One Week in Scotland

Fort William, Scotland, UK

Images: George Bale      Words: George Bale & Robert Burns

 
 

For my dad and brother heading to Scotland is a little tradition. Almost every year they drive up to the highlands to climb mountains (my brother was 12 and on top of Ben Nevis), hike through Glens and generally do father & son things. Now this may sound like I was neglected and my brother is the favourite (he isn't, that is definitely me) but whenever they would go to Scotland I would go skiing, so things were not too bad.

This year was a bit different. Me and my friends are road tripping around Iceland in April so skiing was off the cards but I  still needed my mountain fix! Thankfully they let me tag along and we spent a week in and around Fort William and the Nevis range, with a few road trips further north due to bad weather.

This is just a very small selection of the images I created while climbing and driving during the week. For more feel free to visit my Instagram or my blog for a larger collection. Alongside the still images I also shot a short film, intended for myself, dad and brother to view but I have also included it at the bottom of the page and in a blog post.

 
 

One of our first nights in Scotland was Burns Night, a night dedicated to the famous Scottish poet Robert Burns . Due to this I have included a selection of  Burns poems alongside the images to add that extra Scottish feel to the collection.

 
 

Scots Wha Hae

Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome tae your gory bed, Or tae victory, Now’s the day and now’s the hour, See the front o’ battle lour, See approach proud Edward’s power, Chains and slavery.

Wha will be a traitor knave, Wha can fill a coward’s grave, Wha sae base as be a slave, Let him turn and flee, Wha for Scotland’s King and law, Freedom’s sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa’, Let him follow me.

By oppression’s woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains, We will drain oor dearest vein, But they shall be free, Lay the proud usurpers low ,Tyrants fall in every foe, Liberty’s in every blow, Let us do or dee

 
 

Is There for Honest Poverty

Is there for honest Poverty, That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that. Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hodden grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind, He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.

 
 
 
 

To a Louse

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!

 
 
 
 
Scotland Wednesday George Bale_0225.jpg
 

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve's like the melodie, That’s sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:  I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel, a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.