Italians on Bute: The Bonaccorsi Family

Two brothers, aged 15 and 10, made their way from their Tuscan hometown of Barga to join their older brothers in Rothesay, Isle of Bute in 1901. Word had clearly gotten back to the Bonaccorsi family in Italy that the food industry in Scotland offered a goldmine for Italian migrants. Ice cream parlours, chip shops and confectioneries were sprouting up across Scottish towns, offering a much appreciated variation to Scottish society. It’s difficult to imagine why parents would be comfortable sending such young boys on a ship to a foreign country, but the wretched reality was that they were left with very little choice. At this time, Italy was facing an economic stagnancy and many parts of the country were experiencing famine. It was the duty of the Bonaccorsi brothers to become successful business owners on Bute and send the money back home to aid their parents and remaining family in Italy. For many Italians, the plan was to return to their home country as the economic hardships settled, or move on across the Atlantic to chase the ever-sought-after American Dream. However, the two young Bonaccorsi brothers went on to live the rest of their lives on the Isle of Bute and with an incredible legacy at that. The eldest of the two was Pietro Enrico Bonaccorsi; my Great Grandfather.

In an article by The National, the growing population of Italians in Scotland is shown by a compelling comparison. In the 1881 census, there were a mere 328 Italians residing in Scotland and by the start of the First World War, this had grown considerably to about 5500. These communities had been established in major cities such as Glasgow, Edinburgh and Aberdeen – but with Bute gaining the reputation as an idyllic holiday spot, there is little wonder as to why many Italians seized the economic opportunity on this small but thriving island. Some of these families include but are not limited to: Biagoni, Foschetti, Barbi and Zavaroni. The latter being another Italian family relation of mine. My Grandmother Bonaccorsi’s great niece was the famous Lena Zavaroni, making her my third cousin.

Notice how many of these families have surnames ending in ‘i’. This was a common characteristic of Northern Italian surnames, thus indicating that a majority of Italian immigrants were moving from the North (at least in the first wave of migration). For example, the family name ‘Bonaccorsi’ stems from the Southern alternative ‘Bonaccorso’. Not only this, but whole villages from Italy were essentially relocated to Scotland in a clan-like fashion and, of course, the most famous being the Northern province of Lucca in Tuscany. This is where my Great-Grandfather’s hometown of Barga is situated. In fact, according to the same article by The National, Lucca is known as the most Scottish town in Italy and it’s estimated that around half of its residents have Scottish relatives, some that they of course aren’t even aware of: “It was perhaps the best example of the phenomenon in which Italians did not so much mass migrate as come in bunches from particular towns and villages and then supported each other when they got here, remaining quite clannish.”

The Italians and Scots Relationship

The Scots coined a nickname for them, ‘Tallies’, which was often used in a warm, adorning way. However, Italians were known for mingling mostly amongst themselves, except for when it came to business. Intermarriage with other nationalities was practically unheard of, mostly due to their religion. Pietro Bonaccorsi was a slight exception. He married my Great-Grandmother Helen McStay, an Irish immigrant of Roman Catholic religion, which overcame the cultural barrier. The National states that: “Though almost all Italians were Roman Catholic, the Italo-Scots also did not suffer the level of discrimination and downright bigotry expressed towards the Irish Catholics, and as people who were usually involved in family businesses they could not be accused of taking Scottish jobs.”

As with most bigotry, if a migrant ‘doesn’t have anything to offer’ such as businesses, profitable skills and/or culture, then that’s when the natives often rear their ugly bigoted head. Italians brought a welcomed diversity to Scottish cuisine and thus remained, at least in the early years, free from such slurs and tension. In my opinion, in the eyes of the Scots, Irish culture was almost too similar to their own – offering nothing of value and only populating their country more with socio-economic competition such as jobs and housing.

However, the peaceful assimilation of Italians in Scotland did not last too long. Benito Mussolini encouraged global Italian communities to engage in Fascism by forming clubs across all of their countries of residence. Scotland was no exception. Italians within the country began joining Il Duce’s Fascist party but much worse was yet to come.

War broke out in 1939 and the Italian communities across Scotland were immediately under suspicion. Neighbours and other good friends began distancing themselves and keeping a wary and watchful eye on their former Italian friends. The tensions eventually came to an explosive head when Il Duce declared war on Britain in the Summer of 1940. No Italian was safe in Scotland. Shop windows were smashed, businesses were looted and Italians were physically attacked, cases nearing the 100s in Edinburgh alone. The attacks weren’t limited to just Italians, but their Scottish born children and relatives. It wasn’t until the RAF bombed regions of Italy that both countries knew that every remaining hope of peace had vanquished. This meant war.

Winston Churchill soon directed the Internment of every Italian man between the ages of 17 and 60 (though, varying sources say 18 and 70) and were deemed as “enemy aliens”. They were either forced to work on war defences or be transported over the Atlantic to countries such as Canada.

Pietro Bonaccorsi was no exception to this rule. After making a life for himself on Bute as a confectioner firstly at the Glenburn Hotel before becoming the owner of the Electric Bakery, he was interned at the age of 54 on the Isle of Man POW camp. The internment left many women to take over the business responsibility and face alienation by their Scottish co-inhabitants. My second cousin, Ray Kennedy, who is in the process of writing a book on our family writes that: “Outcries in Parliament lead to a change in policy and the first releases of internees in August 1940.  By February 1941 more than 10,000 had been freed, and by the following summer, only 5,000 were left in internment camps.  Many of those released from internment subsequently contributed to the war effort on the Home Front or served in the armed forces.

My Grandfather [Pietro Bonaccorsi] never forgave Churchill; his hatred was made worse by the fact that some of the Bonaccorsi family was at that time fighting in the British army including his nephew Raffaello and his sons Umberto and Aldo.”

Some of the Bonaccorsi family were forced to change their surnames to ‘Brown’ during the war in order to fight on the side of the British and escape suspicion, but my grandfather Aldo, his brother Umberto and cousin Raffaelo, refused. Unfortunately, Raffaelo, the son of Pietro’s brother Celestino, was eventually taken as a Prisoner of War to Stalag VIIIB Lamsdorf.

My Grandfather Aldo Bonaccorsi in the middle WW2, approximately 17 years old. Source: Avril Lax, Rothesay Remembered.

The Bonaccorsi Family Crimes on Bute

The Bonaccorsi family was no Italian mob and my Great Grandfather was no Al Capone, but both him and his family did have their fair share of run-ins with the law on Bute. According to the Buteman Newspaper and family recollections, Pietro Bonaccorsi found himself in court in 1926 facing charges of owning an illicit still. There was a lot of laughter in the court as Pietro insisted on calling the judge “Senor Presidente” and stating that a prosecution witness by the name of Antonio Barbi had “a big mouth”. Consequently, he was found guilty and fined £50, which back then was a large sum of money.

Pietro Bonaccorsi (right) with his brother (left) and their wives.

Pietro’s eldest son, Arturo, was the only one of the Bonaccorsi children that could speak Italian fluently. He was put in charge of one of his father’s businesses: The Electric Bakery on Watergate. One day, Arturo found some of his colleagues and friends gambling illegally at the back of the shop on a Sunday. My mother tells me at this time there was strictly no gambling on a Sunday. Arturo’s colleagues scoffed at his attempt to scold them. That was until he brought out a gun and again, insisted that they stopped. For some reason, the men listened this time. However, it was too little too late. After a tip-off, they were all arrested and court proceedings were carried out.

The Impact of Italians on Bute

The Italian culture has had a massive impact world wide, and a small piece of that can be seen in Bute. Zavaroni’s Cafe, even after all these years, is still a thriving business showcasing the Scottish love for a chippy and ice cream; a love that shows no sign of slowing down. Many of the people on Bute who were teenagers in the 70s reminisce about ‘Gaby’s’ or ‘Joe Foschetti’s XL cafe’.

One of my favourite parts of Italian culture that I got to experience throughout my childhood on Bute came from my Grandpa Aldo; Italian music. My niche party trick is knowing every lyric to Santa Lucia and Luna Mezzo Mare, and also being able to name each of the Three Tenors. My mother passed down a lot of small but heart-warming Italian customs, like saying Buonanotte and having to watch the Godfather Trilogy (which is unsurprisingly my favourite trilogy of all time). I hope one day, in the not-so-distant future, I eventually get to visit my Bonaccorsi family in Barga. It’s clear to see that Italy hasn’t just left a small part of itself on Bute, it’s also left a huge part in me.

• 

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Above is a picture of my Grandpa Aldo performing like the fantastic tenor he was. The next picture is of me as a child with my Grandpa Aldo and my Nana Catherine Bonaccorsi nee Crawford.

The Chronically Misplaced Woman

Home is wherever I’m not. Home is Stirling when I’m on Bute. Home is Bute when I’m in Stirling. The peculiar irony is that home does not follow me everywhere I go — it only exists where I don’t. Home was once Lochgilphead when I was fifteen-years-old. Home was once Fauldmore on Bute’s Serpentine Road for the fifteen years I ran through its hallways and climbed its weather-worn brick-red stairs. Home was the quaint little cottage that stood at Townhead. Home has been anywhere that I’ve shared love. It wasn’t behind the cold steel doors of H H Donnelly when I began University nor in the towering townhouse of Causewayhead that I shared with a different set of strangers each year.

Emerging into my twenties, I could only reflect on why I’ve felt like a ‘rambling woman’ persistently throughout my teens. The Allman Brothers and Hank Williams could sing all they like about what it’s like to be a ‘ramblin’ man’, but I always wondered if my equivalent was a chronically ‘misplaced woman’. Perhaps I was destined to never find a sense of belonging up until now.

What if I was destined to be forever lost? And yes, reader, I say ‘now’ because the epiphany of finding belonging in oneself has meant that no matter how much I move, how far I roam and the distance that lays between me and where I always thought was ‘home’, I am eternally found— even if only by me. I carry it like a rucksack wherever I go and it’s been the lightest load I’ve ever carried. Finally my steps have faded from thick trudges into the echoes of light whispers.

I didn’t belong on Bute or at Rothesay Academy or at my job as a waitress in Stirling. I didn’t belong in groups who thrive off of pecking orders or behind the walls of rigid institutions. And I always thought: ‘Well, if I can’t find it there, where and when will I find it? When will I finally belong?’ But it started by experiencing everything at least once. It began in the things that fed my curiosity.

It was in the widening of my perception, not the narrowing of it. It was in knowing that I know nothing so that there is everything to learn. It was accepting that I was always going to be a beginner at everything but still turning my hand to it. It was in what I believe to be the greatest knowledge that one can possess — experience. That is the only hunger I’ve never been able to satiate and instead of winding up in the chaos of that, I have learned to embrace it.

At fourteen, I disappeared for a night off of the island to stay in Dunoon. A decision that left my mother petrified. It was one night of psychological torture for her and the real sad thing about it was that I had one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I finally seen something in my short life that wasn’t limited to the confines of an island.

Forgive me for being so candid:

I watched people pass out drunk, take lines of cocaine on living room tables and get blowjobs in bathrooms. I watched people puke after a ride on the waltzers, blitzed out their heads. I watched jaws wobble. I watched unfamiliar faces disappear up alleys and crowds gather outside of late night takeaways. I watched grown men throwing young boy punches and young boys throwing grown men insults. I made my way around three different houses that night, two to drink and one to pee in. Each house showcased the home of very different familial backgrounds.

I slept in someone’s aunty’s caravan that night (which she had no idea about) on a fold out couch that smelled of dust and regret. I watched my friends cuddle to sleep on a wooden shelf for luggage storage because there was nowhere else to sleep. We had £16 between us to get home with no one old enough to have a bank card yet.

And the next day, we lay on the side of a pavement, waiting for a bus and ferry home — exhausted and desperate. And I loved it. I loved my first glimpse at mainland chaos, albeit arguably a little too early. Chaos was something I was used to. It didn’t scare me and I certainly never ran from it.

Shortly after, I then moved from Fauldmore to Lochgilphead and then two weeks later, to Townhead back on Bute. My ‘home’ turf got shaken up by the only thing more turbulent than nature’s own catastrophes— a divorce. A divorce that happened to coincide with a time where my identity was vulnerable. ‘Who am I?’ and ‘Where am I?’ had been questions that went hand-in-hand from that day on and what a powerful duo they were. Untamed, they raged throughout my teenage years. And so formed the chronically misplaced woman. It was the ultimate battle of the internal and external world of Ailsa Gillies.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There were times where being ‘misplaced’ ran with exuberance through my veins, pushing me in directions that the stillness of solitude had never placed me. I knew I didn’t belong here, or there or … anywhere — but it didn’t bother me. In fact, I wanted to be where I’d never known. Though sometimes that spiralled into risk as we have seen. On more than one occasion I found myself in dangerous situations that I soon wished I had never gotten into. On my quest to find my belonging in what can only be described as my free-spirited naivety, I, rather ironically, often became trapped. I was no longer ‘free’ at all.

So, I have now come to understand that there’s value in taking calculated risks. There’s value in being led by the threads of curiosity that are sewn with wisdom and courage, rather than rebellion and naivety. And only then did I become truly ‘free’. When I didn’t turn to the shoulder of someone else to cry on or somewhere else to fill me with happiness and I instead ran with that baton that I call ‘security’. That’s when I felt empowerment.

Power — It’s the one of very few things I will never share of my own with another. Why? Because I could be anywhere with anyone or nowhere with no one — but I still have the ever-growing and ever-changing me and that, reader — I decided —was always going to be enough.

I may be chronically misplaced in the external world — and I don’t think that will ever change. I will forever long to ramble and explore with my unquenchable mind. But for me, belonging really happened when I left the tangible idea of ‘home’ behind and started feeding the impalpable soul. That’s where home really is.

“I know only one thing: that I know nothing”

Socrates

The Hands That Make a Home

In a city that I couldn’t call home, my hands were a resident all on their own. Hands that have made both friends and enemies with the liquid that protects them, the rubber that guards them and the 20 seconds that guides them. These hands of mine have become shy and introverted, quaking and unreliable in times when I’ve needed them most. To prepare a hearty meal, to work to pay my bills and to craft the art that swims marathons in my mind.

They have become stifled in creativity yet zealous in their new duties. No e-mail has went unread, no call has went unanswered. My hands stood like two vacant little armies, waiting for orders from their sergeant in charge. They were no longer the warm creators of my art but cool operators of my commands. They had become strangers of the world’s own making. Of my own making.

Though familiar with motions of mask-wearing, nose-blowing, hand-washing and computer- clicking, they had become strangers to the co-operative motions of the most precious task of all — home-making.

Home was a place that I had no business being at over the last few years and in its absence, I had— admittedly— neglected the hands of home that fed me, that warmed me and made me.

But now, I was ‘here’ and ‘here’ was where I could set those cold and tired little soldiers free to enjoy the home-grown and hand-cooked meals that filled the void of microwave dishes. To revel in the experience of my mother’s soft fresh, folded laundry. To feast on my no-longer-captive creativity and to allow my fingers to glide along the piano keys that stirs that forgotten feeling of ‘togetherness’. Most important of all was to realise that some of the most spectacular hands that make a home aren’t even hands at all — they are paws.

As my time on my little rural island draws to a close, there is just one thing that I will leave for the big city comfortably knowing and that is that my hands— alone—don’t make a home.

Author’s Note: This was a graded photo essay as part of my masters degree.

A Lonely Little Girl

to dance a million dances,
to sing a thousand songs,
to laugh and cry in places
in which I don’t belong, 
I force polite smiles to creatures
that warrant my distaste, 
but I still show up,
I do the work
and put on my best face,

but behind the row of houses
and buildings that touch the sky,
I often sit at river edges
and begin to ponder why,
why my best friends have branches
and my enemies have hands,
why my soulmate speaks in whispers
and grows upon the land,

why currents swirl like little dancers
whirling down the stream,
why the last time my feet touched water
was merely in a dream,
why mallard ducks sit distanced
perching on the rocks,
and of course it’s human nature
that wedges as it knocks

the trees they do not discriminate
even when out of line,
they’re the only friendship that I have found
that stands the test of time,
the leaves do not hold grudges
as they allow themselves to grow,
they do their duty, they say ‘goodbye’
and once again ‘hello’,

when asked if I am lonely
as I spend my time alone,
I am comforted every day
by the things that I’ve never known,
I have found my peace inside myself
and that in which I know,
And more so in the things I don’t,
aware that they’re soon to show,

I find my friends in the soil
that caress my feet below,
not in the pubs with strangers
whose stories are of woe,
and if that makes me lonely
and distanced from this world,
I remember I was closer to the earth
when I was once a lonely little girl.

Top 5 Famous Brandanes You’ve Never Heard About

If you’re a Brandane (a native or inhabitant of Bute as defined by Wiktionary), you might be wondering if such a thing exists: another Brandane you’ve never heard about. It is Bute after all and everyone knows everyone — or at least likes to think so. There’s only 122km² and a population of approximately 7,000, amongst which someone of great notoriety could dwell unnoticed. In fact, it hardly seems likely. That’s because the people on our list today were not famous for singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ in the Palace Bar on a Friday night or a viral video on TikTok. In fact, they’d probably be perplexed that either exist. The Brandanes on this list are known mainly to scholars and historians for their innovation, intelligence and contribution to the arts and sciences throughout the 19th and 20th century. For this reason, I want to bring that notoriety and knowledge forth into 2022 so that these great Brandanes become part of, not only scholarly, but local knowledge. Today I bring you the Top 5 famous Brandanes You’ve Never Heard About:

1. Montague Stanley (Actor and Artist) 1809-1844

Source: National Galleries Scotland

Though born in Dundee in 1809, Montague Stanley would later take residence in Bute at a quaint house in Ascog which was known as Ascog Towers (no longer there) with his family. This was under the recommendation of his doctor who suggested Stanley resided in milder and healthier conditions after coming down with a serious condition in his lungs. This was speculated to be tuberculosis. Stanley was an avid traveller and worked as both an actor and artist throughout his life in various places, though mainly in Edinburgh where he met his wife Mary Susan Eyre. It was here that he became a well known landscape artist and by 1838, he decided to leave the stage as an actor for good to focus on his paintings.

Bute appealed to Stanley’s artistry and the move appeared to be incredibly beneficial to his creativity. He was remote enough to care for his sick lungs but close enough that he could visit Edinburgh on occasion, continuing to teach and sell his art work. This positive change did not last for long as his health rapidly deteriorated and Stanley was restricted to Bute and Bute only.

Stanley was also a Sunday school teacher and regular attendee of a new church that had been erected at Ascog in 1843, however, in the next year his condition worsened and he no longer could attend church. Death became almost inevitable to Stanley at this point. Shortly before his passing, he told Rev. James Monteith that his desire was to be buried within the grounds of Ascog Church. This wish was followed through after his passing on May 4th 1844.

The grave took a week to excavate, with ‘cartloads’ of soil being brought to fill it in according to Bute Connections. It’s also interesting to note that just 10 years later, there was a prohibition of burials drawn up within the grounds of Ascog Church, so as it stands, Montague Stanley’s grave is the only one there.

Tragically, Stanley’s remaining unsold artwork was destroyed in a fire enroute to auction.

2. William Low (Civil Engineer) 1814 – 1886

Source: Wrexham History (www.wrexham-history.com)

Born in Rothesay in 1814 to a seaman and a tanner’s daughter, William Low’s family soon made their move to Glasgow a year after his birth. This is where he began his career as a civil engineer in 1830. Low worked as an apprentice to Peter MacQuisten in Glasgow before securing his first job as a surveyor for the Duke of Argyll. He then moved to Bristol in the 1830s to work on a rail route between London and Bristol and was also working for Isambard Kingdom Brunel (who was considered one of the most ‘ingenious’ and ‘prolific’ figures in engineering history) on the Great Western Railway.

Low made a return to Glasgow in 1836 and for 3 years worked in various different partnerships. By now, he was a well experienced engineer and in 1843, he had published proposals for advancements to the Caledonia Railway line situated between Glasgow and Carlisle. It was then that he had really established the accolade as a tunnel and bridge specialist, working on huge projects all over the United Kingdom.

In 1846, Low moved to Wrexham and decided to build a home here. It was in this home that he drew up the ideas for a tunnel under the English Channel. It is important to note that the idea for a Channel Tunnel was not original or unordinary at this time, however, Low was the first to propose a double tunnel with cross ventilation branches. In April 1867, his plans were published and presented to Napoleon III and Queen Victoria’s Government. They were approved.

As companies were formed in 1868, Low apparently spent £5,000 of his own money buying land at Dover and near Calais. The channelling had begun. However, it wasn’t before long that the plans were halted due to the effects of the Franco-Prussian War, where the British Government withdrew support. Work was eventually restarted but arguments ensued between Low and another engineer which forced him to abandon his plans.

Low’s plans were revived once again in 1881 continuing through to 1884, but confidences were lost along the way and the plan, finally, was altogether abandoned after a turbulent history. At this point, Low was 70 years old and had lost a huge amount of money on the project but reports claim that this did not prevent him from being a very charitable man and great contributor to many charitable causes.

Low died in London in 1886 having never seen his plans come to fruition. In 1961 discussions surrounding bridges, immersed tubes and tunnels were revived and by the 80s, it was decided that a triple tunnel would be built and was achieved in 1991. The Channel Tunnel as we know it today was opened in 1994 by Queen Elizabeth II.

3. The Marshall Family (Physician, Nurse, Biologist & Archaeologist) 1860 – 1992

Sheina McAlister Marshall (1896 – 1977) Source: National Portrait Gallery London

The Marshall’s are one of the most historically remarkable families associated with Bute and for this reason, there’s a real injustice of placing each of their stories under just one heading. They really are a family of many talents and each deserves, at very least, their very own subsection within number 3.

Let’s begin with John Nairn Marshall (Physician) 1860 – 1945.

Born in Pollokshields in 1860, John was said to have had a great fascination with natural history from a very early age. It was this interest that remained as the catalyst for his future career in medicine. After graduating from the University of Glasgow in 1885, John took his practice to Galston, Ayrshire and thereafter, moved to Rothesay in 1892. He resided first in Battery Place before moving to ‘Stewarthall’.

He was an immensely well-known and respected G.P and surgeon on Bute who was described as a ‘striking figure, tall, placid, well-read and much travelled, who inspired complete confidence when treating his patients’.

John’s skills were not just limited to medicine either as he had profound knowledge of Bute’s flora and geology, as well as adding archaeology to the list after publishing a paper in 1914 on the excavations at Dunagoil. It was hugely through these efforts and passions that the present Buteshire Natural History Society was created in 1905 and John continued to be a huge supporter of the society throughout his life, even serving as its President from 1905 to 1920.

In 1934, John retired from medicine though kept his keen interest in Bute’s natural history flourishing. After a long and successful career, he passed away on the 15th March 1945 in ‘Stewarthall’.

Dr. Marshall and his wife Jean Colville Binnie had four daughters which, unfortunately, only three survived into adulthood after the tragic loss of their youngest — Alison Binnie Marshall. Margaret, Sheina and Dorothy were all encouraged from young ages to pursue an interest in natural history and science. All three daughters went on to become successful in their chosen fields.

Margaret Marshall (Nurse) 1895 – 1995

The eldest of the Marshall daughters, Margaret, was born at 5 Battery Place. Her nursing career was kickstarted when she served as a Voluntary Aid Detachment or VAD at Mount Stuart Naval Hospital during World War I. She was then accepted as a staff nurse in 1917 at the Royal Naval Hospital at Grantown and when World War I came to an end, she returned to Bute as a relief nurse based at the local hospital.

Margaret left Bute for Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary and trained as a qualified nurse under the Lady Superintendent Miss Gill whom was a pupil of Florence Nightingale. She then progressed onto her midwifery training in Dundee, returning to Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary as a ward sister and then later becoming Night Superintendent. She was then appointed as Matron at Beechwood Hospital, Edinburgh and became involved with the early work of treating cancer with radium therapy.

As World War II escalated, Margaret became acting Principal Matron of the Emergency Hospital Service and later as Chief Nursing Officer superintending the conversion of buildings into hospitals. Some of these included Gleneagles, Turnberry and between 80 and 90 private homes. In November 1944, Margaret was then appointed as Lady Superintendent of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary which seen her with 700 nurses under her supervision and control. These consisted of staff that were both undergoing training and fully qualified.

Margaret eventually retired in 1955, continuing to live in Edinburgh for a while before resettling in Bearsden. Some of Margaret’s great achievements included an OBE in 1947 and a Doctor of Laws from St Andrews University in 1975. She was just short of her 100th birthday on the 25th January 1995 when she passed away at Mount Carmel retirement home in Rothesay.

Sheina McAlister Marshall (Biologist) 1896 – 1977

Born in 1896, Sheina began her early education at home, then at Rothesay Academy before finally finishing at St Margaret’s School, Polmont. Sheina had said that her interest in biology had began when she was reading through many of Charles Darwin’s books when she was ill with rheumatic fever.

In 1914, she attended Glasgow University but took a year out to work with an uncle in a factory in Balloch which extracted radium that was used in clock faces and instrument dials. In 1916, Sheina returned to university to study Zoology, Botany and Physiology, graduating with a BSc with Distinction in November 1919.

In 1922, Sheina began investigating micro-plankton under the job title of Naturalist at the Marine Laboratory in Millport. From here, she pursued an interest in ecological biology, studying the food chains of marine species. Sheina took part on several significant scientific expeditions, including one to the Australian Great Barrier Reef in 1928. In 1934, she was awarded a DSc and in 1949, Sheina Marshall became one of the first women elected as Fellows of the Royal Society of Edinburgh having been awarded the Society’s Neill Prize for the period 1969 – 1971. This was because of her publications and contributions to natural history.

After being appointed deputy director of the Millport Marine Station in 1964, Sheina was also awarded an OBE and just before her passing, she learned that she had been given an Honorary Degree from the University of Uppsala.

Sheina lived out the rest of her life on Millport, working and writing scientific papers until her death in 1977.

Dorothy Nairn Marshall (Archaeologist) 1900 – 1992

Similar to her sister Sheina, Dorothy was educated firstly by a governess at home before attending Rothesay Academy and then finishing her Scottish education at a boarding school in Edinburgh. In her early 20s, Dorothy left for Paris to study art.

During the First World War, Dorothy served as what is known as a ‘lumberjill’, cutting timber at Colintraive and was involved in many voluntary activities such as Guiding and the Red Cross. It was after her father’s death that Dorothy pursued her passion for archaeology by leaving for London to study with Sir Mortimer Wheeler, a profound and famous archaeologist. She took part in a large amount of excavations both nationally and abroad. This included excavations in Cyprus, Mersini, Jericho, Petra and Jerusalem. Dorothy was deeply involved in the Buteshire Natural History Society, acting as organising secretary and as President as well as running a Junior Naturalist section.

Dorothy Marshall was awarded an MBE in 1981 and elected an Honorary Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of London — an incredibly rare honour. She even continued to take part in archaeological digs right up until her 90s, before passing away on the 3rd of September 1992.

Today, you can visit the commemorative bench at what is considered one of Dorothy Marshall’s favourite view points near Brigidale, facing South-West.

The Marshall family’s graves are also in Rothesay’s High Kirkyard.

4. Allan Wilkie (Actor) 1878 – 1970

Allan Wilkie. Source: Shakespeare and the Players. https://shakespeare.emory.edu/allan-wilkie/

Allan Wilkie’s father James was an engineer that lived in Victoria Street, Rothesay until he moved to Liverpool. He became a Marine Superintendent with the Elder Dempster Line and established a trust fund of £20,000 to build the group of Wilkie Houses at Townhead in 1929, for widows and spinsters of Rothesay to live rent-free.

James Wilkie’s son Allan was born at Toxteth Park, Lancashire in 1878 and was educated at Liverpool High School. He saw his first play at the age of 16 which was called A Bunch of Violets and seized every opportunity to visit theatres thereafter. According to records, Allan used the excuse of going to a chess club so that he could go see various plays without the watchful eye of his strict father, who restricted Allan’s play viewings to once a month.

Allan Wilkie moved to London and secured the part of a ‘walking gentleman’ and understudy in A Lady of Quality at the Comedy Theatre in Cambridge in 1899. Over the next few years, he played Shakespeare, melodrama and farce around Britain with different touring companies. It wasn’t until 1905 that Wilkie became head of his own touring company and acquired the title of ‘actor-manager’. In 1909, he married one of the stunning leading ladies in his touring company Frediswyde Hunter-Watts and over the next 6 years, they successfully performed in London Theatres.

It was in 1911 when Wilkie took the first Shakespearian repertory company abroad to India and over the next few years, they also performed in Ceylon, China, Japan, Philippines, Singapore, Malaya. Wilkie was in South Africa when the First World War began so decided to move to Australia with his wife in 1915, as she had family connections there. It was here that they started their own Shakespearean Company there which was rumoured to have huge success.

Wilkie was then awarded a CBE for services to the theatre in 1925 before returning to London, where he would retire. After his retirement, he spent several years in the USA and Canada, though in his last few years resided at Montford House in Rothesay. He began to take a great deal of interest in the Wilkie Houses that his father had invested in. He died on Bute on the 6th of January 1970.

5. William Macewen (Surgeon) 1848 – 1924

Sir William Macewen Source: University of Glasgow Library Blog. https://universityofglasgowlibrary.wordpress.com/2016/06/22/sir-william-macewen-founder-of-erskine/

At ‘Woodend’, Rothesay, on the 22nd June 1848, William Macewen was born. This was at the first house past Skeoch Wood toward Ardbeg. It’s important to note that the house now on that site replaced the Macewen home in the 1860s. William was the youngest of 12 children and moved to Glasgow with his family when his father retired in 1860.

William Macewen is another on this list who attended Glasgow University. He studied medicine there from 1865, graduating in 1869 before completing his surgical training in 1872. After this, he became a surgeon at the Western Infirmary in Glasgow and then eventually moved to the Royal Infirmary where he stayed until 1892. Macewen became Regius Professor of Surgery at Glasgow University, while also operating at the Western Infirmary and at the Royal Hospital for Sick Children.

Macewen is a personal favourite on this list as I’ve mentioned him in my previous article ‘5 Things You Didn’t Know About Mount Stuart’. It was here at Mount Stuart that he was a sure aid for servicemen in the First World War. Macewen had an outstanding career, making major advances in the field of surgery and being widely regarded as the ‘father of neurosurgery’. He was the pioneer of brain surgery, being able to successfully locate tumours through the analysis of symptoms and subsequently removing them by surgery. Something that was rare in his time.

Macewen was also fascinated by joint and bone surgery, going on to invent a technique for straightening the bones of rickets sufferers. This was a condition caused by poor nutrition and was hugely common amongst children of the poor at this time, so this advancement was a significant one.

Though the use of antiseptic was pioneered by Joseph Lister, Macewen took this a step further. He insisted on the complete avoidance of infection by the washing and wearing of clean gowns by surgeons, thorough cleaning of theatres and the sterilisation of equipment. He also advocated for the use of anaesthetics which, at this time, was still considered a novelty. Macewen’s reputation was international and in 1902, he was knighted.

Macewen passed at his house ‘Garrochty’ on the western side of Bute in 1924.


A huge and special thank you to the Bute Natural History Society and the authors of ‘Bute Connections’ which include Jean McMillan, Margaret Lamb and Allan Martin. This is where I gathered most of my sources and my research and without it, this article would not have been possible. These are just a select few of the wonderful significant connections that Bute has and I would highly recommend discovering more.

Recommended Further Readings:

‘Bute Connections’ by Jean McMillan, Margaret Lamb and Allan Martin is available on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bute-Connections-Jean-McMillan/dp/0905812220

Fame over family: The dark world of family vlogging

With the camcorder making its way into residences across the world in 1983, a surge in home videos and family-filled footage showed the value in collecting memories and sharing special moments within the safe confines of your own home. Sony had allowed movie-making to be available to the masses. However, another revolution in more recent years broke down many barriers within the world of communication: The social media revolution. So too did it break down the barriers of people’s own homes. Family footage of children opening Christmas presents or losing their first tooth is no longer limited to the privacy and viewership of close relatives, but to everyone that has access to an internet connection. This is family vlogging.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that babies in bow-ties and seemingly average parents sharing aspects of their everyday life is as innocent and authentically wholesome as it sounds— but dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that that’s not the case. As often is the instance with social media, not everything is what it tends to present itself as. This sickly sweet and rapid-growing YouTube genre (which has shot up in viewership by 90% in recent years according to Time Magazine) is nothing short of disturbing no matter how one tries to dress it. Even more unsettling is the realisation that the negative effects of family vlogging on these ‘influencer kids’ are still little understood. The whole genre raises a multitude of ethical questions that are in desperate need of answers. 

The most effective way to understand the ‘unique’ world of family vlogging is through examples of what are considered huge names in the category. RomanAtwoodVlogs, The Ace Family and The Labrant Family all have subscribers upwards of 10 million on the world’s favourite video sharing platform,YouTube. The latter of the three families was described by The List as ‘social media royalty’ and have been the subject of both great controversy and intense media worship. The same magazine has estimated that the Labrant family are making anywhere in the region of $15,000 per day or $5.5 million per year. With the channel’s yearly hike in subscribers, this is likely to be far exceeded as of now.

So, how do they become ‘social media royalty’?

Let’s begin with what is at the core of family channels— the children. According to a study in 2019, Pew Research Center found that YouTube Videos that feature children under the age of 13 receive more than three times as many views as videos without children. ‘Creators have seen it as a way to guarantee ad revenue due to the videos’ popularity,’ The Verge wrote in a 2019 article discussing the new study’s findings. More children means more views and in turn, means more money.

Parents and owners of family vlog channels seem to neglect the more genuine aspect of home movie-making that existed before the social media revolution. The aim is not to have valuable private documentation of the good, the bad and the ugly to pull out at celebrations to reminisce. It is now for the pursuit of celebrityhood and six-figures. When parents then establish themselves as channel owners involving their children for monetary gain, the lines between parenting and business become blurred.

The daughter of The Labrant Family’s founders, Everleigh, was illustrated in The List’s 2020 article as a ‘pint-sized social media hit in her own right’ before stating that she, as of 2019, was in the top 3 richest YouTube children in the world, determined by the U.K website Childcare. Comparing an 8 year-old child to a common measurement for beer or cider can be seen to be verging on objectifying. Children are often portrayed as money-making props not just by the media but by those that they are supposed to trust the most — their parents.

Now, allow yourself to be introduced to the infamous tactics of ‘clickbait’. According to dictionary.com, clickbait is ‘a sensationalised headline or piece of text on the internet designed to entice people to follow a link to an article on another web page.’ This can absolutely be applied to video content, too. It is essentially anything that entices a viewer and makes them want to ‘click’. From Pew Research Center’s study— that even includes children.

In mid-September of this year, a Los Angeles mum known as Jordan Cheyenne was caught, through an editing error, forcing her son to ‘fake cry’ for a YouTube thumbnail on a video titled ‘we are heartbroken’. What is more disturbing is that her son was genuinely and authentically crying because of the prospect of their unwell puppy not surviving. The appearance of empathy and nurture that we associate with not only good parenting but good morals, had vanquished in the pursuit of a clickbait, staged thumbnail. In the pursuit of fame and fortune. 

Los Angeles mum telling her son to pose for the camera to get a clickbait thumbnail, Credit: Supplied

Unfortunately, Jordan Cheyenne’s case is one of the few incidences of inauthenticity that is publicly highlighted and doesn’t slip easily under the viewer’s eye. Some family vlog channels are far more subtle and their manipulative tricks go unobserved— especially when targeted at a younger and less experienced demographic.

These type of YouTubers include The Ohana Adventure: A family vlogging channel that is centred around Jason and Rachel Bennett, along with their 6 children. In 2020, Jason Bennett was featured in a podcast interview with another YouTuber known as TheTechieGuy (Liron Segev), discussing how he gained his 2.7 million subscribers at the time. Bennett and Segev’s discussion was incredibly insightful but at times awfully uncomfortable.

Several notable points were raised where Bennett explained that the reason he began the channel was to get him and his wife out of debt, where as a family they are always thinking about the next piece of content and even that he has business meetings with his children almost weekly.

Among the more potent things being discussed was the family’s demographic where Bennett admitted that he had to age down his target audience because he realised that teens lose interest once they have a driving license. ‘If you can get eight year olds, they’re very engaged, they’re very active, the algorithm loves it,’ Bennett said. This didn’t so much unsettle as it did fascinate until his final statement as the podcast arrived at a close.

Segev asks if there is one message Bennet could put on a tweet or a video that everybody could watch, what would his message be. Bennett responds with: ‘I’m all just about be real. Honestly, just be real. I respect people that are real so much because real isn’t popular.’

That may seem like a lot of ‘honesty’ and ‘real’ talk for a man who titled a video ‘Mom gets Cancer removed! scary facial surgery’ which was nothing short of a lie. In actuality, there was no cancer removal in the video at all. It was just the removal of benign moles from Rachel, his wife’s, face. Not even 10 minutes into the video, the nurse had told Rachel: ‘This doesn’t look like anything precancerous. This looks healthy.’ 

Credit: The Ohana Adventure

Yet still, this was seen as an opportunity for sensationalism, clickbait and content. When the results arrive, they gather all their children in a room to film their reaction to the fairly predictable results. The children’s reaction was the money bag in not just this video, but in most family vloggers’ videos. This was catastrophising for the sake of ‘content’. Not only a lie, but can also viewed as an insult to all those that have genuinely had to have cancer removed. Unfortunately, their audience does not have the capacity to hold them accountable for actions like this because, like Bennett admitted, they are children themselves. Most can’t understand this; they can only fall victim to it.

It was clear after listening to this podcast that for Jason Bennett, family vlogging wasn’t about getting out of debt anymore, not even about living comfortably— it was about living luxuriously. This leads us to what happens when you finally combine all three: children, sensationalised thumbnails and titles. You get a distasteful viral video with 12 million views and a huge sum of cash in return for your lack of humanity and morals. This is exactly what happened when a channel called Best Trends uploaded a video of a young girl in obvious physical and emotional distress titled ‘Little Girl Goes To Heaven While Her Parents Watching (emotional)’. Undress that title and you essentially have ‘a little girl dies while her parents watch’ and what is deeply saddening is more so that the majority response is so positive to this upload. The girl, thankfully, does not die but Best Trends have essentially created two victims in this instance — the little girl and the viewer.

What are the consequences?

‘For the first time in history children are having their entire lives documented online for the whole world to view,’ says a 2020 Humboldt State University paper on the dangers of parenting in the public eye. The largely understood yet just as dangerous aspect of family vlogging is the competition.

Jason Bennett mentioned in the podcast feeling in competition because a lot of family vlogging is becoming very ‘me too’. Now, they haveto make their family stand out and are willing to go to extreme lengths to do this. When you have a whole category of families trying to outdo one another with ‘pranks’ and ‘dares’—somebody is going to get hurt. It constantly evolves, propelling into never-ending disasters of psychological abuse with nobody to put the breaks on.

We seen this with the family vloggers, DaddyOFive. A dad and step-mother who lost custody of two of their children because of psychological child abuse that was used as online content. They carried out ‘pranks’ on their children where they would break their valuables for a negative response, and then tell their child it was a ‘prank’ and replace the valuables for a positive one.

That’s the thing with this category of YouTubers. What is this teaching not only their children but what many family vloggers claim is the majority of their demographic — other people’s children? That if you first tolerate the extreme discomfort of watching your valuables being destroyed, then you will be materialistically rewarded. 

On a far darker scale, Nisha Talukdar in a paper researching the effects of family vlogging in children for Christ University last year, found that a well known YouTuber had to delete all the traces of her children from her channel when she discovered that her videos were being used on paedophile websites.

“Anything can be turned vulgar and these parents don’t really realise what kind of people are embedded in their subscribers’ and views’ list,” Talukdar writes. To most family vloggers, as we have gathered, their subscribers are just figures. Their demographics are just statistics thus when monstrous people are brought to reality, this is something that parents cannot seem to fathom. That number is no longer just a number, it’s a real person. It’s a bizarre naïvety, that one can argue, doesn’t really feel justified.

It isn’t like there aren’t stories nearly everyday about the use of the internet in harmful ways. Or even an exposure of a child sex crime. It appears that parents essentially decide that the perks of celebrityhood outweighs the protection of their child, and that will inevitably be a hard thing for some children to come to terms with as they age.

So as of now, it can be hard to provide any evidence of concrete consequences while this new media phenomenon soars in popularity. Essentially, the only real thing we can do is speculate with given events and circumstances. However, it’s almost inevitable that time will reveal all. And by then, it is only natural to fear that it might be too late.

The Social Media Subculture Centred on Living in the Past

With TikTok now becoming people’s lockdown boredom eradicator and favourite pastime over the last year, Instagram has still managed to hold its own as a social media melting pot with roughly one billion users. It’s stood proud, tall and unmoved like a vast, ancient oak tree filled with little branches and diversions off into the eccentric, weird and wonderful. From the fitness side of Instagram to the cleaning side, there seems to be a community within a social media district for everyone. What started off as a photo-sharing app has become a colossal billion-user hub for some money-making factions. Some are a little less known but a lot more fascinating: Meet the social media subculture that’s centred on living in the past. 

Thousands of those users make up a little subculture on Instagram’s outskirts known as the ‘60s/70s community’ or ‘60s/70s revival’, using hashtags such as ‘60s’ and ‘70s’ to connect with other users exploring that mid-century neck of the woods. The ‘60s’ hashtag alone has 4.3 million user posts attributed to it.

Photo Credit: Alex Mason, Source: @a1exandra.rose on Instagram

Suppose you were to explore these hashtags on Instagram. You’ll not only be shown pictures of Bowie, Sharon Tate and the Beatles, but you’ll also be blitzed with white go-go boots, vibrant colours and a real feeling that you’ve wandered into an old archive of unknown authentic models from the time, but be fooled not. These are active modern accounts that are entirely based on the retro and vintage aesthetic of years that, more than likely, their grandmother’s would have lived through. 

So, already you may be thinking “how did a few decades from the past turn into a little subsection of the social media world?”. Well, this is a relatively new subculture of Instagram that has only formed within the last 6 years. Yet it is peaking now more than ever. Speaking to Alexandra Rose, a 21-year-old musician and Law student from the West Midlands, she reveals how she found her way into the community: “I have always been a lover and collector of 60s vintage fashion, music and memorabilia etc. and wanted to meet likeminded people out there who enjoyed the style and movement that I’m so heavily invested in.”

Alexandra then goes onto discuss the impact of a simple hashtag: “I saw others using the hashtag 60s and wanted to be part of their scene. I didn’t know how big it was until a month in I discovered so many accounts of likeminded people. People were very friendly, supportive and welcoming.” 

Many community members admit that their own political compass aligns with that of the 60s and 70s thus it has become a massive part of why so many people have grown to love this space. It’s almost as if Instagram is a new, modern medium of political self-expression and liberal thinking, becoming a powerful tool intertwined within the relationship between music, fashion and politics. Alexandra goes on to explain this: 

“I think the thing that’s so fascinating about the 60s was that it was a melting pot of new wave thinking. The whole movement developed not only because of innovators in music and fashion but also as a product of politics, women’s liberation, challenging class barriers, civil rights, lgbtq+ recognition, the pill, drugs etc.— every aspect and social norm changed in that time which is why I love its freshness so much. It’s all interlinked. It still has a long way to go, but the 60s marked the start of the revolution into liberal thinking.” 

20-year-old German Romance Languages and Literature major and active participant in the community since 2015, Selina, agrees with this by saying: 

“My political views are very leftist because there is so much injustice in the world—which I’m trying to change by protesting and helping out with election campaigns in my city. I really admire the hippie movement of the 60s and also the punk scene of the 70s so much because back then, the people weren’t as afraid of the consequences when they spoke their opinion on things that had to change.”

Just like in most tangible subcultures, this digital one has its very own icons. Users who are at the top of the social media hierarchy with thousands of followers. These are followers who become inspired by and mimic their content whilst communicating with others that do the same, thus creating a community. For this subculture, two of the biggest icons in the field are 24-year-old YouTube and Instagram star Devyn Crimson and 28-year-old fashion model Storm Calysta. Both of which are credited for their pioneering in the social media 60s/70s revival and known as the reason for why many people became so involved. 

Photo Credit: Devyn Crimson, Source: @devyncrimson on Instagram

Alyssa, who is 18-years-old and a high school senior from Canada, expresses her reasons for joining the community: “I always wanted to be an ‘influencer’ in the community. I started as most people did by following Devyn Crimson and branching off from there.” Selina also states that Devyn was one of her main inspirations, and from watching her YouTube channel, she decided to dip her toes into the community.

Devyn Crimson, who has an impressive 77k followers on Instagram and an even more impressive 101k subscribers on Youtube, explains how there was an already ‘vintage scene’ on Instagram in 2012, however under established it was in comparison to now: “There was already definitely something there when I joined, meaning following other vintage inspired creatives and posting my own vintage inspired photos. I was a sophomore in high school.”

Another icon in the community and mother of two with over 11k followers, Leah Horrocks, 29, (@70smomma) shared a similar experience as one of the ‘OG’s’ like Devyn, stating: “I made my account back in 2012. I’m not sure when the ‘vintage community’ started but I was in it from the very start. I’m one of the originals here.”

Devyn and Leah’s experiences are also similar in discovering and distinguishing their taste in music and fashion and how this developed online, sharing their love for creativity, colours and of course, bell bottoms.

Devyn reveals in our interview of when she began to notice her platform taking off: “Even at just 1k followers or so, which came kind of early for me for being a kid in small town Wisconsin, I was taken aback at the idea of anyone being interested in my life,” she continues, “…I really noticed it had the potential to be more than a hobby at least was when I was 19, working a job I hated for very little money. I really tried to put more energy into online stuff to see where it would take me.”

“I loved talking to people online, sharing life and creating art for others. I just want to be happy I have always said. Whatever I am doing, I just want to be happy doing it.”

Texas-based model, Storm Calysta who has almost a 55k following on Instagram, was happy to comment on both the growth of her audience and the growth of the community in general: 

 “I noticed a big jump in my audience growth during 2015 when I started doing modelling gigs and began sharing those photos to my Instagram. At the time, Instagram was still primarily a place to post cats and food pictures; very few people were doing the 60s/70s style revival at the time. People were intrigued when they stumbled upon my profile, thus resulting in my audience growing about 10k in a month.”

However, both Storm and others within the community claim that since the subculture’s growth, it has become infiltrated with lack of inclusion and over-saturation to the point that the roots on which the subculture has grown off of have been forgotten: “A big part of me misses it being more of a smaller niche because I feel like it’s a little oversaturated right now to the point where the history of the music, style and culture is being misconstrued from it’s highly important origins.” 

High school senior Alyssa is actually no longer a part of the community as of 2020 due to what she reports is because of a multitude of reasons but mainly racism and elitism: “The teenage mod group really made/makes me uncomfortable. Excluding minorities from the conversation and having this snootiness and arrogance about them. I won’t name names, but when I check up on them, they’re the same. You’re 16 and have 10k on Instagram; you’re not Beyoncé. Plus, whenever they got called out on fatphobia, they were really fake and defensive, which didn’t sit right.” 

This is to be expected in a community that has surged so quickly in such a short number of years. The larger a community, the more differences in opinion and before you know it, the foundations of the community have been buried under the ashes of hostile outside infiltration. This is why Alexandra Rose says that she prefers to not have idols within this subculture as, like many, she may run the risk of feeling inadequate if she too harshly compares herself to others.

The negative sides to social media are endless and have been widely debated for as long as it has existed. It’s important to remember that it’s not exclusive to just one sector either. A certain debate that keeps reappearing in modern culture is how social media acts as an escapism from reality, but what if that is mixed with a completely different decade? Is this an even further escape from reality…and is this a bad thing?

Leah Horrocks (@70smomma) spoke on whether she believes that the 60s/70s to some people is merely just a nice Instagram aesthetic or it’s truly a form of escapism from reality: “I think both. You never know if someone’s Instagram page is a true reflection of how someone actually lives their life, but I think a lot of times it is. Even if they are scared to dress vintage in the “real world”, Instagram gives them that space to show off how they really want to look/dress. A place to show off creativity.”  

In our interview, Leah also spoke of how she can be negatively perceived by others as a big name within the community: “I’m sure you have seen I’m pretty controversial on here. Some people love me and others hate me, but it’s all good. I share about real topics that others tend to shy away from because it’s not the norm. I’m one of THE only ones in the community sharing the stuff I do and I’m okay with that.”

Speaking of the controversy surrounding her personal choices relating to covid vaccines, Leah continues: “I’ve been called some crazy things on here…conspiracy theorist, anti-vaxxer, dangerous, selfish. I know that I’m not any of those things but those are labels they like to give because they don’t get it. I keep fighting my fight and the ones who want to stick around, totally can. I’m so super grateful for my followers/anyone who supports me.”

Devyn spoke of her own experience within the social media subculture stating that: “The online space has been a very welcoming and kind place for me. Naturally, in any large group of people you’ll find someone who has a strange distaste for you, but that’s just life isn’t it? Only recently has anyone ever really tried to hurt me (not physically, though I did have a stalker early on).”

She elaborates by saying: “As the community grows, I am happy to see more representation of the diverse people that make up this community because really anyone who has a love for vintage is in the community as far as I’m concerned and that stretches to all walks of life. It’s beautiful to see it all come together.”

Finally, Devyn expresses how much the community has had on her life: “I really don’t know where I would be, what I would be doing if I hadn’t found this place. I found my career path through the community, my friends, my band. It really fuelled my love for the 60s & 70s knowing I wasn’t alone in my interests. So who knows if I would have even met my fiancé, moved to Chicago, gotten any modelling opportunities. I could never say ‘thank you’ enough to truly express my gratitude.” 

The benefits of becoming so involved in an ever-growing subculture for those at the top are the modelling gigs, the brand sponsors and making an income from a hobby that inspires others. However, there is likely to be a few rotten apples in such a large community whereby the community’s soul and purpose become lost for those who follow, especially on Instagram. The core becomes lost under the surmounting pressures of how many followers they have and why they don’t look like their idols. Selina talks about the importance of holding true to the liberal values on which the community was built: “I think the spirit of the time is what makes people drawn to these decades. Back then, children were just children and didn’t focus on growing up fast or wanting to be popular.” Maybe it’s high time the 60s/70s subculture come together to centre on its own past roots and the ideals it was founded upon rather than getting caught up in the infiltration of the social media platforms’ popularity and monetary success. To avoid hypocrisy and sad irony, there needs to be a closer look at the decades before and the reasons why it became such a vast digital hub full of like-minded people for a more inclusive and progressive future.

Bute blazes that have been lost in history

Flicking through old Buteman and Rothesay Express articles of the 1900s evoked a whimsical nostalgia that, being born at the end of the century, I probably had no right to feel but…I did. The yellowed articles, musk-scented and dust-covered, took me on a journey of Bute’s ‘Glory Days’ and what a core of warm memories the place really serves to be. For many Brandanes like myself (and those that are adopted ones), Bute is the fond and familiar hug of home, the historical and regal sense of pride and sometimes – the sudden and the dangerous reminder of reality.

On my quest to unearth the untold stories that lay beneath the cobblestones of Montague Street in the town centre to the mossy hill tops at Bute’s North end, I realised that tragedy is not only a part of Bute’s history, but its reality, and fires were unfortunately the most common events of destruction to plague 20th Century Bute.

These were documented in different local newspapers over the years and as part of my journalistic integrity, I’d like to merely relay the facts of these forgotten fires using the quotes and stories from newspapers, allowing you, my readers, to expand and discuss your experiences and memories where you see fit. For those that do not have any, allow this article to provide you with knowledge on the events that have shaped this island, its people and its architecture. Love Bute for all that it is- the good, the bad and even the tragically forgotten.


1. 1913 ‘Great Fire at Rothesay Saw Mills’

Described in a Buteman article from June 6th, 1913 (over 108 years ago), as one of “the most destructive” fires of its then recent years, Rothesay Saw Mills which belonged to Messrs George Halliday, Ltd and the McKirdy and McMillan, Ltd garage adjacent to it, were both victims of the mill fire’s ferocious devastation.

The fire took place on May 30th 1913, exactly a week before the article’s publication.

It was said to have began around 8.10pm when one of the firm’s partners, Mr John Halliday, noticed smoke whirling and rising up from the centre of the mill.

From later examination, it was thought that the fire began underneath the saw-bench and fed off of the flammable material in its “immediate vicinity” which caused its rapid and vicious spread, propelled further by the timber around it.

In fact, the spread was reportedly so vicious that after Mr Halliday’s phone call to the police office, fire brigade members AND the local Boy Scouts appeared to tackle the engulfing flames.

In front of a large, gathering crowd, the brigade and scouts lined Union Street in attempts to provide safety and protection to the community – the former battling flames, the latter aiding while also keeping crowds at a distance.

It just so happened that the very same night as the fire, the Boy Scouts, who were under Scoutmaster Jarvie’s service, were carrying out training for fire-drills before quickly being summoned to the location.

The combined efforts of all of Rothesay’s services, including the police, meant that the flames were soon eradicated but not without a considerable amount of physical devastation.



2. 1956 ‘Flames destroy a page of history’

Photo source: Rothesay Express, D. Muir

“HUNGRY FLAMES last week destroyed an old, almost derelict building in Ladeside Street, Rothesay”, this Rothesay Express article begins, written on the 23rd of March, 1956.

The article then goes onto describe the lack of significance the building had to Rothesay locals and how to them, it was just an ancient relic of “Old Rothesay being used as a store and stable.”

Yet this was so far from the truth. The flames within this building destroyed more than just its beams but a memory of Rothesay’s industrial past. This regular old building once housed the first ever cotton mill to be established in Scotland.

The cotton mill industry flourished in Rothesay. It was from this initial building here that sprang several larger mills and over 1,000 workers were employed.

“Loch Fad was damned and the machinery in the mills was driven by water power from the Lade”, the article begins before telling us that later, a steam engine was erected in the year 1800 to “furnish power” in the emergency of summer droughts.

As the cotton trade declined, the last mill shut before the end of the 19th century and from then, all that remained was its history which unfortunately was lost to the flames.

“The only mill building now remaining on the island is that in Barone Road which houses Isle of Bute industries, founded by the present Marquess and enjoying a large home and export of trade.”

Through the journalist’s tone for this article (and even its heading), it’s easy to obtain how tragic and saddening this loss was for the town of Rothesay at this time and even more comprehensible why this is an event that is rarely spoken of around the community, even to this day.



3. 1962 ‘Blaze destroys clock tower’

Photo Source: Pinterest, Bob Smith

I’m expecting this event to be a little more well known within the community but still one that was hardly talked about until brought up in conversation. My grandmother, Catherine Gillies, on my father’s side, worked as a cook in the pier tearoom and it was through the conversation with my father surrounding her that I decided to do some digging on this story. 

On Saturday 19th May 1962, the 50ft Rothesay Pier clock tower was destroyed in a monumental blaze that could be seen on the mainland, with heat that could be felt as far as Watergate 100 yards away. 

“Holidaymakers arriving by steamer had a grandstand view of the town’s part-time firemen, helped by volunteers, fighting the flames. They could do nothing to save the tower and concentrated on keeping the fire from spreading to other parts of the main building”, a quote from the Buteman‘s 1962 article reads. 

The alarm was raised just after 3pm when the harbourmaster, Captain William N. Tudman noticed the scent of burning in his office which was situated directly under the clock tower. He struggled to detect the cause until he noticed flames “curling up” from the eaves outside. 

Ordering steamer times announcer, Miss Jean McArthur, out from the building, Tudman then telephoned the police and fire brigade. He was also able to salvage a number of books and the contents from the safe before escaping. 

Offices and the tearoom occupying the pier building were evacuated as clerks carried out records and cash. 

Pier tearoom owner Mrs Bob Taylor said: “We couldn’t believe it at first. I had difficulty persuading customers to leave the tearoom.” 

The combination of violent winds and heat drove the firemen who climbed onto the roof back initially, but before long they had successfully combated the flames from spreading to surrounding offices which were seriously flooded.

Unfortunately, the harbourmaster’s own office was left with nothing but stonework standing. 

By 5pm, firemen had tied ropes and wires to its blackened beams attaching these to a tender. 

“First to fall was one of the four clock faces, and after several more attempts the rest of the skeleton tower collapsed in a shower of charred timber.” 

Captain Tudman had stated how fortunate it was that the wind hadn’t been blowing in the opposite direction as this would have caused the tower to collapse on the other pier buildings.

The only items that were lost in the fire were “valuable pier records” and a “loudspeaker system”. 

Workmen that same week demolished the tower in the interest of safety. 

4. 1963 ‘Blaze in new flat’ 

“FIREMEN wearing masks put out flames in the smoke-filled living-room of a top flat at 1 Minister’s Brae, Rothesay, on Tuesday afternoon”, an article from Friday, May 3rd, 1963 reads. 

According to the article, an elderly man, Mr Wm. Gillies, was the only occupant of the house where his hair was singed. 

Thankfully, this was the only damage that Mr Gillies faced as he was directed out of the living room into the care of his neighbours. 

Part-time firemen had rushed to the High Street station when the bellow of the siren called them, only to discover that the outbreak was “less than 100 yards away” in a recently erected block of council flats on the corner of Minister’s Brae and High Street. 

Crowds gathered to watch as the flames rapidly extinguished and windows were flung open to disperse smoke. 

The damage consisted of scorched, blackened walls and ceilings of the living room, along with damaged furniture. 

5. 1964 ‘High Street factory blaze’ 

In the early hours of December 17th 1964,  a fire was fought at the children’s wear factory off high Street, Rothesay, and extinguished by the part-time fire brigade. 

The alarm was raised at 12.10am by a “passerby, Mr James Tait, 1 Minister’s Brae.” The firemen arrived very quickly to the scene and fought the blaze all through the freezing cold night until early hours when they eventually went off duty at 6am. 

The blaze is thought to have began in a steam boiler room at the back end of the factory operated by J. Langan and Co. (Rothesay), Ltd. It was then that the boiler room roof collapsed. 

Eventually, flames found their way into the main building, swallowing the entire steam pressing room but missing its roof. The steam presses, benches and machinery were charred and blackened. 

Station officer Robert Tait at the time said: “The small boiler room was well alight when we arrived and we concentrated on saving the steam pressing room to which it is attached. We were worried  about the roof but managed to save it.” 

The factory, which was an offshoot of a Glasgow firm, was unoccupied at the time meaning that no one was hurt in the process.












*Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of the following pictures or title headings. All rights go to the Buteman, Rothesay Express and their articles. I am also telling the stories of these Buteman articles in my own way, using their work as research, evidence (via quotes) and inspiration for this article that aims to educate. 

I’d also like to give a huge thank you to Richard Hunter for providing me with his own personal archives to allow me to do this story. To the Buteman and Rothesay Express for exceptional journalism over the last 154 years, in which I credit to all 5 of these reports, and the staff at Bute Museum (particularly their archivist Jean McMillan) for being so accommodating and aiding me on my history-related quests and articles. I’m always so grateful for their help. 

The Four Seasons of Catherine

She was a withering rose among a field of fresh spring daffodils
Her once youthful hands now branched with veins and
bluebell eyes that wore the sights that I have yet to see
She was a mother, a sister, a daughter and grandmother.

Spring was filled with her glowing youth
 A time where parsley-green grass stained her garments,
where mud was a fashion trend for she knew not of
fine silks and soft velvets but of stitched rags and hand-me-downs. 

It was a time where bloomed a young girl of thirteen,
with ribbons in her hair and heels on her feet,
eyes that radiated with pinprick intensity
as the whole world unfolded in front of her.

Summer brought with it its first share of romances
She was now a young woman who pranced through the meadows
 of young men 
whose sleeves wore their hearts and tongues
bore their pride.

It was a time where she basked in her youth,
where she danced blithely beneath the warm, wine sunsets
 with sailors and soldiers and all those in-between
and all but one could catch her eye.

Autumn rendered a slowing down in her time
for she had found the half to make her whole
and to whom she bore the children that
filled her with the irreplaceable glee of motherhood.

It was a time that she watched the
rusted leaves that she had grown to know
 fall to the frost-glazed grass,
whilst she desperately holds onto her roots.

Winter was a time of solitude
where she watched as her young reared young of their own
and soon, the world was a vast, cold,
empty space that she could no longer brave to dwell. 

It was a time where tiredness filled her eyes and her
lethargic face that was interwoven with the finest of fine lines
that each told a story that carers would never care to know,
lay gracefully on a hospital bed.

The circle of life is a cruel yet beautiful thing,
for she was a lover of life and bearer of pain
but she was more than just a withering rose,
she was eternal.

5 Things You Didn’t Know About Rothesay Castle

The once dominating, bustling hub of Bute’s Viking Raids and regal occupation by The Stewarts now lies as a quiet, well preserved (despite its age), central artefact amongst the everyday commotion of Rothesay life. One of the oldest stone castles in Scotland, and certainly one of the most uncommon due to its unusual circular plan, has survived a remarkable history, much of which can’t be easily accessed through a hand-out pamphlet.

I’ve decided to take the most unusual, fascinating and real nitty-gritty facts about this must-see Rothesay landmark that has survived the greatest battle of all – the test of time – and compile it into one easily-digestible article. Here are 5 things that you didn’t know (and if you did, then pretend you don’t so you don’t put me out of a job) about Rothesay Castle:

1. The castle may not have originally been built to be a castle at all

McNab, Archie; Rothesay Castle; Bute Museum; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/rothesay-castle-166506

One of the most captivating factors of anything is not actually what we do know, but more so what we don’t and Rothesay Castle is no exception to this. Much of its history finds itself torn between intense speculation and historiographical mysteries but one thing can be agreed upon: its history is a lengthy one.

One of the proposed theories amongst the debate is that this proud castle wasn’t actually built to be a castle at all. It’s been noted that the likelihood of its erection as a fortress during on-and-off Viking Raids in the late 11th Century is more probable than the theory that Walter the 3rd High Steward was the first ever to construct it in the early 1200s. Still, there is no certainty on how the castle ‘came to be’.

The Viking Raids commenced around the year AD 800. Norway seized control of the Western Isles and Scotland – no longer governed by its own native kings – was now under the thumb of the Norse ones instead. In 1098, Scotland and Norway agreed a treaty which allowed the Norse to seize all of the Scottish West Coast Islands after Norse King, Magnus Barefoot, noticed weakening domination in their Western occupation and was the leader of many expeditions to consolidate, and once again, dominate with full Norse control.

Many speculate that during this domination, the Scottish King was under the impression that Bute and Arran would be an exception to this treaty due to protection from the Kintyre Peninsula but he believed wrong. Magnus claimed both Bute and Arran for Norway and as a way of marking his territory, the first fortress of Rothesay came to be and speculated to be what stood before what we now know as Rothesay Castle. Whether it was originally made of wood or stone is, again, unknown.

Despite its earliest history falling under myths, legends and intense speculation – one more probable theory remains and is widely regarded in many history books as close-as-possible to fact, which is that Walter, the 3rd High Steward, built the first stone castle in the early 1200s as a defence against the Norwegians. Much of its history, thereafter, became a lot clearer.



2. The castle was not always in the centre of Rothesay

Rothesay Castle, 2018. Photography: John Williams. Source: @williamsjohn76

In my early childhood, when my dad would take me on little tours of Bute, he would always tell me that in Rothesay, before all its promenade improvements, the sea would reach just before the castle and in my cynical, ignorant youth and growing up around the thick, flood walls of ‘down the front’, I would shrug this comment off. In my later research, however, I discovered that my dad was right. Naturally and untamed, the sea has a completely different idea for the town’s formation and this is evident in the positioning of Rothesay Castle.

Rothesay Castle was initially built upon a mound approximately 100 metres from the sea and whether that mound was man-made or natural is another part of its history that remains unknown. It sat raised, projecting dominance at the head of Rothesay Bay, as a symbol of powerful governance before harbour and promenade works over the last 2 centuries have forced the castle inland as a quaint artefact.

Even today, it’s hard to imagine how impressive the large stone fortress would have looked to any incomers of times gone-by but today, I’d argue that it’s just as impressive as its charming, rugged-self. Even in the centre of town, with its multitude of stories that spanned more centuries than is easily fathomable, it carries mysteries that will forever be etched on its injured walls.



3. The Kings of Norway, not once, but TWICE seized the castle

Rothesay Castle as it may have looked in the 16th Century (Hewison 1985). Source: thecastlesofscotland.co.uk

The Kings of Norway captured Rothesay twice: in 1230 and in 1263.

After the surrender of the Hebrides, including Bute, by Edgar of Scotland in 1098, his descendents were set on regaining the jewel island. However, Norway still ruled the Western Isles legally until the Treaty of Perth in 1266 which formally transferred power from Norway to Scotland. Everything before this treaty was a huge, messy power struggle.

The Scottish King, Malcolm, gave Bute as a reward to Walter Fitz Alan, the High Steward of Scotland and the head of the family which became the royal Stewarts, for the Kingdom of Scotland’s victory in the Battle of Renfrew against the Kingdom of the Isles.

However, when Norsemen attacked Rothesay in 1230 as part of a 3 day siege on the orders of King Haakon IV of Norway, what followed was probably a much more dramatic escalation of events than that of 1263 as it became preserved by one of the saga writers, Haakon Haakonson:

“And they sailed south round the Mull of Kintyre, and so in to Bute. The Scots sat there in the castle; and a certain Steward was one of the Scots. They attacked the castle, but the Scots defended it, and they poured out boiling pitch. The Norwegians hewed the wall with axes, because it was soft. The torch-bearer who was called Skagi shot the steward to death. Many of the Norwegians fell, before they won the castle.”

Not only had the Scots lost their castle, but they had lost their Steward in the process. Documents reveal, however, that the Norse had only a short occupation here before they withdrew to Kintyre.



4. Robert the Bruce had ties to Rothesay Castle

Robert the Bruce. Source: Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.

At the initial outbreak of the first Scottish Wars of Independence, Rothesay Castle was in the hands of James Stewart. Sadly, it fell to the English in the late 13th century, only 30 years after Bute had finally had some peace and security from the Norwegian occupation. Most of Scotland, including Rothesay Castle, was occupied by the English Army from 1303 and this persisted until King Robert I retook the castle in 1306. A short-lived, but probably exhausting, 3 years.

The castle was returned to James Stewart, who would go on to connect his family by marriage to Robert the Bruce when his son Walter married the King’s daughter, Marjorie Bruce. In 1371, their son would become Robert the II. The first Stewart King and the one to establish the tradition that whomever had heir to the throne would be titled Duke of Rothesay. A title currently held by Prince Charles.

In the later years (1400s), Rothesay Castle seen a huge refurbishment with an enhanced gatehouse to ensure stronger protection and the addition of four round towers. However, once again, the chaos within these castle walls were once again stirred in the 1600s by the occupation of Cromwellian forces during the civil wars of the 1650s and again in 1685 by Archibald, the 9th Earl of Argyll’s revolts. Both of which caused damage to the castle’s interior and exterior, rendering it uninhabitable. This is when the Keeper and his family moved from the now derelict castle to the Old Mansion House across the road on the High Street, which remains as one of Rothesay’s oldest buildings.

Rothesay Castle was placed in state care in 1961 by the Marquess of Bute and is now cared for by Historic Scotland.


5. There was a paddle steamer named after the castle that caused the deaths of 130 people

Rothesay Castle or Rothsay Castle Paddle Steamer. Frederick Whymper. 1887. Source: Mechanical Curator Collection.

Built for service on the River Clyde in 1816, Rothesay Castle or Rothsay Castle was a paddle steamer named after Bute’s famous landmark. She was later transferred to Liverpool where she was used for day trips along the coast into Northern Wales and it was here that she was shipwrecked in 1831. This cost the lives of 130 people.



If you enjoyed reading about this historic landmark, please visit the Bute Museum website, Visit Scotland and Castles of Scotland’s website to find out more.

Recommended further readings would also be ‘Bute: An Island History’ by Ian Maclagan and Anne Speirs, as well as ‘The Isle of Bute’ by Norman S. Newton.

Also, huge thank you to John Williams for allowing me to use his amazing pictures of the castle in its modern condition.