An Honorary Son of Angus? Hugh MacDiarmid

   Many know and still venerate the poet who was born as Christopher Murray Grieve in Langholm, Dumfriesshire, in 1892 and who died as the renowned Hugh MacDiarmid in Edinburgh in 1978. He was peripatetic in ideas and in his homes, living in various parts of Scotland following service in the Royal Army Medical Corps in World War I. After the war he settled for a while in Montrose and began writing poetry there. His Northern Numbers, an anthology which ran to three volumes appeared while he was resident in Angus. He also anonymously reported on and praised his own Scottish Nation when in appeared in 1923, a handy journalistic trick. (His Montrose residence was in two stints, the longer of which began in 1920. He had also very briefly lived in Forfar in 1913.)

   Never a slacker, the young poet became editor and reporter of The Montrose Review, a justice of the peace (from February 1926) and a local councillor. He was elected to the Water Committee, Dorward’s House of Refuge Representatives; he was the sole councillor on the Montrose School Management Committee; and he also sat on the Public Library Committee. He later called himself ‘the only Socialist Town Councillor in Montrose’.

   Among the recorded polictical acts of the young firebrand in Montrose was a hearty condemnation of the low wages paid by the Town Council to its employees in May 1923. He also staged (and reported on positively) a 'No More War' demonstration at the Town House in August 1923. Many of the pieces by the poet in the newspaper can no longer be identified because all are anonymous, but his trademark tongue shines through on certain radical issues. 

   It was while staying in the burgh that he began his metamporphisis into the redoubtable Hugh MacDiarmid, socialist, nationalist, and scourge of mealy-minded thinkers. He remained in Montrose in 1929, when he decamped to London, and during his time there made many friends, such as the local sculptor William Lamb, who created a bust of the writer.

   However, not everyone in Montrose was enamoured with Grieve/MacDiarmid, and there is a fascinating piece in his erstwhile home, The Montrose Review, dated Friday 22 April 1922, which gives a partisan appraisal of the man through a particular local lens. It is interesting as a snapshot of the status of local politics in the early 20th century, but moreso perhaps as a reflection about the ambivalent reputation which the poet left behind in his adopted home in Angus.  I reprint it below in full,

The Audacity of C. M. Grieve.

His Experience on Montrose Town Council

 

Once again C. M. Grieve has burst into print. In case anyone has never heard of C. M. Grieve - and no doubt there are many - let us hasten to explain that he is a writer and piet. One of the leaders of the Scottish Renaissance school, he sometimes attemots to hide his identity under the name of Hugh McDiarmid [sic]. 

He was a journalist in Montrose before going to Lindon, and for a time served on Montrose Town Council, occupying the post of Hospital Master.

In a Sunday contemporary he has an article entitled 'When I served on Montrose Town Council.' If there is one thing that can be said about C. M. Grieve it is that he is by no means modest. The article in question bears the sub-heading: 'I was brainier than my colleagues but they taught me a lot.'

The article appears to be a tribute to the work done by Town Councils in Scotland. We say 'appears to be,' because opening with a reference to Goethe's Faust, he goes on to refer to the Scottish National Party, the work of Town Councils, the Local Government (Scotland) Act, the evils of centralisation consequent thereon, party politics, advice which he was given but did not take, the new Scottish movement, and so on.

Mr Grieve explains that he 'came to devote himself to public service in Montrose - as a Town Councillor, a Parish Councillor, a Justice of the Peace, a trustee of public mortifications - much in the spirit in which Faust applied himself to land reclamation.' He was 'tired of detached intelectualism, and could no longer live by my own hump like a camel.'

He rightly contends that work on the Town Council is 'an invaluable corrective to top-lofty ideas and paper schemes. It brings them to the test of actual practice.'

Then comes the statement which reveals this 'well-known Scots writer and poet' in all his glory.

'I was agreeably conscious when I was first elected that intellectuals of my sort were not usually members of such bodies - that I was far brainier and better educated than most of my colleagues. But I was not slow in finding out that the least intellectual of these often had a measure of shrewd commonsense and practicality - to say nothing of technical knowedge and first-hand experience in certain directions - with which I could never hope to compete. I ended by having a solid respect for most of them.'

His indictment of the failure of Town Councils to resist the Local Government Act will find many supporters. He rightly contends that: - 'The failure of the Town Councils of Scotland to stand solidly together and resist this whittling-away of their powers in favour of far less democratic bodies at the instance of an English-controlled Parliament was a gross betrayal of the interests of Scottish Local Government.'

Coming to the more local aspect of this matter he goes on: - 'In all sorts of matters needless delays were caused , and a great deal of unnecessary expenditure incurred through the necessity of sending deputations to London and promoting local Bills there. And the extent to which we were continually over-ruled, interfered with, and frustrated by officials in London with no knowledge of the local circumstances, even in matters which called for expert local understanding, beggared belief.'

He referes to the introduction of party politics into local government affairs. It is our opinion, and no doubt Mr Grive will agree, that party politics and local government should be kept entirely apart. The work of the community should be kept entirely apart. The work of the community should be carried on without any respect to party labels.'

'I thoroughly enjoyed my term of municipal service; he goes on. 'The duties of Town Councils are multifarious and bring the Town Councillors into touch with his constituents in so many different and intimate ways as to constitute a regular education in themselves.'

' "You ought to stick to poetry, Grieve," ' I was sometimes told, "petty local affairs aren't your line. Anybody can look after them.

'Can they? Remarks such as these generally mean that the speaker in question was afraid I saw too clearly through his little game.

'Public service deserves - and demands - the best any man ot woman, be they the high-brow, the middle-brow, or low-brow can give, and the Town Councils of Scotland have never lacked disinterested service.

'There is little gratitude in public life, and very often measures have to be forced through against popular prejudice.

'Even now, shorn of so many of their appropriate powers, the Town Councils of Scotland stand for a distinctive system of local government which cannot be further Anglicised withour increasing detriment to Scotland.'

See Further:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/181416548586190/posts/5686861081375015/

How Montrose Became Centre of A Left-Wing Scottish Cultural Revolution

Scott Lyall, ' "Genius in A Provincial Town": MacDiarmid's Poetry and Politics in Montrose,' Scottish Studies Review 5.2 (Autumn 2004), 41-55.

King James VI and Glamis

I have not written enough about Glamis Castle and the family who have lived in it for over 600 years in this blog, which I hope to remedy. Apart from the host of legends cast within the walls of the castle, its history is fascinating. Not surprisingly for a long-standing enobled family, the Lyons have many royal associations.  The Lyons had royal connections, and indeed royal blood. They descend from a marriage of one of their forebears with the daughter of King Robert II in the late fourteenth century.

King James VI had a more tranquil association with Glamis Castle and its owners than his grandfather, King James V, did. The later, of course, was responsible for burning Lady Glamis and forcibly taking possession of the castle for some time. True, the Master of Glamis was one of those rebel members of the nobility who forcibly took the young king captive near Perth in 1582 and cruelly mocked him, 'Better bairns greet than bearded men'. This was the infamous Ruthven Raid which deprived James VI of his liberty for a year. But the king eventually escaped and did not harbour long-terms hatred for the Lyon kindred of Glamis (though some of those involved in the conspiracy were later executed).

 

  

 A tantalising clue about a little-known aspect of the king’s private life however might be glimpsed in his poem entitled ‘A Dreame on his Mistris Lady Glammis’. The subject of this poem is thought to be Anne Murray, daughter of the king’s companion Sir John Murray, who was later created Earl of Tullibardine.Anne married Patrick Lyon, Lord Glamis, in 1595.

  

 

   The verse speaks of the lady being magically transported to the writer while he dreams and undoubtedly has erotic overtones. Sir John Carey referred to Anne Murray in a letter to Lord Burghley in May 1595 and referred to her explicitly as the king’s mistress, but there is no solid proof of a relationship between the two. In view of his well-known and proven (in my mind at least) proclivities towards young men rather than young women, might this poem be a disingenuous attempt by the monarch that he was as heterosexual as the average upper class man of his day? For those brave enough to wade through King James's verse (I salute you), there may be a clue. Or maybe not. 

 

    A Dreame On His Mistris My Ladie Glammes

Whill as the silent shaddie night

Did with her courtens blacke

Ou'rcover Rheas fruictfull face

And being colde and wacke

By sympathie with mortall braines

Our members make of leade

And steahng all our senses make

Us lye awhile as deade.

Then whill I was in this estate

The God with golden wings,

Who entring at the ports of home

So manie monstres brings.

And changing into sundrie shapes

By strange and subtle slight,

Does make us heare without our eares

And see but eyes of light.

This strange and subtle God, I saye

Of late appear'd to me,

And by the hand my Mistres ledd,

Loe here she is quoth he, 

Whose presence breeds as manie joyes

As absence breeds thee woes 

Loe here the harbour of thy hart

Loe here thy onHe chose 

Loe here she is who makes thee trade

The statelie forcked hill,

Whose pleasant grasse beginnes to fade 

So trampled by thee stll,

Loe here she is who makes thee drinke

The christall silver spring 

Of flying horse and riding foule

As ancient Poets sing,

Loe here the subject and the wings

Of thy high flying verse

That mountes above the flammie vaults

And to the heaven does pearse.

With this me thought she bowed her doune

And joyned the rubies sine,

(That hides her ivorie rankes and smells

Of Nectar) unto mine,

Sine with her soft and silken hands

About my necke she layes

A tablet and an Amethyst

And silent slipps her wayes.

But loe my minde so passion'd was 

My hart so sturr'd withall

With joye extreame, as made them soone

My senses to recall.

And looke how soone from slugglish sleepe

I perfectlie awooke, so

Even at the first (o miracle)

Into my hand I tooke

These tokens hunge about my necke

(As I had dream'd before)

What Deitie (quoth I amaz'd)

For this shall I adore:

Sume God or Angell suirlie hath

This present to me brought,

For if on anie naturall dreames

Hade ravished bene my thought,

Then ather of the humours foure

The cheefe that did abounde.

By sympathie with brethren foure

Wherof was form'd this rounde,

And with the seasons of the yeare

Wolde vexed have my braine.

If bloode domin'd with bloodie jarres

In spring time, and againe.

If cholere raign'd with ravening fires

In sommers pearching heate,

If phlegme did with drowning floods

When Hyades holds there seate,

If melancholie earth and night

With heavie things and blacke,

When frozen Saturne rules with snowe

The place wolde suirlie take:

Or els the things I last hade thought

Hade done or wish'd to be

They hade although imperfectlie

In dreame appear'd to me.

And so by nature hade I dream'd

The thing I dream'd indeede,

For I confesse that Idee oft

My ravish'd minde dois feede,

Bot then how soone I hade awack'd

And Morpheus flowen awaye,

No token hade he left behinde

As now this wedd it laye:

Then counting it sume heavenlie gift

And sent me from above,

I cust me narrowlie to guesse go

What coulde the meaning prove,

And so beganne both up and doime

To tosse, to viewe, to spie —

This tablet and the Amethyst

There secrets for to trie.

Thou Lycian Lord that Deitie

Whome Delphos did adore,

Whose shining coache doe saphirs blewe

And rubies red decore,

The sacred Sisters Monarch greate,

The spirit that did inspire

With oracles the Sybills sage

Inflam'd with heavenlie fire,

O thou that mysteries can reveale 

And future things foreseis

Assist my seeking out of this

And open cleare mine eyes.

The Amethyst in forme of hart

Doeth sign'fie the hart no

And constant love unchangeable

That is upon my part.

And as the colours of this stone

Are purple mix'd with graye.

So flames of love my earthhe parts

Consumes me day by daye. us

The secret vertues that are hidd

Into this pretious stone

Indues me with meete quahties

For serving such a one,

For as this stone by secret force

Can soveraignHe remeade

These daizeled braines whome Bacchus strength

Ou'rcomes as they were deade,

And can preserve us from the harme

Of the envenomed sting

Of poysoned cuppes, that to our tombe

Unt3Tnelie does us bring,

So shall my hart be still preserved

By vertue from above,

From staggering like a drunken man

Or wavering into love:

Bot by this soveraigne antidote

Of her whom still I serve

In spite of all the poysoned lookes

Of Dames I shall not swerve.

And speciallie with courage bolde

This stone can furnish me

That with my conquering hand I may

Enforce my foes to flie.

For suire he can not worthie be

To be accompted deare

By anie Dame that in his brest

A womans hart dois beare.

And therfor for my part I vowe

If as the nmiours be

Of jarrs and broyles, I happen in

Effect the same to see,

I shall not from the enemies sight

To anie part remove,

Unkithing once in honour of

My Mistres and my love:

Bot onlie mot I conquered be

And onelie will I yeelde

iss To Cupids shott, whose fine darts

Resist coulde never sheelde.

And lastlie as this stone hath force

A himter for to aide.

In end to catche his pray, the fruict

Of all his travell made,

So as I am an prentise past

Into that Princelie game.

Whose hounds and horns through rockes and woodes

Makes Echo answer them,

I trust by vertue of this stone

To winne and holde the pray

That prayes on me, and is of all

My passion'd thoughts the stay.

Bot loe I long to turne me to

The tablet made of golde,

And all without and in the same

At length for to beholde.

Of purest golde the tablet made

Which by the fire is fin'd,

Her chastnes pure does represent

In bodie both and mind,

The crawling scores of ameling blacke

That on the golde are wrought.

The divers passions represents

That waiters in her thought.

One of the leaves on utter side

A nacked man does beare,

Whome Phoebus rosts with hote reflexe

And stinging flees doe teare.

Yett sitting in the forrest greene,

As senceles of his harme.

By harmonie of violl sweete

He never irkes to charme

The ravish'd foules and beasts about.

Esteeming so there joye,

As makes him quite for to forgett

His grievous sore anoye.

This man not onehe represents

Her Siren voyce divine,

Wherewith she makes the dullest eares

And hardest harts encline,

Bot as his dittie sayes. To please

The rest he suffers paine.

So she her Princesse serves of love

Without respect of gaine.

The other on the utter side

The Sunne hath shining bright

Into the midst, with stars about

Bot darckned by his light

And as that dittie sayes, As Sunne

Amongst the stars does shine,

So she her sexe surpasseth far

In vertues most divine:

That Sunne of whome I sung before

Whose absence made me flie

Above the skies, Sunne to seeke

Her shaddowe into the.

Bot if into these former verse

I soar'd with Eagle wings,

Then Mistres thaiike your selfe for them

That by your vertue sings.

Bot greatest comfort is to me

To spie the inward part,

Wheras ane hand does holde me thinke

My onelie Mistres hart,

Whill Cupide with his bended bowe

And golden arrowe aime.

To shoote his subtle firie shaft

For pearcing of the same:

Bot that her hand does holde her hart

I take it for to be.

That willingHe she letts her hart

Be shotte into for me.

The inward of the other leafe

It emptie does remaine,

Which if my guesse deceave me not.

Is ordain'd to containe.

The art of sume Apelles fine.

The portraict of her face,

To give unto the workemanship

Of all the rest a grace:

For as the rest does represent

Her qualities most rare.

So shoulde her selfe, though vivelie, no,

Yett best it can be there.

And suire the Gods above they have

Decreed as seemes to me,

That as the tablet and the stone,

Both knitt together be

Even by a string, the tablet like

To her, to me the stone.

So shall our love whill Atrope cutt

The threed, be knitt in one.

Thus have I redd my dreme ye see

With wise Apollos aide,

And if this be the verrie trueth

That I herin have saide,

Then am I gladd of such a guesse,

Bot if I be deceav'd.

And in the opening of a dreame

Have ather dream'd or reav'd

Yett wellcume be a gladd deceate.

For as into my sleepe,

My dreame deceaved me, so my guesse,

In gladnes doth me keepe.

Now may ye see Titan mine.

No distance far of place.

Nor other thoughts can out of me

The thought of you deface,

In absence are ye present still

And ever so in sight,

No wonder is, what Monarch may

Resist a womans might.