In memorium

[Nathan]

322 years ago, 38 men women and children were slaughtered in their beds on a cold winter night in Glencoe after extending Highland hospitality to Argyll soldiers from the Garrison at Fort William. Although 38 MacDonalds were slain by the soldiers, many more perished from the elements as they fled the massacre in the snow.

Much ink has been spilled about the politics and blame, about who knew and who gave the orders and whether they should have been followed or about the oath and the choices of old Mac Ian of Glencoe.

This thread is not about any of that. I ask you to please respect that and the forum rules about politics.

It's not about the Argylls, or Glenlyon, or MacIan or Dalrymple or King William or Breadalbane. Nor is it about Duncanson or the Master of Stair. It's all been written and it's all been said.

It's not about Clan Campbell versus Clan Donald or Jacobites or Roman Catholics or Covenanters.

This thread is simply about remembrance.

Remembrance of the suffering of innocents who paid the price for political decisions made on their behalf. Remembrance of those who were murdered under trust because of the ambitions, rivalries and machinations of great men and remembrance of the tradition of Highland hospitality that died with them that night.

Please leave the hatchets buried in the bog and leave the blame game for another day on another forum.

This day, simply... remember them.

[ASinclair]

Well said, sir!

[Orionson]

Beautifully said, Nathan. I am not a religious man, in the conventional sense. Yet, I am a deeply spiritual one and Glencoe, along with Glenfinnan, are the joint epicentre of my Scottish Soul. Each are sacred spaces where the spirits of those who lived, and died there can still be felt by those sensitive and open enough to allow themselves to feel them. I am travelling through Glencoe tomorrow morning and I will pause a moment by the roadside at the Western end of the glen not far from the Auld MacIain's home and offer your respects, my friend.

MacIain of Glencoe
Yet still my lonely spirit soars... I am MacIain
The royal stag stands proudly on the hill
Falling prey to man his mortal foe
Some men know nought of dignity or pride
And strike with no respect their deadly blow.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
The east is flanked by Buachaile Etive Mor
At south the highest Bidian is here
Of treachery no warning will they give
But from the Signal Rock betrayal sounded clear.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
My restless soul will never sleep..I am MacIain, I am MacIain.

Words copyright © Moira Kerr

[Nathan]

Beautifully said, Nathan. I am not a religious man, in the conventional sense. Yet, I am a deeply spiritual one and Glencoe, along with Glenfinnan, are the joint epicentre of my Scottish Soul. Each are sacred spaces where the spirits of those who lived, and died there can still be felt by those sensitive and open enough to allow themselves to feel them. I am travelling through Glencoe tomorrow morning and I will pause a moment by the roadside at the Western end of the glen not far from the Auld MacIain's home and offer your respects, my friend.

MacIain of Glencoe
Yet still my lonely spirit soars... I am MacIain
The royal stag stands proudly on the hill
Falling prey to man his mortal foe
Some men know nought of dignity or pride
And strike with no respect their deadly blow.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
The east is flanked by Buachaile Etive Mor
At south the highest Bidian is here
Of treachery no warning will they give
But from the Signal Rock betrayal sounded clear.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
Yet still my lonely spirit soars, amid the mountains and the glen
From my ancestral burial ground, I am MacIain
The name MacDonald echoes still, within the hearts of Highland men
My restless soul will never sleep, I am MacIain.
My restless soul will never sleep..I am MacIain, I am MacIain.

Words copyright © Moira Kerr

I would very much appreciate that. Beautiful poem, too. Thank you for sharing.

[SeumasA]

This is the monument in the village of Glencoe

[Orionson]

...here in Sleat. Looking East the hills of Knoydart are nothing but sunshine as far as the eye can see. We are just about to leave and your humble bouquet gathered this morning is ready... a sprig of Holly with a single red berry, a handful of delicate Snowdrops and two Jacobite White Roses ~ pinched, with permission from the 86th Birthday bouquet of a certain gentle lady who lives with us.

We'll travel overland all through MacDonald country over the Skye Bridge, past Eilean Donan, on through Kintail and Glengarry, past the Well of the Seven Heads, through An Gearasdan to Ballahulish and Eilean Munde and the Pap of Glencoe entering the Glen from the West. I'll find a spot close to Signal Rock, stop and pause for a few quiet moments to reflect and leave your bouquet, Nathan.

I have trod this path more than a thousand times and each and every time it is a beautiful experience, regardless of the weather. This time, it feels a bit like a pilgrimage and that I am on a mission on your behalf.

There's nothing for it, my friend ~ this is a journey you must make yourself with your loved ones one day. It will fill your spirit to the point of bursting and fill you with joy and peace.

[Nathan]

...here in Sleat. Looking East the hills of Knoydart are nothing but sunshine as far as the eye can see. We are just about to leave and your humble bouquet gathered this morning is ready... a sprig of Holly with a single red berry, a handful of delicate Snowdrops and two Jacobite White Roses ~ pinched, with permission from the 86th Birthday bouquet of a certain gentle lady who lives with us.

We'll travel overland all through MacDonald country over the Skye Bridge, past Eilean Donan, on through Kintail and Glengarry, past the Well of the Seven Heads, through An Gearasdan to Ballahulish and Eilean Munde and the Pap of Glencoe entering the Glen from the West. I'll find a spot close to Signal Rock, stop and pause for a few quiet moments to reflect and leave your bouquet, Nathan.

I have trod this path more than a thousand times and each and every time it is a beautiful experience, regardless of the weather. This time, it feels a bit like a pilgrimage and that I am on a mission on your behalf.

There's nothing for it, my friend ~ this is a journey you must make yourself with your loved ones one day. It will fill your spirit to the point of bursting and fill you with joy and peace.

I am honoured by the gesture and offer you my sincere gratitude. I should very much like to visit Scotland this summer. If I can make it happen, I hope we get the chance to meet, my friend.

[pbutts]

British children's author Mollie Hunter wrote a piece of historical fiction called Ghosts of Glencoe that should still be in libraries and might be available used on Amazon.