Brutality, treachery, a Scottish tradition

...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!"

Happy Birthday, Ford!

Hey. That's not Ford's baby picture, above. That's his new daughter, Kaia's, baby picture, taken last January. That's Ford's baby picture, below, taken 30 years ago. Anybody can see that, especially Ford's Uncle and godfather, Stan.

Ford got his big gift earlier this year when he and Jenn got their baby girl, exactly as scheduled Jan. 26. Check out all the baby action on their blog, as well as these photos, linked at left.

Scotland, Day One

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Get your own

We are far, far out of the comfort zone today.

Sure, they speak English in Scotland. It's just that I don't.

I found an internet cafe. . . but the keyboard is an Apple keyboard. . . and not at all like mine. I am strictly PC.

Dollars and pounds don't make things much easier, even though I am told that we're getting the best exchange rate we've had in years.

The golf courses are walkers, I am a rider. And they borrow fairways from other holes... and greens too. I guess that's Scotch or something, but when I am standing in a fairway and people are coming toward me, well, I tend to tighten up a bit.

Driving around in taxis is a bit nervewracking, of course.

No. We are definitely out of the comfort zone.

But this is day one, eventually we'll figure out the keyboard. Pounds and pence will have to wait.

I did manage a few photos and somehow got them posted to Google. If you want to take a look go ahead. They're raw. There's no editing equipment available, of course. Just another comfort.

Oh. Did I forget to mention? We're having a great time. Really. The sun was out. Warmer than we ever expected. We shot a nice 18 rounds at the old Crail course near here.

Tomorrow we're in the cradle of golf history, teeing it up at 9 a.m. Greenwich time, at the Old St. Andrews Course. Caddies, the whole bit.

Now THAT's going to be out of the old comfort zone.

Click here for photos:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/Rolfsrud/ScotlandDayOne?feat=directlink

We're here!

Landed in Edenburgh this morning right on time. Took a taxi to St. Andrews and checked in to the Bel Craig, just a couple of blocks from No. 1 at the Old Course. We'll post some photos as soon as we can figure out how to upload at this internet cafe.

We watched in amazement as a dog drove a Fiesta down the cobbled street, before realizing that he was properly in the passenger seat in the "backwards" country.

Breakfast food in the taxi was interesting as well.

Tomorrow we have a 10 am tee time at Crail, a course about twenty minutes from here.

Fore!

Edinburgh

Jonathan Smith, Lonely Planet Images

We should have arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, at 6:30 a.m. this morning, with our party of six eager golfers. We'll find St. Andrews today and check in to the Bell Craig Hotel, located a couple of blocks away from the legendary oceanside golf course. If we can find a suitable internet connection, we'll keep you posted throughout our 10-day stay. The journey started Sunday morning in Minneapolis and we'll probably be dragging some today, especially the old duffer in the group. But we shouldn't complain. It probably took Stan's great-great-grandfather Peter Jackson a bit longer to do the same thing in reverse 160 years ago.

At last, a bloom for Steve's garden

A brave, bright blossom has burst onto the scene in Tucson, where Brother Steve diligently tilled and worked the soil, and planted his seeds in the vain hope of turning his little bit o' desert into a garden paradise.

Sweetly enough, he had wished to greet his visiting Sister Sosie with a pretty patch of posies, and chose three seed packs of marigolds, in the belief that any noxious desert nibblers would eschew this varietal. Sadly, rabbits or deer had skinned his previous bed of pansies clean, leaving behind nothing but $5 worth of Home Depot dirt and fertilizer in their wake.

After planting the seeds, Steve left for home, leaving instructions to water the beds daily. Alas, when Sister Sosie finally arrived, she was greeted only by good intentions and a barren landscape. Ever resourceful and positive, she swiftly rescued the situation by planting a particularly hardy bloomer she had found at a downtown Tucson Mexican tin works.

Steve arrived back in Tucson only yesterday but we are sure that by now he is enjoying the thoughtful ministrations of his dear sister.

At last, the desert blooms.

Implications of international finance

When we signed up last fall for our trip to Scotland, a British Pound Sterling cost about $2. Today the same pound will cost you about $1.40. Does this mean that fine single-malt Scotch whiskies will be affordable?

Reports to follow on our investigations. (Just across the North Sea, the Norwegian Krone is cheap too. Good news for the Jerdee jaunters.)

She's gonna be a writer!

Emily's big surprise for Grandpa tonight was that she can now write! The almost three-year-old demonstrated her proficiency with a pen, knocking off letters in a kind of cursive and spelling her name for an appreciative audience.

Not sure if she'll be a journalist or a novelist. . . but she'll have stories to tell. It was great seeing her and her mother, Melissa, again after two months away.

(Photos, and dinner, by Grandma)

Pre-flight studies

Our neighbor at the Chicago Lake condo, Jeff Blumenshine, inducted Stan into the prestigious Sears Craftsman Club today, presenting him with a special ball cap. Stan's brother-in-law Dan got one too. Stan used the new cover to study "A Concise History of Scotland" by Fitzroy MacLean this afternoon. So far there has been no mention of any of our relatives, although we know we have kin in the Jackson clan out of Riccorton, just a few kilometers from where Stan hopes to alight Monday morning. If there is any word on the street about Great Great Great Grandad Peter Jackson, ye'll 'ear it 'ere first, lads and lassies.
Here's some raw geneological material gathered with the assistance of Nancy Cleary:

Generation No. 1
1. ADAM JACKSON was born 1717 in SCOTLAND, and died WFT Est. 1787-1812.

Generation No. 2
2. JOHN JACKSON (ADAM1) was born 1787 in RORBOROSHIRE, SCOTLAND, and died 1870 in ANDES, NY. He married BETSY OLIVER WFT Est. 1805-1835. She was born 1789 in RICCARTON, SCOTLAND, and died 1861 in ANDES NY.

Generation No. 3
3. PETER JACKSON (JOHN, ADAM) was born March 05, 1813 in RICCARTON, SCOTLAND, and died April 28, 1891 in BELLE PLAINE, MINN. He married NANCY IVES May 10, 1857 in BLUE EARTH TWP. MINN, daughter of JUSTICE IVES and DEBORAH CONGDON. She was born February 15, 1830 in RUSSELL NY, and died August 05, 1881 in BELLE PLAINE, MINN.

Peter Jackson was born on Gadshaw Farm, Riccarton, Foxhorshire, Scotland, 1813. He was a salesman in Stratford, England for an Edinburgh firm. He saw Queen Victoria on her coronation day. He followed his parents to New York State about 1840. Later, in Wisconsin, he met his future bride. In 1855 he got land in Blakely Township in Scott County, Minnesota. (Near where Stan and Kathleen live today, coincidentally) He and his brother, James, spent their first night in a hollow log on the hillside beside what is now Highway 169 near the edge of the Big Woods. He bought more level land in the Northeast quarter of Section 10. He built a cabin and cleared the land for fields. Travel was by foot or by oxcart. The first Steamboat on the nearby Minnesota River was the Minnesota Belle. Trips were irregular. On May 1, 1857, he married the newly arrived Nancy Ives at the home of her sister Sarah and husband Alvin P. Davis in Lake George, near what is now Mankato, (where Steve and Nancy live).This was the first marriage in Jamestown Township, Blue Earth County. He brought the minister from St. Peter by horse and buggy, returned him there and took his bride on the steamboat back to Belle Plaine.
Nancy Ives Jackson was highly regarded as a nurse and was often called upon.
Peter and Nancy's daughter, Ella Mae Jackson Wendelken who died in 1919, is Beverly Brown Rolfsrud's grandmother.

More later.