Forgotten tales

stories of my family

Archive for the month “January, 2016”

The most peaceable and virtuous peasantry in Britain

It is worthy of remark that it was at the climax of its spiritual prosperity the cruel work of eviction began to lay waste the hill-sides and the plains of the north. Swayed by the example of the godly among them, and away from the influences by which less sequestrated localities were corrupted, the body of the people in the Highlands became distinguished as the the most peaceable and virtuous peasantry in Britain. It was just then that they began to be driven off by ungodly oppressors, to clear their native soil for strangers, red deer and sheep. With few exceptions, the owners of the soil began to act as if they were also owners of the people, and, disposed to regard them as the vilest part of their estate, they treated them without respect to the requirements of righteousness or to the dictates of mercy. Without the inducement of gain, in the very recklessness of cruelty, families by hundreds were driven across the sea, or gathered, as the sweepings of the hillsides, into wretched hamlets on the shore. By wholesale evictions wastes were formed for the red deer, that the gentlemen of the nineteenth century might indulge in the sports of the savages of three centuries before. Of many happy households sheep walks were cleared for strangers, who, fattening amidst the ruined homes of the banished, corrupted by their example the few natives who remained. Meanwhile their rulers, while deaf to the Highlanders cry of oppression, were wasting their sinews and their blood on battlefields that, but for their prowess and their bravery, would have been the scene of their country’s defeat.
(Kennedy J, The Days of the Fathers in Ross-Shire, pp.15-16, first published 1867)

John Kennedy’s description of the Highland valleys as “sequestrated localities,” gives an idea of their isolation, remoteness and inaccessibility. Nowadays the Highlands are criss-crossed by roads and railways, but before the 1800s the roads were just dirt tracks and the railways had not yet come. Transport was on foot or by horse, and was slow. The people of these Highland valleys lived their whole lives with little contact with the outside world.

There was of course an exception to this. Many young men were recruited into Highland regiments of the British Army, famous for their fighting spirit, and for their loyalty to their lairds.  Responding to the call for volunteers, they marched out of their Highland glens, and departed for distant lands, where they fought and in many cases died, far from home. These were the men Kennedy refers to who wasted “their sinews and their blood on battlefields that, but for their prowess and their bravery, would have been the scene of their country’s defeat.” I am reminded of the haunting words of Mark Knopfler’s song, Brothers in arms:

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Someday you’ll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you’ll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms…

Such young men brought back tales of the many places they had seen, but part of the tragedy of the Clearances was that when they returned to their “valleys and their farms” there was nothing there. Their families had been evicted, the crofts where they had passed their childhood days destroyed to make way for “strangers, red deer and sheep.”

In the two centuries before the last of the Clearances in Ross-Shire (Greenyards 1854) there had been repeated spiritual revivals in the area. This is the subject of Kennedy’s book, and it makes for fascinating reading. It is also the subject of Tom Lennie’s book, Land of Many Revivals, which looks at the same influences not just in Ross-Shire but throughout Scotland. Lennie writes, for example, of the Clearances in Strathnaver, in Sutherland, north of Ross-Shire:

     The district had known rich spiritual blessing from as early as the 1720s onwards. According to the Rev Donald Munro of Ferintosh, a fresh wave of spiritual life began to pass through the Strath about the end of the eighteenth century and beginning of the nineteenth. Children and youth, impressed on seeing their seniors repair to Saturday noon prayer meetings – which were common in parts of the North at that time – eagerly began their own prayer groups.
Some in Strathnaver and the wider parish of Farr were said to have been ‘among the most outstanding of the men of the Highlands.’…
A minister who commenced his ministry in Farr said, “…I never knew any place where the religion of Christ so shone, and flourished, and pervaded the community, as it did in Strathnaver.”…
When the Rev David Mackenzie settled as minister of the Mission in 1813, he found a congregation of between 600 and 700, among whom were many men and women – some of high military rank and some well educated – who were ’eminent for piety, and their names still savoury among the churches of the north’ in the late 1870s. Over the next few years, during the period known as the Highland Clearances, every one of the Strath’s 1,600 inhabitants was ruthlessly evicted from the area. The Rev. Donald Sage… later wrote of the last Sabbath in the Strath before the Clearances… It was an unusually fine morning so the service was held on a beautiful green sward by the River Naver. After a sermon and the singing of a psalm, ‘At last all restraints were compelled to give way. The preacher ceased to speak, the people to listen. All lifted up their voices and wept, mingling their tears together. It was indeed the place of parting, and the hour. The greater number parted, never again to behold each other in the land of the living.’ One distressed witness of the evictions wrote of the sufferers: ‘The truly pious noted the mighty hand of God in the matter. In their prayers and religious conferences not a solitary expression could be heard of anger or vindictiveness.’ Many found no resting place till they reached the backwoods of Canada.
Some decades later, a Sutherland newspaper reminisced about the ‘noble band of godly men born and brought up in Strath Naver, parish of Farr, a district eminent for years, during the latter part of the last century (eighteenth) and the beginning of the present, as the residence of a number of pious, well educated and intelligent Christians.’
(Lennie T, Land of Many Revivals, 2015, pp.199-201)

A picture emerges of the inhabitants of these remote Highland valleys: there were certainly “peasants” among them, but there were soldiers too, and educated people, and they were people of faith. This was the fruit of religious revival, but such a spiritual richness was apparently not evident to the landlords who owned the land on which the people lived. These landlords were quite happy to clear them away for their own economic reasons, justified by some misinformed idea of “progress,” in which the wealthy were more interested in money and ideology than in people. They saw the inhabitants of their lands as too numerous and were worried that they might have to be supported financially from the landlords’ own pockets, something that until then had never been necessary since the “peasantry” were self sufficient and in fact paid rent to the lairds. The landlords did not see the people as intelligent, educated, loyal or pious, but rather as a potential burden that stood in the way and which needed to be removed. Hence the Clearances.

In another place or time the people may have revolted, taken up arms to defend their homes. Indeed it would seem that this was what was expected by many of the aristocracy. They had seen what had happened in France, and what was even happening to a lesser extent in England, and they expected armed resistance. They did not understand the transformation that had taken place in so many Highland hearts. Despite small disturbances the evictions were mostly a peaceful affair, and though the people appealed to their lairds’ reason and compassion, when they were met with stony indifference they usually accepted the judgements of their “superiors” and left quietly. As Lennie quotes, ‘the truly pious noted the mighty hand of God in the matter. In their prayers… not a solitary expression could be heard of anger or vindictiveness.’

Such a submission to ‘the mighty hand of God’ is frowned on in our day and age, seen as naive and foolish. Resistance is seen as the just way to proceed. But our ancestors lived in a different age, and the people of the Highlands were influenced by a different ethic and worldview. They interpreted what was happening in the context of God’s sovereignty. They didn’t understand why they should be caused to suffer, but they believed in God, and were comforted in their knowledge of his love. They did not interpret their suffering as a sign that God had deserted them or was punishing them, though they were well aware of their own failure to live up to His standards. They did not understand their suffering, but they accepted it, and saw his hand at work.

The result? The gospel was spread around the world, especially to Canada, Australia and New Zealand, countries which so many descendants of the Highlanders now call home. My own ancestors were not among those who were forced to leave, but rather left the Highlands of their own accord. But they too carried with them the spiritual heritage of the preceding two hundred years in the valleys of the Ross-Shire Highlands, a fierce commitment to God which has survived down through the generations. My grandmother’s name was Winifred Urquhart Ross – her names bearing witness to her ancestral origins in Ross and Sutherland. The man she married, my grandfather, came from a somewhat less “religious” family, with its roots in Germany and England. Before he met Win, he had already been influenced towards faith by a couple with whom he lodged in Lithgow, NSW, during the First World War. Here is what my father wrote about that time:

     Dad’s first job that I know of was in the Lithgow Small Arms Factory, but he was called up for military training in early 1918. The War ended in November 1918 just as he was about to embark for overseas. Presumably he returned to his job in Lithgow, but left at some stage to attend Technical College where he later became a teacher in Engineering Trades Drawing at Ultimo Technical College in Sydney.
While living in Lithgow, Dad was greatly helped by Mr. and Mrs. Goodes, with whom he probably boarded. They were a godly Christian couple, and would have been mainly responsible for adding a Christian dimension to his life which the rest of the Holford clan did not have. Sadly none of his siblings had any interest in the Church.
Through his involvement in the Anglican church he also became acquainted with the Robinson family (also of Scottish ancestry). Bradley Robinson was the Rector of the church, and he was married to Gertrude, the eldest daughter of the Ross family of Mosman. He got to know Winifred, a younger sister of Gertrude, who visited the Robinson family from time to time.  It happened that Dad’s father was living in the same street (Raglan St.) as the Ross family, so the friendship with Winifred strengthened until they became engaged and eventually married on December 20, 1925 in St. Clements Church, Mosman.

So the fruit of the revivals in Scotland, of the preaching of great men of God like the Rev John Macdonald of Ferintosh and many others which resulted in “the most peaceable and virtuous peasantry in Britain,” has come down through the generations, and spread itself around the world, and has even affected me, though I fear sometimes that I take more after the rather more irreligious Holford clan than the Rosses of Gledfield. But I too have found my way to a faith in the same God that inspired that Highland family, and at least some others of their descendants. So I cannot help but be inspired by the descriptions of those exciting times, and long to see them come again, not just to the Highlands, but to the little corner of the world where I find myself now. Here is another sample, an account of the ministry of James Kennedy of Aberfeldy, recorded by his son, John Kennedy, and quoted in Tom Lennie’s book:

     [Many came] every Sunday, fifteen to twenty miles, to sit under him in Aberfeldy, though they had to start at four in the morning to do it. The sight of these pilgrims travelling in carts, on horseback, and even on foot – the old men clad in homespun and often wearing the Highland bonnet, the old women wearing the snow white ‘mutch’, and carrying sprigs of sweet scented ‘southernwood’ as well as white handkerchiefs and the beloved Psalm-book in their hands – was by no means lacking in picturesqueness. Reaching Aberfeldy long before the hour of service, they were hospitably entertained at breakfast by the villagers. Then they streamed into the plain little chapel, and the worship began… As soon as the church was emptied the manse was crowded… Many of them did not get home till midnight; but the way, though long, was made cheerful with ‘songs of Zion’ and with talk of what they had heard in the morning.”
(Kennedy, Old Highland Days, quoted in Lennie T, pp.210-211)

And a final description, written by a Rev David Campbell a native of Glenlyon, recalling Kennedy’s ministry there in 1816. He had seen Kennedy

     stand almost knee-deep in a wreath of snow, while at the same time it was snowing and drifting in his face all the time he was preaching, and the people gathered around him patiently and eagerly listening to the fervent truths that proceeded from his lips… “Ach gu phi a-comhdhunnadh” – “But to conclude”! – when he came to that, his voice faltered, his eye brightened, and you would think he was as it were rushing between men and death, or plucking them out of the fire.
(quoted in Lennie T, p.210)

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Spiritual heritage

The Ferintosh burn was one of our favourite places of play. To stand where Dr Macdonald stood, to speak from his platform – this was something performed with a superstitious fear and awe. How often we heard people speak of what the great Dr Macdonald said and did, but it was not until childhood had passed and a work of grace was performed in our hearts that we came to appreciate spiritually the doctor’s life and work.

It became “the order of the day” for any who visited our old home, beside the Ferintosh Free Church of Scotland, to be taken on a pilgrimage to the Ferintosh burn. Few resisted the urge to test the acoustics when they found themselves at the preachers stance. Perhaps most often quoted on such occasions was “Ye must be born again.” This was much in keeping with the whole drift of Dr Macdonald’s ministry.

John Walter Ross, Lochcarron, Ross-Shire, Scotland. 1978.
From the Foreword to the 1978 edition of The Apostle of the North, the Life and Labours of the Rev John MacDonald, DD, of Ferintosh. By John Kennedy.

My grandmother believed that her grandfather, James Ross, who came out to Australia in 1866, “lived at Ferintosh opposite Dingwall.” I have not been able to verify that he actually lived there, though it is quite possible, since Ferintosh, on the Black Isle just north of Inverness, is a rich agricultural area and there would likely have been plenty of employment opportunities for young men from the Highlands. Our Ross ancestors did not come from Ferintosh but from Gledfield, some 15 miles to the north, where the father of the family was a blacksmith.

Map Ferintosh 1933

Ferintosh on the Black Isle, 1933 map

James Ross was one of his 13 children but chose to be a carpenter rather than a blacksmith like most of his brothers. Around 1850 I believe he left Scotland for England. He married a Welsh girl, Mary Ann Marston, and they settled in Birkenhead near Liverpool, from where they migrated in 1866.

It is difficult to follow James steps between the 1841 census, when he was a 14 year old living in Gledfield, some 15 miles north of Dingwall, and 1855 when his first child was born in Welshpool in Wales. I have previously hypothesised that he worked in an English house in Great Malvern, because a certain James Ross whose date of birth corresponds with our James turns up there in the 1851 census (and he is not to be found at the family home in Gledfield in that census). But the details of the 1851 census are not enough to be absolutely certain that this was the same person.

And what happened between 1841 and 1851? Here is my theory. Because my grandmother left a note to the effect that James (her grandfather) “lived at Ferintosh” and because the name Ferintosh remains in the family, I believe that after he left home in Gledfield, but before he moved to England and Wales, James may have found work in or around Ferintosh on the Black Isle. But why Ferintosh? Was it simply because a job happened to be available there, or were there other forces that attracted him to the area? He can hardly have been there for more than a few years, yet that time appeared to have been so significant to him that it became in the family’s memory James’ Scottish home, rather than Gledfield across the hills to the north.

Ferintosh is a place of great beauty and it is possible that James remembered it for that reason alone. But I believe that there was more than just the memory of its natural beauty that made Ferintosh so meaningful for James. I believe that it was something to do with The Rev John Macdonald of Ferintosh, a man who had turned the Highlands upside down with his preaching during the years he was the minister in Ferintosh. He died in 1849 about the time that James must have lived there. If James on his sixteenth birthday in 1843 had been in the crowd at Kincardine when Macdonald preached, as I have previously suggested, and if his life had been profoundly affected by that encounter, as seems not unlikely, it may well have been that on leaving his birthplace that Ferintosh, the home of the “apostle of the north,” was the place he sought out as he wondered about the direction his life was to take. He had doubtless been to Ferintosh on many occasions to hear MacDonald preach, or to attend the great communion seasons there. Something about the area drew him back. And something about his time there lived forever in his memory, enough for him to say in later years that Ferintosh had been his “home.”

Ferintosh is hardly even marked on modern maps, though it is still there. The Ferintosh Free Church still stands looking out across the Cromarty Firth to Dingwall. And, though there is no signpost, the preaching dell where Dr John MacDonald preached in the first half of the 1800s can still be found at the end of a track which winds through forest and up the slope from the road. It lies in a hollow through which the Ferintosh burn runs, and is surrounded by beautiful fields that slope gently down to the waters of the firth.

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Ferintosh Free Church, looking north toward Dingwall, May 2015

Many years after James had left and Macdonald had died, James’ younger brother Alexander, who had become a teacher, became the schoolmaster at Ferintosh school. Alexander was only five when Macdonald preached in Kincardine that cold winter day in 1843, and only 14 when Macdonald died. So it is less likely that Macdonald’s preaching was as deeply etched on Alexander’s memory as it was on James’. But it is likely that Alexander and his wife were also members of the Ferintosh Free Church of Scotland in the thirty or more years that they lived in the area until Alexander’s death in 1902. John Macdonald was the church’s first minister, from the time it was built in 1843, the year of the Disruption, until he died in 1849. Alexander and his wife Jane came there some twenty years later, possibly within a few years of James’ departure for Australia (1866). I can imagine that correspondence passed between James and his younger brother, thus continuing the connection between James and Ferintosh.

What was it about John MacDonald of Ferintosh that influenced and affected James Ross? What was the spiritual heritage that he took with him, first to England and later to Australia? The first half of the nineteenth century in Scotland was notorious for the Highland Clearances which emptied the glens of much of their populace, scattering them far and wide in Britain and around the globe. But it was also a time of profound spiritual awakening in many places in the north. The Rev Macdonald was one of many catalysts in this awakening.

James Ross, indeed the whole of the Ross family, lived through this period of spiritual revival and change. In 1843 a large group (450 evangelical ministers) broke away from the Established Church in what became known as The Disruption. This resulted in the formation of the Free Church of Scotland. John Macdonald was a leading light in this development, becoming the first minister of the Ferintosh Free Church. In Gledfield, where the Ross family lived, a Free Church was constructed in 1849, and in the 1881 census the family’s address is listed, somewhat mysteriously, as Gledfield Free Church.

Tom Lennie’s recent book, Land of Many Revivals, gives some insight into those years. I have also managed to acquire copies of two books by a contemporary of Macdonald’s, John Kennedy, who was for many years the minister at Dingwall. These books too give a fascinating insight into those times of spiritual as well as social upheaval in the Highlands.

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Days of revival in Scotland, documented in many books

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