smokingboot

On we went, travelling through Sutherland, named from the old Norse, the land to the South of Scandinavia and the Viking colonies on Orkney and Shetland. Many were the little ruins we saw, deserted crofts, bothies of long ago, small tumbles of bricks on the swathes of land sloping down to the sea. Here too waits a warm welcome at Dunrobin Castle, seat of the Earls of Sutherland; I think the oldest parts of it are 12th century. Through the entrance you go, to the welcoming smell of wood burning in a grand hearth just beyond the entrance! It is impossible to fault the prettiness and elegance of the place:

The gardens are fabulous:

And the clan crest is adorable;

In the foyer stood a statue of a gentleman with a head that seems built around his nose. I don't know if the attempt to make him Caesar-like is to offset this impressive schnozz following you around the room; but the gentleman himself is pretty memorable. His likeness recurs on a monument atop nearby Ben Bhraggie. He was the first Duke of Sutherland, George Granville Leveson-Gower, who married Elizabeth, Duchess and Countess of Sutherland. Through the marriage contract he controlled but she still owned the Sutherland estate, which is why the buck stops right at their feet together when it comes to responsibility for the clearances on their land.

There's been a lot said about this, though the palace seems noticeably quiet on the subject. To this day it's extremely controversial. My personal take is that, whenever it turns up, one should always examine carefully Adam Smith's notion of 'enlightened self interest.' Inevitably, the noun matters more than the adjective. Far better rents to be gained from sheep farming than human tenants. Besides, famine and poverty were far from unknown in the Highlands - and in fairness, the Sutherlands do seem to have been dismayed at the living conditions of their tenants - so what does one do in such a situation?

Well clearly, the only way to improvement is to force people off the land and take those higher rents, then relocate those people on the coast where they can learn to fish or farm or, er, whatever works on the coast. Problem, what problem?

Apparently Lady Sutherland was appalled at the resistance of the tenant farmers, who did not take kindly to this idea of being shifted around like livestock. They wanted to stay where their families had always lived, at which point there can be no gilding what happened next. They were forced out, their homes burned down. I do not describe here the force that was used, for it greys the day. Suffice it to say that though these may not have been the worst and it looks as though there was genuine effort to resettle the farmers, the most Sutherland-friendly way to describe it is as a thorough public relations disaster reaching ears in London and astonishing many, even in a brutal time.

Lady Sutherland in particular seems to have been traumatised by the intransigence of people who, despite not having a single chandelier, treated their hovels as though they were actual real homes. Many emigrated to the new world. Indeed, later, when the Sutherland heirs got past their disgruntlement at their generosity not being appreciated, they helped a group move to Canada.

And that's the thing about places like Dunrobin. It's gorgeous for sure, with its falconry displays and its avenues of ancient trees, smiling over the sea. But just a little bit of looking and you'll see; those are some serious overheads.