...In 1094 William the Conquerer sent Duncan to Scotland to dethrone his uncle by force. He succeeded, but was almost immediately murdered and old Donald Ban restored to the throne. . . . .In 1097 an Anglo Norman force chased Donald out again and made Duncan's half brother, Edgar, king.
....Sir William Crichton feared the immense power of the Douglases and in November 1440 he summoned two brothers to dinner at Edinburgh Castle, placed before them the Black Bull's head and murdered them both. The vast Douglas estates were now divided up and for a time the power of the Douglas's was eclipsed.
. .. In 1452 King James invited a Douglas heir to dine, under safe conduct. The king himself stabbed him to death over dinner.
A Spanish diplomat observed that the Scots are "not industrious and the people are poor. They spend all their time in wars, and when there is no war they fight one another."
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These are notes from a "Concise History of Scotland," a little book I read on the plane over here from Minnesota. Upon checking in at St. Andrews, a short walk down the street brought me to the focus of strife between Protestants and Catholics. There's a castle ruins and a church ruins and if you walk by you rea
d this inscription among many others marking the brutal past of this famous burg. For example:
George Wishart, 1513-1546
A powerful Protestant preacher, he was betrayed to Cardinal Beaton, brought here, put in the sea tower, condemned for heresey and burnt at the stake on March 1. The Letter G W on the roadway marks where he died...
Burning at the stake was new at the time, I have learned, they didn't know enough about it to use adequate fuel. Consequently the smell of George's toasted flesh permeated the town of St. Andrews for some time.
When the last Protestant was burned in St. Andrews in 1558, they were much better at it. This time it was an 82 year old ex-priest. But the townspeople had little appetite for this anymore, they couldn't raise enough volunteers to stoke the fire, so servants had to fry the priest.
The Protestants, for their part, got even with the Cardinal, took over his castle and hung him from the battlements.
After a year, the Catholics showed up with the French fleet and blasted the Protestants out of the castle, leaving it in the ruins I photographed today.
You don't hear so much about violence in Scotland anymore. Some say it is because they became preoccupied with a game they invented. Golf. I disagree with this position wholeheartedly.
After three days playing golf here in St. Andrews, I can testify truthfully to the brutality, the cruelty of the Scots.
Oh, they started on us easy at Crail, just a dozen miles up the road. And the Old Course, the auldest course in the world, laddie, on Wednesday was a breeze, thanks mostly to jocular, helpful caddies and friendly skies.
But it was all a deadly trap they laid for their Minnesota victims. The polite, kind veneer washed away today as we innocently made our way down the old Jubilee course.
We started out under soft skies, then the gales picked up. As we made the turn we could see whitecaps on the ocean, then a "wee rain" fell as we scrambled for rain suits. The fierce wind blew the rain away, momentarily the sun shone, and we sweated in the rain pants, removing them quickly as the ranger asked us to pick up the pace. The wind changed direction again, sand flew from the pot bunkers.
Standing on tee box No.13 a ball, totally out of control, blew past us from the adjacent fairway, over the gorse and two fairways from its intended route. Shortly a red-cheeked Scotsman appeared with a big grin, "what a great day for golf," he said in his brogue as he ran past us.
The Scots truly are great salesmen, perhaps the world's greatest salesmen. My great great great grandfather Adam Jackson was a Scottish salesman, selling good to the English in Queen Victoria's time. He probably could haves old golf packages in March.
Americans flock here for just the world class experience and now I am one of their totally exhausted number. Brutal.
The only time I have noted similar behavior was in northern Minnesota on the Lake of the Woods in the dead of winter.
"Wow!" What a great day for fishing, a companion said. "I can't even feel my hands any more!"
