The Times Great Scottish Lives: Obituaries of Scotland’s Finest

Great

SCOTTISH Lives

Great

SCOTTISH Lives

OBITUARIES OF SCOTLAND’S FINEST

EDITED BY MAGNUS LINKLATER

Magnus Linklater is the former Scotland editor of The Times and former editor of The Scotsman. He is the author of several books on current affairs and Scottish history.

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Ebook Edition © October 2017 ISBN: 9780008280215, version 2017-09-18

Contents

Cover

Title

Copyright

Contents

Introduction

Sir Walter Scott

Thomas Telford

Sir John Sinclair, Bart.

Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Napier, G.C.B

Field Marshal Sir Colin Campbell - Lord Clyde

Sir David Livingstone

Thomas Carlyle

Dr. John Rae

Robert Louis Stevenson

The Marquis of Queensberry

Lord Kelvin

Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman

Keir Hardie

Dr. Elsie Inglis

Andrew Carnegie

Alexander Graham Bell

Andrew Bonar Law

Douglas Haig

Richard Burdon, Lord Haldane

Sir Robert Lorimar

Arthur James, Lord Balfour

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Patrick Geddes

Kenneth Grahame

Professor J. S. Haldane

Robert Cunninghame Graham

Phoebe Traquair

Sir J. M. Barrie

James Ramsay MacDonald

John Buchan, Lord Tweedsmuir

Archbishop Lord Lang

John Logie Baird

James Maxton

Sir Harry Lauder

Sir Alexander Fleming

Sir William Burrell

Edwin Muir

The Duchess of Atholl

Dr. John MacCormick

Admiral of the Fleet, Viscount Cunningham of Hyndehope

Mary Somerville

William Gallacher

Tom Johnston

David Maxwell Fyfe, Earl of Kilmuir

Jim Clark

Gavin Maxwell

Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding

Sir Archibald Sinclair, Viscount Thurso

Iain Macleod

Lord Reith

Lord Boyd Orr

John Grierson

Sir Compton Mackenzie

The Duke of Hamilton

Sir Basil Spence

John Mackintosh

Hugh MacDiarmid

Sir Frank Fraser Darling

Bernard Fergusson, Lord Ballantrae

Bill Shankly

James Cameron

Jock Stein

Manny, Lord Shinwell

Jennie, Baroness Lee

R. D. Lang

Colonel Sir David Stirling

Lord MacLeod of Fuinary

Willie Waddell

Jo, Lord Grimond

Sir Matt Busby

John Smith

Lord Lovat

Alec Douglas Home, Lord Home of the Hirsel

Norman MacCaig

George Mackay Brown

Sir Fitzroy Maclean, Bart.

Sorley MacLean

Sir Alec Cairncross

Lord Mackenzie-Stuart

Donald Dewar

Hamish Henderson

Eugenie Fraser

Rikki Fulton

Robin Cook

Jimmy Johnstone

Dame Muriel Spark

George Davie

Sir Bernard Crick

Sir Ludovic Kennedy

Bill McLaren

Sir James Black

Jimmy Reid

Edwin Morgan

John Bellany

Margo MacDonald

Alan Davie

William McIlvanney

Sir Peter Maxwell Davies

Ronnie Corbett

John Moffat

Tam Dalyell

Index

About the Publisher

INTRODUCTION

Magnus Linklater

From Sir Walter Scott in the nineteenth century to Tam Dalyell in the twenty-first, this collection of obituaries from The Times is a 200-year chronicle of great lives that have left their mark on the history and character of the Scottish nation. Politicians, artists, inventors, explorers, soldiers, academics, philosophers and troublemakers – these are men and women who have, in their different ways, broken the mould of their time, challenged its conventions and occasionally outraged them.

They cover a period that ranges from the age of the Enlightenment to the post devolution era – the building of empire, the industrial revolution, through two world wars and the economic chaos between them – culminating in the creation of a new Scottish Parliament and the legacy it has fashioned. Through all of these, Scots were often at the centre of great events, and their obituaries are, to an extent, a commentary on the times in which they lived.

This volume should not be read as a coherent history, nor is it necessarily a carefully balanced selection. These are lives judged, not from the vantage point of our time, but from the standpoint of their own time. That is its merit, and occasionally its idiosyncrasy. Great figures who seem to us now to loom large are sometimes dismissed with little more than a footnote; others are accorded page upon page of eulogy, which may seem, in the modern era, excessive. It is striking, for instance, that the Scottish colourists – artists like Peploe, Cadell or Fergusson, to say nothing of the designer and architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh, whose work is so valued today – were viewed by The Times, on their deaths, as worthy of only a few sketchy paragraphs. That may reflect a London perspective, but more likely the fact that their reputations have grown more in the last 50 years than during their own lifetimes. Statesmen and prime ministers, on the other hand, are chronicled with a depth of detail that amount almost to a political history of the age in which they lived.

There has had to be some editing. The death of the writer and philosopher Thomas Carlyle, for instance, prompted an obituary in The Times of more than 9,000 words, amounting almost to a full-scale critical biography. Those were the days when long columns of small print, uninterrupted by pictures, were routine. Running Carlyle’s obituary at full length – to say nothing of others which frequently amounted to 5,000 words or more – would have required a volume three times the size of this one. Instead I have tried to keep the flavour of the tributes paid, rather than including every last paragraph.

There has had to be selection, of course, and I am open to criticism for the lives that have been omitted. Legitimate questions will be asked about why there is no mention here of the writer Lewis Grassic Gibbon, whose Sunset Song is on every respectable reading list; Walter Elliot, who created the modern Scottish Office; Sir William Lithgow, last of the great shipbuilders; the debonair Hollywood actor David Niven; Ewan MacColl, pioneering folksinger; the ballet director Kenneth Macmillan; the iconoclast journalist Sir John Junor – the list goes on.

There are two explanations. The first is that this is not, and was never intended as, a definitive collection; great Scottish lives have been well documented elsewhere in encyclopedias and biographies, researched, brought up to date, and accorded their proper place in history; a collect-ion of contemporary obituaries makes no claim to replace them. The second is that, where there is a judgment to be made, I have favoured the well-written and the colourful over the dutiful and the worthy. Thus the Marquis of Queensberry – “a man of strong character, but unfortunately also of ill-balanced mind” – is included, not just because he formulated the Queensberry rules of boxing, but because the obituary itself is an entertaining account of an eccentric character, and, to an extent, a commentary on the society of his day. The life of Sir Colin Campbell – he of the “thin red line” at Balaclava – is a remarkable narrative of military exploits, but is also invested with an eloquence which is very much of its time. Thus: “he did not conceal his ill opinion of the Indian army, and considered the Sepoys as the mere bamboo of the lance, which was valueless unless it were tipped with the steel of British infantry.”

The remarkable pioneer of nursing medicine Dr Elsie Inglis is lovingly described: “Her splendid organising capacity, her skill, and her absolute disregard of her own comfort … drew forth the love and admiration of the whole Serbian people, which they were not slow to express.”

I favoured the Labour rebel James Maxton, “tall, spare, pale, and almost cadaverous-looking, with piercing eyes and long black hair, a lock of which fell at emotional moments over the right ear …” as well as Bill Shankly, the football manager, an “old-fashioned half-back [who] was said to have run with his palms turned out like a sailing ship striving for extra help from the wind.”

No one could argue that the Russian-Scottish writer Eugenie Fraser changed history, but who, on the other hand, could resist an obituary that begins: “Ninety-six years ago, a baby girl, half Scottish, half Russian, wrapped in furs against the bitter cold of an Archangel winter, was taken by sledge across the River Dvina to the house of a very old lady [who] had lived long enough to remember seeing Napoleon’s troops fleeing down the roads of Smolensk and to have had a son killed in the Crimean War.”

There are too few women here, again a reflection of the age in which these obituaries were compiled; but those who are included are memorable: Katharine, Duchess of Atholl, the “red” duchess, and one of the first women to hold ministerial office: a “tiny, upright, hawk-like figure … poised with an innate dignity that was reinforced by the greatness of her moral stature.” Mary Somerville, the first woman controller at the BBC, of whom her obituarist wrote: “When troubles arose, no staff were ever better defended in public, though in private they were often told pretty frankly where their work had fallen short.” Or Margo MacDonald, the SNP’s “blonde bombshell,” who once said: “I don’t choose my enemies; they choose me.”

Times obituaries have always been anonymous – and remain so today – an important tradition which allows judgment to be made about a subject’s character without the accusation that the writer’s personal prejudices are being deployed. Whoever it was who wrote of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman that “it is impossible for the impartial historian not to blame [him] both for the unwisdom of his initial policy [on South Africa], and for the costly injudiciousness of some of his phrases” was able to do so without risking a lengthy correspondence on the objectivity of the writer – or lack of it. Behind each obituary lies the opinion of The Times rather than the individual.

Overall, however, the impression that emerges from this pantheon of Scottish characters is one of the rich contribution they made to human society. Those who wished to undermine it are greatly outnumbered by those who reinforced it – the bridge-builders, the architects of civic programmes, the great military commanders, the explorers and the inventors, many of whom made robust comments on the world in which they lived. Alexander Graham Bell, for instance, was scathing about government interference in the commercial exploitation of the telephone which he had invented: “I am afraid that the comparatively low state of efficiency in this country [the UK] as compared with our system in the United States must be attributed to Government ownership. Government ownership aims at cheapness, and cheapness does not necessarily mean efficiency.” His comments are as relevant today as they were then.

Here then is a cross-section of history, told by those who are offering a contemporary view of its most significant characters. However far in advance of their demise these accounts may have been composed, there is a frankness of view which rarely emerges from more considered opinions; and where that view is warmly admiring, then the expression of it comes across with an immediacy which is refreshing.

The death of Sir Walter Scott, the first name to appear here, provoked an outburst of affection which comes down to us across the years, its spontaneity undiminished by time:

“Of a man so universally known and admired, of a writer, who by works of imagination, both in prose and verse, has added so much to the stores of intellectual instruction and delight − of an author who, in his own time, has compelled, by the force of his genius, and the extent of his literary benefactions, a unanimity of grateful applause which generally only death (the destroyer of envy) can ensure – it would be superfluous, and perhaps impertinent in us, to speak …”

It is often said that journalism is the first draft of history. If that is the case, then surely the obituary is the first sketch of those who shaped it.

Sir Walter Scott

‘The greatest genius and most popular writer of his age’

25 September 1832

Sir Walter Scott, the greatest genius and most popular writer of his nation and his age, expired at Abbotsford on Friday last − a man, not more admired or admirable for the inventive powers of his mind than beloved and respected for the kindness of his disposition and the manly simplicity of his character. After an absence of some months in Italy and other parts of the continent, which, it was fondly but vainly imagined by his friends, might restore his health − broken down by excess of mental labour − he returned about Midsummer last, with an instinct of patriotism, to lay his bones in his native land. On his way home, in descending the Rhine to embark for England, he suffered at Nimeguen, in Holland, a third time, a paralytic attack, which, but for the surgical skill and promptitude of his servant, must have been instantly fatal − and from which he never recovered sufficiently to be sensible of that zealous admiration with which a grateful country was desirous of honouring his name, and paying homage to his setting star.

It is almost needless to say, that though the death of this illustrious man has been long expected, no loss could be more deeply felt over the whole republic of letters, and none could excite more general or unmixed regret. His name and works are not only British but European − not only European but universal; for wherever there is a reading public − a literature − or a printing press, in any part of the world, Sir Walter must be regarded as a familiar household word, and gratefully admitted as a contributor to intellectual enjoyment.

Of a man so universally known and admired − of a writer, who by works of imagination, both in prose and verse, has added so much to the stores of intellectual instruction and delight − of an author who, in his own time, has compelled, by the force of his genius, and the extent of his literary benefactions, a unanimity of grateful applause which generally only death (the destroyer of envy) can ensure − it would be superfluous, and perhaps impertinent in us, to speak in this short announcement, as critics, or biographers. The illustrious author of Waverley, and twenty other historical romances displaying the spirit of Waverley, of The Lay of the Last Minstrel, and six other greater lays than ever ancient minstrel sung − has latterly been exempted from the proverbial injustice inflicted on contemporary genius; and has been able to realise the most ample visions of posthumous celebrity. He does not, therefore, require any vindication of his fame, or any display of his literary merits, at our hands.

Our object in alluding to his death and character is of a higher land than that of literary criticism. Our object is to speak of him as a tolerant, candid, and kind-hearted member of that great republic of letters, of which he would willingly have been elected President had that republic acquired a settled organisation − to recommend his personal simplicity of character and total absence of literary affectation, to the imitation of those who, though they cannot pretend to his genius, think themselves exempted − on the ground of their inferior powers − from the common restraints and customs of society, to which he always submitted − and to bestow its due need of praise on that noble and manly spirit of independence which led him to the immense labours of the last years of his life, that he might disengage himself from debts and difficulties under which a less resolute mind must have sunk, or from which a less honest one would have sought relief by leaning on those friends and patrons who would have been proud to have offered their aid. The republication of his novels, with notes and illustrations, was perhaps one of the greatest literary enterprises known in this country; and the success of the work, if it has not enabled him to leave much to his children, has at least satisfied the demands of his creditors. His indifference to the attacks of envy and malignity with which he was assailed in the earlier part of his career was as remarkable as his candid appreciation of the merits, and his zealous desire to promote the fame, of his friends. The garland which he threw on the grave of Byron, and the zeal with which be defended his personal character, when it evinced some courage to rebut the charges brought against his memory, will never be forgotten by the admirers of misguided genius.

Though Sir Walter Scott was an unflinching Tory all his life, his politics never degenerated into faction, nor did they ever interfere with his literary candour or his private friendships. Indeed, his party principles seemed to have been rather formed from his early connexions or his poetical predilections, than adopted for ambitious objects or even selected after mature examination.

But one distinguishing characteristic of this great author’s mind and feelings deserves, even in the shortest allusion to his memory, to be mentioned as having given a colour to all his works − we mean his love of country − his devoted attachment to the land of his birth, and the scenes of his youth − his warm sympathy in every thing that interested his nation, and the unceasing application of his industry and imagination to illustrate its history or to celebrate its exploits. From the Lay of the Last Minstrel, or the border ballads, to the last lines which he wrote, he showed a complete and entire devotion to his country. His works, both of poetry and prose, are impregnated with this feeling, and are marked by the celebration of successive portions of its wild scenery, or of separate periods of its romantic annals. Hence his friends could often trace his residence, or the course of his reading, for periods anterior to the publication of his most popular works, in the pages of his glowing narrative or graphic description. Hence the Lady of the Lake sent crowds of visitors to the mountains of Scotland, who would never have thought of such a pilgrimage unless led by the desire to compare the scenery with the poem. No poet or author since the days of Homer was ever so completely a domestic observer, or a national writer, and probably none has ever conferred more lasting celebrity on the scenes which he describes. The border wars − the lawless violence of the Highland clans − the romantic superstitions of the dark ages, with their lingering remains in Scotland, the state of manners at every period of his country’s annals, the scene of any remarkable event are all to be found in his pages, and scarcely a mountain or promontory “rears its head unsung” from Tweed to John o’Groat’s.

The patriotism of Sir Walter Scott, though sometimes tinged with party, was always as warm as such poetical feelings could render it. Hence two or three of the most spirited of his lyrical pieces were written on the threatened invasion by Napoleon, and we need not cite his enthusiastic sympathy in the fame of his country, evinced in Waterloo and Don Roderick. His mind disdained that pretended enlargement, but real narrowness of spirit, which affects to consider all lands as alike, and would be ashamed to show any predilections for home.

But, as our object is not either criticism or biography, we must conclude these hasty remarks by referring for an account of Sir Walter Scott’s publications to the short article which we have extracted from the Globe. He had abandoned for nearly 20 years the cultivation of poetry, in which he was first distinguished, for the composition of his historical novels: he had left thus a most respectable property on Parnassus to descend into a more fertile spot below. Thence he has given to the world twenty works which will communicate delight, and extend his fame to all ages. The enchanter’s wand is now broken, and his “magic garment plucked off;” but the spirits which this Prospero of romance has “called up,” and placed in these noble productions, will last as long as the language in which they express themselves.

Thomas Telford

Engineer whose roads, bridges and canals opened up the Highlands

4 September 1834

We announce with feelings of deep regret, the death of this eminent and excellent individual, which took place at 5 o’clock yesterday after-noon at his house in Abingdon street.

Mr. Telford was in the 79th year of his age. The immediate cause of his death was a repetition of severe bilious attacks to which he had for some years been subject. He was a native of Langholm, in Dumfriesshire, which he left at an early age. His gradual rise from the stonemasons’ and builders’ yard to the top of his profession in his own country, or, believe we may say, in the world, is to be ascribed not more to his genius, his consummate ability, and persevering industry, than to his plain, honest, straightforward dealing, and the integrity and candour which marked his character throughout life.