Clanlands

by Sam Heughan

  Standing on the battlements, the wind whipping up around us, the Lady explains the red flag. ‘It’s a Buddhist prayer flag, sending good energy out into the world,’ she explains. Having quietly resisted her powers I too find myself falling for this woman, castle and clan. The manicured grounds, walled gardens, big wood (with the tallest trees in Europe and remnants of the ancient Caledonian forest), replica of the Minotaur’s labyrinth in Knossos, Crete, complete with miniature Minotaur – it’s a spellbinding place.

  I just wish they’d make the gate wider.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Circle of Life

  ‘For that is the mark of the Scot of all classes . . .

  there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the dead,

  even to the twentieth generation.’

  Robert Louis Stevenson

  SAM

  It’s now early afternoon and the weather has started to turn. The wind gusts across the Prehistoric Burial Cairns of Bulnuaran of Clava (aka Clava Cairns), a Bronze Age cemetery with ring cairns, kerb cairns and standing stones near Inverness. (A cairn being a man-made pile, or stack, of stones.) Cameron McNeish, our guide, arrives on his electric neon-yellow bike. ‘The man of the hills himself,’ I greet him warmly. A great storyteller, political writer, author, broadcaster and legendary mountain walker/climber, Cameron knows more about the landscape of Scotland than anyone, having walked every inch of it multiple times. He’s bagged all 282 Munros three times round plus many iconic mountains around the world including those in the Alps, the Pyrenees, Spain, Iceland, North America, Norway, Sweden, Pakistan, India, Nepal, Central America, Slovenia, Russia, Guatemala, Corsica, Jordan and Turkey.

  I can see Graham eyeing his electric bike with contempt. A stickler for tradition and a confessed technophobe, Graham has even managed to scupper the writing of this book several times, unable to ‘share’ a simple document. We’ve tried Word, Pages and finally Google Docs before he set fire to his computer and returned to quill and ink. When we first started Zooming, the time it took for Graham to realise he didn’t have to plug in his wireless ear-buds (clue’s in the name Graham) was staggering! He is, however, an amazing calligrapher and player of the lute.

  I imagine him writing his sections by candlelight, hunched over a rusty typewriter like Scrooge, his pince-nez glasses perched upon the tip of his nose, sipping an excellent Pinot Noir. Mobile phones are an anathema to the balding thespian; the internet, the work of the devil. I wouldn’t be surprised if I received a telegram or carrier pigeon from him one of these days, telling me to ‘Fu*k off’.

  GRAHAM

  I wouldn’t call myself a Luddite but, let’s put it this way, they had a point.

  I think J.G. Farrell said it best in The Siege of Krishnapur: ‘We look on past ages with condescension, as a mere preparation for us . . . but what if we are a mere after-glow of them?’

  I often ask people to name a single advantage that the mobile phone has given us. They look affronted, as if I’m telling them the Earth is flat. ‘Well we can communicate with each other,’ they invariably say. I wonder if these people have any concept of a time before cell phones. Do they imagine people in the 1980s scratching their heads wondering, ‘How do I let that person know we need to talk? How can I get a message to them? If only we could communicate!’

  But no, amazingly, the world functioned remarkably well. Amazing feats of engineering were accomplished, distant lands were explored, probably the best songs were written before 2000, as were the greatest books (ours excepted of course). And yet, we persist in arrogantly adhering to this notion that new technology is necessarily an improvement.

  Even before the coronavirus pandemic of 2020 we were witnessing a kind of zombie apocalypse as people hunched over devices ignoring people inches away from them. In pubs, at dinner, at work: a world of self-isolation before self-isolation. Well done, technology!

  So as far as my headphones are concerned, these are, in fact, elaborate ear muffs with no function other than to keep my ears warm. I just have the speaker on full volume.

  SAM

  I really wanna go on Cameron’s electric bike. With fat off-road tyres and a 750W geared motor, the bike can help you coast up the hardest of tracks. I doubt Cameron’s taken it up The Cuillin on Skye (check out the Red Bull cyclist Danny MacAskill, who’s done tricks on the inaccessible pinnacle!) but he’s always game for a challenge. And so am I.

  One weekend in 2018, during shooting of Outlander, I agreed to film an episode of the Adventure Show, a Scottish TV show Cameron presents, focusing on outdoor sports and activities, which was right up my street! After a late night sitting by his open fire, consuming a generous amount of whisky, the next morning we prepared to head out. His lovely wife Gina cooked a hearty breakfast and ensured we had enough provisions for the adventure ahead. We were climbing the lesser-known Monadhliath Mountains, ‘the grey mountain range’, situated on the western side of Strathspey, to the west of the Cairngorms. It was winter and the drive through a blizzard the night before had been hairy, to say the least. I wasn’t sure if I’d get back to Glasgow the next day to resume working on Outlander.

  ‘There’s a thick blanket of snowfall from last night but I don’t think we need snow shoes,’ Cameron mused, sipping on a mug of hot tea. We shouldered our bags and started off down the street, the cars and houses walled in by a few feet of pristine white snow. I’d been experimenting in the hills shortly before this, and had bagged a few peaks, but had never successfully reached a summit in these conditions. A lack of experience and winter equipment had been my downfall. This time I came prepared: winter boots, ski socks, base layers, gaiters, waterproof jacket, fleece, snood, thick gloves and a bonnet, plus a hip flask hidden in my pocket! I felt ready to brave the freezing old hill. ‘I doubt we’ll need that,’ Cameron said pointing at my ice axe poking out the top of my bag, ‘probably no ice yet’. Just as the last word left his wind-chilled lips, he turned and was suddenly thrown off his feet, landing on his back, the bag and thick snow cushioning his fall. ‘Pretty slippy though, watch out!’ he said from the floor. He clambered to his feet and we set out once more, the sky turning grey and threatening to cover us some more, but we made it to the top with me only going once up to my waist in deep snow.

  The weather is more pleasant today – cold, but my tweed suit and bonnet are keeping me warm. The thick snowdrifts I fell in whilst climbing with Cameron are nowhere to be seen. At times on that climb I found myself almost waist deep in fresh snow. It didn’t feel like the Highlands of Scotland, more like the Arctic.

  Cameron tells us to grab the bikes down from the back of the camper. Graham looks at me.

  Graham: Sam, get the bikes down whilst I look majestically at the trees.

  God, it’s like working with Lady Gaga. He regally surveys the skyline, whilst I struggle to take the bikes off. He can see I can’t get them down. He gives me a look that could puncture a bicycle tyre. I have arranged the whole trip, have to do all of the driving, sort the bikes out, take her ladyship’s luggage to her room . . .

  Graham: Get on with it.

  ‘I can well see you’re experienced cyclists!’ And now Cameron’s mocking me. The grey bugger is making me look like a chump in front of a Scottish legend. As I haul the vintage steeds down, Cameron admires the sprung saddle ready for Graham’s royal bottom. He needs all the cushioning he can get at his age. It won’t be long before he brings his own rubber ring along . . . [Graham: Buns of Steel, I assure you.]

  Graham’s certainly not forgotten the almighty thrashing I gave him racing up the hill to Cawdor Castle, so he’s away like a streak of grey lightning, pedalling with all his might. Cameron cycles after him, with me struggling to catch up because in my haste to get my leg over I’ve squished my balls on my non-sprung concrete saddle.

  ‘Argh, my balls!’ I squeak.

  They film us cycling all of fifty yards, arriving at the gates of Clava Cairns. When it’s cut together we can pretend (badly) we’ve ju
st done a thirty-miler. Still clad in full tweed, we look like lost characters from Foyle’s War, which given Outlander begins in 1942, is not such a leap. The Outlander story starts with WWII combat nurse Claire Randall on honeymoon in Inverness with her husband Frank (played by Tobias Menzies.) They visit the fictional Craigh na Dun stones (which we recreated at Kinloch Rannoch). The Styrofoam stones were modelled on the Callanish Stones found on the Isle of Lewis and are similar to the ones found here at Clava Cairns. While searching for wild flowers, Claire accidentally travels back through these megaliths to 1743, coming face to face with Frank’s villainous ancestor Captain ‘Black Jack’ Randall (also played by Tobias). He manhandles Claire and that’s where Graham and I come charging in, rescuing the damsel-in-a-ripped-dress and taking her back to Castle Leoch, seat of Clan MacKenzie and the dubious MacKenzie brothers, one played by my current saddle-sore companion.

  GRAHAM

  For many folk it’s only Outlander that has introduced them to these stone circles. It is part of Diana Gabaldon’s brilliance that she understood the power of such places in the weaving of her stories. Standing amongst these stones reminds one of all the stories that have been lost over millennia, and the even greater importance of telling new ones now. These people recognised that life itself is the quintessential story, with death as the final chapter, and this is a homage to that universal tale.

  With this cheery thought in mind Sam and I enter the cemetery built over 4,000 years ago. Because of the association with Outlander, Clava Cairns has become a somewhat popular destination on the tourist trail – particularly among fans of the show – so it causes a stir when Dougal MacKenzie and Jamie Fraser cycle past wearing tweeds (Again! Seriously!), riding clapped-out piles of scrap metal. I jealously eye all the top-of-the-range RVs and camper vans, while our f%&$^*! Fiat Farce lies skulking in a corner of the car park, like an overly flatulent uncle at a wedding party. We stop for a few photos. [Sam: There’s no sight of Glenn who’s probably out raising a militia right at this moment.] The Spanish fans are very respectful. Cemeteries do that to people, which is perhaps one of the reasons I love visiting them.

  I’ve always had somewhat of a fascination for cemeteries, which I inherited from my grandfather. I don’t find them morbid, they are large-scale memento mori – a reminder of our fleeting time on earth – and it is a destination common to us all, one day. The ultimate shared experience that doesn’t differentiate based on your income, where you were born, your race, or your religion. Death, after all, is death, for all of us.

  The Bronze Age folk who built Clava Cairns were no different from us in that respect. We try to make sense of death today, much as they did thousands of years ago. It is a challenge that has followed our species through history. Our unique ability to reflect upon our own mortality. While other species can feel fear and pain, we alone are unique in our reflexive mind that allows us to project into a future towards, as Shakespeare put it, the ‘undiscovered country’.

  The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein said, ‘For life in the present there is no death. Death is not an event in life. It is not a fact in the world.’ We’ve always known it, and as a result we have always needed to mark it, to have places, sacred places, for the final resting of those who have gone before us. It is still regarded as abhorrent, irrespective of whether one is religious or not, to disturb the dead.

  Whenever I am in a place of historical significance, be it Clava, Glencoe or a castle, I always try to place myself in its history. Imagine being in this part of Scotland 4,000 years ago. The burial chambers here only held up to two people, so given the elaborate construction, they must have been for people of status and importance. (Definitely not actors. Up until not that long ago thespians were often buried at crossroads with a stake through their bodies because they were seen as dangerous tricksters – I’ve definitely worked with a couple who deserved a good staking.)

  As for the exquisite ordering of the stones and the building of the burial cairns – imagine the work that went into making them, moving the stones, the precise alignment of them to work best at the midwinter solstice, when Clava is bathed in an ethereal golden light. The dedication and the reverence. It makes for a profound experience whenever you visit. It creates, for me, a gigantic piece of living art: 4,000 years standing as silent sentinels, witness to the world passing around them, as immovable as the death they commemorate.

  Julius Caesar, Emperor of Rome, wrote an account of the Celtic Druids in Gaul (modern France):

  ‘Beyond all things, they are desirous to inspire a belief that men’s souls do not perish, but transmigrate after death from one individual to another; and besides, they hold discourses about the stars, about the size of the world and of various countries, about the nature of things, and about the power and might of the immortal gods.’

  Julius Caesar’s Commentarii de Bello Gallico,

  book VI, written in the 50s or 40s BC

  These stones don’t give up their secrets. They offer a tantalising glimpse into an age we can only guess at. Scraps of clothing, jewellery and bones are all we have but one thing has remained and shall remain: these stone guardians, reminders of a time long before the Highlander walked this land.

  SAM

  A vast tourist coach has pulled up and some people are waving at us as we pass through the gateway. The popularity and success of the show has led to a great number of people looking into their genealogy and history. Tourist numbers to Scotland have increased a great deal, with specific sites seeing a huge rise in numbers, including Clava Cairns and Doune Castle (Castle Leoch), which saw a 227% increase in visitors. The interest has also helped a lot of historic buildings find funding for refurbishment, from the flour mill (where Jamie takes a cold bath) to Geillis’s house in the historic town of Cuross, and the traditional sailing boat in which we set sail to France. Culloden battlefield has also seen a huge increase in numbers but there have been concerns over the increased footfall. The Fraser gravestone on the barren field has daily visits from curious tourists and a large number of flowers are laid by the graveside. Historic Scotland has asked fans to be respectful of its significance and the majority are extremely careful. I feel Scotland has been slow to pick up on this increased popularity but is beginning to gear its campaigns towards the new international audience. For the first few years of shooting Outlander, the locals were blissfully unaware of the horde of grubby actors running around the local park in Cumbernauld, filming a US TV show. However, a group of Diana’s fans (who had read her books some twenty years earlier) were organising and booking trips to Scotland. They knew the prime locations in the story and had even located our inconspicuous studio, hidden inside a derelict warehouse. The number of fans taking photos on the Culloden battlefield or pushing against every ancient stone, hoping to be transported back in time, proved that there was a voracious appetite for this material and that the rest of the world had an interest in and passion for Scotland. This passion has grown extensively in the last few years and I’m pleased that Scotland is now aware and making attempts to engage with the ever-increasing fandom.

  Graham: I actually thought you were an ‘Ambassador for Scotland’? Still not seen your crown.

  Sam: Yours is in the post, Grey Dog.

  Graham: Hmm . . . Like the Sassenach whisky.

  Many non-official tours and excursions are now available. Graham and I discussed creating our own tour company but I didn’t fancy driving a bus around the narrow roads; the camper van is challenging enough. And, besides, I’d have to do all of the driving!

  We stand silently for a moment surveying the scene before Cameron guides us towards the largest ring of stones. ‘There are four cairns here, one outside the wall and three of the cairns have a circle of standing stones, which is quite unusual,’ he says.

  These cairns identify burial chambers with passageways leading to the prehistoric tombs that once rested here – the stones are a marker or monument to those who have shuffled off this mortal coil. Whilst sh
ooting Young Alexander (basically Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets Alexander the Great. Don’t ask!), I climbed the stairs inside the Great Pyramid of Giza in Cairo. We entered the pitch-black stone burial chamber and I could feel the pressure of the thousands of tonnes of rock above. We are no closer to understanding how the Ancient Egyptians built those structures. Nor are we any closer to knowing how our Scottish ancestors built these cairns or erected the megaliths (vast standing stones) that stand on guard duty outside the tombs.

  Journalists ask me the same question, ‘If you could travel back in time through the stones where would you go?’ It’s hard to have a single answer but I would like to watch the pyramids being built. Or see the Khyber Pass as Alexander the Great travels to conquer India and most of the known world. Maybe I would joust in a medieval tournament? I’m sure the reality of all these events is much harder and way more dangerous than they look in the movies, therefore I’m glad I get to ‘visit’ for the day and then return home at the end of the night. Being an actor means you get to pretend to go backwards or forwards in time and I think it happens to be the best of all worlds.

  GRAHAM

  I’ve always been fascinated by history so my destination is constantly changing. Sometimes it’s Ancient Rome, sometimes Elizabethan England to see one of Shakespeare’s plays performed for the first time. Right now, it’s the Dark Ages – the time of Vikings and shield walls (a formation of soldiers overlapped their shields for maximum defence). I suppose the thing that really fascinates me is not so much the period itself but travelling back in time far enough to see a truly alien world. When I travelled to India for work, and to Japan, it’s the first time I’ve been anywhere that truly feels like another world – the smells, colours, sounds, the bustle. To stand in a marketplace, at any time in history prior to the mid-nineteenth century, would be a sensory overload.