Latest news with #NanShepherd
Irish Times
25-06-2025
- General
- Irish Times
Paul Clements: ‘I am often asked how long it takes to write a book. Now I can say with accuracy: 33 years'
Thirty-three years in the life of a forest is nothing. Yet in the decades since I lived in the Montalto estate, near Ballynahinch, Co Down (1992-1993), there have been spectacular changes as well as devastating storms that wreaked havoc in the grounds. During 12 months in Lakeside Cottage with my wife, I kept a large red journal with notes on shifts in the weather, changing seasons, the forest flora, wildlife and epiphanies of nature . Made up of brief entries, a mix of bricolage and trivialities known to writers as 'nibble' notes, my journal was interspersed with the squiggles of Teeline shorthand. But after leaving Montalto, it languished in a drawer. As the years slipped by, occasionally I glanced through the notes, wondering if I should do something with them, or if anyone would be interested. There was insufficient material, I reckoned, to stretch to a book. However, I was busy as a full-time journalist, later writing books and working for guidebooks to Ireland; I felt that if I approached a publisher, I would have been unable to free up the time required to work on a manuscript. But still I kept reflecting on the Montalto months, which developed into an itch and led to considerable 'thinking' time. I was aware that a few of my favourite outdoor books – both travel and nature – benefited from a lengthy marination. Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain about the Cairngorms in the Scottish Highlands, was written in 1945. However, because of a shortage of paper in the postwar years, publishers were risk-averse, so the book was not released until 1977 – some 32 years later – by which time she was 84. READ MORE After its publication her reputation grew exponentially, her book became hugely successful and has been championed by writers and academics as a masterpiece of landscape literature. It went on to sell more than 200,000 copies, was translated into at least 16 languages, and the author even features on the current Scottish five-pound note. The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd (1977) Shepherd (1893-1982) published three novels between 1928 and 1933, as well as an anthology of poems, but it is for The Living Mountain that she is best known. Her slim book is less than 100 pages long, yet critics have noted that each time they read it, they find something different. Shepherd's landscape itself is constantly renewed, something that is echoed in the book: 'However often I walk on them, these hills hold astonishment for me. There is no getting accustomed to them.' Several years ago, the Australian writer Merryn Glover, who now lives in Scotland, explored the same landscape and themes in Shepherd's seminal work, following in her footsteps and contours in the mountains. In 2023 her remarkable book, The Hidden Fires: A Cairngorms Journey with Nan Shepherd, brought the writer of The Living Mountain to a fresh audience. Glover's book affirms what she refers to as 'the enduring validity' of Shepherd's original account. Another celebrated book, Patrick Leigh Fermor's A Time of Gifts (the title is taken from a Louis MacNeice poem, Twelfth Night) was based on his 18-month teenage walk across Europe in the 1930s, but not published until 1977. The delay was caused by the fact that one notebook was stolen from a youth hostel in Munich, while others he had lost were returned to him after the war. All of this meant that 44 years separated the experience of the journey from writing the book as he did not start work on the first volume until he was in his sixties. Cover of Patrick Leigh Fermor's A Time of Gifts, published in 1977 Leigh Fermor, who was of English and Irish descent, set off on his trans-European odyssey in December 1933, which eventually produced a trilogy of books. He walked an average of 12 miles per day, taking him from the Hook of Holland following the courses of the Rhine and the Danube, with innumerable detours and side excursions before reaching Constantinople (Istanbul). Along the way, the young writer met farmers, woodsmen and innkeepers, as well as counts and aristocrats whose private libraries he visited. He slept in cowsheds, barges, lofts, monasteries and castles: 'There is much to recommend,' he wrote, 'moving straight from straw to a four-poster and then back again.' The second volume, Between the Woods and the Water, was published in 1986 when he was 71 – by then it was 53 years since setting out on his journey. He ended this book with three words in capital letters to keep readers in suspense: 'TO BE CONCLUDED.' The trilogy was concluded, but not by him since writer's block had set in and it remained unfinished at the time of his death in 2011. The third and final volume, The Broken Road, came out posthumously in 2013, with light edits by Colin Thubron and Artemis Cooper. Patrick Leigh Fermor in Ithaca, 1946 Leigh Fermor had an insatiable curiosity and his books are disquisitions on numerous subjects. They represent vivid recollections of his journey, and are important historical documents of a Europe that no longer exists. But they are also a mix of the artistry of the author in later years and the boyish enthusiasm of the teenager setting out in the 1930s. The books have become known under the term 'intergenerational collaboration', ie the older man teleporting himself back to the carefree innocence of his youth. Books such as these, where a lengthy timespan is involved in their journey to publication, festered in my mind. Early in 2024 the commissioning editor of Merrion Press, Síne Quinn, asked me if I would give some thought to writing up my notes from Montalto. She suggested weaving in the history of the storied estate, which was at the centre of the United Irishmen's 1798 Down rebellion in Ballynahinch. The social and cultural aspects included the dynasties who lived there from 1641 up to the present. This was the catalyst required to jump-start the writing. I went through my journal, turning notes into prose and bringing the story up to date through the work of the Wilson family who bought the demesne in 1994, spending 12 years restoring the house to its original condition. In the grounds more than 30,000 trees were planted with fresh flowering shrubs and bulbs, while new gardens were created and a lost garden was uncovered. As well as visiting Montalto with a photographer, I recorded interviews with foresters and gardeners working there, spoke to historians and delved into archives and libraries. I then concentrated on writing an account of our time there, weaving in the estate history and its resurgence. The fact that Montalto opened to the public in 2018 meant that I was able to revisit woodlands where I had spent considerable time in the early 1990s. I also discovered that our tranquil cottage had been turned into an office and toilet block. Frequently, I am asked at talks how long it takes to write a book. Now I can say with accuracy: 33 years. There is, of course, no definitive answer to that question since it depends on the type of book and scale of research. In my case this involved transcribing interviews, reading around the subject, as well as writing, rewriting, fact-checking and revising the manuscript. Then there is also the work involved in compiling the index, glossary and bibliography, writing captions for photographs, and seeking copyright clearance to use quotations. The world has changed dramatically in the intervening three decades and so too has the English language. Those early years of the 1990s were pre-internet, smartphone and email. New words have been introduced while old words have different meanings. Twitter was the sound of birds making high-pitched, chirping sounds; a snowflake was just that, clouds were in the sky, tick-tock was the noise of our cottage clock, while AI is no longer just farm-speak for Artificial Insemination in animals. In the spring of 2025 A Year in the Woods, fusing history, nature and memoir, was published. The book is about change in one place over the centuries. But it also looks at how living there sparked an interest in birdlife leading to an ornithological epiphany. Thirty-three years have elapsed since we lived cheek-to-beak with woodland birds such as treecreepers, goldfinches and long-tailed tits. The book reflects our life then during the four seasons we spent there, so the writing – or thinking about it – has had plenty of time to crystallise. Paul Clements's A Year in the Woods: Montalto through the Seasons is published by Merrion Press
The National
15-06-2025
- Politics
- The National
A Scottish writer looks to James Joyce for answers on how to free
The text of Ulysses redefined Irish national identity and is the text of Ireland's national liberation, a book preoccupied with, even obsessed with, Irishness, the problems of raising national consciousness and the forging of a better Ireland. This might surprise readers unaware that Joyce was a nationalist. The theme of politics and Anglo-Irish relations has not been central to readings of the novel and this might be, as many critics claim, because the work was hijacked at an early stage by leading Modernists, who assumed that its Irishness was secondary to its Modernist aims. Later, post-Modernists redefined the novel as a 'guerilla text' attacking the discourses and regimes of colonial power. No coincidence, they said, that the gestation of the book between 1914 and 1921, parallels the gestation of the Irish Free State, and that it was launched the day after the signing of the Irish Treaty. READ MORE: 'Naked and Unashamed' cements Nan Shepherd's place in Scotland's literary canon On the same day, Joyce wrote a letter to Arthur Griffith congratulating him on the Treaty. This proves that Ulysses was always meant to have a political as well as cultural impact. Famously of course he was to spend most of his life abroad. He left Ireland but it never left him. We in Scotland urgently need to frame our national narrative in the context of our long march towards sovereignty. We need to redefine our national identity in this much more diverse 21st century and bring a new perspective of cultural change to the journey. Many are becoming aware of it, not least Believe in Scotland and a plethora of podcasters, culture groups and social media channels within the independence movement. Scotland needs to personify – to see itself in purposeful motion, as people, individuals, characters doing, achieving, empowering ourselves and our nation on its journey. And Joyce can help us, or at least, excellent examples found in his work can show the way. In Ivy Day In The Committee Rooms from his Dubliners collection, Joyce found a method of combining the personal and the political, the individual and the national. It's a telling little story and the only one in the collection overtly 'about' grassroots politics at the beginning of the 20th century. The story is set in Dublin, the committee room being of course a metaphor for Ireland itself with six characters, albeit all male, standing in to represent the nation as Joyce saw it – contentious, disunited, dissolute, over-sentimental, self-deluded and out for what they can get. It is satiric, a little jaundiced even in the wake of the death of Charles Stewart Parnell, the great leader who was surely and steadily building the foundations of an independent Ireland. Since Parnell's death, the nationalist cause had been stuck in a lethargy which has allowed the British to continue to rule and the status quo to be maintained. In my teens, I was a student friend of Alex Salmond and can't help seeing Salmond as our Parnell. There are definite parallels. In the committee room, we meet Old Jack the caretaker of the hall or hired room, subservient, self-effacing, careful not to extrude a personal view that might offend his employers, then enters the political agent, O'Connor, who we soon realise is doing nothing at all to promote his candidate, the publican Tierney who is paying him to promote his campaign to be elected to the local authority. Overtly concerned with when his money is coming – and constantly suspecting that he will not be paid – he impugns the character of Tierney, 'Tricky Dicky' and does not show much, if any support for him. READ MORE: Val McDermid to premiere new play exploring Christopher Marlowe's death His colleague Henchy seems to be worse that O'Connor in that as a paid agent, he does not support Tierney. He is a man who changes his mind at the drop of a hat, has no fixed views. The third character, Hynes, is clearly some sort of spy, possible for Tierney's rival Colgan. He is a shiftless character, desperate for money, yet it is his sentimental poem for Parnell which, read out to the company temporarily unites all. Father Leon, a priest or actor, is manifestly not religious, a poor deluded soul, who does not quite join the company or even enter the room, hovering in the doorway, apologetically, as if he is the soul of the dead killed in the various uprisings. The candidate himself, Tierney, does not appear though is referred to by all. O'Connor and Henchy suppose he is a nationalist but suspect that he will vote for the Address to King Edward on the King's visit despite that. The story mocks the heroic romantic nationalism of the past by portraying the shabby compromises and venality of activists who are anything but idealistic. There is agreement for the idea that previous times were better, '… them times. There was some life in it then', implying of course that there is no life now. This is another of Joyce's tropes of the living dead, or deadness-in-life, or political stasis, of all the stories in the collection. And Scotland is in exactly the same situation. Stuck. Unable to find a route forward to independence. Narrative is the key I have been engaged with our cause since my teens as an activist in city centre street meetings with the sound of Scotland Is Waking filling my ears from car speakers. I recall the camaraderie and my own zeal of canvassing and leafletting in early by-elections and the sense of a nation on the move, the heady thought of independence being winnable – and close. I've been an activist for more than 50 years including 10 as paid party media man, and a stint as local councillor, alongside my own literary career and its 20 book titles. I have always known that engaging in political struggle provides positive benefits for individuals. Humans need to engage with something deeper than the day-to-day details of existence, focus on something bigger than themselves to give their lives some sense of achievement. As Alasdair Gray said, we need to see ourselves in the pages of a novel to be able to live better lives. We need a story arc, from beginnings to a resolution that takes us to a better place. Narrative is the key and we need to know how to form it and refine it so that it parallels the common thinking and expressions of our people – embodies it and leads it, so that all willingly share in it. And from that early time, my thoughts as a young writer were engaged with the idea of what that narrative might look like, how to put the cause down on paper in fiction, to magnify it, personify it, explain it, make more of it, so that others would be inspired to take up our cause. READ MORE: Scots group becomes first multi-venue firm to gain prestigious B Corp certification The book that summed up for me then what I wanted to achieve was a Scottish novel, AJ Cronin's 1937 bestseller The Citadel. This highly readable and exciting character novel about a young Scotsman and his early career as a young married doctor successfully promoted a political campaigning aim – in Cronin's case creating widespread support for a national health service that led to early legislation. But writers write and publishers publish. Quite soon I began to realise how difficult the struggle had been for the writers of the 'Scottish Renaissance' in the early 1930s led by Hugh MacDiarmid and others, and how quickly the movement had been snuffed out in a variety of ways although of course, not before providing a head of steam for the early national movement, in particular the NPS and then the SNP. But the political movement in Scotland, unlike in Wales, swiftly dropped the wild-haired poets, and looked askance too at the bearded folkies of the 1960s, in favour of hard-headed politics and businessmen. Early leaders broke the essential connection between the artists and writers and the politicians. The movement became obsessed with economics, business, income, taxes and wealth. Important yes, but not as important as story. Story and narrative are the backbone of life and without it, life is mere existence. But writers need to make a living which is why so many of our writers are forced to use any political references in codified, oblique ways in their writing. Like others, I wrote novels that publishers would accept and didn't write the ones I wanted to write, because I needed to get published. The numerous organisations that support our cultural community, Creative Scotland, the Scottish Book Trust, Live Literature, etc are publicly funded bodies and keen not to rock the boat, or to vote themselves out of existence. One leading Scottish literary agent responded to my pitch of a political novel a few years back with an astonishing reply: 'No-one would want to read …' she said, 'brings back all the divisiveness of 2014 …' So, it was the biggest event in our history since 1707 and we writers are not supposed to write about it in case someone is offended? Despite this, for the last few years, I have been drafting and redrafting short and long-form fiction that combines the personal and the political, focusing especially on the diversity of our movement and the variety of issues individuals might have in daily lives that include some level of commitment to the cause. Some of the stories have been published in literary magazines. My story, We Are An Island appeared in Causeway/Cabhsair, the journal of Irish and Scottish writing. It focused on an elderly English couple and their dog moving to live on a remote island to remind us how much we have benefitted from inward migration and how it is possible for incomers to assimilate even in a Gaelic-speaking community if the will and the tolerance is there. The Galway Review published Greater Love Hath No Man in which the loss of Scots lives in British foreign wars is made apparent, when an intelligent young man, a YSI member, is seduced into the army and death at 19 in Afghanistan, like his great-grandfather before him. My story of the lost potential of Scotland's working class through addiction is the subject of Last Refuge published in Literally Stories. A series of four stories has now started to appear in the SNP's Independence magazine. In Hinterlands, published in March/April's issue, a veteran activist tries to convey to his son during a by-election the importance of remembering and recording even the tiniest details of the struggle. Everything must be remembered so that those who were not there cannot rewrite our story. In the May/June issue, TheWummin Inside, an 80-year-old woman takes a stand against moaners, regretting the missed opportunities of her generation, some of whom could have 'run a small country like Nicola'. More of the stories, some narrated by me, are set to appear on indy podcasts and websites and I hope the collection, Speaking For Ourselves/Unspeakable Things when published might prove something of an outlier that brings together a wider readership. Not every writer wants to get involved in a movement or a national group. Writers write for themselves, express individual concerns and everybody is different. But to me at least, under the influence of Joyce and others, creating and deploying characters that live and breathe within our movement can help to heal the divisiveness and discord of our attritional politics and let us look to bluer skies of opportunity and the potential to create better, fairer and more balanced lives for all in life, and on the page. Andrew Murray Scott is a writer and novelist: He writes a monthly culture column in the Scots Independent.
The National
15-06-2025
- Politics
- The National
We can't wait until every other problem is solved to protect Gaelic
The Daily Mail treated us to: 'The ultra woke remote Highlands towns that want more migrants to move in ... despite fighting a housing crisis.' Apparently, the fact the Highlands are welcoming to refugees is something to be affronted about. I read the article but couldn't summon the strength to comment, because I was already reeling from something arguably worse – a letter in The Herald where a reader grandly declared that 'Gaelic culture and education aren't essential at the moment'. The writer argued that the £2 million allocated to support another Gaelic primary school in Glasgow, along with the additional £5.7m for other Gaelic initiatives, was effectively taking food from the mouths of children in poverty. I quote: 'Taken in isolation, any increased investment in education may seem a desirable thing to achieve. But in the context of a serious national child poverty crisis, it must be considered as a very dubious allocation of public funds.' READ MORE: 'Naked and Unashamed' cements Nan Shepherd's place in Scotland's literary canon Warming to his theme, he added: 'The allocation of large amounts of scarce funds to the sole benefit of Gaelic language is a crucial diversion away from other sectors with potentially greater social benefits. Gaelic language and culture can be seen as something 'nice to have when we have available funds' rather than 'absolutely essential to have right now'.' He finished with a flourish. 'Gaelic should become a secondary priority, while the generous funding it now receives is re-directed to overcoming the more severe challenges of our child poverty crisis.' All this, helpfully, landed in the same week as the 20th anniversary of the passing of the Gaelic Language Act was celebrated. I say 'celebrated' – but while it was covered extensively in Gaelic media, it didn't register so much as a blip in the English-language press. BBC Alba ran an excellent and in-depth interview with the man who chaired the Government's Gaelic advisory group (MAGOG), which first lobbied for and designed a Gaelic Bill back in 2000 and fought to get it into law at every stage. I'm biased, because that man is my father. He's given more than most in the fight to keep Gaelic alive. His family, and perhaps he himself, sometimes wonder if he gave too much. He certainly paid for it in the following years with his health. So to sit and read a comment as ignorant and crass as 'Gaelic language and culture can be seen as something 'nice to have when we have available funds'', while simultaneously watching my dad – 20 years on – carefully explain how hard it was to secure even basic rights for one of Scotland's indigenous languages, was, to put it mildly, infuriating. Gaelic is not a 'nice to have'. It's a language, a culture, a heritage. It's identity. It's part of thousands of us. It's part of Scotland – and it's dying. If we wait until every other problem has been solved and the coffers are overflowing, it will simply be too late. Not 'nice to have', but 'where did that go?' The road to any legal recognition or public support for Gaelic has been long, painful – and still isn't finished. Even the creation of the Gaelic Language (Scotland) Act 2005, which many now take for granted, was anything but simple. READ MORE: Can fiction free a nation? A Scottish writer looks to James Joyce for answers In 2000, the Scottish Government set up MAGOG to explore legislation. My dad's first inkling about the group was when he heard an item on the radio news about his appointment as chair. The group's aims were clear. They wanted a statutory Gaelic board to strengthen the language, proper funding for Gaelic organisations, and an Act that would give Gaelic secure status and protection. The government, however, was wary. Ministers seemed to view MAGOG as a way to contain Gaelic demands, not strengthen them. MAGOG had other ideas – they wanted Gaelic's position embedded firmly across Scotland. By 2003, a shift in political mood – partly thanks to a Labour manifesto promise – finally opened the door. But even then, progress was cautious. My dad and MAGOG looked to the 1993 Welsh Language Act, which had given Welsh equal validity with English. That was their gold standard. But Scottish politicians got cold feet. Instead of 'equal validity', they offered 'equal respect' – a legally vague phrase which carries no enforceable rights. Underlying much of this, I'm told, was fear. Fear that stronger legal rights would lead to spiralling costs or administrative burdens. Debates became heated, with some officials even raising concerns about whether Scotland might end up printing every phone book in Gaelic. One of the biggest losses was the legal right to Gaelic-medium education, which had been included in MAGOG's early drafts. That too was watered down. My dad wryly comments that you could have warmed your feet on the heat from some of the letters it generated, particularly around education and parental rights. Even the Act's final passage in 2005 was bittersweet. MAGOG had been wound up, and the job was done, but my father wasn't even formally invited to Holyrood for the vote. He only found out almost by accident. 'No limousine came to the door, or even a horse and cart,' as he puts it. Looking back now, he's frank. The Act was 'quite weak', weakened further by civil servants as the drafts progressed. But, he says, it was as much as could be secured in the political climate of the time. 'It wasn't strong enough, without any doubt – but it was as strong as we could get.' More sobering still is that it took another 20 years before any serious attempt was made to strengthen it. He had hoped for a review within five years. Instead, it was 2023 before a new Scottish Languages Bill, with overdue provision for Scots as well as Gaelic, was introduced – but even now, progress remains fragile. Deputy First Minister Kate Forbes recently admitted that, while progress has been made, the government must go 'further and faster' if Gaelic is to survive. Listening to my dad's interview this week reminded me not only how thankless the task was then – but how thankless it remains. READ MORE: Fourth Gaelic primary school to open in Scottish city after £2.4m investment In 2000, there were those who worried that giving Gaelic status might force them to translate the telephone directory. In 2024, we've reached the stage where Gaelic funding is branded as some kind of 'ultra woke' indulgence, as though supporting an indigenous Scottish language is a radical political statement, rather than basic cultural stewardship. And just for the sake of perspective: the Scottish Government's budget for child poverty interventions, including the Scottish Child Payment uplift and associated measures, stands at around £600 million a year. The entire Gaelic Development Officers scheme – the scheme that tries to support Gaelic across all of Scotland's communities – operates on £600,000. MG ALBA, which produces Gaelic broadcasting for the whole country, receives around £13 million annually, roughly the cost of building two or three average primary schools. The total Scottish Government funding for Gaelic language development, education, community activity and media sits somewhere in the £30 million range. In other words, it's no more than a rounding error in the national budget. Yet somehow, every time even a modest sum is allocated to Gaelic, someone shows up to argue that it's an outrageous extravagance. As though the existence of a language spoken in this country for over a thousand years is an optional luxury. Maybe the Highlands and Islands are welcoming to strangers from foreign lands because we know all too well what it's like to be treated badly. Our contexts and cultures are different, but the concept of being othered is universal
The National
14-06-2025
- General
- The National
Perth fire sees 40 evacuated as fire continues 8 hours after it broke out
Several casualties were reported at the fire in Scott Street, while one firefighter was injured by falling masonry. Crews were called to the junction of Scott Street and South Street at around 1.30am and remain at the scene. Police Scotland said officers have closed off Scott Street, South Street and Canal Street. The force urged people to avoid the area. READ MORE: 'Naked and Unashamed' cements Nan Shepherd's place in Scotland's literary canon First Minister John Swinney, the MSP for Perthshire North, wrote on social media: 'Very concerned to hear of a fire in Scott Street, Perth. Hope everyone is safe.' Pete Wishart, MP for Perth and Kinross-shire, added: 'Hearing reports of a terrible fire in Scott Street in Perth overnight. Hope everyone is safe.' A Scottish Fire and Rescue Service spokesperson said: 'We were alerted at 1.47am on Saturday June 14 to reports of a dwelling fire at Scott Street, Perth. 'Operations Control initially mobilised three appliances to the scene and on arrival firefighters found the roof well alight on the top-floor of a four-storey residential building. 'A further nine appliances were requested to support the incident and at its height, a total of 12 appliances were in attendance dealing with structural collapses. 'Around 40 affected residents were evacuated and taken to the Salutation Hotel which is being used as a respite centre. 'Several casualties were passed into the care of the Scottish Ambulance Service, including one firefighter who sustained a minor injury from fallen masonry. 'As at 10am, the incident has been scaled back to four appliances and one height resource. Firefighters remain on scene as they dampen down hotspots'.
The National
14-06-2025
- The National
Perth fire flat blaze ongoing 8 hours after it broke out
Crews were called to the junction of Scott Street and South Street at around 1.30am and remain at the scene. Police Scotland said officers have closed off Scott Street, South Street and Canal Street. The force urged people to avoid the area. READ MORE: 'Naked and Unashamed' cements Nan Shepherd's place in Scotland's literary canon First Minister John Swinney, the MSP for Perthshire North, wrote on social media: 'Very concerned to hear of a fire in Scott Street, Perth. Hope everyone is safe.' Pete Wishart, MP for Perth and Kinross-shire, added: 'Hearing reports of a terrible fire in Scott Street in Perth overnight. Hope everyone is safe.' A Scottish Fire and Rescue Service spokesperson said: 'We were alerted at 1.47am on Saturday 14 June, to reports of a dwelling fire at Scott Street, Perth. 'Operations Control initially mobilised three appliances to the scene and on arrival firefighters found the roof well alight on the top-floor of a four-storey residential building. 'A further nine appliances were requested to support the incident and a total of 12 appliances are now in attendance. 'Firefighters remain on scene as they work hard to extinguish the fire affecting a four-storey residential property.'
