Scots abroad may learn to love the country not only for its romantic past, but its complex present
SANDRA de Groen has never been to Scotland, but she can dance a reel with the best of them, and the words of My Heart's In The Highlands trip off her tongue. Although she was born in Grafton, New South Wales, Australia, her earliest memories are of d
ancing to a pipe band and listening to her father reciting Burns poetry.
Almost 9,000 miles away in Denver, Colorado, rocket scientist Robert Bell is less sure of his roots: but he has a Scottish name and has always been roused by the skirl of the pipes. Having decided he belongs to the Border Bells (he finds their tartan more pleasing than the Highland Bells'), he is now excitedly awaiting the arrival of his first kilt.
And then there is Rick Calhoun. Bond trader, country rocker and friend of Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee, he shares ancestors with the Chief of the Colquhoun Clan, whose family seat is at Luss on Loch Lomond-side.
Now, de Groen (whose maiden name is Malcolm), Bell and Calhoun are preparing to journey to the land of their forefathers for The Gathering – the centrepiece of the country's Homecoming celebrations. Cynics may sneer at the event – which will see more than 130 clans rallying in Edinburgh, as another cringeworthy attempt to market Scotland as a shortbread and whisky tourist destination, but the Scots diaspora has no such reservations. In Australia, New Zealand and Canada; in Romania, Sweden and Russia; in every US state except North Dakota; even in Argentina and Japan, people of Scots descent have heeded the call to make this the year they rediscover their roots.
Later this month, around 8,000 of them will descend on the capital for what is set to be the most OTT display of Scottish tartan since Sir Walter Scott's Scottish pageant of 1822.
During the weekend of 25-26 July, Holyrood Park will be transformed into a giant Highland Games, featuring pipe bands, Scottish country dancing, hammer throwing and a tug of war as well as a proliferation of "clan tents", where the visitors will be able to question clan chiefs about their past.
On the Saturday night the visitors will progress up the Royal Mile to the Castle Esplanade to watch a new pageant called Aisling's Children.
"It's going to be truly spectacular," said Jenny Gilmour, co-director of the event. "Some of the clan chiefs will be carrying their standards, and there will be 16ft banners and sword bearers in full regalia." Not, alas, swords – they'd face arrest and up to two years in jail for brandishing real weapons.
But why are those whose ancestors left Scotland in search of a better life so keen to answer Caledonia's call? Will their image of their homeland be dashed by sampling the real thing? And, having mobilised its diaspora, how can the Scottish Government capitalise on the interest generated?
Set against the historic backdrop of The Palace of Holyrood House, The Gathering looks set to be genuinely impressive. Yet, when it comes to outward displays of national identity, Scots abroad, and particularly Scots Americans, put those of us who still live here in the shade.
In the US – where 4.8 million people claim to have Scottish ancestry – clan membership exceeds 100,000, and there are over 300 Highland Games held every year. The biggest, The Grandfather Mountain Games in North Carolina – one of the most popular states for Scots uprooted by the Clearances – regularly attracts crowds of 30,000 a day over four days.
Occasionally the obsession with Scottish ancestry can take on sinister overtones: for some a claim to Scots descent can represent a means of opting out of a melting pot culture. Some white supremacists have targeted such events for new recruits, and one group, The League of the South, has adopted the saltire as its logo. But for most people the fascination derives from a desire to explore their own identity.
Take Rick Calhoun. Although his ancestors came to the US via Ireland in the early 18th century, he knows exactly how he is related to clan members in Luss. "My eighth great-great-grandfather, Sir Alexander, is the clan chief Sir Malcolm Colquhoun's tenth great-great-grandfather," says Calhoun, who plays lead guitar in Huckabee's band Capitol Offense.
On previous visits to Scotland, he has met other clan members – including Sir Malcolm and a cousin, George, a retired police officer from the Met. "Some of the fondest memories I have of the last two trips are at the Colquhoun Arms, with 25 to 30 people from the clan enjoying a pint of ale and listening to the Four Tops and the Temptations," he says.
"We connected immediately – and what is interesting is that we have a real genetic bond that's lasted 200 to 300 years. When I looked at Sir Ivar (Sir Malcolm's late father], he looked like my own father: the cheekbones and the hairline."
Sandra de Groen's Scottish identity was not something she needed to go in search of because her father Ian, now 101, who emigrated to Australia with his family when he was 17, never forgot his own heritage. "I think there is something about Scottish people when they go to another land: they assimilate, but they hold on to things of real value of their old culture and are able to intertwine it with their new culture. In that way they make very good migrants," she says.
De Groen's interest in her roots was rekindled when she was preparing for her father's 100th birthday celebrations. Her decision to visit Scotland this year is driven both by her desire to see the places her father, Ian Andrew Malcolm, has talked about and to record the Gathering for him.
But although she says that, like all ex-pats, her dad can be misty-eyed about his homeland, she is more aware than most of Scotland's shortcomings. "The thing about my relationship with Scotland is that I was never able to idealise it," she says. "My father talked about his life in Glasgow and what a dreadful struggle it was for his mother (who was left to bring up Ian and his two siblings alone after their father died). But he was a positive man, so he also told us what a good education he got, how he learned French and German and how he had a geography teacher who could transport you to a different place just by talking to you."
Robert Bell's experiences are very different, but his journey to the Gathering is also driven by a desire to belong. His sense of rootlessness may be exacerbated by the fact his wife Eva, who came to the US from Hungary after the revolution of 1956, has such strong ties with her own homeland.
Bell, who is working for Nasa on the Orion programme to replace the space shuttle, believes his grandfather had Scots blood and is constantly being told he looks Scottish. On his only previous visit, in 1999, he was astonished to find he felt a sense of connection. "I'm not very spiritual, but I did feel a sense of belonging. We took a walk in the evening just south of Dumfries, and every time I turned a corner it felt like I had been there before."
One day, he hopes genetic tests will prove him right, but in the meantime he sees the Gathering as an opportunity to strengthen the link.
"We are a country of mutts," says Bell. "This contributes to some of the strengths of the American culture. It's a real blending pot and that can be good, but that doesn't do much for personal identity. There's a real attraction in stripping back hundreds of years to find your roots."
For political and business leaders who want to see the country thrive, the bond between Scotland and its diaspora is not just culturally significant. As Ireland has demonstrated, properly fostered, the emotional ties could reap dividends for all involved. Over the last decade or so, the Irish government has explored ways in which the country can tap into the economic, intellectual and social bounty of its ex-pat community. One particularly successful initiative is the Irish Technology Leadership Group, which is comprised of Irish and Irish-Americans in senior positions in Silicon Valley willing to invest in Irish companies.
Even as the Gathering is taking place, many of those interested in seeing Scotland thrive will be debating at the Scottish Diaspora Forum, which is sponsored by Scotland on Sunday, how the goodwill generated by the event can be turned to advantage.
Former presiding officer of the Scottish parliament, George Reid, who is speaking at the event, says part of this may involve teaching Scots abroad that, as well as historic castles and dramatic landscapes, "Scotland is a country which these days makes its living through an amalgam of education and enterprise – through biosciences, cultural enterprise, energy (in the form of oil, gas and renewables), financial services, knowledge industries, quality food, and some of the best universities in the world."
Whatever benefits emerge in the future, organisers of the clan gathering anticipate an £8m boost to the Scottish economy from the showpiece Edinburgh event alone. A crowd of around 40,000 is expected and overseas visitors are forecast to spend an average of ten days travelling in Scotland.
For now, as Robert and Sandra wait for their tartan outfits, and Rick dusts his down; as clan chiefs prepare to man tents and burly sportsmen to toss cabers, the vision of Scotland being offered to the global diaspora remains more kailyard than cosmopolitan; more Waverley than Trainspotting.
But if the connections made next month are properly fostered, Scots abroad may learn to love the country not only for its romantic past, but for its complex present – and then decide they want a stake in its future.
The full article contains 1683 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
