A childhood in a council house, then I saw the majesty of Glencoe for first time. I was 21. So began my love affair with my country
Jackie Bird takes up National Trust role, and tells how she’ll safeguard national treasures
CAST your mind back to the deepest, darkest days of lockdown when a walk in the woods or to the nearest park was something to treasure. Remember how the sounds of the birds, the greenery, even a peek at the landscape beyond if you were lucky, raised your spirits? And now as things get back to normal, it’s easy to forget how very lucky we are to live in such a breathtakingly beautiful place.
The National Trust for Scotland exists to care for and protect that landscape and our heritage. I’ve just become its president and the honour is still sinking in. So too is the realisation that the role doesn’t involve the use of a grace and favour estate – Culzean or Crathes would have done. Ah, the things they don’t tell you till you’ve signed up.
It’s all very exciting for a girl who certainly didn’t grow up among rolling hills and birdsong. The vista from my Lanarkshire council house was bricks and mortar, the soundtrack was kids playing in the street and the chimes of ice-cream vans. There were some fields not so far away but you had to dodge the gangs and cowpats to get there.
It seems unbelievable but I didn’t experience a Highland loch or a substantial mountain until I was 21. I vividly recall napping while being driven to Glencoe and waking up surrounded by its prehistoric landscape and its immense, looming mountains. It was jaw-dropping.
Enclosed by this rugged majesty, it was easy to imagine the desperately hard lives of the people who’d once lived there, and it made the massacre I’d learned about in school all too real. That trip was the start of a love affair with my country.
We learn about our past to inform our present and our future. I’m in awe of historians who can reel off dates and statistics, but what’s even more important is how they can piece together the lives of those long gone, their successes and their failures, to help us understand who we are today.
To do that, you need records and remnants of the past, and preserving them is one of the big responsibilities of the trust.
MY aim as president, although it’s just an ambassadorial role, is to bring those stories to life. Not just for people who are already cherished members of the trust, but for the next generation of kids like me who didn’t realise castles, country houses or ancient burial sites weren’t boring history lessons but adventures back in time.
Before I became president, I spent much of lockdown recording podcasts for the trust, giving me insight into its duties of care: 10,000 archaeological sites, more than a 100 historic properties, hundreds of miles of mountain footpaths, a clutch of nature reserves, as well as entire islands including St Kilda, Iona and Staffa.
They’re looked after by staff with a vast range of specialities: where else would you find curators skilled in getting moths out of ancient carpets on the same payroll as the hardy souls who lay mountain footpaths? It’s a daunting portfolio and an expensive one, which is why about £100 million of investment is planned by the charity over the next decade, thanks to its members.
To look after such a collection, you need some extra help. So thank goodness for the enthusiasm of the volunteers, people from all walks of life who give up their time because they believe our heritage and our natural places are precious. They study anything from the Battle of Culloden to Japanese maple trees, the paintings of El Greco to Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s drainage systems. I defy anyone to visit a trust property, ask a volunteer a question, and manage to extricate themselves from the barrage of enthusiasm it elicits within 15 minutes.
My own learning curve is going to be steep and I’m still involved in conversations involving locations like Ben Lomond or Goatfell on Arran and discovering – wow, you look after that as well? Land has to be managed, wildlife looked after, conservation considered and those paths won’t lay themselves. Imagine a map of Scotland covered in a carpet of red locator pins.
BUT even running the Mar Lodge estate, all 72,000 acres of some of the most remote and scenic land in Britain, is a walk in the park compared with navigating some of the more controversial issues that appear in the trust’s in-tray.
In recent years the renewed focus on slavery has led to calls for more information on Scotland’s involvement in the trade, which I’m afraid to say, as in many parts of Europe, was unsettlingly enthusiastic.
It’s disturbing to learn that many of the owners of grand houses we see across the country added to their wealth off the backs of their fellow human beings. It’s an uncomfortable part of our history but it shouldn’t be hidden or glossed over, and the aim is to fill in the gaps about the sources of affluence whenever a link is found.
It’s about informing the already curious minds of those who visit, but it’s not about preaching, and hopefully one of the by-products of research is that we as a society try to learn from our mistakes.
Another hot topic and getting hotter is how to deal with climate change. Whether you believe it’s entirely man-made or natural, a trip into any garden or woodland tells
you that something is changing. It’s vital that we monitor and try to protect the worldfamous landscapes and wildlife that are not only a joy for us Scots but bring millions of tourists here each year.
They say the best way to make God laugh is to make plans, and the trust is also in the front line dealing with nasty surprises life throws up. This summer, just as our reserves were getting ready for a bumper year of visitors, avian flu hitched a ride with the incoming birdlife. It has resulted in the worst ever UK outbreak, a story which, but for Ukraine and the cost-ofliving crisis, should have made banner headlines.
As you read this, I’ll be at the St Abb’s Head nature reserve, one of the trust places where the mutating virus has had a devastating effect. I’ll be reunited with Ciaran, a dedicated ranger I interviewed during lockdown for my podcast and who raved about showing me around his glorious patch, only this time we’ll be discussing his summer spent picking up carcasses.
ON a lighter note, my Love Scotland podcasts mean my tiny brain is brimming with historical facts: who knew that at one stage the mortality rate on St Kilda was 80 per cent; and that after smuggling Bonnie Prince Charlie to freedom, Flora MacDonald went to London and became a celebrity?
Like Flora, I’ve gone up in the world: as president, I follow in the footsteps of the likes of the Earl of Airlie and the Dukes of Buccleuch and Atholl, who unlike me, probably weren’t too disappointed when they didn’t get a free weekend break in a castle.
But my existing skillset may well come in handy. As the trust evolves, as it must, there is talk of updating its portfolio and acquiring more of Scotland’s industrial heritage and even, would you believe, 20th century icons like council schemes. If that’s the case, I wonder if they know they’ve already signed up an expert?