Author Archives: frasermacdonald

New archives: Erskine Beveridge and North Uist

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I came across a small haul of gold yesterday. One of my hawk-eyed PhD students, Ben Garlick, spotted some material in the archives of the Scottish Ornithologists Club belonging to Frederick S. Beveridge – a son of the Fife archaeologist and industrialist Erskine Beveridge.

I am slowly trying to piece together the life and work of this family from various archival fragments and from the ruins of their Hebridean residence on the island of Vallay, off North Uist.

For such a notable family – both wealthy and connected – it is amazing how few traces have survived. All of this makes the collection of bird notes by the young Fred particularly interesting.

Fred was inducted by his father in to the rituals of fieldwork: careful observation, recording, collection and analysis. Where Erskine Beveridge applied these techniques to the vestiges of antiquity, Fred and his brothers – George and David – put them to work in the service of ornithology.

None of them had an easy life. David died of dysentery at Gallipoli. George, forbidden to marry the love of his life, descended into alcoholism and eventually drowned while crossing the ford back to Vallay.

Fred steered the family linen business into liquidation, married unhappily and died on the birthday of his only daughter.

His birding notes in the SOC archive date to the time when the family fortunes were more buoyant; the game was certainly plentiful, at least on this evidence from Vallay.

Fred’s early observations on the birds of North Uist were eventually collected together for a scholarly paper in The Scottish Naturalist, a paragraph of which I quoted in my doctoral thesis:

The inhabitants of North Uist, when you know them, are a most agreeable people who have helped me in every possible way by observing new arrivals or rarities. I find but one fault of any magnitude, and that is a great passion for collecting birds’ eggs during the nesting season. During the early summer their women folk scour the foreshore in veritable hosts – they seem countless; […] they wander further and further afield, to return at dusk laden, not with cockles but with hundreds of wild birds’ eggs. No wonder that this trait does not appeal to one, but rather kindles in the onlooker the same spirit as that shown by our bovine friend at the sight of the proverbial red rag.

The local context to Fred’s complaint – though he might have felt it inappropriate for the pages of The Scottish Naturalist – was that land was in short supply and such eggs were a basic part of human nutrition. Within two years, impoverished islanders would threaten a land raid on the Beveridge estate.

Amongst the papers in the SOC, I found a letter from Fred to his father enclosing offprints of this article. It seems as if Erskine Beveridge might have been thinking about updating his own monograph North Uist: its archaeology and topography, with notes about the early history of the Outer Hebrides. Perhaps Fred’s paper could have been included in this as an addendum? In any case, Fred asks that should his bird article be reproduced then the above paragraph should be omitted – ‘more of a safety valve than anything else’. Interesting.

Also included in Fred’s notes are some curious little doodles and sketches. Take this one from 4th September 1915. Is this a sketch of his father? If it is a self-portrait, that is an impressive beard for a 19 year-old.

Or how about this sketch entitled “If” with the line ‘some dreams of a far-off land’?

The profile of hills looks like Eaval from Grimsay. The boat is called the Plover. Does anyone know any more detail about this vessel?

Fully funded AHRC PhD studentship: Memory practices and the national inventory of Scotland

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Memory practices and the national inventory of Scotland 

FULLY-FUNDED AHRC PhD STUDENTSHIP

UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH

(Geography, School of GeoSciences) 

Applications are invited for an AHRC-funded PhD, a Collaborative Doctoral Award (CDA), supervised jointly by the University of Edinburgh (Geography, School of GeoSciences) and the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland (RCAHMS). The CDA Studentship is one of four made within the Scottish Cultural Heritage Consortium, which will provide an enhanced programme of student training.

The studentship is for a PhD on the theme of ‘Memory practices and the national inventory of Scotland’ which will examine the origins, personnel and activities behind the foundation of RCAHMS. The project will be supervised by Dr. Fraser MacDonald and Professor Charles W J Withers (University of Edinburgh) and Lesley Ferguson (Head of Collections at RCAHMS). The studentship is funded for three years full time equivalent and will begin in September 2013.

The Studentship

The project will use the archives and collections of RCAHMS to consider how our knowledge of Scotland’s material past has been developed through the work of ‘amateur’ scholars such as Henry Dryden (1818-1899) and Erskine Beveridge (1851-1920). It will explore how our knowledge of Scotland’s antiquities became professionalised and institutionalised in the early twentieth century. An important context to the project is the founding of RCAHMS in 1908 as part of a wider bid to create an inventory of surviving material heritage in Scotland, an aim that is set to continue with the creation a new body soon to succeed RCAHMS and Historic Scotland. Against this background, the studentship will examine the ‘memory practices’ – the activities, technologies and forms that scholars have used to record the past. The PhD will examine how it is that we have come to our present knowledge of the historic environment. It will do so drawing on literatures in historical geography, history of science (particularly archaeology) and architectural history.

How to Apply: Intending applicants should have a good undergraduate degree, or Masters, in geography, archaeology, history, architectural history or history of science and will need to satisfy AHRC eligibility requirements. Ideally, you will have experience of relevant research methods (advanced research training is a required element of the studentship). Applicants should submit: a two-page curriculum vitae, with a brief letter outlining your qualification for the studentship; a sample of scholarly writing such as a coursework essay or thesis chapter; and the names and contact details of two academic referees.

These should be sent to: Fraser MacDonald, Institute of Geography, Drummond Street, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH8 9XP (fraser.macdonald@ed.ac.uk) no later than 12 June 2013.

Interviews, which will be held in Edinburgh, are scheduled to take place on the afternoon of 27 June 2013. For further information regarding the studentship, please contact Fraser MacDonald (fraser.macdonald@ed.ac.uk ) / 0131 650 2293.

At Dun Torcuill, North Uist

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This is one of the most distinctive ancient monuments in Scotland: Dun Torcuill, a fine Hebridean broch or, if you want to be picky, a ‘galleried dun’.

 

And this is the path to Dun Torcuill.

When I say path, there really isn’t one. There are, instead, a series of formidable obstacles.

In one sense that is the point of a Dun: built on water, it was to be accessible only by a narrow and sometimes submerged causeway. It was never welcoming to strangers.

But these ditches and deer fences are not part of the original fortification. Rather, visitors are just not really expected here. You can tell that from the broken Historic Scotland sign which I moved to reveal a benighted patch of chlorotic grass.

Dun Torcuill does not feature in the ordinary tourist itinerary and you will be hard pressed to find it on a postcard. This is perhaps a good thing in that the site, a scheduled ancient monument, still exists in a state of primitive grandeur.

The partly collapsed broch is now covered in lichens giving it a peculiar bearded appearance, though this is plainly not new.


It was more lightly encrusted when the antiquarian Erskine Beveridge (1851-1920) visited in the early twentieth century. This is his photo of the site.

Of the many photographs in his classic book North Uist, there is only one – here at Dun Torcuill – to feature a family member. This person is ostensibly included for scale but there is a sentiment at work here too. In all likelihood, it is either his only daughter, Mary Beveridge, or else his young second wife Meg Inglis.

I am struck by the fact that not much in this scene has changed since Beveridge took his photo. This is noteworthy because in the same period North Uist has been utterly transformed, not least its economic orientation which has seen ‘heritage’ become an axis of local development.

North Uist is one of the most remarkable prehistoric landscapes in Britain – that’s what attracted Erskine Beveridge in the first place. But the islanders are now competing with their neighbours in Harris and Lewis for the ultimate tourist drawcard: the chance to present the St Kilda story. I don’t blame them. Economically, it makes total sense.

But it is an odd circumstance when local and charismatic prehistoric structures are virtually unknown while the small, largely modern, dwellings of the St Kildans are iconic. It is hard to understand why the story of this one abandoned island has metastasised across the entire Hebridean archipelago.

Yes, I can see that St Kilda is storyable in ways that Dun Torcuill isn’t. But it troubles me that part of our collective interest in St Kilda still draws on discredited Victorian ideas of difference: a kind of freakshow historiography that has made a fetish of thick ankles and prehensile toes.

It is important to remember that there are other Hebridean stories that matter; they are often closer to hand and – perhaps as a consequence – rather more remote.

The Robo Bee

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Harvard’s new RoboBee: a new step towards more sophisticated bio-mimicry and the likelihood of military applications on an analog insect body.

That which once was great is passed away

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And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

 

William Wordsworth, On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic

 

Yes, I realise that this epigraph is over the top. But I also think that the passing of Cockenzie Power Station, at least in its current incarnation, deserves further tribute, even one that falls short of outright regret.

I have previously extolled the architectural virtues of Cockenzie in other writing on this site and in The Guardian. But when I was finally offered a guided tour of one of my favourite buildings – thanks Scottish Power – I couldn’t help but brace for disappointment.

It didn’t disappoint.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wow. Just wow. The scale is impossible to capture in photographs or, at any rate, in my photographs. You’ll find markedly better portraits of Cockenzie here by Alex Hewitt of The Scotsman.

But I’m posting these images in the hope that they convey some impression of this nationally significant building (Historic Scotland, unfortunately, doesn’t share this view).

 

Cockenzie’s closure has been on the cards since the advent of the European Large Combustion Plant Directive. This meant that Scottish Power had to either make Cockenzie compliant with the new emissions limits or ‘opt out’. They chose the latter, leaving only 20,000 hours of generation time which expired in March 2013.

In 2011, planning permission has been granted for a new CCGT plant but Scottish Power has not committed to such a station until the market conditions in the forthcoming Energy Bill become more apparent.

 

In the meantime, Cockenzie is subject to a long period of dismantlement. Technically speaking, this is not a case of demolition though with the impending demise of its iconic 500ft chimneys this does feel like ‘the shade of that which once was great’ is passing away.

Scottish Power’s sub-contractors, Brown and Mason, are now recycling all that they can from the site – much of it to be kept for spares in the sister plant at Longannet.

Auditing and re-sorting all this the equipment is an enormous task and is expected to take at least two years. Ultimately, the aim is to make the site ready for the CCGT plant if Scottish Power ever choose to make the investment.

Visiting the station in its current guise is rather odd. It is neither operational nor a ruin. It is not, in Walter Benjamin’s famous phrase, an object of ‘irresistable decay’. The site remains very active. Dismantlement turns out to be a very involved process – not altogether unlike construction.

 

I wish I could more closely document the unmaking of Cockenzie Power Station. Somewhere in the doorstop that is Walter Benjamin’s Arcades Project, he introduces a collection of quotations on ‘demolition sites’ with the following directive: ‘sources for the teaching of construction’.

 

 

 

 

To prise apart this elaborate machine, built with the precision of a watchmaker but over 24 hectares, presents a rare opportunity to think about the origins and legacies of Scottish coal and its infrastructures.

Someone should really write about this.

 

 

Will Self on the psychogeography of the Scotland

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The full text of Will Self’s Wreford Watson lecture on the psychogeography of Scotland has now been published, appropriately enough, in Scottish Geographical Journal. Readers familiar with this doughty organ will recognise this publication as something of a first, not least for being the sweariest contribution in its 130 year history. Admittedly the bar is quite low. Or high, depending on your view.

I will not need to convince you that the essay is a great read – you can see for yourself, thanks to SGJ and their publisher Taylor & Francis who have agreed to make it freely available. You can download the pdf here.

Alternatively, if you want to watch the lecture for yourself you can do so below – courtesy of the School of GeoSciences YouTube account.

 

Big Dog has a new arm

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Boston Dynamics has developed a new throwing arm, presumably so that Big Dog can play fetch with itself.

An episode in the history of drone warfare: South Uist, August 1998

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There is a significant event in the history of twentieth century Scotland that has, to my knowledge, never been properly acknowledged: the first successful transatlantic flight of an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle, which landed in South Uist in August 1998.

These days, of course, we call them ‘drones’. They are the means by which extra-judicial killings are increasingly being enacted, the Obama administration following George Bush in applying the technology to pick off a ‘kill list’ – entirely outside the scrutiny of courts or legislature.

The remarkable thing about the new drone warfare is how quickly it has become normalised.  Well over 2000 people have been killed by US drone strikes in Pakistan alone, a sovereign country which is a close ally of the United States. And as my geography colleague Ian Shaw argues, the results of experience in overseas military operations are rapidly being applied at home, with all manner of domestic surveillance and control applications now awaiting us.

There is no direct kinship between the Predator drones at use in Pakistan and Yemen and the drone that landed at what is now the Qinetiq range in South Uist. But the event of the 21st August 1998 still represents a significant step – an important milestone of endurance – in the evolution of this wider technology.

What happened fifteen years ago still strikes me as extraordinary. Using less than three dollars’ worth of aviation fuel, a pilotless miniature robotic aircraft successfully completed a transatlantic flight, establishing records for the both the smallest aircraft and the first Unmanned Aerial Vehicle of any size to make such a journey.

Designed by Tad McGreer and the Washington-based Insitu Group, the Aerosonde ‘Laima’ (named after the Latvian goddess of good fortune) was launched from the roof of a family saloon car at Bell Island, Newfoundland.

It arrived in South Uist, about an hour late, taking 26 hours 45 minutes to complete the 3270km journey, being brought down to land on the machair without wheels and bearing only minor scratches.

Laima landed to very little fanfare in either the UK or the US. One person who did notice, however, was Jef Raskin, the one time colleague of Steve Jobs, who developed the original Apple Macintosh computer.

Raskin could see that the implications of Laima were far-reaching. The Aerosonde was cheap (under $10,000), lightweight (13 kg), undetectable, efficient (1300 miles per gallon), low-tech (made from variations on a lawnmower engine and a model aircraft) and yet sufficiently robust to potentially carry a nuclear device.

For Raskin, Laima’s flight to South Uist rendered the US Strategic Defence Initiative (the $200 billion dollar ‘Star Wars’ missile defence system) redundant at a stroke. If, for only a million dollars, he argued, one hundred such planes – some equipped with nuclear devices – could be launched against an American city, no existing or planned military hardware could possibly forewarn, far less forearm, against such an attack.

Fifteen years later, the fearful scenario that Raskin laid out – bearing more than a trace of post 9/11 anxiety – has happily not come to pass. But Raskin was surely right to see the strategic significance of drone warfare, the exact consequences of which are still hard to anticipate.

What we have learned from nuclear missiles – yes, these too were tested in the islands – is that there is no putting the genie back in the bottle. And unlike nuclear technology, the components of drones are rather more accessible – not only to state security services but also to those they seek to target.

 

T. McGeer and J. Vagners, ‘Historic crossing: an unmanned aircraft’s Atlantic flight’, GPS World 10.2 (1999), 24-30.

Why I love Cockenzie Power Station

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I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again: I love Cockenzie Power Station.

When I hit Portobello prom of a morning, I invariably give it a backward glance.

Later, when I’m crossing North Bridge over Waverley Station, I like to check that it is still there.

From this vantage point, the tourists are agog at the Scott Monument, the Nelson Monument, the Castle – even, heaven help us, at the Balmoral Hotel.

I’d flatten them all for Cockenzie Power Station.

Even from a proximity of ten miles, it looks monumental; the distant outline of Byres Hill gives it a picturesque frame.

If you have ever lived in Edinburgh you’ll likely know Cockenzie’s distinctive twin chimneys. But given that it is due to close at the end of March, now is probably a good time to give them some proper attention.

Cockenzie is closing because it positively belches carbon. That is, of course, what it was designed to do – turning coal into electricity – and it has done so productively since it opened in the midst of a turbulent May 1968.

I understand why these behemoths must die and I’m not going to attempt to defend their continued existence.  Borne of good intent into an age of carbon innocence, they have served their purpose well.

Permissions are now in place to convert Cockenzie from coal to (more efficient) CCGT gas.

This is good news (sort of) for greenhouse gas emissions but bad news for one of the most distinctive landmarks on the east coast. These stately chimney stacks are set to be demolished in favour of two rather diminished replacements.

The aesthetic effect of this change is, as you can see from Scottish Power’s visualizations, fairly lamentable.

This is perhaps why I’ve been particularly attentive to Cockenzie in recent months – enjoying it, as it were, from every angle.

 

I can see that it doesn’t make sense to import coal from Russia now that our own industry has been destroyed or exhausted.

But the presence of Cockenzie Power Station in the landscape is one of the last monuments to a wider modernist project for the Forth that saw the development of Livingstone and Glenrothes, the Forth Road Bridge and sibling power stations at Longannet, Methil and Kincardine.

In Portobello, the outline of Cockenzie has a particular resonance given that it was the replacement to our own no less remarkable power station, opened by George V in 1923, and finally demolished in 1976.

It is doubtless too late to save the twin towers of Cockenzie. But it does seem symptomatic of a wider disregard of our modernist heritage as well, perhaps, as speaking to a more general discomfort with our having been modern in the first place.

 

R. D. Laing Making Faces

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Here is a video of the Scottish psychiatrist R. D. Laing, filmed at the height of his fame in 1973.

I’m not sure why I am posting this: it just seems somehow remarkable. It is an odd conversation; and more than a little disturbing.

Is it supposed to be funny? I don’t know. It is intriguing because on the surface it seems phony. And yet what is most troubling – regardless of the biographical veracity of the details – is its sheer excess of authenticity.

Laing’s short storytelling at the end feels of a piece with his earlier face-pulling: a matter of posturing, playing and pretending. It is pointless to dwell on whether the story is ‘true’ given that – for Lacan at least – it is in the most hysterical lies that we unwittingly articulate the truth.

The variety of user comments on the YouTube clip all seem entirely right: everything from ‘pointless, charlatan shite’ through to ‘an absolute genius – and for that we will never forgive him’.

Or, as one viewer said, ‘I think I’m in the weird part of YouTube again’.