at the National Museum of Scotland

1 Dec 2011–29 Jan 2012

1

The Old BoyFrom the South he came. With eon-long steps He strode, Purposefully. Setting down the basecourse, Headed for Cape Wrath.

Erupting in fury, he Rained icy torrents of fire and steam; Collided with continents.

She rose to meet him, Strength for strength; A shimmer ‘gainst a spark.

Melding in undulating Folds of white and pink, He cleaved to the rock.

Janette Currie

26 treasures: an introductionMuseums are about objects, each carrying within it a multitude of meanings. Often, we are only able to share one account, one perspective, one story, while others remain hidden, unexplored, untold. So, while the 26 writers involved in this project faced the challenge of using exactly 62 words, they also had the freedom to reveal secrets, make connections, tell a new story.

Our 26 treasures span Scotland’s story, from its geological roots to its technological future, taking in iconic objects and hidden gems along the way. Each one is transformed by the writer paired with it, brought to life through a fresh pair of eyes. We hope the treasures, the writers and their words inspire you to make your own connections with Scotland’s history.

Claire Allan National Museums Scotland

2

Westlothiana lizziae: ‘Lizzie was here.’Dinnae daeve me wi braggarts, Bletherumskites.

Tongues that’d clip cloots, Clish-ma-claver, Gibble-gabble, girns, grumphs.

Skinnie-ma-Lizzie, never said a word, the wee cratur.

Slithered on stumpy legs frae a lochan (in a wee crater), Put her fit doon,

stampit her mark. Nae art, nae kiddin, yet her truith abides for aye.

‘Lizzie was here.’

In this land.

Heezes ma hert, the wee scone.

Aimee Chalmers

Don’t bother me with boasts, careless talk, idle tittle-tattle, arrogant nonsense, moans and groans. I prefer the style of ‘Thin Lizzie’, who never even spoke. Though a tiny creature, with stubby legs, she’s a vital link in our evolutionary story. Despite a lack of art or artifice she’s left an enduring mark on Scotland that makes me reflect. I’m proud of her.

3

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4

Spirals of Power

Collette Davis

Behold my deathI finally meet my maker, silent among the arena crowd. Once exiled northward, his hands will petrify me - and my merciful lioness - into a monument fiercely muscular, in the custom of this cursed Rome.

And if upsucked from Pictish ooze, two million tides hence, to face your many questions, I raise now only one.

Here’s my distant death: who will behold yours?

Stephen Potts

5

FaodailNa lorg mi gun a bhith sealltainn de dh’fhaodail Ri rannsachadh mun eilean cheangailt’ a thèid Ri tìde na shaothair – Cha chuach gu dìreach no ceòlan A thug Fionghan bho Dhùn nan Gall Ulaidh no na seòid Is na bh’ ann de mhaoin-airgid na cruinne na broinn Ach peirceall muc-mhara bhon Chuan Lochlannach a-nall Air a thasgadh an ciste naomh fon làr.

Rody Gorman

Waiftreasuregoodsfoundbychancewhat i thighcrutchwomanoffspringtraceconsequencesoughtfound without Shetlandshowlooking as waiftreasuregoodsfoundbychance ransackresearchexploring aroundabout the tied island which into weatherseasonlifetidehourtime gobecomes a diseasedmanpunishertidalislandbirthpainsouvre – not a hollowcuckoococklecapcoilcurlpailquaichbowl juststraighthonestuprightexactly or humdrumfaintmusiclittlebell which Finian brought over from NorthernforeignersDonegalfort in darlingtreasuretroveUlster or the heroesrewardpathjewels and the richesmoneysilver wealthlovehoard of alltheroundPictworld in its bellywombside but the abdomencornerjawbone of a sealwhaleporpoise from the Norsewigeonmarauders deceitpackharbourocean pledgetreasureburied in a sacredsaint caketreasurecoffinkist under the centregroundfloorearth

7

WaitingBerserker: “I’m bored – what are we waiting for?”

King: “Till the time is right.”

Queen: “Don’t listen to him – he can never make up his mind.”

Berserker: “But we’ve been waiting so long…”

King: “You lead the charge, then.”

Berserker: “Will you follow?”

Queen: “Ha – I’ve never seen him get off his bum!”

King: “I will come … when the time is right…”

V Campbell

6

Hilton of CadbollWhat these symbols mean is unclear: the language of that time is lost - just as our language will be lost too. But it still speaks to us, this stone, across more than a thousand

years; and for a moment we are part of that mounted hunting party, with dogs at the feet of our horses and trumpets sounding. Listen; hear them.

Alexander McCall Smith

8

An old lady reminiscesThe candlelight hardened Burnished ladies a-bed Bold gentlemen pardoned The servants have fled My eyesight is dimming A rustle, a gasp Staccato no longer, I’ve plucked of my last

Locked, stringless and silent The glories all gone Glass casing lists round me Arpeggios done Forlorn on my journey No passion to tell Roving life force an echo Empty frame a mere shell

Sara Sheridan

9

forming our own shared

vessels

Scotland Cheers

with beers whisky water

wine

absent friends and new arrivals

healing heroes and hidden

helpersspirited leaders believers and

doubters

wilderness our seas our

skies

forest floor to mountain

peak

the sense of coming

home

your team you and

yours

with pipes and with

drums

the art of breaking

free

minding all that went

before

Elspeth Murray

10

The Maiden tae her MaisterPit yir face atween ma knees. Ach noo, dinna greet. Daith is but a blink, And yir name fae the leet.

D’ye mind me, yir ain lass? Aik, iron, leid, And a cauld, keen tung Tae sned yir silly heid.

Steek yir een ticht, And guess whit I will gie: A kiss – and that is mair Nor ye ever gied tae me.

James Robertson

greet: cryleet: listaik: oakleid: leadsned: cut offsteek yir een: close your eyes

11

The Dewars of Coigrich to their PetitionersAye, you streamed to us through valleys and ages, heads bowing at this glimpse of heaven; silver reflecting in your eyes. Your calloused hands trembled. Water, you sought, charged by the dip of crystal.

And we prescribed – the Archibalds, Alexanders, Donalds, Malises – ‘a stoup-ful for staggers in the herd; an affusion for louping-ill; an immersion for the black garget on Blossom’s udder.’

Linda Cracknell

12

The better to see you with, my dearCome closer, I won’t bite. My teeth aren’t what they used to be when the preacher’s words hurricaned across the keening Ayrshire hillsides. Never mind my gashed sockets and spiked feathers lashed with blood-red stitches. I aim to disguise, not terrorise. Once my beard flamed bright; now it’s a patched up shadow. My colours have faded but the minister’s conviction still blazes.

Fiona Thompson

13

REST IN PIECESHERE LIE JOHN NAPIER’S BONES

THAT MARVELLOUS SON OF FIBONACCI

SPRUNGFROM BOSNIA, AN OTTOMAN

WHOSE PERSIAN AND IRAQI ROOTSSLIPPED HINDU LATTICES

TRUE SCOT DOWN TO THE BOOTSA MIND

WHOSE PROBLEMSBROKEN INTO PARTS

MADE SLOW ROUTES QUICKAND STILL

INCLUDED HATING CATHOLICSSOMEHOW THE TRUTH

EVADES SUCH REPETITIONSAND ALL OUR SUMS CANNOT RESOLVE

WITHOUT WE MASTERLONG DIVISION

A.J. McIntosh

14

“I have a cunning plan,” said William Paterson Empty like the Whimsical Projector’s boasts? Climb inside. See? I’m filled with the hopes of a nation, ferocious underdog pride, dreams of independence, bought for £5 and £5 and £5 eked out by the battle-scarred, the wind-blistered and the work-weary poor. I overflow with patriotism – and greed.

Admire my mechanism, intricate as betrayal.

Cast iron, like his promises, I stink of blood.

Lee Randall

15

Authority? What Authority?Never mind the name. I’m not a rule or a command. Never mind these dry crackled pages and old ink. I’m a story. I’m alive.

I’m garish, full of myself. I’m dark, hidden, buried deep, my brightness kept from the light.

I kept my secret and my promise. That what belonged would never leave.

Scotland’s honour. Made new again.

David Manderson

16

Serf’s CollarContemplating escape, a rasp on hasp, scores on the skin, jagged saw teeth rocking at the neck, might be more bearable to a Highlander than being branded a perpetuall servent.

What manner of man was ‘Areskin’ the owner of mines and men, who saw a collar not just inscribed, but decorated, for Alexander Steuart, named his serf, his tame beast, his debtor.

Vivien Jones

17

A nice cup of tea and a chat?Hundreds of years of teatime talk I’ve heard, Union, Holyrood, the Bonnie Prince… I hoped Enlightenment would help, But no. Like the waves in the Firth, When I dazzled at Leith, The same themes Wash back and forth across the china: Westminster, Nats and Union again… Year after year I listen, Flawless, beautiful, bored, Wishing that time would change the teatime chat.

Sarah Burnett

18

Aria da Capo (soprano) - Prince Charles Edward Stuart discovered in a wood, set to an air by Mr Handel.A hero prince must eat, So in this tranquil Hibernian grove, Where ardent thistles provide my guard, I shall dine with this ingenious gift.

A golden act of faith sent from Edina to Rome, Recognition of all my princely worth, This tribute will I honour by my great deeds. I shall not fail my subjects!

A hero prince must eat... (da capo)

Harriet Smart

19

Overheard, American visitor to the museum 26.11.1870“Shucks! Wind this bison’s pouch up the wrong way - fingers blown off. The right way – Drover’s gold galore. Bet no cowboy ‘long the Chisholm Trail carries suuuutch a safe. Guess those Scots rustlers were wilder than the Cherokee. Each side crooked ‘nough to sleep on a corkscrew. Dang sure of one thing: the wealth of both nations was built on beef.”

Stuart Delves

20

Jonet addresses the KirkYou want repentance?Stick your fingersDown my gulletHaul it outI’ll stand hereIn this sackTill kingdom come

Your pursed lipsMy thickening bellyYour scalding looksMy swollen breastsYour unclean thoughts

Tell meOld crowWho’s the sinner?

If it’s wrongTo love thenI swear onAll that’s holyI’ll be faithfulTo my wrongAmen

Jamie Jauncey

21

A DECENT BURIAL

by

Ronnie Mackintosh

INT. EDINBURGH ROOM/1835 – NIGHT

By lamplight

the BOY plays

with his shiny, new, wooden soldiers.

At the table, his FATHER

cuts into another small block of wood.

The Boy’s MOTHER smiles at them,

and with care, lays an old, battle-weary Infantryman, its paint long-since faded, against a swatch.

Beneath the table,

their half-packed trunk,

labelled

THE MARGARET BOGLE

LEITH / NEW YORK

22

Escaping the SelvedgeTakes a special kind to go

another kind to stay here

Kilmaluag Kirkibol Scourie Borve

“Their appearance was truly appalling

Nowhere do such patriots so embrace

the leaving of the place

Scerrymains Portree Duntulm Scullam

and their grief on being rejected

Going because peat is not gold, aye,

hame can be gye feckless cauld

Achnahannait Bundalloch Hungladder Uig

most painful

to witness.”

Kate Tough

23

Victoria CrossA G A R A L D E RA L I S O N A L L A NA L L A N A S H C R O F TA S P D E N A S P I NB E A R D W O O D

C O C K B U R NCONNOR CORCORAN C O Y L E C R E R A RC U N N I N G H A MD A G G E R D A L YD A V I D S O N D A V I ED A V I S D A V I T TD I C K S O N D I X O ND O N A L D S O NDONNISON DRAISEYD R E W D U F F D U F FD U F F I E L D D U I R SD U N B A R E L L I O TF A I R G R I E V E . . .& 1 5 2 M O R E

B E L L B E L L B L A C K B L A C K B L A C K B L I C KB O R T H W I C K B O W D L E R B R A N N A NB R E N N A N B R O W N B R O W N B R Y D E NB U C H A N B U T T E R W O R T H C A L L A G H A NC A R L I N G C A R R O L L C E R V I C H A N D L E RC H E R R Y C H I S H O L M C L I F F O R D C L U N I E

JF Derry

quotation from the shipping records of theHighland and Islands Emigration Society found on the Scottish Archive Network (www.scan.org.uk)

24

you’re so eager to be gone fly open–armeddown the slipway to the careless seasuffer your sea-change joyously go where I can’t followyou don’t knowwhat I see there beyond the smooth, safe harbourthe rich–and–strange that calls to youI dread its fade, its knellhear me over the cheeringdon’t go … don’t go … don’t go …

Joan Lennon

Sea-Change: The Cry of the Drag Chain

25

Mary Barbour’s rattleCan you hear it yet?

The rioty past of its hand–waxed handle

Rattety, rattety

Crank turns, wood aligns, sound alarms

Rattety, rattety

Mary’s army, holding the fort, with the men off fighting

Rattety, rattety

Sounding the rattle, they ratted on bailiffs

Rata–tat–tat

intent on evictions from trench–dreamed hearth–sides

Rattety, rattety! the Govan artillery

Ratta–ratta–tatt! the echo back.Christine Finn

26

Hand for the Futurei have no past.

i was never buried lost or treasured.

i will never sew a suit pluck a string stroke a cheek

but nor will i lift a gun chain a slave flinch in pain.

i am here as a message to the future, selected and collected to speak about the present.

Will the future understand?

That’s out of my hands.

Lucy Harland

Object Writer1 Lewisian Gneiss Janette Currie2 Westlothiana lizziae Aimee Chalmers3 Towie ball Collette Davis4 Cramond lioness Stephen Potts5 St Ninian’s Isle treasure Rody Gorman6 Hilton of Cadboll stone Alexander McCall Smith7 Lewis Chessmen V Campbell8 Queen Mary harp Sara Sheridan9 Bute mazer Elspeth Murray10 The Maiden James Robertson11 Coigrich Linda Cracknell12 Alexander Peden’s mask and wig Fiona Thompson13 Napier’s bones A.J. McIntosh14 Darien chest Lee Randall15 Instrument of Authority David Manderson16 Serf’s collar Vivien Jones17 The King’s prize at Leith Sarah Burnett18 Prince Charles Edward Stuart’s travelling canteen Harriet Smart19 Sporran clasp with four concealed pistols Stuart Delves20 Gown of repentance Jamie Jauncey21 Arthur’s Seat miniature coffins Ronnie Mackintosh22 Suit of Ross tartan Kate Tough23 Daniel Laidlaw’s Victoria Cross JF Derry24 Drag chains for BAE ship Joan Lennon25 Govan rent strike rattle Christine Finn26 Bionic hand Lucy Harland

www.nms.ac.uk/26treasures

A unique journey through Scotland’s history

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©National Museums Scotland

Thanks to Sara Sheridan and Jamie Jauncey for their endless enthusiasm and drive on behalf of

writer’s collective 26

Thanks to all of our writers for their words, their creativity and passion for the project

Thanks to everyone at National Museums Scotland who has helped bring the project to life

For more about the wider 26 Treasures project visit www.26treasures.com