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Scotland Is Not for the Squeamish
In his second work in a trilogy involving the Celtic identity, Watkins mingles poetry, history, and song with tall and true tales of his adventures in the Scottish Highlands. Whether shanghaied on a ship to the Arctic Circle, hunting for gold in the mountains, sinking a docked barge, shooting the breeze with ghosts at a pub, or bedazzling friends with druid magic, Watkins keeps readers on their toes as he dances us through his days and nights as a young man finding his way through the world. From the roaring seas to the verdant Scottish countryside, Watkins tackles his rugged environs with good humor and smarts on this ultimate journey of maturation and self-discovery.
Bill Watkins is the author of the Book Sense best-seller A Celtic Childhood. Watkins was born in Birminghamin 1950 into a Welsh/Irish family. Both of his parents were traditional singers. He learned to play the tin whistle, guitar, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle as a youth, and has been performing ever since. As a young man he made his living on frieght and fishing ships. Watkins has won several awards for his poetry, and has contributed numerous articles to Private Eye, a satirical magazine in the U.K., and the Glasgow Herald.
Bill Watkins is the author of the Book Sense best-seller A Celtic Childhood. Watkins was born in Birminghamin 1950 into a Welsh/Irish family. Both of his parents were traditional singers. He learned to play the tin whistle, guitar, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle as a youth, and has been performing ever since. As a young man he made his living on frieght and fishing ships. Watkins has won several awards for his poetry, and has contributed numerous articles to Private Eye, a satirical magazine in the U.K., and the Glasgow Herald.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 2000
About the author
Bill Watkins
55 booksBill Watkins was born in Birmingham, England, to a Welsh/Irish family in 1950. His bilingual parents were notable traditional singers. Having learned to play the tin whistle, fiddle, guitar, banjo and mandolin at an early age, Bill is also an accomplished singer/songwriter whose most
famous ditty, The Errant Apprentice, has been recorded worldwide. Now living in Minneapolis, he serves as the cultural ambassador at Merlin's Rest Pub. Bills company, Keltcom LLC, designs and builds Irish and British Isles pubs, repairs vintage radio equipment and makes kilts.
More information is available online at www.scarlettapress.com or www.keltcom.com."
famous ditty, The Errant Apprentice, has been recorded worldwide. Now living in Minneapolis, he serves as the cultural ambassador at Merlin's Rest Pub. Bills company, Keltcom LLC, designs and builds Irish and British Isles pubs, repairs vintage radio equipment and makes kilts.
More information is available online at www.scarlettapress.com or www.keltcom.com."
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
February 6, 2009
This book was funny, engaging, and all-around interesting. I thought it gave a great feel for the Scottish people (and the Irish), and parts of it reminded me of the crazy co-op days. Definitely a great read if you're interested in Scotland and Celtic history in general. And if you're not, it's still a great adventure. I read it really quickly, which is really saying something. Also, there's a great glossary in the front that is also pretty funny. I'm excited to read the other two books in his trilogy....
August 15, 2024
Watkins has clearly kissed the Blarney stone and I get the impression he's met many a person who wished he hadn't. If you're going to read an autobiography I guess you want one from someone who likes to talk about themselves a lot. This toes the line between autobiography and travel narrative. It's worse when tending towards the former and better when tending towards the latter.
The action starts in Med-ias res (expect that kind of pun in this book) with our protagonist working in the merchant navy, he works his way up to Scotland via various odd jobs and then gets Shanghaied out on a Cod boat working in the Arctic Sea. All these adventures are quite exciting and peppered with our protagonist's seemingly bottomless encyclopaedic knowledge. Not a conversation goes by where he doesn't deliver some historical fact or etymological fancy for his seemingly enraptured audience. He meets a lot of characters along the way and they too have bundles of facts. Though, our protagonist normally comes out on top in a fact measuring contest, and he always gets the last laugh. Unsurprisingly, when telling your own story you always seem to get the last word in.
I shouldn't make it sound like Watkins isn't likeable because he is, it just starts to grow a bit tiresome, as he gives his supposedly ignorant friends lectures on every topic under the sun. Particularly, when he starts giving various Scotsmen lectures about history they surely know given they would have been taught it in school from the age of 5. Poor old Angus, who he originally meets in Tangiers, gets the villain edit and becomes Watkins' conversational whipping boy.
When our protagonist makes it to Aberdeen he decides to settle for a while and after a trip to the Highlands with his conversational foil, Angus, the narrative becomes trapped in the molasses of introspection and self-pity. This carries on for pretty much the final third of the book. He does move to Edinburgh and that allows new sets of facts to be presented but doesn't really add anything to the narrative. Unemployment looms throughout, yet at the end it suddenly becomes apparent that Watkins has inherited his parent's talent for music and probably could have played his way out of misery. Perhaps he didn't choose this route because of his troubled relationship with his parents. He sort of lays claim to helping start the revival of Celtic music in Edinburgh. Watkins also flirts with the life of a druid for much of the book but in a passive uninterested way that makes it seem even more ridiculous.
One of the most enjoyable parts of the book is the weaving of poetry and folk songs throughout. They add a fantastic spirit to the book that would have otherwise become interminably boring. Even though the constant barrage of trivia is interesting, its method of delivery, seemingly fictional Socractic dialogues with whichever moron Watkins chooses as his latest victim, grows quite frustrating. The banter with his mates is also the "have to have been there" kind of humour. There are a few memorable anecdotes and on the whole Watkins is a decent writer, the prose is very easy to read.
I would have loved some more parts of Scotland, and less existential misery and moping after women but perhaps the dour tone is actually quite Scottish.
I've recently read a biography of Hannibal so I was quite surprised to see Himilco the Carthaginian explorer pop up in the text. A funny passage ensues when the protagonist is asked what he's reading by some wannabe cowboy on a fishing boat.
From Avienus's Orae Maritimae we get the following which is interesting because I just read Sea Kingdoms by Alistair Moffat and he talks extensively about these skiffs and their unique construction.
A Scots toast
This moving extract apparently from a piece of WWI poetry which I have been unable to find anywhere and would greatly appreciate if someone recognised it.
It's got an air of Shakespeare's sonnet 71 and Wilfred Owen.
An old Norse sailing trick a crew uses when the mother of all storms hits.
What an interesting piece of trivia.
The second time I've come across the Viking Terror fragment in one month this version a bit different.
Here's a crackpot tale about how pigeons brought down the monarchy of France.
And lastly old Burnsy
The action starts in Med-ias res (expect that kind of pun in this book) with our protagonist working in the merchant navy, he works his way up to Scotland via various odd jobs and then gets Shanghaied out on a Cod boat working in the Arctic Sea. All these adventures are quite exciting and peppered with our protagonist's seemingly bottomless encyclopaedic knowledge. Not a conversation goes by where he doesn't deliver some historical fact or etymological fancy for his seemingly enraptured audience. He meets a lot of characters along the way and they too have bundles of facts. Though, our protagonist normally comes out on top in a fact measuring contest, and he always gets the last laugh. Unsurprisingly, when telling your own story you always seem to get the last word in.
I shouldn't make it sound like Watkins isn't likeable because he is, it just starts to grow a bit tiresome, as he gives his supposedly ignorant friends lectures on every topic under the sun. Particularly, when he starts giving various Scotsmen lectures about history they surely know given they would have been taught it in school from the age of 5. Poor old Angus, who he originally meets in Tangiers, gets the villain edit and becomes Watkins' conversational whipping boy.
When our protagonist makes it to Aberdeen he decides to settle for a while and after a trip to the Highlands with his conversational foil, Angus, the narrative becomes trapped in the molasses of introspection and self-pity. This carries on for pretty much the final third of the book. He does move to Edinburgh and that allows new sets of facts to be presented but doesn't really add anything to the narrative. Unemployment looms throughout, yet at the end it suddenly becomes apparent that Watkins has inherited his parent's talent for music and probably could have played his way out of misery. Perhaps he didn't choose this route because of his troubled relationship with his parents. He sort of lays claim to helping start the revival of Celtic music in Edinburgh. Watkins also flirts with the life of a druid for much of the book but in a passive uninterested way that makes it seem even more ridiculous.
One of the most enjoyable parts of the book is the weaving of poetry and folk songs throughout. They add a fantastic spirit to the book that would have otherwise become interminably boring. Even though the constant barrage of trivia is interesting, its method of delivery, seemingly fictional Socractic dialogues with whichever moron Watkins chooses as his latest victim, grows quite frustrating. The banter with his mates is also the "have to have been there" kind of humour. There are a few memorable anecdotes and on the whole Watkins is a decent writer, the prose is very easy to read.
I would have loved some more parts of Scotland, and less existential misery and moping after women but perhaps the dour tone is actually quite Scottish.
I've recently read a biography of Hannibal so I was quite surprised to see Himilco the Carthaginian explorer pop up in the text. A funny passage ensues when the protagonist is asked what he's reading by some wannabe cowboy on a fishing boat.
"What ya reading there, partner? A good western is it? Zane Grey? J.T. Edson?
"No, it's about a voyage of a guy called Himilco, who sailed these waters in 425 B.C. He was Carthaginian."
"A Virginian, eh?"
"No, A Carthaginian, someone from Carthage."
"Is that Carthage, Illinois, or Carthage, Missouri?"
"What?"
"Well, ya must a heard of Belle Starr! She was a famous woman outlaw from Carthage, Missouri. Some say she fought with Quantrill's Raiders after the Civil War, and she ended up getting shot in-"
"No, no, no that Carthage, the other one in-"
"Oh, yeah, okay, Illinois. Yeah, sure, that's where Joseph Smith, who founded the Mormon Church, got lynched in 1844. He was just about to-"
"NO! NO! NO! The other Carthage, the one in Africa!"
"Never heard of it!"
From Avienus's Orae Maritimae we get the following which is interesting because I just read Sea Kingdoms by Alistair Moffat and he talks extensively about these skiffs and their unique construction.
"Here is a vigorous people, proud in spirit, skilful at their work and in their famous skiffs, they sail widely over the torpid gulf and the abyss of the monste-infested ocean. These people have no knowledge of making ships of pune, but a thing to marvel at; they always construct their ships of skins, sewn together and often in a hide, skim over the vast deep."
A Scots toast
"Here's tae us
Wha's like us?
Damn few - an' they're all deid!
This moving extract apparently from a piece of WWI poetry which I have been unable to find anywhere and would greatly appreciate if someone recognised it.
At dawn, forlon, on battlefield,
As far away the sullen bell,
Calls me now, my soul to yield,
Either to heaven or to hell.
It's got an air of Shakespeare's sonnet 71 and Wilfred Owen.
An old Norse sailing trick a crew uses when the mother of all storms hits.
"We used an old Viking trick and hid behind St. Kilda!"
"What, that tiny island way out in the Atlantic?"
"Aye," says Magnus. "The Norse knew that ships were safe in the lee of the island. That's why they called it Skilda - 'the Shield'."
"So how did the name get changed to St. Kilda?"
"God knows! Some drunken monk who cannae spell, maybe."
What an interesting piece of trivia.
The first bomb the Nazis dropped on the British Isles landed in the north of Shetland and killed a rabbit. Which seemed ironic, since the first British bomb to land in Germany hit the Berlin zoo and killed an elephant.
The second time I've come across the Viking Terror fragment in one month this version a bit different.
Since tonight the wind is high
The sea's white mane a fury
I need not fear the hoards of hell
Coursing the Irish Channel.
Here's a crackpot tale about how pigeons brought down the monarchy of France.
"There were fat cats in those days, real fat cats. They lived in chateaux, and like any other cats, they liked to eat pigeons. These chateaux were like walled townships where only the nobleman and his servants lived, and in each was a dovecote. Anyway, the breasts of these birds were a delicacy to the bourgeois rural French, who liked them baked in red wine. The problem was, no one in the chateau fed these birds, so they flew out each day to forage for seeds in the poor people's fields. Every time some impoverished pesant sowed his spring corn or winter barley, hundreds of plump pigeons descended on the furrows and stripped them clean. That's why the peasants were starving and the fat cats were fat!"
"Okay," says Terry, "so why didn't the peasants kill the pigeons and eat them?"
"Because it was against the law."
"Well, why didn't they break the law, so they could survive?"
"They did eventually, It was called the French Revolution."
And lastly old Burnsy
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slavery!
Read
August 18, 2009The author is a friend of mine, and yes... he talks exactly the way he writes.
August 14, 2019
For a while I thought this was going to be a solid 4. The first half where all the adventures are is fantastic, but then it slows right down and gets a bit depressing- I suppose because Watkins himself was going through a bit of a slump.
The best parts are where Watkins relates moments of Scottish and English history, and his doomed voyage into the arctic circle.
The best parts are where Watkins relates moments of Scottish and English history, and his doomed voyage into the arctic circle.
January 5, 2022
LOVED this book! I knew very little about Scotland and nothing about fishing but I thoroughly enjoyed reading every page. A great sense of humour, laughing at many pages about his escapades, fascinated that a person could experience so many adventures in such a short time. I can't wait to read more from this amazing author. May he write many more!
August 24, 2023
A very entertaining memoir of the authors travels around Scotland back in the 70s / 80s. A great insight into the Scottish people - their culture, Celtic heritage, the cities and the countryside. Very light hearted and irreverent
March 19, 2026
A fun read of an alternative Celtic youth spent at sea & in Scotland, especially for a reader of Scottish/Irish descent. And his involvement in the creation of great Celtic band Silly Wizard was a surprise treat. Fades toward the end.
January 27, 2018
Funny and informative. The author has a delightful turn of phrase. I really liked it and will seek some of his other work.
November 26, 2018
Meryl 2019
September 10, 2020
Sorry, Bill. Not funny enough.
November 22, 2025
Tale of a constantly unemployed 20 something and his escapades with friends. Or is it his quest for the Grail?
The things we do when we're young....
The things we do when we're young....
February 18, 2016
Bill Watkins has a way with words, mixing Scottish and Irish expressions with ease. His lingo makes for slower reading at times, but it is worth the effort. You can learn that bollocks are testicles, and a bloke is a young man, hopefully with bollocks. His adventures as a maturing bloke are a travel adventure and a life-learning tale. He has a sing-songy approach to life and keeps on plugging. When the bloke is broke, he writes “I had nothing in my pockets but my hands.” Simple sentences jump out of Watkins’ memoir in clever ways. There is much humor. I need now to read the third entry of his trilogy and my Irish connection will be semi-complete.
October 16, 2007
Very interesting people & place. I loved this book! It's really funny & full of interesting bits of historical info & folk wisdom & superstition- all things I love.
October 4, 2013
I read this book about 12 years ago and loved it then. I reread it again and I have to say I liked it just as much now. Great story telling. Worth the read.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews