09/18/2025
Scotland Day 9 The Ghosts of Culloden
It has been a week now since visiting the battlefield of Culloden, and the words are still hard to find. We sat with our friend, Stuart, who is also a Frazier, who, at the end of his story, took us to the mass graves marked by clans. We stopped for a solemn moment at each gentle rose in the land, knowing that below our feet were approximately 1,500 Scotsmen who were killed in less than an hour, most estimates are at 40 minutes. The English forces forbade families to retrieve the dead after the battle for more than three weeks, by which time they had become unidentifiable. Only their kilt tartans gave proof of the clan, at least, but some of the dead were stripped and lay naked, so were buried in on of several mass graves marked only as “mixed clans” because there was no way to know them otherwise.
It was a series of follies that led to the disastrous end of sovereignty of these Gaelic speaking people. After the loss, the English forces forbade their entire way of life or risk ex*****on. The music of the people, their bagpipes and drums, were deemed tools of war and burned and outlawed. Their native language was outlawed, and anyone speaking it was summarily executed. The wearing of kilts was outlawed, seen as battle gear. Twenty years later, came the removals, as Crofter’s homes were set ablaze in order to claim the land for grazing of sheep for wool and industry. Left with no or few possessions and no home or place to work, few had no other options but to board ship on an arduous journey to the new world. This, this, is how so many of the Scotch Irish came to our country, the first wave of the removals of 1790, just around the time of the Scottish settlements here in Appalachia, where remnants of their outlawed culture and language and music and dancing remain.
We sat with the ghosts on the battlefield, walked across better ground than they faced, but ventured into the bogs they died in, holding sword and shield but facing musket fire. It was a quiet place, where voices didn’t carry. It was chilling to be there. So many silenced voices, silenced people. An erasure of culture which took nearly two hundred years to begin to reclaim again. During our time here, we encountered may wearing kilts, and now I realize it is an act of freedom, of pride, of culture. One of the clans, the MacGregor clan, has the motto, “Despite Them”. We are at MacGregor’s famous pub, know for their music circles on Sunday, where locals bring their instruments and play their once outlawed tunes. I celebrated their freedom of expression, tapped my feet to the music that would have had me executed for doing so in 1760. I appreciate so much more the musical roots and dancing I see in my part of Appalachian now, because I know now the sacrifice and danger the people who brought it over here endured in doing so.
This history was more than learning about another country. Learning their story made me understand my own so much more.