Willie Shand anticipates the thrills and spills of Scotland’s traditional Highland Games
Willie Shand soaks up the thrills and excitement of a traditional Highland Games.
IT meant a lot to Dad the day he carried off third prize in the hammer, second in the caber toss and second for putting the shot at Thornton Highland Games in 1934.
So much so that, to this day, his first winnings – the two half crowns and two ten shilling notes – are still in their original wee brown envelopes.
Inspired by the great athletes from an earlier generation – James Paton, Donald Dinnie and, above all, A.A. Cameron – Dad’s love for the Highland Games as a competitor, and later judge, stayed with him all his life.
For us, as a family, the games season invariably kicked off with Blackford at the end of May. The year 2020 marked Blackford’s 150th anniversary.
As a bairn, I especially looked forward to Blackford. One of the chief organisers, local blacksmith
Geordie Halley, would always have a wee box of Smarties for me. I’m easily bought!
Throughout the summer not a week passes without one or other Highland gathering taking place, usually falling on an annual set date in the calendar.
Being Scotland, of course, the one thing there’s no control over is the weather, and even the day before the Games, the committee will be biting their nails.
A rainy morning can have a dire effect on attendance, even if the sun has the cheek to come out and shine all afternoon.
The games are great Scottish gatherings and an integral part of the country’s sports, attracting some of the top athletes from near and far.
With flags flying, kilts galore and the air filled with the sound of bagpipes, you might well think it’s all been organised by the
Scottish Tourist Board.
These traditional gatherings, however, were well established long before there were any tourist boards or, indeed, tourists.
Ceres Games, held annually on the village green above Ceres Burn, claims to have begun over 700 years ago.
Apparently, the men of Ceres marched off in 1314 to support King Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn.
When Bruce secured a resounding victory, the men returning home were in celebratory mood, and what better way to celebrate than by staging competitions on the green?
Thus was established Scotland’s oldest Highland Games.
Like Blackford, 2020 marked the 150th anniversary of another of our popular gatherings at Crieff.
To say the Highland
Games are unique to Scotland may be untrue. Wherever Scots have settled around the world there’s every chance you’ll find something similar.
On January 1, 2021, yet another 150th anniversary was celebrated at the Waipu Highland Games in New Zealand. What a fantastic way to start the New Year.
Whether you’re interested in the “heavy” events, the field events, the Highland dancing or the piping, watching or taking part, there’s something to entertain the whole family.
Most gatherings have special races for children, and occasionally, like at Strathardle, even your wee dog can take part.
What finer surroundings could there be for such activities than among the heather-clad hills and glens of the Highlands?
The idea of athletic competitions is as old as the hills. The Romans and the Greek Olympians were renowned for their games.
Mind you, I doubt if any of them ever tossed a caber or threw a hammer.
One of the oldest events is the hill race. While Portree has its Fingal’s Seat, Alva has the steepsided Ochils to test the entrants’ fitness. Which is just how the hill race began.
Almost 1,000 years ago, King Malcolm III was concerned at the length of time it was taking his foot runners to deliver his despatches to Braemar, so he invited all applicants for the job to take part in a race to the top of Creag Choinnich above Braemar.
The winner was the youngest son of McGregor of Ballochbuie.
King Malcolm is also credited with that famous Highland dance the Ghillie Callum, or sword dance.
It’s said that after winning a victory in battle, he placed his own sword over that of his fallen enemy and danced a wee jig over the top of them.
Generally, the Games are formally opened when the Chieftain, followed by the pipe band, marches into the field.
There’s nothing stirs the emotions more than the skirl of the pipes. Hence, they’ve long been regarded not as a musical instrument, but as an instrument of war.
To the Scottish soldier, marching into battle without the pipes would be akin to leaving their sword or gun behind.
At Lonach in Strathdon, on the fourth Saturday in
August, what a grand start it makes to the day to join the great gathering of Lonach Clansmen on their long cross-country march to the field.
Armed with eight-feetlong pikes and Lochaber axes, it’s maybe best not get in their way!
Not far to the south of Strathdon is Deeside, and perhaps the most famous of all our Highland gatherings – Braemar.
It’s famed because of its royal patronage – a patronage which began with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.
Queen Victoria loved all things Highland, including the tartan. For some 35 years after the failed Jacobite Rising of 1745, it had been made illegal to play the pipes or even to wear tartan, and Queen Victoria’s interest did a lot to revive it.
During the ban, it was no minor issue to be caught wearing tartan. A first offender might win six months in prison. Do
it again and it was seven years’ transportation!
One of the popular Highland dances is the Seann Truibhas – a graceful dance that moves from a slow to fast tempo as it progresses.
The dance is said to represent the actions of the Highlander shaking off their “trews”, after they had been forced to hang up their kilts.
Kilts and plaids are certainly in vogue at the Games, with each clan proudly wearing its own pattern.
It wouldn’t, of course, be fair to have professional athletes set against local amateurs. Dad would certainly have been up against it, faced by champions like Bill Anderson or Arthur Rowe.
The “local” competitions are followed by the “open”. But that’s the good thing about the games – even though the competitions are taken seriously, there’s a great friendship.
Folk are there to enjoy themselves, and if they win, and maybe manage to set a new record, well, that’s just a nice wee bonus.
Tossing the caber is always popular with the spectators. With expanded chest, the athlete lifts the heavy tree trunk and steadies himself with it resting against his shoulder, then begins to run.
Suddenly he stops and tosses the caber ahead.
The idea is not to see how far it can be thrown, but to make it fall over as close as possible to the “12 o’ clock” position.
Soaking the caber in a burn can fairly add to its weight!
There’s a great quiet as he takes a short run, then, as it falls over, exclamations of “Yeah!” or “Aw!”, depending on the outcome.
And if the caber doesn’t put your back out, there’s always the tug o’ war.
Throwing the hammer is a distinctly Scottish sport originating from the days of the local blacksmith.
If there was a quiet moment, the men would gather at the smiddy and compete to see how far they could throw the smith’s heavy hammer.
The hammer is as much about technique as it is about strength.
I’ve had a few goes with Dad’s 16 lb and 22 lb hammers, but never quite found that technique, and I daresay I’ll not find it now!
There’s a saying that for every good hammer thrower there are three good putters, and for every good caber thrower, six good putters.
Perhaps that’s true, but until you try it yourself, don’t go thinking putting the shot’s easy, either.
At least in putting you’re throwing the stone away from you. In the “weight over the bar”, get it wrong and the muckle 56 lb lump of iron could well meet you on the way down!
Competitors have three shots at each height, but if they fail to clear the bar on these three shots, they’re eliminated. This event definitely calls for men of muscle.
As 1970s World Caber Tossing Champion Charlie Allan once put it, “Imagine throwing a seven-year-old boy over a double decker bus with one hand.” There’s an idea for a novelty event!
Whichever event takes your interest, and wherever you are in the games field, you can’t escape the sound of the pipes.
One after the other, the players tune up and take to the boards in the hopes of carrying off the trophy.
It’s been said that the bagpipes originally came from Palestine and were sold to the Scots as a joke, and they haven’t seen the joke yet.
Well, as a player myself, perhaps the joke’s on them for, in the right hands, the pipes can be made to speak – especially in piobaireachd, the classical music of the pipes.
Having said that, even a lifetime of practice may not be enough to perfect them. As writer Neil Munro put it, “To the making of a piper go seven years of his own learning, and seven generations before.”