Mingulay Boat Song

OK, so what part of being Scottish is it that really matters? It's a confusing issue, what makes us who we are? All screwed up, conflicted, frustrated and in perpetual disagreement about anything that's vaguely touchy, like our prickly nationality issues and our tattered cultural history. For no good reason I'm currently of the opinion that there are two types of people in our tiny, mongrel version of the world. Those who know of the Mingulay Boat Song and those who don't. I see this as being a mark of a few personal, generational and tribal divisions. There are other marks too I suppose (like who knows where exactly Mingulay is? Does the No. 43 bus go past it?) but so what?

I'm also wondering if it might be, in some way, put to use as an identifier or as a divider. What does it mean to be properly Scottish these days? Legal status, Scottish parents, tartan embarrassment, a sense of being lost in the Scotch mist, self destructive behaviour? It's a mystery to me but could you live an entire life in Scotland and have not ever heard of the Mingulay Boat Song? Hmm. Would you want it played at your funeral or are you a "My Way" kind of person? Perhaps you'd rather that a creative dance piece was performed to sum up and pay tribute to your existence in a novel and stimulating way.

Nationalistic extremists might suggest (?) that those who don't know the Mingulay Boat Song should be considered traitors or at the very least are only sham Scots deserving some awkward but painful fate; say banishment to the Isle of Man, severe financial penalties or being shunned in public. I'm shrinking back from that kind of action. That's taking things too far. I'm certainly uncomfortable with any ethnic based violence, primitive  retribution or being exposed to a perpetual frizzled huff; but if you are Scottish and you don't know this song ... 

This thinking could also be applied to holding up a reasonable (at least in my opinion) appreciation of the wonderful Alex Harvey's back catalogue ... or Chick Murray, or the history of the Broons family or knowing what to do with a "slider". None of this is ever easy, we're in conflict with ourselves and our confused heritage all the time, because despite our common threads and failings we kind of despise our fellow Scot's own Scottish ignorance when encountered in the flesh. I'm thinking of some recent efforts like the "Redcoat Cafe" in Edinburgh Castle.

It's been a long, hard road to some non specific redemption that we can't seem to find (it is non specific after all) but the crippling guilt remains real. The mixed, diseased and tragic blood of our forefathers' many follies is stirred up by it all and so far I can't apologize for it any more than I can get past it. It's a sinking ship that never quite goes under. We're up to the gunwales in salty sea water and fish heads and the waters of the Minch are white. Brave people ruled over by idiots, so we'll always find ourselves fucked over time and time again. It's all too much, but in troubled times just sing a quiet wee song to yourselves, some self soothing, the good lord will find you ... "heel yo ho boys, let her go boys" ...