Behind the Scenes at the Museum

How a nation treats its heroes must be indicative of something, surely?

I suspect that all too often the human frailties can be so obscured by fervent myth-making that legendary figures are reduced to cyphers for what a nation aspires  - or pretends - to be. Thus murderous psychopaths are glorified for their go-getting attitude, while others remain unrecognised and invisible simply because their deeds were not recorded, recorded in the words of their enemies, or because the context of their era distorts their legacy.

And so I come to why I have been urged to devote a few lines to the unexpected louche-ness of the monument celebrating explorer, John Rae, to be found in St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall, Orkney.

That the word ‘louche’ should be applied to someone so clearly unafraid of undertaking far from comfortable journeys through some of the starkest and most unforgiving environments in the world, might raise a few eyebrows -  if not a few questions. But, just take a look at it!

Anyone ignorant of this unsung hero’s achievements might be forgiven for  - at first glance – mistaking the monument for a be-robed opium addict languishing on a velvet chaise longue in anticipation of his lover’s advances.

At closer inspection, though his costume suggests a certain exoticism occasioned by the chamois tunic and moccasins, his identity is made clear, and this observer at least, catches a breath tinged with no little shame at making such an erroneous presumption about Mr Rae.  (For a fuller exposition of his life see Orkneyjar).

After all, it is bad enough that he became a victim of character assassination in his own lifetime, due to the redoubtable Lady Jane Franklin and her ilk, leaving his reputation in tatters, so far be it for me to join in and seemingly cast aspersions upon the great man! It’s simply the statue – such a relic of its era – that I have difficulty taking seriously.

Another Very Victorian tomb we observed at St Magnus’s was that of William Balfour Baikie. His career of disseminating Christian virtue to the ignorant of Africa was eulogised in such glowingly patronising terms  - including the use of ‘savage, heathen and slave’ that we rolled our eyes in post colonial cynicism. Yet, a visit to Stromness Museum drew a far more sympathetic portrait of the young Mr Baike who seemed anything but the dead-eyed crusading zealot I’d imagined. His compassion (he was anti-slavery) and integrity (his exploration of the Niger led him to be stranded, dependent upon the hospitality of locals for survival. On being rescue he refused to leave before paying them back for all the food they’d given him) so endeared him to the natives of Nigeria they encompassed his name into their language as ‘beke’, the word for white man. But I do wonder how many of his successors managed to live up to this wholesome epithet.

Alongside Baikie’s biographical information was an endearing photograph of William  – with a twinkle in his eye, and a hand on his heart. Lovely portrait as it was, we became intrigued by the mysterious white tuft visible in the bottom left hand corner – just what did it belong to? Probably, it was the embellishment to a fine hat he held in his other hand. But it amused us to imagine it may have been a bird or a dog ... or some other creature. Again, the delightfully trivial ponderings of such matters distracted us a little from Baikie’s considerable achievements. Sorry, Bill. He never made it back to Orkney, but was clearly a survivor to manage almost two decades in the African Interior.

The achievements of Eliza Fraser, whose mendacity and tenacity are of equal remark, is celebrated rather more quietly. She has a blue plaque on her former residence, and indeed we engaged in conversation with the current resident who warned us that her story was a terrible one. In 1836 she survived a shipwreck and being captured by Australian aborigines. The island where she remained until her rescue a year later, has been named for her. But despite surviving against the odds, which her husband failed to do, her glory became tarnished when she engaged in fundraising to support her family - but conveniently forgot to mention she had married again and was no longer in desperate circumstances.

Then there was poor Alexander Graham who led the rebellion in Stromness against taxation imposed by Kirkwall on foreign trade. Graham was rendered so broke by his legal campaign that, despite Stromness winning, he died in penury. Pity he didn’t have the nerve of Eliza Fraser!

These findings, on top of all my research into the pirate of the pilchards, John Gow (of the ships he captured, most were stuffed with fish or other foodstuffs, and he could have happily set up his own grocers),  gave me pause for thought. 

It may be that every hero has his or her foibles and flaws, but the flawed heroes of Orkney seem to have the fortune of being cherished without judgement for their actions, their failures and without their champions shirking from the truth behind their public image: Gow may have been a hopeless pirate, but he was our hopeless pirate!

In the case of John Rae, it’s a very real determination to re-assert a man's genuine reputation over a legacy that remains from a vindictive smear campaign to discredit a respectable Orkneyman who unearthed an inconvenient truth. These efforts are culminating in a festival this year to commemorate the bicentenary of his birth (JohnRae200). 

As I contemplate the affection and respect that Rae inspires, I’m reminded of the dedication on a bench overlooking the harbour of Stomness. It is for a man who clearly lived in and loved Stromness, but was not born here. Yet, he achieved a ringing endorsement on his bench, for though he may have been a 'ferry louper' by birth, it refers to him as “… an Orcadian at heart ...”. 

Is there a finer compliment? I stumbled upon another ferry louper, and blogger, Peter Cairns, whose thoughts on life in Orkney and his beautiful photographs adorn the pages of Orkney Ferry Louper. And, I think he would probably agree.