Thread by @HI_Voices

It's Friday afternoon, so we're going to have a random thread explaining why the finest bagpipes in the world are made in, er, Somerset.

The story starts with this guy. Anyone recognise him?

This is one James MacPherson, born 27th October 1736, near Kingussie. Born into a solid middle class family, he was (we presume) raised as a Gaelic speaker, already fairly unusual by that time for someone of his social status.

He studied at Aberdeen University, where he wrote a bunch of pretty forgettable poetry. It was so bad he later attempted to have it suppressed.

(What does this have to do with bagpipes in Somerset? We're getting to that...)

After finishing his studies, he met a chap by the name of John Home, to whom he showed some translations of Gaelic poetry and some manuscripts. These were shown to the minister and scholar Hugh Blair, who despite having no knowledge of Gaelic or Gaelic culture got very excited.

The result was a book, published in 1760, called Fragments of Ancient Poetry Collected in the Highlands of Scotland.

In it, MacPherson made an extremely unsubtle plea for large wads of money so he could go on a jaunt around the Highlands collecting more of this material. With Blair co-ordinating the fundraising, the money was soon found, and MacPherson set off on his jaunt.

His trips were a massive success, at least in terms of publicity, and in 1761 he published a doorstop of a work called "Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem in Six Books, together with Several Other Poems composed by Ossian, the Son of Fingal, translated from the Gaelic Language".

(The eighteenth century would not give a book a short title when a long one would do)

The book was an astronomical success. It made MacPherson a fortune and it was the Harry Potter of its day. Napoleon carried a copy on the march. Thomas Jefferson decided to learn the Gaelic so he could study it in the original.

(Somerset bagpipes are coming, honest)

The book purports to be a translation of an ancient epic poem by Ossian, the son of Fingal, a well-known figure in Irish legend (and perhaps history, who knows?)

In this picture, we see Ossian having been overdoing the whisky again.

For what it's worth, the book isn't a complete fabrication: we don't know exactly, but modern research reckons it was stitched together from lots of disparate fragments by MacPherson, who put his own spin on it.

(But the bagpipes, Calum! I hear you cry)

Right, so, why was the book such a sensation? Partly its literary quality; the style (written in prose) was original and arresting, and for its day seems to have been a Jolly Good Read.

But more importantly, it gave Scotland a foundation myth on a level not with King Arthur and the Round Table, but on the same level as Ancient Greece - a Homeric Odyssey all of our own.

In an age where race and kin were everything, this was a Big Deal and entitled Scotland to a seat at the cultural top table.

To put it in context, Ossian was published when Robert Burns was a young man of 21/22, aand for anyone seriously interested in Burns, a rough knowledge of Ossian is essential.

(Ossian was also responsible for kickstarting the entire Romantic era, but we'll gloss over that)

MacPherson, by the way, took the money from Ossian, bought several large Highland estates, and enthusiastically repaid the Gaidhealtachd by being one of the first landowners to really get enthusiastic about evicted tenants in favour of sheep.

So with this foundation myth firmly in place, by the early 19th century, with Romantacism as a cultural movement in full swing, it was decided that George IV should visit Scotland, possibly to get him out the way of international politics.

Enter Sir Walter Scott.

Scott was a skilled writer, but also a brilliant salesman, and he saw instantly that this visit could be turned into a gold rush.

He began by producing a pamphlet called "HINTS addressed to the INHABITANTS OF EDINBURGH AND OTHERS in prospect of HIS MAJESTY'S VISIT. By an old citizen", which he sold for the very reasonable price of a shilling each.

He persuaded the King to shell out for a Highland Outfit (at a cost of over £1300, well into six figures in todays money).

The picture is, apparently, slightly inaccurate; the kilt was cut short, so His Majesty added a pair of pink tights.

Scott arranged balls, theatrical events, pageants, parades, all sorts, and did a good job of getting a cut from pretty much everything going. The visit was an enormous success.

But crucially, the ground laid by MacPherson with Ossian mean that Scott could and did foreground Highland dress and culture as being Scottish culture. Bagpipes preceded the King as he processed through Edinburgh, clan chiefs were forced into the kilt, (often for the first time).

In short, the image of Scotland around the world today was created in a few short, hectic days in August 1822, and has endured ever since.

(I haven't forgotten about bagpipes in Somerset, I promise)

Twenty years after George IV, his neice, one Queen Victoria, visited Scotland for the first time. She visited Taymouth Castle and was entranced by the bagpipes, and, it seems, pretty much everything about the place.

It must have been a fine escape from the restrictive London court, one imagines. In any case, she liked the pipes so much that she snaffled Breadalbane's piper and induced him to come south with her.

This piper was Angus MacKay. His father, John MacKay, is a central figure in piping: all the great teachers can trace their teaching lineage to him. Angus was also a mighty figure, winning prizes and publishing collections of music still highly regarded today.

Angus's story does not end well: for reasons not completely clear, he gradually became insane, lost his appointment, and ended up in a mental hospital. He died by drowning in the River Nith after attempting to escape.

His successor was Pipe Major William Ross, universally known as Uilleam to distinguish him from a later 20th century piper of the same name.

We're getting closer now.

In the late 18th and early 19th century, the most popular instrument by a long chalk was not the piano, guitar, or violin. It was the flute - relatively easy to play, portable, and capable of impressive effects, it was ubiquitous.

Manufacturers were numerous and innovative, but the introduction of the Boehm flute spelled disaster for many of these craftsmen, who were first and foremost wood-turners, not makers in metal.

One such flute-maker was a Henry Starck, a German who had set up in London making flutes and possibly oboes. After some persuasion from Uilleam Ross, they started to make bagpipes together in the late 19th century.

The firm of Starck made really high quality instruments. Both in design and craftsmanship, surviving Starck bagpipes are beautiful instruments to play.

In 1946, the firm of Starck took on an apprentice, Leslie (Les) Cowall. He spent a number of years working for them and other leading makers of the day, including Rudall Carte. In 1962 Starck closed its doors for the last time.

A few years later, Les decided to set up on his own as a bagpipe maker. He named the business David Naill, and set up in a shed in Camden.

Les was insistent on high quality production, and it showed. By the 1970s, exporting Scottish goods was a big business, and many pipemaking firms were rushing work through in order to fill orders. David Naill's insistence on quality first made a big impact.

Of course, the rising tide of London's property prices made manufacturing in the metropolis increasingly untenable, so in 1976 the decision was made to relocate to Somerset, where they continue today to make some of the very finest instruments around.

See, I told you we'd get there eventually. Do go and visit them - naill-bagpipes.com/index.php

Haggis's reaction on realising how long this thread became.

ENDS