Normally we lose, but victory was ours this week… After much huffing and puffing, the MacGregors finally managed to beat the MacLarens in a show of strength.
For centuries these chippy clans have sparred with each other in west Perthshire glens. Tales of severed heads being carried over heathery hills are legion. Murder and blackmail could spark mayhem. But there were pettier reasons to fight and one feud began after a row over who should go first into the local kirk.
Yes, Scottish slights are not easily forgotten. Insults are hard to ignore and vendettas are not always laid to rest. And each year at the Lochearnhead Highland Games these ancient animosities are revived in a friendly tug-of-war.
I say it is cordial, but this event is taken seriously. In the lead up to this hotly-contested match there is much bluster. There is some no small swagger and there is plenty of glaring at the opposite side. There is even some name calling as each clan picks its beefiest men – or women.
Now, I might not have the right build, but as an Armstrong, I certainly have the right name. I desperately wanted to be part of our valiant MacGregor team, but like the tuggers would try to do, the chief put his foot firmly down. He said he deemed it unladylike and he was right. It would have been. In the event, I took to screaming on the sidelines in my elegant tartan suit…
Clan rivalry is alive and well in Scotland. And it takes place in such a romantic spot. The Lochearnhead Games nestles between loch and hills. With its hammer throwing and caber tossing, its piping and dancing competitions, it is a popular event – and it is one that has been going forever. This year’s lady chieftain of the games, Anne Cameron, told me this was her sixty-second year of attendance.
This is only the fourth or fifth time that the MacNaughties have attended the tartan merrymaking. They seem to like the razzmatazz that surrounds the all singing all dancing affair – and they certainly enjoy the drive over from east to west Perthshire.
But, in order to maintain some sort of canine control, when we arrive at the site only one dog at a time can be allowed onto the field. Barra the cocker spaniel is the first to be put on the lead and he behaves impeccably; keeping in step as the clans marched into the arena; not at all phased by the noise of the crowd, or the wail of the pipes.
While one dog is busy avoiding swinging kilts and hoovering up bits of dropped burger, the other must sit and sulk in the car. Rummie the Norfolk knows that something exciting is happening to which he is not yet invited. His turn will come. As they say, every dog will have its day. And next year the MacLarens will no doubt win the tug of war…
