As a boy I stood on Culloden Moor  

2000 kilted warriors perished there

My father by my side

A pilgrimage to his Scottish homeland

A rugged raw place

Scotland’s saddest day in 1746

I watched my father shed a tear

Not understanding why

Standing on the grave sites 

It made no sense to me then

Just a bunch of tombstones

My father gave me a history lesson

The last pitch battle on British soil

Scottish highlands fell to English rule

Wearing tartan was subsequently outlawed

Scottish culture was being crushed

Scotsmen remained proud

Their glorious highland landscape

Owned by distant Englishmen 

Never relinquished its stark beauty

Scotland was poor in the 1940’s

My father came south seeking work

Settling near Liverpool 

Shipbuilding supported jobs

Three children later

He remained a proud Scot

taking me to his birthplace

And to that lonely moor

My father has long since left us

I have explored Scotland with vigor 

Walking, fishing, whisky drinking

Inheriting my father’s yearning

I fell in love with the highlands

Proud to wear my clan kilt today

Now I understand why my father cried

Culture survives persecution