Scotland's an Attitude of Mind

Over the centuries, poets, playwrights and novelists have tried to define that identity, which would seem to be obvious but always remains elusive.

Liz Lochheads play Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off opens with the chorus, La Corbie, offering a set of possible definitions:

Scotland. Whit like is it?
Its a peatbog, its a daurk forest,
Its a cauldron o lye, a saltpan or a coal mine.
If youre gey lucky its a bricht bere meadow or a park o kye.
Or mibbeits a field o stanes.
Its a tenement or a merchants ha.
Its a hure hoose or a humble cot. Princes Street or Paddys Merkit.
Its a fistfu o fish or a pickle o oatmeal.
Its a queens banquet o roast meats and junkets.
It depends. It depends
Ah dinna ken whit like your Scotland is.

Its a problem that has, naturally enough, exercised the minds of sovereigns, soldiers, diplomats, politicians, teachers, priests, property-owners, revolutionaries and football fans at least as much as writers.

Over what and whom do I rule?
What am I fighting/dying/killing for? What or whom do I represent? What am I trying to improve?
What sense of what place am I passing on to the next generation? Does it matter at all in the larger scale and scheme of things? What is my stake in it?
What is it I want to tear down, and what maintain?
What am I cheering or weeping for?
What is this thing called Scotland?

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