed Arthur’s kingdom firmly in Cornwall, though he offered no historical evidence to back this up.

Later chroniclers simply accepted Monmouth’s version as fact. Tintagel castle in Cornwall still has a thriving tourist industry, based on his version.

The lack of a southern ‘Arthur’ to match the legends have led many researchers to ignore the name altogether, claiming King Arthur must have been based on someone with an entirely different moniker.

Yet, as we have seen, there is a historical character that matches the legends and has practically the same name.

Arturius was the son of King Aidan of Dalriada (d.606), who ruled a territory covering the area now known as Argyll, in south west Scotland. Aiden’s crowning was possibly the first Christian coronation in Britain and the warrior king was as confrontational as he was pious. He led the Scots in a series of battles against the Picts and Angles before being soundly defeated in Northumbria in 603.

It is not hard to imagine his son would follow the same path

Arturius is the earliest recorded example of the name Arthur in Britain. He becomes Artur in the 7th century chronicle Life of Columba, written on the Scots island of Iona by the Irish monk Adomnan (c625-704).

The Life of Columba tells of Arturius’s battles against the northern Picts and, although prone to the same wild exaggerations, is even older than Nennius’ manuscript. Here, Adomnan describes an episode in the life of King Aiden.

The saint questioned king Aidan about a successor to the king-dom. He answered that he did not know which of his three sons should reign, Artur, or Echoid Find, or Domingart.

Columba apparently did, prophesying Artur and Echoid Find would fall in battle. This echoes the predictive quality of Arthurian legend, with Columba, famed for performing miracles, neatly fitting the role of Merlin. The 11th Century Annals of Tighernac, by the Irish monk Tighernac, also recount Arturius’s death - and here he is called Artuir.

Let’s throw in a few more similarities, not matched by any other historical character.

Arturius, like Arthur, was the son of a powerful king. Like Arthur, he was a Christian warrior at a time when much of the country was still pagan. Arturius was an ally of King Urien (490-586) - a genuine historical figure, mentioned, in legend, as an ally of King Arthur.

Arturius died fighting against the Picts. King Arthur died fighting Mordred, whose mother was married to Leudonus - King of the Picts. Most persuasively, the 8th century document Martyrology of Oengus the Culdee, states Arturius had a sister or half-sister called Morgause or Morgana

In legend, Morgana was related to King Arthur.

Why has Arturius, the historical figure who most closely resembles the fable, been ignored? How come Monmouth and his contemporary medieval chroniclers didn’t make the connection?

It is possible they did, then ignored it. By the 12th century, the English considered the Scots to be aggressive and chaotic inferiors, repeatedly raiding their English neighbours. As his myth grew, Arthur became a square chinned, justice-seeking paragon of virtue, in squeaky clean armour. Scotland could not possibly have produced such a magnificent figure - it was an affront to courtly standards. In-stead his deeds were ascribed to an English or Welsh leader, who never actually existed.

Small wonder really. Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table now bear more resemblance to some Aryan superman fantasy than human beings - especially not a bunch of primitive, hairy Scots.

This was not the last time a Scottish hero ended up an English legend.

As we shall see.

Shakespeare Hath Murdered Truth

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more; it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing

William Shakespeare. Macbeth

The next Scottish celebrity to be misrepresented in popular lore, though certainly not the last, was the legendary villain MacBeth (c1005-57). Thanks to William Shakespeare, he is known as a back-stabbing psychopath with the ultimate in nagging wives, who murdered King Duncan I (1001-1040), and took his throne.

However, Shakespeare was using more than his fair share of poetic license. In his play, he happily included MacDuff as MacBeth’s nemesis, though no such historical character existed.

There isn’t much point in blaming the Bard. He didn’t write the ‘Scottish Play’ until six centuries after the Scot in question was dead. He also drew much of his inspiration from Holinshed’s Chronicles - published only fifty years earlier. Holinshed’s account of the rise and fall of MacBeth is a lusty one and it’s easy to see why Shakespeare thought it worth retelling. But he had political as well as artistic reasons for recounting the tale the way he did.

Which is a shame. The real story of MacBeth is just as bloody and filled with intrigue as the invented one, and had a huge impact on the future of Scotland. It’s just completely different from the tale most people are familiar with.

Before examining MacBeth’s role in Scottish history, it’s necessary to give a bit of cultural and political background to events surrounding his reign.

MacBeth (or MacBethad mac Findlaech) came to power in 1040, at the end of Scotland’s dark ages. At that time, the country he ruled was known as Alba. The inhabitants were of Celtic origin and their society operated using the ancient clan system. To the north, power was held by the Norsemen, under Thorfinn of Orkney - while Northumbria (now northern England) was occupied by Anglo-Saxons. Both posed a threat to the Kingdom of Alba.

In England kingship was hereditary, with the crown passing from father to son. In Alba, however, High Kings were elected. The new ruler was always from a highborn family - but this system meant the throne was not necessarily guaranteed to fall to a next of kin. The would-be monarch had to be considered worthy of office to secure the throne.

This immediately casts doubt on later interpretations of MacBeth’s motives, especially those of English historians, unfamiliar with northern methods of succession. If MacBeth did kill King Duncan, it would not necessarily guarantee him the throne.

MacBeth had a valid hereditary claim to be monarch but the fact that he was elected High King in Duncan’s place suggests he was considered a worthy replacement. He must have done something to earn general respect and Duncan had certainly done enough to lose it.

If her husband was painted blackly, Lady MacBeth has been given the unenviable reputation as a harridan wife from hell. Shakespeare gave the impression that her strength of will and the influence she exerted over her husband were unnatural qualities. Once again, this stems from a southern perception of females in history. The Scottish legal system of the time, and for countless years before that, treated women very differently from its English counterparts. Ancient Celtic tribes had a matriarchal society - marriage did not hamper the rights of women and they could take elected office on equal footing with the men. If Lady MacBeth was a strong character who exerted influence, this was not necessarily a unique thing. Nor is there any historical evidence she had any major character flaws, never mind being a baby-bashing monster.

In those ultra-violent times MacBeth’s actions were fairly normal, for it was commonplace to succeed to the throne by bumping off whoever happened to be occupying it. A quick look at the events leading up to his crowning is ample proof of that.

Bear with me. It’s quite complex.

When MacBeth was born, Malcolm II (c954-1018), head of the Athol clan, was High King of Alba - elected after killing the previous High King, Kenneth III. Malcolm’s daughter married