The Courier & Advertiser (Fife Edition)
Social media would have brought our long and colourful history to life
IF ONLY social media had existed down Scotland’s long and colourful history, we’d now have a fascinating archive of stuff. History would suddenly become popular among people who can’t read more than a few sentences without attention-lapse.
Take the tweets which Mary Queen of Scots would have sent in the 16th century. Some might have breached the 140-character rule: she could count, of course, but only in French.
“They just blew up Lord #Darnley, one’s husband. Nice one, thanks. We weren’t getting on. But to anybody out there who thought I did it, well I didn’t. I’m pregnant after all and don’t like loud noises. Never mind, guys, onwards and upwards. Who’s this John Knox character though? Sounds like a nutter.”
Then there was: “Just arrived #Loch Leven castle. Grim. Damp and cold, only outside loo. Whose idea was this? If they want me to abdicate, they’ll have to find me somewhere more comfortable to do it in. Not that I will anyway. Rescue, anyone? May have to swim to reach me from the M90. Fed up eating trout too.”
Finally, Mary tweeted: “Blast, just lost Battle of #Langside. Think I’ll head for England to visit Cousin Elizabeth. She’s doing okay, they know how to run a country down there – especially everyone else’s. Just have to stay focused and keep my head.”
Unfortunately the messages ended there. She must have had her mobile confiscated. It would have been interesting to learn “how
she felt” (most popular question in modern media) as she climbed the scaffold.
Meanwhile, Scotland’s intellectual life was stirring. In 1614, mathematician and economist John Napier of Merchiston tweeted: “Have just invented #logarithms. A million schoolchildren will curse me, but you can get my book Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Descriptio at any good bookshop. Let me know if you understand it.”
Some years afterwards, another Scots writer and mathematician called Sir Thomas Urquhart had a bit more success in the bestseller lists by translating the works of Francois Rebelais, who specialised in satire and bawdy jokes. That just goes to show and Urquhart tweeted: “Have given up trigonometry and taken up #Rabelais. More laughs that way, and it’s rude. The book is out NOW!”
And it was some time later, in 1698, that Scotland embarked on the ill-fated Darien Scheme. It was preceded by a blizzard of tweets – in fact, it was trending on the 17th century twitter. A typical message was from William Paterson, a Scots trader who had just helped to establish the Bank of England and was therefore thought to be a safe bet:
“Who’s for sunshine, some spicy South American grub, and low taxes? Join me on the #Darien project by putting in a few bawbees. It’ll be oor ain colony, so don’t worry about the English or the Spaniards. And there’s gold to be found out there, so book your deckchair in the sun.”
But what happened just goes to show that you can’t believe what people are tweeting.
The place turned out to be pestilential and thoroughly unhealthy. About 2,000 people died in the disaster, at sea and on land. A message from one of the few survivors said:
“Help! This place is #mingin’. Folk are deein’ by the dozen and there’s nae gold here by the way. We’ve lost all wur cash. Plus the Spaniards are starting to get ratty. I’m heading for Jamaica.” The investors never got their money back. However, it was the outbreak of the two 18th century Stuart uprisings in Scotland, the ’15 and the ’45, that began the era of the “celebrity tweet”. Certain people mistakenly started to believe that their fame made their opinions important.
In the first Jacobite rising, the Old Pretender tweeted in January 1716: “Arrived #Peterhead. Bought some fish,” and in February: “Sorry, got to go. Thanks #everybody.”
His son, Bonnie Prince Charlie, tried his luck later and tweeted: “At Arisaig. What’s
the way to #Derby?” Amazingly, his army managed to get there before he discovered that the pub where he wanted to stay had been booked by the Duke of Devonshire. How embarrassing. So he retreated.
The best-remembered message from this period came from a blogger who witnessed the Battle of Sheriffmuir and is worth repeating: There’s some say that we wan, Some say that they wan, Some say that nane wan at a’, man; But o’ae thing I’m sure, That at #Sheriffmuir A battle there was that I saw, man.
You’d have to look long and hard, through endless screeds of #rubbish, to find a better tweet than that, man.