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