Questioning Identity

Posted on October 9, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Two Tales from Wigtown

In his book,  Against Identity, Alexander Douglas quotes Upton Sinclair: “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.” 

Douglas goes on to say: “Well, try getting somebody to understand something when their identity depends upon not understanding it. If they do not even realize that they are protecting their identity, their mind will confabulate prolifically to explain their resistance to understanding. It will tell itself a story, for example that the source of the proffered understanding is an unreliable creep, a dangerous manipulator.”

Douglas’s book is not an attack on identity per se, but rather questions the significance it has for many of us. We live in a world where we are encouraged at every turn to “discover our true self – to be all we can be – to live authentically.” There is an assumption at the centre of these exhortations that this identity we seek to uncover is the very core of our being and is deserving of discovery, respect  and expression. 

In the United Kingdom there is a current fascination with the idea of being British. The Labour Party’s recent conference saw the delegates clutching and waving a variety of the nation’s flags, a preponderance of Union Jacks but also Welsh and Scottish flags. It was a fairly blatant attempt to reclaim these expressions of  identity from Reform and other factions on the extreme right of our politics. As a member of the Labour Party I find myself somewhat squeamish in the face of this flag-waving. Yes, I was born in Northern Ireland and so, I am de facto, British. Somewhere in a drawer I have an out of date British Passport. But as for “feeling British,”  what does that even mean?  Does my heart swell at the playing of  Jerusalem?  I will admit some fondness for the hymn tune to which Blake’s great poem is set and for the sentiments expressed in its lines. But such emotion as this raises in me has nothing to do with ‘feeling British’.

Perhaps though, I feel Irish.  I have sometimes considered applying for an Irish passport, to which I would be entitled. I’ve never got around to it but may yet do so.  I have strong family and sentimental connections which cross the Irish border and which, in my mind, seem to encompass the entire island. I will admit to a surge of emotion on hearing reference to the singing of “Galway Bay” when Fairy Tale of New York rings out once again in the supermarket as Christmas time approaches. I like to see Irish teams win in sport.  It pleases me when people first notice that I still speak with an Irish accent.  I might say, with some honesty, that I love Ireland.   

But then I also love Dumfries and Galloway where I have lived for the past forty years. So to claim Irish as an identity seems just as bogus as to claim Britishness. 

When I was twelve or thirteen I became an ardent supporter of Liverpool F.C. The precise reasons for this need not concern us, though it may have had something to do with the fact that the popular choice in Newry High School in the late 1960s was to support Manchester United.  George Best was working his magic for them at the time. However, despite my admiration for Best, I clearly wanted to distinguish myself and with guidance from Nicholas Pipkin, an exile to Northern Ireland from the Wirrel, I was persuaded of the greatness of Bill Shankly, of the near sanctity of Ian St. John and of the magnificent camaraderie one might experience standing in the choir at the Spion Kop end of Anfield football ground.   

Looking back I’d say that being a Liverpool supporter became part of my identity, sharpened no doubt by theatrical banter that took place following the drama of the results each Saturday afternoon.   

A football identity such as this follows many through their entire lives. There were stories of Liverpool supporters who, on their demise, were buried in the team colours. Living now in  Scotland I am regularly reminded that substantial sections of the populace have Rangers or Celtic written right through the core of their being. 

And yet my own attachment to Liverpool F.C. has fallen away. I continue to keep half an eye on football results. I was lucky enough to be present when Queen of the South defeated Aberdeen by four goals to three to reach the final of the Scottish Cup in 2008. In the company of most of the population of Dumfries, I shared the thrill of watching them in the final, losing only by a single goal to Rangers. But in truth I pay very little attention now to what goes on in football and have tired of the predictability of the same teams repeatedly contesting the top honours. So much for my identity as a supporter of Liverpool F.C. 

I heard Alexander Douglas interviewed by journalist and writer Stuart Kelly on the subject of his book at the recent Wigtown Book Festival. The full title says much about its central argument.  Against Identity: The Wisdom of Escaping the Self.  Douglas draws out his theme from the writings of three individuals: the Chinese sage Zhuangzi, who lived around the 4th century BCE,  the 17th-century Dutch philosopher Benedict Spinoza, and the 20th-century historian-critic René Girard. 

I’ll risk summarising. Identity is a social construct. It arises from conscious or unconscious mimetic behaviour. This mimetic behaviour is an expression of admiration of those encountered. Once an identity has become established the natural impulse for an individual  is to become a source of admiration and identity for others. 

As the title implies, identities stick. They are like a comfort blanket, a source of security. However they also function as a shackle on our further development. Though it may be desirable, cutting oneself adrift from an identity is not easily done. 

I could not help thinking about these ideas when the following week, also as part of the Wigtown book festival, the same Stuart Kelly interviewed Jenny Lindsay on her book Hounded.  I had never heard of Jenny Lindsay, but was familiar with at least some of the elements of her story. A successful performance poet, she became embroiled in 2019 in the arguments  over gender identity.  She comes to this controversy  from a gender critical perspective which holds that being a woman is a biologically defined category. Gender identity activists, by contrast, argue that people should be accepted as the gender they believe themselves to be, regardless of their biology. 

This self-identification is not particularly problematic in itself. However, gender identity activists insist that someone self-identifying as a woman is entitled to access spaces hitherto reserved for women on the basis of  biologically defined gender. A trans woman, according to this reasoning, should be entitled to use women’s toilets, to participate in women’s sport or to be employed as a counsellor in services offering support to women who have been raped or physically abused by men. 

The story that Jenny Lindsay tells is that she and many other women who have  spoken out from a feminist and gender critical point of view have been systematically abused on-line and in person, subjected to extremely hostile picketing of their public appearances and in many cases obliged to resign their jobs for allegedly using non-inclusive language. All this for merely expressing a point of view. The gender-critical critique itself, regardless of how it is framed, is read as hostile, abusive, and harmful to transgender women.

I had heard of others who have been on the receiving end of such “houndings,” in particular J.K. Rowling, Germaine Greer and Joanna Cherry QC. I have felt puzzled by the extremity of the language directed at them. I have felt sympathy for the argument they make. 
I am sure that not all gender activists are implicated in the more extreme end of hounding behaviour, but there does seem to be a lot of it about. I could not but admire Jenny Lindsay for the courage she shows in telling her story.

Endnotes

Alexander Douglas – Against Identity

Jenny Lindsay – Hounded

Header Image, open source, cropped from The Kop Closeup

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The Case in Favour of Open Borders

Posted on October 1, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Opening the national border to all who wish to come is an unfashionable idea. The  last person  I can recall advocating such a policy was Angela Merkel.  “Wir schaffen das” she said with the confidence of a true leader. We can do this.  

It was a courageous policy to open German borders and take in large numbers of beleaguered Syrian migrants. The consequence however, in the short term at least, would appear to be the rise of the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD). The AfD is resolutely hostile to immigration. 

And yet, in this post, I will make the case for opening our borders, for offering a passport and British citizenship to all-comers.

There are many reasons why we should keep our cool in the face of high numbers of people arriving from abroad into the UK. Clearly there are challenges, most obviously in relation to the provision of housing, health care and education. But then there are also good things which can follow from such an open doors policy, and which can be to the very immediate benefit of our economy. And so I join Angela Merkel in saying: “Wir schaffen das.”  We can do it.

I recently attended an event  featuring a documentary film on a Citizens Assembly tasked with responding to Climate Change. The post-film discussion turned to the practical difficulties of, for example, upgrading our national electricity grid. The current Government was castigated for its alleged failure to make progress on any front.  

I pointed out that, even if the money were made available, it is doubtful that the resources, and in particular the necessary workforce, would be available in short order to do all the jobs that need to be done. It’s not just the re-construction of our national electricity grid that competes for our workforce. We have an ageing population that requires a high level of personal care. There is a need to build more houses. We have a health care crisis which is “keeping millions out of work”. [1]

The immediate response to my litany was one with which I could not disagree.  “That’s why we need migrants!”

This is quite a familiar argument, though one which is brushed aside by those who are hostile to migration. The need for greater strength and resilience in our workforce is easy to understate.  Indeed a problem of misperception runs right through the whole issue of migration.  As Bobby Duffy, Professor of Public Policy and Director of the Policy Institute argues:

The public have a very poor understanding of the scale and nature of immigration. Surveys regularly show we think between a quarter and third of the population are immigrants – when the actual figures are closer to 13%. And these misperceptions extend to our view of the make-up of immigrants. The most mentioned are refugees or asylum-seekers, despite these being the least common immigrant type. The least mentioned group are people who come here to study, when in fact students were the largest category of migrant to the UK in 2011. [2]

The number of students as a proportion of migrants continues to run at a high level.[3]

However, as Bobby Duffy sagely goes on to remark: “it’s very wrong to conclude … that if only we could re-educate the public through “myth-busting” they won’t worry about immigration. Our misperceptions are as much a result of our concern as our concern is a result of misperceptions.”

I am inclined to agree that re-education is not a realistic way of turning round the public’s attitude to the presence of migrants, and yet I think education may have a part to play, in particular where migrant children in our school are concerned.  I am reminded of a story I came across recently on social media. It was told by Smajo Bešo, a Lecturer & Researcher at Newcastle University. Smajo arrived in Newcastle in the 1990s, a refugee in flight, with his parents, from the war in Bosnia. As Smajo tells the story: 

I missed my grandparents and friends. I was having awful nightmares, and I would wake up screaming every single night. I hated going to school. I would sit in my chair, look out of the window, and spend my day daydreaming about ways to run back to Bosnia. I didn’t want to be here.

Well, that’s probably just what is to be expected in the event of such a traumatic upheaval in the life of a child. However, Smajo goes on to talk about his primary school teacher, Miss Webster, and an experience that was to play an important part in turning things around for him. 

After a couple of weeks at school, my teacher, Miss Webster, and my classmates did something special to help me settle, something that made me feel less of a stranger. That was the first day I went home with a smile on my face.

Miss Webster was amazing, but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. She had this ritual where, at the end of each day, we would all sit on the floor around her, she would play the guitar, and we would all sing a song together.   

My classmates loved this, but I hated it. It annoyed me because I couldn’t understand what they were singing, but if I am honest, I hated it mainly because of how happy they all were. I definitely wasn’t happy. I cried myself to sleep nearly every night.

I eventually started having separate English lessons, which I enjoyed more because it took me out of the classroom. It was always daunting coming to school because I felt everyone was looking at me or speaking about me. For months, my dad would stand with me outside the school gates in the morning until it was time to go in.

One day I came back into the classroom from my English lesson. We sat down, and everyone was extra-excited, looking at me more than usual for some reason. Of course, I thought it was because I was a refugee, because I couldn’t speak English, or because they couldn’t pronounce my name. I was bracing myself for another afternoon of my classmates encouraging me to sing. This was probably the closest I came to running out.

So we were all sitting on the floor around Miss Webster. She was holding her guitar, ready to sing. I remember the sun shining through the tall, narrow windows as I slowly drifted into a daydream of being back in Bosnia. She began playing the guitar, my classmates joined in, but this time, everything was different. I froze. I understood what they were singing. Not because I had miraculously learned English in one afternoon, but because they were singing in Bosnian for me. I looked around in shock, and they were all smiling at me, and for a moment I thought I was daydreaming.

While I was having separate English lessons, Miss Webster had taught our entire class to sing this song for me in Bosnian. They sang it terribly, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. I skipped home that day with a huge smile on my face. For the first time, I looked forward to going back to school the next day.

I have often imagined Miss Webster and my classmates rehearsing, struggling with the strange Bosnian words and laughing at themselves. For me, that effort was the ultimate recognition, an act of peace that felt like the opposite of everything I had known during the war. It was special.

I do not know if they realised it then, but that moment helped to give me back my dignity, my belonging, and, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was just a refugee or an outsider. I was home.”

I cannot imagine anyone being unmoved by this story.  However, opening a small door into the language and culture of Bosnia did something important not just for Smajo, but for his entire class. Yes, Smajo went home on that special day with a smile on his face, but perhaps, more importantly, his entire  class “were all smiling at me.”

Who knows, perhaps one or two of those children did develop a deeper interest in Bosnian language and culture, but such interest or knowledge was never going to be a threat to their own culture – and Smajo, it is quite clear, went on to do something remarkable in his adopted country. 

The potential for migrants to enrich the education of their English speaking peers is generally overlooked, even feared. Learning even to say a few words in the language of a stranger, for a small child, can be a magical and even, on occasion, a transformative aspect of their education. 

Not every teacher can be a Miss Webster, but the idea of moving some small way towards the culture of migrants is a powerful one. The current popular enthusiasm is to double down on a one way street of migrant integration into some officially approved, flag waving, vainglorious, distillation of British language and culture “more honored in the breach than the observance.”  

This suggests to me a sad, and I believe, completely unnecessary,  lack of cultural self confidence and belief. The reality is that British culture encompasses very strange bedfellows – and that is as it should be.  Everything from Shakespeare to the Sex Pistols, from J M W Turner to Tracey Emin. You don’t have  to like it all to recognise it as part of what has made the extraordinary patchwork of modern Britain. 

It is of relatively little consequence if some adult migrants struggle with English and perhaps always remain locked within their own language and culture.  As all evidence shows, the experience of  the children of migrants and of subsequent generations is entirely different. They  learn English.  They  understand British culture and augment it.  Inevitably, however, the way in which this happens will be qualified and even compromised by the reception they receive from their teachers and class mates as they pass through the education system. The antidote to this is to think like Miss Webster. 

The way we engage with   adult migrants also  deserves greater attention. Colleges of further education are already on the front line of this interface, no doubt doing good work. FE Colleges are learning communities which can offer a gateway into every aspect of the life and work of the United Kingdom. 

Naturally it can be a source of friction if resources are diverted away from the training of young people who have grown up in the catchment area of a College, to meet this new challenge. Just as should be the case with schools with significant numbers of migrant pupils on their roll,  additional resources must be applied to meet the challenge. There could be a role, I imagine, for volunteers or for retired College lecturers – such as myself – to play a part in this process. Whatever is done, whatever is spent, will be an investment in our future which will benefit not just these new citizens, but also those who have grown up in the locality. 

The payoff will be greater societal resilience in the face of the many challenges which lie ahead. Put simply, we will have more young people in our demographic. That means more people to work in our health service, to care for the old and infirm, to start small businesses, to build the infrastructure we need for a sustainable and prosperous future. 

The AfD in Germany and the far right in general raise up additional phantoms in the form of the “Great Replacement Theory” which suggests that an indigenous European  white—population is being replaced by non-European immigrants.  In 50 or 100 years time,  many aspects of our society  will indeed be very different than they are  today. So long as the transition takes place in a harmonious way the outcome should be a matter of curiosity only, not of  concern.

In making the case for open borders I am not suggesting that a sudden growth in our population can be accommodated without difficulties. There is bound to be friction, at some stages. There is clearly a rising tide of British citizens who have set themselves against such an idea. Yet I continue to believe that, with the right leadership  we can adopt an approach to migration which is thoughtful, welcoming,  ingenious, inspirational and to the mutual benefit of both migrants and the population of the UK in general. 

Wir schaffen das.  

Endnotes

[1]The UK faces health crisis as long-term conditions keep millions out of work

[2] Perceptions and reality: Ten things we should know about attitudes to immigration in the UK

[3] Student Migration to the UK  

[4] Smajo Bešo  https://www.facebook.com/smajo.beso/about_overview

Title image cropped from an original open source picture which can be viewed here.

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Great Lives, The Lisbon Lions, Scottish Landscape and Bohemia in a Small Scottish Town

Posted on September 24, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

I’d never heard of the  improvisational guitarist Derek Bailey until I encountered his story on BBC Radio’s Great Lives programme. Amongst other things, the programme was memorable for a short and fractious exchange between the presenter Matthew Parris, and comedian Stewart Lee, who had selected Bailey as his “Great Life.”  According to Wikipedia “As an adult [Bailey] worked as a guitarist and session musician in clubs, radio, and dance hall bands, playing with Morecambe and Wise, Gracie Fields, Bob Monkhouse, Kathy Kirby, and on the television program Opportunity Knocks.” Stewart Lee suggests – though this is not substantiated – that Bailey played as a session musician on Petula Clark’s 1964 international hit, Downtown. But that was before he abandoned such bread and butter work and set off on his improvisational journey into the musical avant-garde, and obscurity. 

On listening to a snatch of Derek Bailey’s music on the programme, it would appear for the first time, Matthew Parris, usually a genial and open-minded host,  suggested the it sounded as though it might have been played by a “chimpanzee.”  Stewart Lee was not having that but, rather than walking out, he complained bitterly at Parris’ crass response. 

Matthew Parris appeared unable to apologise or moderate his position. He might, for example, have admitted that he found the music challenging, difficult even. That, at least, would have been an acknowledgement that the failure was his and not Derek Bailey’s.

Don’t get me wrong. Following the programme I’ve been taking a listen to Derek Bailey on Spotify. For someone like myself, whose musical inclinations have been shaped by the Beatles and the top twenty of the 1960s, Bailey’s music is a challenge.  But, to paraphrase Scottish Composer James McMillan, to appreciate great music requires effort. 

McMillan, by the way, also featured in a recent edition of Great Lives, but in that case the Great Life, chosen by him, was Jock Stein, manager of the “Lisbon Lions.”  This was the Celtic team that defeated Inter Milan 2-1 in the final of the European Cup in 1967 at the Estádio Nacional, Lisbon. At that time I considered myself a supporter of Liverpool and Newry Town, but I am proud to say that, as a fourteen year old,  I watched that game and shared every second of its high drama on the black and white television of my family home. But I digress.  

I was reminded of my recent acquaintance with Derek Bailey when I visited the Scottish Landscape Awards 2025  Exhibition, currently showing at the Kirkcudbright Galleries. It’s a stunning collection of work but I’d have to confess that I entered the gallery with the lazy expectation of encountering lots of dramatic coastlines, mountains, huge skies, maybe a few trees bent by the prevailing wind, and wee white cottages, all done in a range of styles and media. There was a certain amount of that but much of what was on offer seemed, on superficial encounter, to have only a very tenuous connection indeed to scottish landscape.  But when I came away I found myself grateful that my prior expectations had been so completely confounded.  I suppose landscape was the inspiration but what came next was as varied and wonderful as can be imagined. If you can’t get to the exhibition before it closes on September 28, then at least you can take a look at the pictures online. 

If you don’t make it to the Landscape Exhibition, then at least be sure you don’t miss the show hiding away on the top floor of Kirkcudbright Galleries. It tells the story of four women living in Kirkcudbright in the early part of the 20th Century. They were outspoken supporters of women’s suffrage and, as artists, unafraid of expressing themselves flamboyantly and with originality in their life and their work. However, and this is clearly part of the story the exhibition intends to draw to our attention, in their friendship they were not bound by the heterosexual conventions of the time. This aspect of their friendship remained hidden and encoded in the archive of their artworks, diaries, letters and photographs. What the exhibition makes clear is that these women were as much a part of the story of Kirkcudbright Artists’ Town as are E.A.Hornell, E.A Taylor and Jessie M King.  

The Home of Jessie M King and E A Taylor, 38 High St, Kirkcudbright.

As one of the interviewees says, in the film which accompanies the exhibition: “Kirkcudbright was just a few streets at that time.” He reflects on the impact these women must have had in a small rural fishing port in the wake of the First World War. 

For me, three remarkable, bold, confident canvases were an eye-catching highlight of the exhibition. There must surely be other work hidden away in private collections and gallery storerooms around the country which deserves an airing.  

My only complaint was the sound quality of the video – to be clear, not the recording of the sound, but its broadcast on rather tinny speakers. The poor quality of the soundsystem made the interviews quite hard work to follow and produced a rather disagreeable soundscape which reverberated through the main exhibition. But I don’t wish to overstate this. All credit to DJ McDowall of the Imaginarium who co-produced the exhibition with the help of young people from Kirkcudbright Academy, and the  support of The Holywood Trust. 

Endnotes

Great Lives: Comedian Stewart Lee on Derek Bailey

Wikipedia Derek Bailey (guitarist)

Great Lives: Jock Stein, first British football manager to win the European Cup

Scottish Landscape Exhibition 2025  109 works

Coming Out of the Archives This exhibition celebrates the bohemian lives of the women artists who spent their summers in Kirkcudbright in the early 20th century.   The Story of a Fairy Family

About The Imaginarium https://www.theimaginarium.world/about

Header image taken in the back garden of Jessie M King’s and E. A. Taylor’s house, 38 High St, Kirkcudbright.

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An American Tragedy

Posted on September 20, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Following the assassination of Charlie Kirk I listened to an edition of BBC Radio’s Americast which included a number of clips of Charlie Kirk in action. In one of these he was addressed by a young man who introduced himself as gay, but also conservative in his politics. My guess was that, despite his religious and conservative identification, he felt himself targeted by Kirk’s extreme right wing christian evangelism.  

Kirk’s response was polite, even welcoming. However he went on to  challenge the way in which the young man had identified himself by his sexuality.  “You’re more than that” he assured him.The young man immediately seemed reconciled to this challenge to his self-presentation. Of course, he was more than his sexual identity.

And yet it was not hard to see something disingenuous in the welcome Charlie Kirk gave to this young gay man. His insistence that he should not allow himself to be defined by something so narrow as his sexual orientation was a way of silencing him.  Be what you want to be, but don’t talk about it.  

The reality is that people frequently identify themselves by some detail which seems particularly important to them but which in reality offers a very limited window on the person they are. When I walk down the street in Dumfries I often see young men dressed in Celtic or Rangers shirts. They’re not going to a game. It’s just the clothing they feel comfortable in. It does sometimes cross my mind that their projected identity diminishes them, but really, it’s none of my business. 

On that campus in Utah, where he was to meet his end, Charlie Kirk was shown throwing out red MAGA baseball caps to the crowd. The intention was obvious. Put on a MAGA cap and identify yourself with what it represents – and set  the messy complexity of your real identity to one side. 

The contradiction between Charlie Kirk’s challenge to that young gay man and his seduction of the crowd with his slick rhetoric and his red MAGA baseball caps, is obvious. And someone, armed with a high powered rifle, was sufficiently angered by that contradiction to climb a  roof, take aim, and fire the single shot which was to end Charlie Kirk’s life.  

In the frenzy of media coverage there have been other glimpses of Charlie Kirk in action. There is no doubt that he had capability in setting out a case against abortion or in defence of a religiously framed politics. Where the latter was concerned he was immediately able to offer a barrage of biblical quotations to support his case, though notably absent “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.” 

Charlie Kirk’s method was neither that of the philosopher or the theologian. He did not wrestle with contradictions or make subtle distinctions. He was, I can easily imagine, the star of the school debating team, quick witted, an excellent memory, smart. Armed with this talent he became fluid in the arguments that fed the algorithm which made him rich, famous, notorious, a friend of a President. 

But that algorithm almost certainly became his master, shaped him and ultimately was to place him in the cross-hairs of his nemesis, a young man, just 22 years old, Tyler Robinson.  Tyler Robinson’s  motivations and affiliations remain shrouded in mystery but it can be safely assumed he was a mess of contradictions in search of an identity. I say “was” because his identity has become a public property, something over which he no longer has any control.

The death of Charlie Kirk is a tragedy, not just for Kirk himself but also for his two young children and his wife.  Yet many will also see tragedy in the story of Tyler Robinson and his family who find themselves in a place they could never have imagined or wished for.   

These tragedies, however, pale into insignificance when set against the war in Ukraine and the ongoing and systematic destruction of Gaza. Meanwhile, an incompetent US President looks on, threatens much, but does nothing.

Endnotes

Title image cropped from this image. Creative Commons licence details available at https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 

Americast Charlie Kirk’s killing: A dangerous moment for America?

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Kirkcudbright Fringe 2025

Posted on September 8, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Three Stories from This Year’s Festival of Art and Culture

Story 1: Home Truths for Home Rule: Scotland After 25 Years of Devolution

Lesley Riddoch and Henry McLeish in Conversation

Kirkcudbright Fringe has once again presented us with a fine array of events in a picturesque and – for me at any rate – very accessible location.

My opening outing was to see Lesley Riddoch debate with Henry McLeish the highs and lows of 25 years of a Scottish Parliament.   

Lesley Riddoch, Henry McLeish and the discussion host, Alec Ross.

It was, contrary to the appearance of this prediscussion face-off picture, an amicable affair reminding me of the leadership debate in the 2010 UK General Election where the key takeaway was Gordon Brown declaring repeatedly: “I agree with Nick” – referring of course to Nick Clegg, leader of the Liberal Democrats.  In this case it was Henry McLeish who was keen to say – without actually letting his Unionist credentials go hang: “I agree with Lesley.”

In her opening statement Lesley Riddoch outlined  key failures of the UK constitution which remain unresolved.  She mentioned in particular the unreformed and increasingly unrepresentative electoral system of the UK Parliament.  She mentioned her interest in the question of land ownership. She illustrated this particular point by reference to the Great Reform Act of 1832 which allocated the franchise to all male citizens meeting the necessary property qualification – amounting in practice to an extension of the franchise from 1 percent of the population to 7 percent.  In Norway as Lesley explained, where there were many small farmers holding their own property, a similar reform in practice extended the franchise to just over 40% of the population. But Scotland, as I am sure was Lesley’s point, has its own more extreme version of this injustice. Andy Wightmans lays out the scale of injustice  involved in his book The Poor had no Lawyers. It’s a work which makes  Proudhon’s provocative declaration: “Property is Theft” seem entirely reasonable. 

Henry contested none of this. Indeed he sketched out further common ground in “stupidity” of Brexit, and the obvious self harm it has caused. Nevertheless, he asserted his right to be considered a proud Scot whilst simultaneously defending the Union with our English neighbours – they would after all, continue to be our neighbours in the event of Scottish Independence. 

Missing from the discussion, for me, was the question of the currency. There seems general agreement that a Scottish pound, though possibly appealing to the more extreme flag wavers, is not a viable proposition. In the longer term Scotland would either have to retain Sterling, a currency over which it could no longer exercise any meaningful influence, or adopt the Euro, a currency union in which Scotland would be a very small player with very distinct  island economic  interests. It would have minimal influence over a currency which in any case has been conservatively managed in its short history as the Greek experience under Finance Minister Yanis Varoufakis demonstrated.

Questions from the floor, as is often the case in such events, were less questions than declarations, mostly, so far as I could tell, expressing impatience with Westminster and a desire for Scotland to go it alone. One member of the audience, however, did throw down an interesting challenge to both Lesley and Henry – full disclosure – it was me! – arguing that Holyrood could never fulfill its full promise without radical reform of Westminster politics, in particular, the electoral system for the House of Commons. 

When our politics was dominated by two parties, Labour and Conservative, the First Past the Post delivered a semblance of fairness in which Scotland shared – that is before the advent of Margaret Thatcher.  Our party system however, is now in crisis with First Past the Post delivering increasingly unrepresentative and unpredictable outcomes. The Scottish National Party has been the beneficiary of this chaos and its polarising impact on politics in general and Scottish politics in particular. 

Were the problem to be addressed and the system reformed, I would bet that an independence referendum, 10 years on, would deliver a resounding “No” to the secessionist proposition. But I’ll be waving no flags, one way or the other, and if I am wrong I’ll still hope to be around to experience the dawn of the new and independent Scotland. I’m  sure they’ll do just fine.   

Story 2: The Beatles, the Sixties and Me

Philip Norman in Conversation with Ken McNab

I have read a few music celebrity biographies in my time – Dylan – more than one, Cohen, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen,  … but in more recent years I have grown weary of the genre. Yet I could not resist this event, Philip Norman, biographer of the Beatles, both the group and the individual members – well, all except Ringo, but more of that later, interviewed by Ken McNab who has also written extensively about The Beatles. 

Philip Norman (left) and Ken McNab amidst the splendour of the gallery room in Broughton House.

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, an anecdote rich conversation. But what anecdotes they were. Philip Norman had encountered the Beatles in person at the earliest flowering of their celebrity, both Paul McCartney and John Lennon welcoming him, an unknown young journalist, into their inner circle, at least briefly, until firmly ejected by a professional Beatle Minder but not before gathering further evidence of George Harrison as a more taciturn presence and Ringo Starr … well, as I’ve already said, more on Ringo, later. 

In fact Philip Norman was eventually to write a Beatles biography, Shout, published following Lennon’s death, in 1981.  It was the first significant work on the Beatles. Subsequent Norman biographies of McCartney and Harrison were to revise some aspects of the narrative set out in Shout, which had pleased neither McCartney nor Harrison. Yet what was clear from the discussion was Philip Norman’s  willingness to look for a more complex and complete version of the Beatles story. 

The conversation was characterised more by jaw dropping anecdote and revelation than by brilliant insight, but given that Norman had found his way into the presence of such stellar celebrity, could it possibly have been otherwise?

A number of tantalising strands did emerge. One such was pinpointed by a question from the audience, which observed the rich evidence of John Lennon’s wit in the Beatles early years.  And yet, when he formed his relationship with Yoko Ono and eventually broke with the Beatles and moved with Yoko to New York, all of this humour and whimsy, as evidenced in his early publication of the books John Lennon in his Own Write and A Spaniard in the Works,  appeared to go missing.   

Philip Norman, to some degree defended Lennon against this charge and yet  was very clear that John was in awe of Yoko Ono’s status as a serious artist, and doubted his own claim to be an artist of any worth at all. 

The discussion of Brian Epstein’s role in the rise of the Beatles touched on a similar failure of confidence. Philip Norman was very clear that Epstein was a crucial element of the Beatles rise to fame,  and yet Epstein’s influence seems to me to have been a stifling one, particularly evident in insistence on Beatle suits.

Before Epstein came on the scene, The Beatles had, with the help of their booking agent, Allan Williams, found their way from the Cavern in Liverpool to a residency in Hamburg.  There is strong evidence to suggest that they were capable of a discipline that might very well have carried them forward, perhaps with a different manager and without the intervention of Brian Epstein. And in those early Hamburg photographs their appearance is strikingly defined by leather jackets, jeans, Brylcreem and attitude.  This is all evidence of the influence of the US film and music culture from which their own work was to grow. It was a look which could only have worked in  their favour and yet Brian Epstein was to insist that they “smarten up”. 

The remarkable thing is that the band went along with this regime and in John’s case it seems unexpectedly deferential. 

Having said this, I’d have to admit that the cleaner look which Epstein brought to the band quite possibly did extend their reach into more conservative  corners of the culture and perhaps this was crucial to the scale of their success.  

Ah yes, Ringo. Not considered interesting enough, it would seem, for a Norman biography.  Indeed unfavourable comparisons were made in the conversation between Ringo’s abilities and those of one of his predecessors, Stuart Sutcliffe, who left the band for reasons that are still debated, and tragically, was to die in April 1962 of a brain haemorrhage.  Sutcliffe was succeeded as drummer, by Pete Best. Best already a band member, switched from bass to drums, with McCartney taking over on bass. Brian Epstein fired Best following the band’s first recording session and then, on 16 August 1962, came Ringo.[1]

Ringo has continued to be the butt of unfavourable comment.  John Lennon is alleged to have said “’Ringo wasn’t even the best drummer in the Beatles.”   And yet it may be that Ringo’s  talent was perfectly fitted to the music that emerged and that a more brilliant or creative drummer, whilst they might have tipped the group down a musically interesting,  route, would have harmed their popular appeal. I think I hear Gerry Hassan making a very similar observation about Ringo in the latest episode of Dumfries and Galloway’s very own Beatle Blethers, currently riding high in the UK podcast charts.

Story 3: The Power of Equality in the UK and Globally

Peter Tatchell in Conversation with D. J. McDowall

I arrived at this event with some sense of Peter Tatchell’s importance as a campaigner for human rights, equality and LGBT+ freedom over many years. I had not expected to find myself so impressed by the endless invention of his campaigning,  and the courage, modesty and restraint he continues to show in the face of the threats and abuse directed against him.  

D. J. McDowall’s thoughtfully planned sequence of questions deserves credit for a conversation which touched upon many aspects of Peter Tatchell’s 50 year career as a campaigner.   Along the way we learnt about his deeply religious fundamentalist upbringing, his early protests, in Australia, against the Vietnam war, his two attempts to perform a citizens arrest on Robert Mugabe, and his unrelenting workload and commitment.  “I am tired all the time.  I just keep going”….I’m 73 now. I hope I’ll have another 20 years of campaigning.”   The conclusion was understandably emotional. The standing ovation that followed was something I had never before experienced at such an event.

Above all, the conversation elicited from Peter Tatchell a master class in something he has raised to the level of an  art form: protest and campaigning. Joy and humour were his key ideas, as exemplified in the mass kiss-in at Picadilly Circus in 1990 organised to challenge police harassment and laws that criminalised public same sex affection. His advice on how to greet an approaching policeman: with a smile and an outstretched and open palm – “It’s not what they expect.”  

Peter Tatchell and D.J. McDowall

In the past, Peter Tatchell has worked cooperatively with Keir Starmer on human rights cases.  He is  distressed by what has become of Starmer.  “I liked Keir and I don’t know what has happened to him.”  A particular frustration has been the Government’s refusal to change the electoral system despite clear support from within the Labour Party in favour of reform. 

Like many others, Peter Tatchell fears that the next general election will deliver an unrepresentative and backward-looking  government, led by Nigel Farage. If the Government will not give us a fairer voting system, the only way to prevent this bleak outcome, he suggested, will be tactical voting and electoral pacts beween parties.   

On a lighter note, D.J. McDowall somewhat ambushed Peter with a request for music that he has found inspiring or listens to in order to relax.  He doesn’t really seem to do much of the latter. At any rate, here’s his impromptu playlist.

“Every day” said Peter Tatchell “I try to imagine …”

Endnotes

Note, this post was updated on 12 September, 13:55, to correct D.J. McDowall’s name and also the original elision of Pete Best from the sequence of Beatle drummers.

Further update on 15 September, with more detail on Pete Best’s presence in the band.

[1]Wikipedia entry on Pete Best https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pete_Best

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Roncadora

Posted on August 30, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

I arrived at the Coach and Horses last Thursday with no intention to write anything about the evening which was to come.   But I went home with a different idea entirely for the event celebrated not just poetry but a remarkable local publishing venture: Roncadora Press. Hugh Bryden, the creative force behind Roncadora, has engaged in an extended collaboration with local poets to produce limited edition books. Each one is unique in character and, quite apart from its content, crafted with unfailing deftness in a range of print techniques, formats, and layouts. But Hugh has decided that Roncadora Press has run its course, and he wishes to focus on other projects.

To mark the conclusion of the Roncadora era, its final collaboration was with another Hugh, Hugh McMillan. The two Hughs have collaborated on many Roncadora projects. This final work, “Colin goes South”, has been described by the poet himself as a “deranged version of the Gododdin set on the train from Dumfries to Carlisle!” We were treated to readings from this epic, a fascinating and, at times, hilarious piece of work. I should like to have quoted from it. Sadly, the copy I bought somehow got left behind in the Coach and Horses. Rest assured, I shall be purchasing a second copy and sending my good wishes to whoever went home with mine.

The second half of the evening was given over to an open mic session, providing an opportunity for a range of others to present their work. We heard everything from a first poem—a kind of manifesto for the medium—through to poems expressing grief, a poem on the challenge of an empty chair, and a poem on a remarkable encounter in East Belfast, this last read by a visitor, Charlie Gracie. For me, perhaps signalling my less than complete commitment to serious work, the highlight of the evening came from a young woman (I didn’t catch her name, but someone I hope will tell me). She gave us an extended monologue culminating in a visit to the castle of Count Dracula, the whole thing performed from memory in a range of character voices and distinguished by some magnificent puns. Edinburgh Fringe, eat your heart out, I would say. It was a fine evening’s entertainment all round.

I would note one contribution from a member of the audience who did not deign to take the floor. She offered an eight-line poem, a commentary, as I understood it, on the use of mobile phones by some of those performing as a source from which to read their work. The eight lines were cleverly written, I thought. The author appeared to suggest that words read from a paper source, whether book, notebook, or folder, were in some way preferable, perhaps even superior—or did I miss some detail?—to those read from a screen.

My understanding of the message was consistent with the creative framing which Roncodora Press has offered for the work of local poets, and that is something I esteem. Yet as I set off for home, I found myself in disagreement with what I think I heard. I have listened more than once to poems read from a mobile phone and thought the work was good. Indeed, I have more than once read poetry aloud (not my own) from a mobile phone and felt that I have shared something significant with my listeners which I’d like to think was welcome. There is a vast archive of poetry on the internet which can be accessed on a mobile phone.

If I do have a message for those who read their work from a phone or a tablet, it would be: get the damn thing sorted out before you stand up. But that’s a minor point, and I can imagine that, when you’re nervous, sorting your phone out is a little like tuning a guitar—necessary, of course, but also a way of calming yourself down.

I’ll finish, though, with a further mention of the work of Hugh Bryden. I was in Sanquhar a few weeks ago in the cafe and art centre, A’ The Airts. I spotted a book of poems by Betty Tyndal, titled “Journey at Solstice”. I knew who Betty was, though I hadn’t seen her for years. I picked up the book. It was a slim volume, hand-sewn, but what most caught my eye were the beautiful illustrations throughout. They were by Hugh Bryden, working in a style I might not have associated with him. I won’t tell you the price for which it was for sale, because it was an insult to the work. Of course I bought it, took it home, and what’s more, I read it. I thought it a rather fine piece of writing.

I brought the book along to the Coach and Horses and asked Hugh to sign it, which he did, telling me that Betty, now aged 92, is still living at the address given for the publisher and printed at the front of the book.

The following day I dropped in to see her. She sat in her small conservatory, surrounded by books, overlooking a garden full of apple and pear trees laden with fruit. She recalled for me the research she had done for “Journey at Solstice”, which she thought of as a reappraisal of the contribution which the Vikings made to our culture. She was kind enough to sign the copy of her book which I had brought with me.

Remarkably, she was working on a new poem, framed within her own bespoke book—a beautifully crafted folding creation with little pockets containing various objects, and also a short poem, which she took out and read to me. The project is a work in progress, she told me.

There is no doubt that mobile phones do have their limitations.

Endnotes

Roncadora Press https://www.hughbryden.com/?page_id=14

Hugh McMillan https://www.hughmcmillanwriter.co.uk/

Coach and Horses https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1276110417646736&set=pcb.1276110450980066

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Beatle Blethers

Posted on August 24, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

I really enjoyed the first episode of  the Beatle Blethers podcast with Alan McClure and Gerry Hassan. It was a lively conversation, yet Alan and Gerry managed to avoid that excess of bonhomie, weak jokes, and loud laughter which can infect the podcast genre. It was definitely “a blether”, and yet that word, “blether,”  understates the depth of knowledge of the subject, and the cultural and historical context which underpinned the discussion. I learnt a lot of things I didn’t know. 

I grew up with the Beatles – well, I was 9 years old in October 1962 and living in Newry, Co. Down, when their first single Love Me Do was released. I have my eldest brother Michael to thank for bringing each of their LP records into our household as they arrived in  Carlin’s record shop, just opposite Newry Market. Our family sat around the telly to watch them perform All You Need Is Love  as Britain’s contribution to Our World, the first live global television link.  It was heady stuff, but the Beatles broke up and the world moved on. 

It is a good moment to reflect on the seismic impact of the Beatles on UK culture and on the culture of the wider world but also on the culture and politics of Northern Ireland.   The first stirrings of the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association (NICRA) were in the early 1960s. I am guessing the leaders of that movement were probably listening to  singers like Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, early Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and, no doubt, the speeches of Martin Luther King. 

The appeal of the Beatles went way beyond the boundaries of folk music and created a much larger space for young people to start thinking and behaving in ways that were challenging to the old orthodoxies. I  am quite sure that Terence O’Neill, who became Prime Minister of Northern Ireland in 1963, only listened to the Beatles long enough to make him very uneasy about their likely impact. Reverend Ian Paisley, on the other hand knew, with his usual certainty, that this was the devil’s music. (Sorry, I can’t provide references for either of these speculations, but somehow I doubt many will question the accuracy of those guesses.) 

A possible moment for peaceful political change occurred in Northern Ireland as NICRA gained strength with its formal establishment in 1967. Its stated objectives were: 

  1. To defend the basic freedoms of all citizens
  2. To protect the rights of the individual
  3. To highlight abuses of power
  4. To demand guarantees for freedom of speech, assembly and association
  5. To inform the public of its lawful rights[1]

Unionism and, above all, Reverend Paisley, dug in to defend the status quo from such nonsense. 

There were to be other moments during The Troubles when the music scene set a course towards cross community rapprochement that the campaign of the Provisional IRA and the unyielding inflexibility of the Unionist establishment were relentlessly undermining. Terri Hooley, a heroic figure in the recent history of Northern Ireland, founded Good Vibrations record shop in the early 1970s and created a space in which a Northern Irish punk rock scene emerged with the Undertones, and Stiff Little Fingers breaking through into the wider UK music market. 

So what? Nothing changed until 1997 and the Good Friday Agreement and that didn’t really owe much to Lennon and McCartney or Terri Hooley. And yet, the Beatles were the opening blast of a popular cultural revolution which has crossed all of the political divisions in Ireland. A deeply divided community has  become more aware of the things that unifies it. There can be no doubt this cultural shift made political change not just easier, but perhaps inevitable.

As for possible themes for future episodes of Beatle Blethers … What about the impact of Bob Dylan on the direction in which Lennon McCartney’s song writing and lyrics developed? I imagine that impact to have been significant, but maybe I am overestimating it?  

Or the Irish connection; in episode one Gerry and Alan referenced  some ill-judged interventions from Lennon and McCartney in the debate on the The Troubles across the water, but I am more interested in the cultural influence of Ireland through the family connections of Lennon and McCartney. Perhaps that’s just fancy on my part and I am trying to claim something for Ireland that is indelibly Anglo American in its roots.  Discuss!

I dare say Alan and Gerry have got a few other things in the pipeline!

References and End Notes

1] Wikipedia Northern Ireland Civil Rights Movement

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Tower of Song

Posted on August 18, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

This essay on song writing is also available as a video podcast on YouTube or can be listened to as an audio podcast or download an MP3 file. I have no plans to podcast regularly, though I do have one other podcast idea. I just need a little time to put it together.

Over many years, I have written songs. None of these songs have been hits or even attained minor celebrity.   And yet I have accumulated a collection of pieces which  have been received well enough within a variety of informal settings. Mostly I have sung them as a floor singer at folk clubs.  In his 1988 album, I’m Your Man Leonard Cohen, reflected on his own place in the hierarchy of contemporary song:

I said to Hank Williams, ”How lonely does it get?”

Hank Williams hasn’t answered yet

But I hear him coughing all night long

Oh, a hundred floors above me

In the Tower of Song

Though there can be art in songwriting, a great deal can also be accomplished by the exercise of more prosaic skills and if your object is to entertain first yourself and then, just maybe, a few friends, my advice would be, have a go. You too may be able  to find your place in the Tower of song.

In primary school I remember being invited, when I was about nine or ten, to write a poem. A poem in my mind was something that rhymed, and for whatever reason this task was something I felt confident I might be able to accomplish. My memory is that whatever I wrote on that occasion met with the teacher’s approval, but perhaps more importantly, also impressed my class mates. I am not quite sure where my confidence came from, but I think I knew instinctively not to always go for the most obvious rhyme and then there was also the question of phrasing and an awareness that a modification of phrasing might work better.  I continued to write poems from time to time, mostly directed at the school magazine.  

This writing of verse was never to mature into anything that might properly be called  “poetry” but as I became mildly obsessed with the popular song of the era in which I was coming of age and started to learn – after a fashion – to play the guitar, the idea of writing songs was never far from my mind. Yet I knew, somehow, that this was a greater challenge than getting a poem in the school magazine. The standard set by my heroes was high. Bob Dylan, the Beatles, Leonard Cohen, Van Morrison: the fact that there was something going on in the work of these artists that was  beyond my grasp did not stop me from having a go, but fortunately, of that early work, nothing remains. 

The world of popular song in the 1960s was dominated by young men, yet one of the first songs I learnt was Universal Soldier, written by Buffy St Marie. In 1971 Carol King emerged into a solo career from the obscurity of 1960s Tin Pan Alley where she had been turning out hits with her then husband, Gerry Goffin. And then of course there was the peerless Joni Mitchell who properly came to my attention with the release of Blue in 1971. So women could be  songwriters too, as has become increasingly apparent.

Looking back, I think my initial stumbling block was a desire to write  songs without first having any ideas which might form the backbone of a lyric.  Unlike Paul McCartney, I couldn’t rely on a great melody to carry me forward. McCartney woke up one morning with a tune in his head to which he initially sang “Scrambled  Eggs.”   This was to become Yesterday with a melody which somewhere or other I heard compared to “anything Schubert ever wrote.” 

My songs were always lyric led and my guess is that that is the case for many of the songwriters I admired, in particular Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan. Certainly in his early songwriting Dylan sat at a typewriter to compose. The accompaniment was a secondary consideration. With Joni Mitchell I just couldn’t say what her method might have been, perhaps some coevolution of music and words. Van Morrison I imagine evolving a song as if out of a chrysalis composed of  sounds and words. But who knows. The point really is that song writing methods rely very much on the strengths, weaknesses and particular abilities of the individual. 

Elton John  worked with Bernie Taupin from whom he  received lyrics in the post which he turned into Tumbleweed Connection, an album which I reverenced in the years before Elton veered off in a direction with which I felt a lesser connection.  

But there is more to it even than that. I recall listening to a Youtube interview with Bob Dylan. He was asked about the origins of the  songs he was writing in the 1960s, I am assuming in particular the period of Bringing it All Back Home,  Highway 61 Revisited, and Blonde on Blonde.  One does not necessarily expect Dylan to offer straightforward answers to such questions  but his response was, I think, revealing. I paraphrase: “I don’t know where those songs came from.”  

Dylan doesn’t say it but he hints at something mystical going on in his compositional style. Perhaps, given the times, a few drugs may have been involved, though I don’t really believe drugs or alcohol are a wise accompaniment to creativity even if F. Scott Fitzgerald did succeed in writing his masterpiece The Great Gatsby in a state of inebriation. 

I think it may have been in the first volume of his autobiography Chronicles (published 2004 – the world is still waiting for the second volume) that Dylan recalls going to see Buddy Holly on January 31st 1959.  In one telling of the story Dylan was in the front row of the concert. He recalled: “I was 3 feet away from him  and he looked at me.”   Dylan seems to hint that something like the spirit of popular song was passed in this encounter directly into his stewardship. Adding  to the potency of this myth is that, less than a week later, 3rd February 1959, Holly was killed in a plane crash along with Ritchie Valens and “The Big Bopper” JP Richardson – “the day the music died” as Don McLean was to put it in his song American Pie.  

Well you can believe that Dylan myth if you want to but I am more persuaded by the fact that Dylan’s  love for  American popular song, in all of its forms, is deep and his knowledge of it, encyclopaedic. Anyone who listened to Dylan on his Theme Time Radio show which aired from 2006 to 2009 will be aware of this. Much of his creativity comes from an ability to synthesise and blend all of this raw material with his own distinct, indeed mercurial view of the world. 

We can’t all be Bob Dylan but there is a lesson of  openness to musical genres that we can all learn something  from. 

There can be no doubt however that Dylan relies on a level of instinctiveness in his writing, and may even be wary of overworking his material. In May 2008 Mark Lawson interviewed Leonard Cohen for the BBC Radio 4 Arts programme, Front Row. I believe it was during the course of this interview (not currently available on BBC iplayer) that Cohen told a story of meeting up  for   lunch with Dylan when they both happened  to be playing in Paris. Over their meal Dylan spoke of his admiration for Cohen’s song Hallelujah, which at that time was not particularly well known or fully formed.  In return Cohen said how much he liked the Dylan song I and I. Dylan expressed an interest in how long  it had taken Cohen to write Hallelujah. It is a song which in fact Cohen had worked on over an extended period  and for  which he had written many  verses, unable to decide on a finished version. It was only with the help of editing from John Cale – formerly of the Velvet Underground – who had presumably heard Cohen perform an earlier iteration of the song – that the version which was to become so well known was laid down.  

Having provided his answer to Dylan’s question, Cohen then asked in return  how long it had taken Dylan to write I and I.  “Five minutes” was the reply. 

Was this an entirely honest answer?  Who knows, but the point really is that instinct, inspiration and impulse all have their place in writing a song, but in general, and for most of us who aspire to the craft, work is also required. And then there can also be the problem of knowing when the deed is done.

In my own case I don’t generally set out to write a song, rather I am struck by an idea which I can see could be turned into a song. For me narrative is important and this is expressed in two distinct ways, the first being a matter of considering a range of perspectives on the chosen theme. 

In the late 1970s I spent an evening with some friends and a story was told about  a social occasion where the host had introduced the novelty, at that time, of a games consul. I thought that that story could make a song.

I was visiting with some friends

The atmosphere was kind of lame

Until the host jumped up and said

Lets get out the electronic games.

I began to think of other contexts in which electronic games might be introduced:

Out at a party

People shuffling round

Just then somebody cried out

And I knew what they had found

The atmosphere was suddenly electric 

As we fought for control

And everyone was queuing up 

For some of that electronic soul. 

You get the idea I am sure. The song wrote itself on the basis of the original idea. Six four line verses tumbled out. I played it for a few people and though no one said anything as encouraging as “That’s  a hit” it was a source of amusement and once or twice people have even requested that I play it. I couldn’t really ask for more. 

At the time I wrote electronic games I believed, for a very brief period, that I had cracked this song writing business and might be able more or less to write songs to order but that was about as close as I ever got to Dylan in the 60s and soon enough I had to accept that for me, patience was necessary; I had to wait for the lightning to strike. 

This said my brief period of creative fertility had its roots in something that was for me a songwriting breakthrough, namely punk rock. Not that I ever wrote anything with the recognisable rawness of a Sex Pistols or a Clash song, but I saw the importance of a simple and direct approach. Punk rock opened a space in my mind for a song writing method which allowed humour and irony to find their place alongside the song’s central idea. 

But what was my song writing method?  Before I digress on that topic I should mention the second type of narrative which can structure a song, put simply, a story. When I moved to Dumfries in the 1980’s I started getting up to play as a floor singer at the local folk club in the warm up for the main act. Whilst the songs I brought with me, mostly in what I now think of as an Indiefolk style, I began to realise that a longer form song which told a story might go down well in this context. That was the origin of a song called Dog Man which I wrote after giving a young hitch-hiker a lift from Cumnock in Ayrshire down to Dumfries. My passenger told me his life story in that journey; how he had left school at 16, gone through a training scheme, ended up unemployed and then found his way into the dodgy but fascinating world of greyhound racing. When I dropped him off I could hardly get home fast enough to write out what he had told me. It felt as if I was transcribing his words which without a great deal of reworking were to form the text of the song. 

When my father died I was only fourteen

A bricklayer’s all he’d ever been

And I always said I would play the same part

But when the time came I could not get a start.

The original version of that  song had eleven four line verses, including much detail of how races could be fixed and how the Dog Man could manipulate the betting odds in his favour. With the passing of time, a little like John Cale and Hallelujah I slimmed the song down to a more audience friendly eight verses, but in the context of Dumfries folk club  my sense was that the full version  was warmly received as a bold attempt at a song in the style of  a traditional ballad.

For me a critical device in the writing of a song is the use of rhyme, and the greatest pitfall is to reach for the most obvious rhyme on the assumption that inspiration has offered you it as a gift. Most of us know that if our opening line ends in the word “moon” we should probably not be coming up with a following line which ends in the word “June.”  I am not going to say that it couldn’t be made to work, for all the words in the two lines have their part to play, but the important thing is to consider other possible rhymes and ways in which they might be woven into the idea behind the song you are writing. This prompts consideration of a range of possibilities and the use of ingenuity to find ways of making a rhyme fit which did not initially seem to have a place. From this process something fresh can arise, perhaps humorous or ironic but above all, original. 

For most of my song writing experience I would just work through the alphabet to consider the possibilities of rhyme and half rhyme which might serve.  More recently I have discovered Rhymzone, a web site in which you enter a word and are immediately presented with a list of rhymes and near rhymes. If you can’t make one of these work there is always the possibility of reframing line A to offer a different rhyming opportunity in line B and this too can open up ideas in the song which were not part of its original inspiration. 

When the lyric is complete, the challenge of creating a tune to which it may be sung remains. My approach to this is pretty basic and generally involves starting with a simple chord sequence in a major or a minor key depending on the mood of the song. If I am pleased with the lyrics, singing it at even this vestigial stage can be  pleasing and this probably helps with the evolution  of a melody, the introduction of additional chords or experimentation with 7ths or major 7ths can be done by trial and error. In my experience there is likely to be some evolution of the accompaniment in the coming week or so which may continue beyond an initial performance of the song to whatever audience may be willing and available. 

 Lily Allen tells an amusing story of how, when she went into the studio to record her debut single Smile, the producer at one point said: “That song needs a middle eight.” Lily responded: “What’s a middle eight?” The matter was explained to her, she withdrew from the studio and in a few minutes returned with a break based on a series of “la las.” The song was duly recorded and went on to be a  huge hit. 

I mention the story as it makes the point that what may be considered a finished song can still go through many stages of development, in particular if accomplished musicians become involved and add layers of arrangement to the  original which can, on occasion,  transform it from something relatively bland to a spectacular hit. Would we remember Gerry Raferty’s Baker Street or Hazel O’Conner’s Will You, were it not for the magic of the saxophone solos which were inserted into the arrangement of each?

The acid test  is when your song is first shared with others. Here   caution is advisable. Friends are often polite in their response but may also be  dismissive or even caustic. They cannot see what you think is so good about the song. They can see what you cannot – it’s flaws. You have put them on the spot. They’re just being honest. 

In these circumstances you must be your own critic, neither swayed by bland encouragement or harsh judgement. Sit on the song for a while and give yourself the chance to stand apart from your very personal engagement with its genesis. Maybe at that point you will see the changes that need to be made, or perhaps that the song is not quite the masterpiece you felt it to be at the outset. However, if you continue to like the song yourself, that alone is  important and should not be dismissed as a measure of its quality. 

Song writing partnerships offer evidence that the contribution of friends can be in alignment or complimentary in ways that are mutually supportive of the end results with that needed balance of criticism and mutual support.  Lennon-McCartney, Jagger-Richards, or a somewhat undercelebrated favourite partnership of my own, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen of Steely Dan have all produced remarkable bodies of work. If you are part of a band there must be a fair chance that a creative rapport can be established, probably one which shares out song writing  responsibilities between the complimentary talents of the ensemble.  

If you are working on your own, however, you must strike a balance between believing in your ability and critical self reflection. It’s an easy one to get wrong and it is unlikely that every song you write will be a good one. I notice that Alan McClure  who has been appointed Scotland’s Scriever for 2025, is an advocate of song writing  workshops.  That may indeed be a way into the craft for many though I feel sure that even in such a context that it is the writer  who  can both believe in and critique their own work who will produce the best work.

If song writing  workshops become more common I feel sure that the quality [I meant quantity, really!] of what is produced will improve[increase!], but so, in a world of already short attention spans will the competition to be heard and appreciated. lt is worth reflecting on artists who have contributed perhaps only a single song which has spread beyond the tight circle of their acolytes. I think of Dave Goulder’s The January Man, recorded by many artists including Christy Moore and Martin Carthy.  I was privileged to hear Dave Goulder sing the  song when he was the guest artist at Dumfries Folk Club. He did a set of well crafted songs but the January Man is the onlMick West, who recorded it in 1997 has called it: “A beautiful piece of poetry married to a wonderful tune.”  It is the dream of every journeyman songwriter, that a piece of their work should be taken up and more widely appreciated in this way. But in the end, if all you achieve is to please yourself and a few friends at an informal sing song, that  too can be a reward. 

This video was written, presented and produced by me, Stephen Shellard. Just learning the trade really. All of the songs I have written, including the two referenced in the talk are availableon my Youtube channel, Singing from the Floor, available at www.youtube.com/@Carruchan  If you do like any of the songs please give them a thumbs up as it may help others find their way there. 

Youtube channel, Singing from the Floor 

www.youtube.com/@Carruchan

Songs referenced

Songs referenced in this video

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The Curse of Small Political Parties

Posted on August 16, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

How Fringe Factions Fuel Dysfunction in Israel and Beyond

[1,097 words, 6 minutes read time]

 When Hamas attacked Israel on October 7th 2023, they massacred 1,195 people, 736 Israeli civilians (including 38 children), 79 foreign nationals, and 379 members of the security forces. While Israel had every right to defend itself, the scale and nature of its military response in Gaza have been disproportionate and reckless, amounting to war crimes on an industrial scale. A panel of experts in international law convened by the prosecutor of the International Criminal Court states that: “Based on the material it has reviewed… there are reasonable grounds to believe that Netanyahu and Gallant (Israeli Minister of Defence, 2022-24) made essential contributions to the common plan to use starvation of civilians as a method of warfare and commit other acts of violence against the civilian population.” [1]

While Benjamin Netanyahu and his  Likud party carry primary responsibility for these actions  it is equally clear that the opportunism of small Jewish fundamentalist parties has exacerbated  the situation and has made a uniquely malign contribution to the catastrophe. 

At the outset of the Israeli election in November 2022, Likud won 34 seats. Its coalition government was enabled by three other factions. These were:

  • Shas,  which favours orthodox religious practice and  holds 11 seats.
  • The Religious Zionist Party, with 14 seats
  • United Torah Judaism (UTJ) with 7 seats  [2] [3]

 Such  parties rely on religious text to determine their key policy positions and have little interest in pragmatism other than as a means of obtaining their own narrow objectives. 

The coalition gave Benjamin Netanyahu 64 seats in a 120 seat parliament. There have been various fallings out in the meantime and following the Hamas terrorist attack, the formation of a war cabinet which includes Benny Ganz, former Israeli Defence Force Chief of Staff.  Critically, however, Ben-Gvir (leader of the far-right Otzma Yehudit party) and Bezalel Smotrich (leader of the Religious Zionism party),  indicated   they would withdraw  from the government if there was to be a ceasefire at this stage.  Their withdrawal—along with their factions—would collapse the government. Netanyahu, prioritizing political survival over moderation, empowered these factions—granting them unprecedented influence over security and settlement policies.

Inflexible ideological or religious thinking and a narrow agenda, even a single issue agenda, are liable to be characteristic of small political parties. Of course there are exceptions, small parties  with genuine potential to grow their electoral base and an authentic commitment to good governance. But many small parties will always remain on the fringe, their eccentric character obvious to most citizens.   

With multiple small parties democratic politics slides, sooner or later, into dysfunction. Coalition building becomes increasingly difficult and time consuming. Larger parties concede to the eccentricities of smaller parties. Smaller parties  use their unwarranted power to collapse the system in favour of their own interests rather than accepting  compromise  to protect the national interest. The electorate becomes weary of the whole fiasco and blames politicians rather than the system.

In most countries where the legislature is elected by a proportional system, measures are in place to manage this problem, with minimum vote thresholds for a party to be awarded seats. 

Elsewhere in this blog I propose a system which actually fixes at five the number of parties that can sit in the legislature. No restriction on the number of parties standing for election is required.  The electorate determines the make up of the five party parliament by means of a transferable vote.  

The dangers of small, extremist parties holding disproportionate power are not unique to Israel. In the UK, a fragmented political landscape raises similar concerns. In a recent edition of the Rest of Politics podcast Alistair Campbell and Rory Stewart  were  contemplating the possibility following the next General Election,, by some quirk of the electoral outcome, of either Nigel Farage or Jeremy Corbyn,  becoming the next UK Prime Minister.  As Campbell commented:  “We are on the point of becoming a European Multi Party democracy in a First Past the Post System.”  [4]

He’s not wrong. Indeed I would put it a little more strongly than that. We are on the cusp of a new level of dysfunction in UK politics. Jeremy Corbyn and Zarah Sultan are launching a new party “to take on the rich and powerful.” [5]  This seems laudable, but why not join the Greens who seem broadly to share this same objective?  The likely outcome of this  exceptionalism will be vote splitting, creating opportunity for Reform to come through the middle and take seats. And by the way, part of the current dysfunction in our electoral politics is the significant under-representation of Reform. This distortion fuels public disillusionment, as  just over 4 million votes for Reform translate into negligible parliamentary power.

Regionally based parties, with a limited interest in a national perspective, add a further dimension to the quagmire. The DUP saw the chance to extract their pound of flesh from Teresa May’s government during the post Brexit hiatus. Often overlooked  in this particular fiasco was the negative contribution of Sinn Fein, who by virtue of their abstentionist  policy, utterly failed to represent their EU friendly constituency in the way Brexit was handled. But do Sinn Fein care if the UK Government screws up?  All they are really interested in is Irish Unity – another project, by the way, for which I have some sympathy. Like Israel’s fringe parties, regional factions like the DUP and Sinn Féin exploit their leverage—not to govern, but to extract concessions or sabotage the system outright. 

Then, of course, there is the rise of Scottish and Welsh Nationalism. Separatist parties have a legitimate case to make, but their role in the UK Parliament is inevitably subversive. They have no interest in a successful UK Government and direct all their energies into undermining those parties who are attempting to make it work. 

If the Labour government truly wants to prevent the kind of dysfunction seen in Israel—or the looming chaos of an unrepresentative Farage or Corbyn premiership—electoral reform should be at the top of their agenda. It may seem a low priority amid economic crises—but delaying it only entrenches dysfunction.

Endnotes and References

[1] ICC Report of Report of the Panel of Experts in International Law 

[2] Israel’s Anti-liberal Coalition   

[3] Wikipedia  Thirty-seventh government of Israel 

[4]  The Rest is Politics 437. Question Time: Farage vs Corbyn: The UK’s Next Prime Minister?  

[5] BBC New  Corbyn launches new party to ‘take on rich and powerful’   

[6] Carruchan Blog Post Sunlit uplands: a vision for the renewal of electoral and party politics 

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Finding a Way Through

Posted on June 11, 2025 by Stephen Shellard

Basic Income, Artificial Intelligence and Reimagining Immigration

Universal Basic Income (UBI) – that is to say provision of a living allowance for all citizens regardless of their employment status – is an idea that has interested me for many years. Indeed in October 2017 I had a brief email conversation with BBC and Financial Times journalist Tim Harford on the subject.  He told me that he was a fan of the idea himself but cautioned: “It’s not easy to make the sums add up.”  He referred me to an article by John Kay, a journalist with the Financial Times. I read it carefully and was left feeling thoroughly disheartened. Essentially John Kay offered an impenetrable case suggesting UBI would be impossibly expensive to implement. I could see no way to push back against what he said. 

Expense is the obvious objection to UBI, yet logic suggests that if the goal is not wealth redistribution but maintaining current incomes through tax-and-payment adjustments, the net cost could be neutral—aside from transitional bureaucracy.

I can accept that transitioning from the current system of benefits and means tests to a system of UBI would be fiendishly complicated. I don’t see Rachael Reeves buying into the idea anytime soon. And yet there are reasons why even so fiscally cautious a person as Rachael Reeves might be persuaded that the time is coming soon when a basic income for all citizens will  be not just desirable, but necessary. 

The AI Jobs Crisis

The most obvious consideration is the coming Artificial Intelligence (AI) revolution. A Government Report, published in 2021 – ancient history so far as AI development is concerned – suggested that  “7% of jobs were at high risk of being automated in the next 5 years, rising to 30% after 20 years.”   The research “also reported that many jobs would be created through AI-related productivity and economic growth (and) concludes that the most plausible assumption is that the long-term impact of AI on employment levels in the UK (will be) broadly neutral, but that the potential impact is unclear.”

This conclusion carries a hint of wishful thinking. AI offers increases in productivity that have eluded us in recent years.  AI-driven productivity gains will reshape the economy. While some jobs vanish, new ones may emerge—but not necessarily at the same scale or skill level. The real risk is structural unemployment outpacing retraining efforts.

China is already trialling driverless lorries. A driverless lorry is probably a safer proposition than an overworked individual who may fall asleep on the job. For a human at the wheel of a UK lorry the maximum driving time per day is 9 hours, not to mention a range of other requirements to allow for ingestion of food, excretion, rest and recreation – oh yes, and weekends and holidays. The economic benefit of ditching human drivers is obvious. Yes, there will be resistance to change, but the inevitable outcome will be fewer jobs. 

The impact of driverless vehicles alone will be massive. Driverless taxis are already being used in some parts of the United States. 

Increased productivity will initially result in an expanding economy, but new businesses and expansion of existing businesses will inevitably base their investment on increasingly  effective use of AI and the longer term promises an economy in which there will be  a plentiful supply of what people need produced by a workforce pared to the absolute minimum. 

There is an economic catch in this apparently virtuous cycle.  Unemployment—the byproduct of AI-driven efficiency—could trigger a recession unless we bolster the spending power of displaced workers.

There is both a dystopian  and a utopian vision as regards the way in which this future will unfold. Perhaps some of these obsolescent individuals will retrain to provide a much needed boost to those areas of service and care which can less easily be handed over to  AI. That would be a positive outcome.  It is also possible that lorry drivers cast on the AI scrapheap, having lost the dignity of traversing the country at the wheel of a supertanker or some other articulated behemoth, will find the transition to a new life a difficult one. I imagine however that many will make every effort to  reinvent themselves for employment or self-employment. But the stark reality is there may be no job waiting for them.

A basic income would expand options for this growing pool of unemployed individuals. UBI makes it more possible to imagine individuals starting micro businesses, developing latent artistic, musical and craft abilities, volunteering, gardening, self-educating; the possibilities are endless.  All of such activity has the potential to strengthen the wider economy and enrich our culture. 

But for this to become a reality there would have to be a greater acceptance that society no longer requires every citizen to be formally employed at every stage of their adult life in the production of needed goods and services.  

It is worth pointing out that UBI, in addition to its obvious benefit for those not in employment, would also  mediate the power relationship between those in low paid employment and their employers. An employee would more easily be able to walk away from a working situation where they are being poorly treated or they could insist on better pay if the work is unpleasant or demanding. UBI, on the one hand, is a subsidy to employers. Indeed in some circumstances interesting work and generous working conditions may be enough to keep an individual in employment where the employer does not have the means to offer generous pay.  

Immigration Reimagined

UBI could also recalibrate immigration policy. By restricting it to citizens (after, say, a 10-year residency), we might deter some migrants while ensuring those who come contribute meaningfully before accessing benefits.

Determination and a willingness to accept some difficulties would be required but these are qualities  immigrants exhibit on a daily basis.   Registration, being an essential step in beginning the journey to citizenship and stability, would be encouraged. Equally, the charge coming from some quarters of our political culture, that migrants are getting preferment in various ways, would be immediately quashed.  

Undoubtedly the implementation of UBI on this basis would give prospective migrants pause for thought. One might expect a consequent decline in the number of new arrivals, but those coming could be made welcome. It is also obvious that migrants with qualifications would be less discouraged by the citizenship qualification period, for they might hope to earn at a higher level from the outset. 

Personally I have some concerns about attempting to attract highly qualified migrants who, by rights, should probably be serving the needs of the people in the country in which they had gained their training. For the moment that seems a minor concern which might be addressed by other measures such as increases to the foreign aid budget.

Support Networks

At present, typically, immigrants who arrive unbidden and under the radar in the UK  rely for support on a network of relatives and friends. Such networks are  strengthened by community ethnic and religious affiliations. These protections, however, fall well short of a guarantee against exploitation and hardships of various kinds. 

Under the UBI citizenship qualification that I suggest, registered migrants would quite possibly be even more vulnerable to dropping through their informal networks of support and protection. The state would have an obligation to provide a safety net. Registered migrants could have access to a range of services, which might include health insurance, hostel accommodation and food kitchens. It would also make sense to offer training in language and other skills which might be of immediate use. There could be an environmental task force offering day work – both to citizens and migrants – in need of ready cash. 

War, famine, political instability, tyranny, climate change.   

I cannot leave this discussion without asking an obvious, indeed rhetorical, question. Why do so many people face the huge challenge of leaving the country of their birth, making a perilous journey across foreign countries and dangerous seas to seek employment in a country which is often unwelcoming, even hostile to their arrival?

The answers are familiar to anyone paying attention: war, famine, political instability, tyranny, and climate change. 

Anything which contributes to the alleviation of these challenges would reduce flows of migrants into Europe and North America. Hitherto, that has been one of the objectives of foreign aid budgets.  Policies advancing net zero also address migration, since climate-induced disasters—floods, droughts—force people to flee.

The US Government, at the bidding of Donald Trump, has just dismantled USAID and all such aid initiatives in the UK and elsewhere are under threat from the populist right of our politics.  There is a short sighted clamour, energised by the politically unscrupulous, to  cut or abandon foreign aid and policies intended to take us towards net zero. 

Into the vacuum, which this parochial thinking has opened up, China is building influence through its Belt and Road initiative. In so doing, they are focussed on securing their own interests and are content to leave Europe and the US to flounder in the squalor of their fractious divisions. 

John Kay may be correct in his estimation that UBI would be impossibly expensive to implement. Perhaps, on the other hand, its time has come. I would say to Rachael Reeves and indeed,  Keir Starmer – should they be  listening –   the way forward would be a minefield of fiscal constraints and political resistance.  But leadership demands courage, not just caution.

Endnotes

1] A couple of articles by John Kay on Basic Income https://www.intereconomics.eu/author/john-kay.html 

3]  China launches fleet of self-driving trucks | BBC 

4] Robotaxis: Driverless cars arriving in US cities

5] Belt and Road Initiative 

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