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320 pages, Hardcover
First published October 5, 2017
Fair Maiden Lilliard lies under this stane,
Little was her stature, but muckle was her fame;
Upon the English loons she laid mony thumps
And when her legs were cuttit off, she fought upon her stumps.
There exists a remarkable footnote to the droving years, a memory of journeys made not by the cattle or their masters. Most herds were guided by pastoral dogs, the ancestors of collies, sometimes six or seven of them working together around a large drove. When the reached East Anglia and Lincolnshire, many of the drovers made for the nearest port to buy a passage on a ship sailing north to Scotland. To save trouble and expense, they often left their dogs behind to find their own way home, moving up the length of England and Lowland Scotland, hundreds of miles. These unaccompanied dogs were seen passing through villages and they were fed by innkeepers and farm places where they had overnighted on the way south. The following summer the drovers paid for the food their faithful dogs had eaten the year before.
During the bitter winter months of short days and long nights, the shepherds who worked in the hills at the heads of the valleys of the Borthwick and Tima Waters, the Ettrick, the Yarrow and Eskdalemuir held an annual chess tournament. Fiercely contested, the prize was an impressive silver cup. But contenders had to make more than an effort of the intellect to win it. The shepherds lived within a twenty-mile radius of each other around the heads of the valleys and each had to take turns to walk to his opponent's cottage to play. And there were no roads, only tracks up and down the hillsides and stony fords across burns and sikes. Fixtures generally took place at the full moon so that players could see to walk home. It must have been a long hike for the losers.
I asked an old shepherd, splendid in his russet tweed suit, what his dog's name was.
'Blacker'.
Why?
'Because it's blacker than the last yin.'
Which sounded as though there might have been a lack of individual affection. Pride perhaps describes better what the old shepherds feel for their superbly trained dogs.
When I asked the old man if Blacker was particularly clever, he turned and looked at me with a withering eye.
'Clever?' he said.
'That yin could knit you a pullover.'
Perhaps the most famouse Clydesdale stallion was Dunure Footprint. He was a breeding phenomenon. At the height of his prodigous powers, he could cover 400 mares in a season, although he was falling off them by the end of the spring. It is reckoned that he sired more than 5,000 foals and consequently his progeny have dominated Clydesdale breeding for generations.
It is no use trying to escape their arrognace by submission or good behaviour. They have pillaged the world: when the land has nothing left for men who ravage everything, they scour the sea. If an enemy is rich, they are greedy, if he is poor, they crave glory. Neither East nor West can sate their appetite. They are the only people on earth to covet wealth and poverty with equal craving. They plunder, they butcher, they ravish, and call it by the lying name of 'Empire'. They make a desert and call it peace.