Clanlands

by Sam Heughan

  In March 2019, I was standing in my kitchen in New Zealand when Sam called. He knew I’d been thinking about doing a documentary about Scottish history, and wondered if we could do something together as a podcast. It was instantly appealing to imagine sitting and bantering with him over whisky in a pub. However, it wasn’t long before the idea of a podcast had turned into us planning to use GoPros to film ourselves while we walked and talked.

  Great, I thought, even though I had no idea how this would actually work. My grasp of technology is tenuous at the best of times, so I was imagining Sam recording excellent footage of me, while I still hadn’t managed to even press ‘play’ on my device.

  Then, Sam suggested an actual TV camera, with actual people, actually knowing what they were doing. Okay – this was getting bigger. We decided our way into Scottish history was through its clans, looking at one clan per episode. I already had my favourites, based on my slight obsession with feuding. There is a saying, ‘Scotland was born fighting’, and feuding is something that the Highland clans have turned into an art form. Venetians have their glass, Persians have their rugs and the Scots have their feuds. I sent over my suggestions and we decided upon the clans we would feature based on geography and accessibility, as we were on a ridiculously tight schedule with no weather cover against a Scottish September (fools!), no script, no real prep, just a ‘turn up and shoot’ idea.

  One camera became two and then three . . . with a drone.

  And, after taking various planes, trains and automobiles – me from New Zealand, Sam from the set of Outlander – we finally arrived at the Kingshouse Hotel, on the southern edge of the Glencoe mountain range, to meet Michelle Methven, our wonderful line producer, and the rest of the Clanlands crew.

  SAM

  Let me introduce you to the team. We have:

  Michelle Methven – our line producer, who is the hardest working person in Scotland, with a great collection of wellies. She is a schedule guru, expert 4x4 driver and you want her on your team because she can play every position.

  Alex Norouzi – a producer and director, who was a whisky virgin until I met him. A creative genius with a funny accent.

  John Duncan – director of photography and drone genius.

  Jonnie Lewis – second assistant camera. Enthusiastic, with great hair.

  Tim Askew – third assistant camera for our last weekend. Caught a great amount of cutaways and ‘B’ roll (i.e. cutaway shots, close-ups of thistles, mountains, Graham’s angry beard), some of which I’ll deny ever happened!

  Merlin Bonning – sound wizard who travelled in the back of the Fiat camper.

  Wendy Kemp Forbes – make-up artist/groomer/chief morale officer. Big laugh and even bigger heart. Gave extra attention to Graham’s bald head. [Graham: I got five minutes in the make-up chair, Sam was barely out of it. Constantly being primped like something from Best In Show.] [Sam: It’s because I have hair, Graham.]

  Laura Strong and Linzi Thompson – the stylist team who set up camp in Glen Etive.

  Davie ‘Hollywood’ Stewart – my Outlander driver for six years, who took over the controls whenever we were too drunk to drive. Most days. [Graham: Thank God he did!]

  Paul/Stewart/Daniel – PAs/drivers and all-day multitaskers. Coffee-making, whisky-pouring, light-holding, Graham’s latte and snack suppliers.

  Peter Sandground – our photographer, who managed to get some terrific images in seconds and shared in my enthusiasm to place Graham in precarious situations. [Graham: Note to self – beat Peter Sandground to within an inch of his life.]

  Michelle Methven is a machine – a hands-on, proper grafter type of person. I think we all are on Clanlands and we all clicked because no one was looking for the perks or trappings of fame (apart from maybe Graham, with his insatiable appetite for fine wine, fine dining and high-end hotels). What sets Michelle apart is that she’s not only emotionally invested in a project but always maintains a cheery disposition, even when faced with a soggy pair of actors and crew that are hungry, hung-over and slightly dazed. She thinks of everything.

  I first met Michelle working on a commercial shoot a few years ago. She was driving a rusty old Land Rover, wearing a pair of her iconic green Barbour wellies and a beaten-up wax jacket. She beamed at me and told me to hop in. ‘Do you want a go?’ she asked, seeing I was itching to try my hand at off-roading. This was highly irregular, but she knew I’d be okay as I jumped into the driver’s seat and stared down the steep hill. I put my foot on the accelerator and set off down hill. ‘Oh God!’ came a cry from make-up artist Wendy in the back seat, covering her eyes and giggling manically. ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Michelle, never one to panic and always ready with a backup plan. As we hurtled down the hill I could see her trying to work out what to do if we found ourselves in a ditch. We made it safely down the steep incline, and rolled to a halt next to a group of bemused commercial clients. I jumped out of the driver’s side and quickly hid myself behind Wendy, a difficult task given she’s half a foot smaller than me! But before the executives had a chance to express concern, the ever-ready Michelle stepped in with her charming smile. ‘Cup of tea? Or too early for a hot toddy?’ The suits relaxed and agreed it was never, ever too early and I realised in that moment, Michelle was a woman you always want by your side.

  And, Wendy is another incredible crew member I couldn’t be without. We’ve worked together on Outlander since the beginning in 2013. She applies all my make-up in record time, usually around forty-five minutes to an hour for mud, blood, ageing, wig and any extras appropriate for the day’s shoot. Not only in charge of the continuity of my character Jamie Fraser – who gets beaten up a lot – Wendy also applies the back scars I wear when topless on the show. [Graham: which is a lot. Can’t keep his bloody clothes on. He is almost certainly writing this passage naked.] In the beginning it used to take a three-person team three hours, but Wendy has perfected the technique and can give me full scar coverage in only ninety minutes. Whether it is raining, cold, late at night or we are covered in a cloud of midges, she always has a smile and a joke for me. In fact, we laugh a lot and our bond has become very close.

  And, if you don’t know Outlander, where have you been? No, it’s not that one with Sean Connery as a Spaniard and a Frenchman as a Highlander. Although that film did have an awesome soundtrack (Queen – ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’) and a scene where they discuss the contents of haggis in a rowing boat (actually, sounds like an episode of Men In Kilts).

  Outlander is the multi-award-winning Starz show (streamed on Amazon Prime in the UK and Starz in the US) about a 1940s nurse, Claire Beauchamp Randall (played by Caitriona Balfe, my long-suffering and utterly brilliant co-star), who is transported back to eighteenth-century Scotland, one year before the Jacobite Rising of 1745, and meets the love of her life, the flame-haired Jamie Fraser, played by me. My character’s full name is: James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser – try saying that name fifty times in front of a group of adolescent-behaving, overheating actors in fake wigs and beards and see how you do!

  Caitriona and I have been on this terrific journey together for almost seven years now. Both rather green at first and thrown together to play soul-mates Jamie and Claire, in Caitriona I have not only had a brilliant and sensitive co-star but a loyal friend. Cait and I are like brother and sister, we know how each other works. There’s an ease and comfort when working together and of course we have our disagreements but ultimately always we have each other’s backs. I insisted during Season One negotiations that our fees/contracts were the same and that we were always in it together. Now as producers on the show, we have an added responsibility to the rest of the cast and crew, plus Diana and the fans, to get it right. We confide in each other and I consider her one of my closest friends. It’s hard not to have fun on set and we laugh a lot, both sharing a rather childish sense of humour. We know each other’s ‘tells’ and many a time Cait has given me a shoulder to lean on or offered some good advice. I’m so lucky to share th
is journey with her. And I guess the ‘chemistry’ takes care of itself.

  The TV show Outlander is based on a series of books written twenty years earlier by the uber-talented Diana Gabaldon. Diana was actually inspired by Doctor Who: in one episode there was a man in a kilt called Jamie, who was played by the actor Frazer Hines, who appeared in Season Three of Outlander as Sir Fletcher Gordon, the governor of Wentworth. A unique mix of historical fact, action, romance, spirituality, darkness, medicinal information, and humour [Graham: and more close-ups of Heughan’s arse than is strictly necessary; the show is best described as ‘tartan and soft porn’] [Sam: Harsh], her work has gained a loyal and voracious readership. Thankfully, the fans have embraced us and we love to present them with our version of Diana’s books and I consider myself the guardian of her character, Jamie Fraser. However, there is a small, hardcore group of fans who believe that with me measuring an inch shorter than Jamie, I am an ill-fitting choice to play the ‘King of Men’.

  I’m not a ginger [Graham: You kind of are] or a virgin, either!

  GRAHAM

  After having a conflab with Michelle and meeting the crew, Sam and I are both excited and slightly daunted about going to so many places and meeting so many people on such a tight schedule, it almost defies the laws of physics. So it is of vital importance to be fresh in the morning for our first day of filming. With that in mind we have a bite to eat together and a little nightcap in the bar and all is well with the world until . . . ENTER Duncan Lacroix (Murtagh in Outlander) stage right, with his dipsomaniacal sidekick ‘The Irishman’ already half-cut and in the mood for carnage. We had asked Duncan – Outlander’s resident Oliver Reed – to do a comic turn on our Clanlands adventure and he willingly signed up. But now I realise this could have been a dreadful mistake . . .

  It starts with whisky, then wine and then whisky. Lots of whisky, my alcoholic fate sealed until 3am. Sam sneaks off, well oiled, at one; damn him for remembering to go to bed. My experience has always been: the more important the next day’s task, the later I go to bed. Not ideal, I know.

  My alarm goes off louder than it should. Urgh. It’s 7am. I pull apart my eyelids and feel wretched. Downstairs at breakfast I am astonished to see Duncan up and moving – perhaps he’s not even been to bed? However, on closer inspection he looks like he may die at any moment, or like a warmed corpse still wearing the clothes he was buried in. His Irish friend is nowhere to be seen – presumably in bed, possibly alive, possibly not.

  Sam is his annoying perky self, bounding with energy like some kind of muscular springer spaniel. After forcing down a breakfast of porridge, a full Scottish fry-up, toast, jam, the works (well, I did), Sam and I are finally off in our motorhome, careering in third gear along the Glencoe road to a location where Duncan is pretending to hitchhike. In his state, holding his thumb upright will be a miracle. Sam has spotted him up ahead. He asks me what we’re meant to be doing. I tell him I haven’t got the faintest idea – he organised this road trip! He speeds towards Duncan. ‘Slow down,’ I say. He obliges and we both affect complete astonishment at seeing our mate Duncan in the middle of the Highlands.

  Graham: Shall we pick him up?

  Sam: Nah.

  I wind up the window, shutting out Duncan’s expectant, haggard and severely over-refreshed face as we accelerate off, Sam trying his best to make the wheels spin on this plastic leviathan. John, the director of photography, suggests we talk about Duncan as we drive away – perhaps feeling bad about leaving him – but I say it’s much funnier if we don’t reference it. We simply drive on, with no concern at all.

  As we continue on the road I open my window again, feeling queasy. I drank a vat of coffee at breakfast but already the caffeine is wearing off. The sun warms my face (in September) and suddenly I begin to notice our incredible surroundings. Sam and I both crane our heads forward to get a better look through the windscreen to absorb the arresting, heart-poundingly beautiful, majestic, but in reality harsh and inhospitable, glen. On a day like today there is no beating the Scottish landscape. The layers of blood, feud, romance, myth and passion are like the rock of the mountains themselves, grand in scale, ancient, and sometimes overwhelming.

  Life is hard in these hills. The rock in the Highlands is so hard that it’s a barrier to drainage. Topography alert! The rain collects in valleys with no subterranean chambers so moisture lingers on the surface, making the land marshy, sodden, and treacherous. The Highlands, up to the eighteenth century, were virtually an island, cut off by the Firth of Forth and the Firth of Clyde with the only route being through Stirling. Hence, Robert the Bruce was able to drown scores of English knights at Bannockburn in 1314 with the odds against him. The marshy land around Stirling was only drained in the late 1700s and most movement in the Highlands until the late eighteenth century was by sea.

  SAM

  You may have gleaned already that Graham is a bit of a history buff because, let’s face it, he’s from another time (and planet!). I think he was born in the 1940s . . . [Graham: 1961, thank you]. Anyway, he really does know a lot about the clans and his Highland ancestry; although I have a keen interest in my Scottish heritage, I’m yet to fill in the gaps of my own lineage. I’m hungry to learn more, which is why I decided to produce Men In Kilts as a TV show because, for me, there’s no better way to learn than by ‘getting amongst it’. I’m a ‘let’s get sh*t done’ type of guy and organising a road trip around the Highlands with a mate, meeting a variety of Scottish characters and drinking cask-strength whisky is my sort of history field trip. So if Big G’s the fusty, bushy-eyebrowed professor of this adventure, I must be Steven Spielberg! Baldilocks has got twenty years on me and comes with the elderly’s pedantry for detail such as battle dates, numbers killed, injuries sustained and what the weather was like – a strange and unexpected benefit of our cross-generational friendship!

  And, before us lies an epic journey starting in the resplendent valley of Glencoe. The dramatic Buachaille Etive Mor (Scottish Gaelic for ‘the herdsman of Etive’) mountain guarding the glen looks unreal in the early morning sunshine. To the right is the jagged and precarious Aonach Eagach ridge, which runs the length of the glen. It can only be traversed in one direction using rope and harness, and is something I have always wanted to climb. [Sam: Graham, fancy it?] [Graham: Not today, thank you.] It’s crossed by the aptly named Devil’s Staircase, an old military road and a steep climb for even the most adventurous. I used to come to Glencoe as a kid; I even learned to ski here when I was a teenager. However, unlike Graham, who spent his youth in Glasgow, I spent my early years in the Lowland countryside. I was born in a stone cottage near the town of Balmaclellan in Galloway, south-west Scotland, in 1980 . . .

  Graham: I felt a disturbance in the balance of the world in 1980, I seem to recall.

  Sam: You’ll like this bit, Graham. I was actually called ‘Samwise’ at times by my parents and my brother, Cirdan, after the characters in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Graham was Dwalin, the grumpy/angry Scottish dwarf in The Hobbit Trilogy. Typecast again.

  Graham: Really? I didn’t know that, mate. I knew there was a reason why I liked you. Although, having said that, I always found Samwise to be the most annoying of hobbits in Lord of the Rings – the one I secretly hoped Sauron would put in some kind of Mordor chokehold.

  Sam: Nice touch.

  Raised by my mum, Chrissie, we moved to New Galloway (the smallest royal borough in Scotland) to a converted block of stables, called the Steadings [Graham: You literally grew up in an animal outhouse, like some Scottish baby Jesus], in the grounds of Kenmure Castle, a thirteenth-century ruin on the shores of Loch Ken. Things were tight back then but it didn’t matter because my brother and I had the ancient walled garden, banked meadows (archery range in my imagination) and dense Forestry Commission woods as our playground. I now realise how idyllic this was and how lucky we were. History was always around us. The gloomy presence of Kenmure Castle looked down with the open windows and door like the
face of a ghoulish monster ready to swallow a young child. I would occasionally build the courage to sneak inside the crumbling castle and find evidence of past inhabitants, an ancient fireplace, walls and flooring exposed. I’d imagine warriors creeping up the spiral staircase, just as I did in Outlander. It’s in this land that I began to play and develop my imagination. I was obsessed with Merlin, Excalibur, King Arthur and Robert the Bruce; all have links to ancient British history and that part of Scotland claims to have originated many of those myths.

  Bang!

  We hit a bump at speed.

  Graham: Slow down! God, it’s like a crap remake of Speed.

  Sam: And you’re Sandra Bullock?

  Graham: Sandra Bullock did the driving! (PAUSE) And what exactly is this?

  Graham’s beard bristles as he pokes the miniature Highland ‘coo’, dangling from the rear-view mirror, with his long index finger. ‘What is it?’ he says, his tone even more suspicious than usual, like he’s expecting it to moo, or blow up in his face. I’ve decked out the camper van with as much Scottish memorabilia as I could find in my house and the local charity shop. Old maps of Scotland, a broken set of bagpipes, a basket-hilted sword, a shinty stick, a Scottish flag, a couple of rusty bicycles tied to the back and any other ‘shortbread tin’ rubbish I could find, just to make the hairless-headed one feel more at home. ‘It’s all research material with a few surprises,’ I smirk, keeping him on his toes and making sure he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. I imagine him with the tartan blanket over his knees, handbag on top.

  Sam: I’ve got a single malt hidden under the sink. (And shortbread, which he mustn’t find.) And, I did actually bring you a cigar . . .