Sep. 11th, 2011

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Or...  The sorry tale of a very unsavoury character from Scottish history and how he had his come-uppance (horribly, of course...)

I've been a bit remiss with 'Castle of the Month' just recently, so I thought I'd feature not one but two castles in September, both of which are linked with a single historical personality named Hugh. 

Extravagantly known in the gaelic as 'Uisdean MacGillespuich Chlreirich', Hugh was the perpetrator of a feud which lasted thirteen years, and resulted in a good many deaths.  As is frequently the case in Scots history, these bloody deeds appear to have had their origins in financial disagreements between relatives.  Hugh expected to be appointed tutor to the 7th Chief of Sleat during his minority years, which meant he could control the family purse-strings (and probably make a fair income on the side...), but instead had to share this task with his brother and uncle, James of the Castle.  All three were accused of failing to pay dues to the Bishopric of the Isles, and in 1581, this resulted in Hugh having to forfeit his lands and properties.

Thus began a life of piracy, which resulted in a host of complaints to the Privy Council, including one from Thomas Inglis, an Edinburgh burgess, who related how Hugh had 'wranguslie, violentlie and maisterful against all order of law and justice, reft, spuilseuit, intromettit with, and away tuke fra thaim the forsaid ship with the whole merchandise, goods and gear.'  He also carried out a feud with the 7th Chief of Sleat (now in his majority), which inevitably resulted in a fair amount of pretty needless bloodshed, and nearly resulted in the death of the chief himself.

In 1601, the long-running feud between the MacLeods of Dunvegan and the MacDonalds of Sleat ended, and Hugh appears to have accepted back into the fold.  He returned to Skye, where he built a small, but extremely defensive castle, still named 'Hugh's Castle', or Caisteal Uisdean, which squats menacingly at the end of a rocky promontory:-


But leopards can't change their spots, and already Hugh was planning to murder the chief and other high-ranking members of his clan.  He invited them to Caisteal Uisdean for the 17th century equivalent of a house-warming party, but with a spectacular display of ineptitude and inefficiency, the letters confirming variously his loyalty to the chief, and his instructions to his accomplice in the plot, were sent to the wrong recipients.  Not surprisingly, the Chief took exception to Hugh's treachery, and sent out the instruction that Hugh was to brought in dead or alive.

He didn't take refuge here, at Caisteal Uisdean, though the defensive capabilities of this site are clear:-


Instead he fled to a fortified island in North Uist, where the next sorry chapter of this tale unfolds...

The photographs are my own. with the historical information derived from 'The Medieval Castles of Skye and Lochalsh', by Roger Miket and David L. Roberts (Birlinn, 1990).  Roger Miket is better known in archaeological circles for his work in prehistory and Romano-British archaeology - I'm certainly not going to suggest that he sticks to his day job, as this is a great little book which would make a worthy addition to the bookshelf of any castle-holic or Scot-ophile!!
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The following spring/early summer flowering species are all in bud/bloom at the moment, which is odd, to say the least:-

Oriental hellebore, rhododendron, ornamental quince, and oriental poppy.

Weird, or what??

We have a purple gladiolus in bud, which I will share with you if I can photograph it before it gets flattened by Hurricane/Tropical Storm/Temperate Storm Katia...

And Squinty's having a bad day.  I hadn't seen beak nor feather of her all day - J was in the dining room, when she spotted him at the patio doors and came hopping up in the hope that he'd feed her.  I went out to attend her via the kitchen, and couldn't see her anywhere.  I was calling and calling her, then when I looked down I realised that she'd been sitting at my feet all the time wondering why she was being ignored.

A chirp would help, love, just to let me know you're there.  But I don't suppose she feels much like chirping in this weather.  I get the distinct impression that she hates the wind and the rain.  Then to add insult to injury, a drip came off the fuschia bush under which she was feeding, and landed on her back. 

She was not amused.  A glum-looking blackbird was suddenly looking even glummer, if that's possible...

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