Music, emotion and remembrance: unveiling memorials to the fallen of the First World War in Scotland

ABSTRACT The unveiling of memorials to those who fell in the First World War were highly solemn, dramatic and emotional events. Yet, while much attention has been given by historians to memorials and the purposes behind memorialisation, there has been less discussion of just how the feelings of the public were stimulated and provoked. Most accounts concentrate on the aesthetics and symbolism of the monuments themselves, and the speeches given by the officiating parties and individuals at unveilings. In doing so, however, they miss what was perhaps the most important emotional aspect of these ceremonies: music. This article argues that non-verbal sounds best expressed the raw emotions of the occasions and, in doing so, gave them their power and significance in establishing the mood of the moment and the public’s attachment to the memorials. Examining the major city memorials of Scotland as well as the National Memorial at Edinburgh Castle, it focuses on the significance of the bagpipes and Scotland’s most famous lament, ‘The Flowers of the Forest’, in providing the emotional high points of the ceremonies.

nonetheless something missing in their coverage of the ceremonies of commemoration. Most writers have, logically enough, focussed on the speeches delivered at the unveilings of memorials or on Remembrance Sunday. 3 Yet, while all are fully aware of the emotional impact of memorialisationin particular the two minute silencethere has been less attention given to how that emotion was provoked by the memorials and the ceremonies surrounding them. Commemorating the dead did not wait until the construction of a memorial, but the unveilings provided an opportunity for each locality to establish what the memorials stood for and a template for how future commemoration should be conducted. The actual unveiling ceremonies involved considerable elements of public theatre and subtle etiquette. While one might expect analysis of the speeches given on these various occasionswhat Gregory has termed the 'big words'to be the best way of interrogating these events, what was being communicated was in many respects beyond words or was, at most, only partly verbal. 4 The minute or two of 'silence' was given its poignancy in relation to the sound that surrounded it and most of that sound was provided by music and hymns. 5 If speech was the main medium that promoted the official message or lesson to be learned from the sacrifice of the dead the argument being advanced here is that non-verbal sounds best expressed the raw emotions of the occasions and, in doing so, gave them their power and significance. The opening of the Scottish National War Memorial (SNWM) at Edinburgh Castle took place with a complete absence of any oration, the whole ceremony being driven by music, hymns and prayers, echoing the Armistice Day ceremony at the Cenotaph in London, where no speeches were made originally in 1919 and never have been since. 6 At every unveiling it was the music, more than the words, which created the atmosphere and did most to establish the common identity between the living and the dead. Martial but popular and King, op.cit. chapter 8; Winter, op.cit., 93-8. 4 Gregory, op.cit, 24. 5 In an excellent account of the emotional impact of unveiling ceremonies Catherine Moriarty makes only passing reference to hymns, the Last Post and Reveille: 'Private grief and public remembrance: British First World War memorials', in M. Evans and K. Lunn (eds), War and Memory in the Twentieth Century (Oxford, 1997), 125-42. 6 At the original ceremony in 1919 there were no prayers either. Gregory,op.cit. 15. immediately recognisable tunes provided the emotional high points of the ceremonies. 7 Alwyn Turner provides a description of the growth of the almost universal appeal of 'The Last Post' with particular reference to its role in provoking feeling at commemorations of the First World War. 8 In Scotland, it is argued here, laments, such as 'The Flowers of the Forest', likewise a nontriumphalist piece, provided that moment of 'cathartic' release at memorial unveilings.
An immediate difficulty presents itself when we begin to discuss emotions and how they were expressed via music; how can such psychological states be identified with any certainty and how can they be measured? Musicologists constantly struggle with the recognition that music is a powerful medium for expressing emotion (which can be charted as far back as Homer at least) and with the need to replicate that experience in order to 'explain' the emotional power of music. 9 The subject matter of this studythe emotional responses of people at unveiling ceremoniesdoes not lend itself to any forensic examination since these were unique events that cannot be replicated or analysed in a laboratory. Their ubiquity, however, does allow us to identify similarities both in how the ceremonies were organized and how those in attendance responded. While research in musicology can help us understand better how music affects or stimulates emotions, it is limited, though useful, in how far it can explain the collective responses at such events. These have to be examined in their actual historical context and such examination has to rely on published accounts, mainly from reports in newspapers, of how people reacted on the day, or 'in the moment'. To better understand these responses we need to use historical methodto place the unveilings in their local and wider contexts and to try and identify what sort of music had most traction on public feeling. In short we need a social history informed by musicology.
In most academic accounts of unveiling ceremonies there is little attention given to the actual choice of music or to the central role which music played. Yet it is abundantly clear that music was both a crucial element in proceedings and had very definite political and cultural connotations. The clearest example of music as a contested element in the commemoration of the First World War is the hostility directed against John Foulds's modernist composition 'A World Requiem'. Despite its positive reception among the public, Foulds's work fell foul of the narrow patriotism and imperialism of the Daily Express which secured its eventual removal from 7 One approach to the power of music over speech is offered by P. Ball, The Music Instinct (Oxford, 2010), 241, who states that 'Unlike language, say, music has no dedicated mental circuitry localized in one or a few particular areas: it is a "whole brain" phenomenon.' the British Legion's Festival of Remembrance in 1927. 10 While the reception (both positive and negative) to Foulds's universalist approach is significant, in nearly all instances of memorial unveilings there was no conflict over what pieces should be played. Dominated, as they were, by the Presbyterian churches and the armed forces, unveiling ceremonies in Scotland had a distinct repertoire of musical accompaniment which reflected religious, military, and (most importantly) popular tastes.

Scottish memorials and Scottish music
This study concentrates primarily on the SNWM and the memorials of the five cities of Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh, Glasgow and Perth, as well as Inverness (the 'capital' of the Highlands). The period covered stretches from the first unveiling in December 1922 (Inverness) to the last in November 1928 (Perth). While this represents a limited sample of the huge number of memorials constructed after the war, the cities provide an appropriate starting point given that the coats of arms of the five are carved into the arch which leads into the Hall of the Regiments within the SNWM and each regiment had an association with a particular place: Glasgow's local regiment was the Highland Light Infantry (HLI), Edinburgh's was the Royal Scots, the Black Watch was associated with Dundee and Perth, the Gordon Highlanders with Aberdeen, and the Cameron Highlanders with Inverness. Moreover, the combined total (c. 35,000) of those listed on the six city memorials (or rolls of honour) account for a major proportion of the total of the Scottish 'fallen'. The actual number of Scottish dead remains a matter of dispute with estimates at various times ranging between 74,000 and 147,000. The latter figure, unsourced, seems to have emerged out of nationalist sentiment in the inter-war years. Hew Strachan has criticized these higher claims and Michael Anderson's recent study of Scotland's Populations, posits a figure of between 100,000 and 110,000 'actual war deaths' 11 Scotland offers a particularly interesting area of study given its almost schizophrenic response to the war. As measured in the numbers enlisting prior to conscription Scotland produced a higher proportion than anywhere else in the United Kingdom. Yet, over the course of the war and unlike elsewhere the Independent Labour Party (ILP) expanded its membership and branches. In the ten weeks following the declaration of war 30,000 men in Glasgow joined up, but the same city soon would become recognized as the main centre of anti-war sentiment and activity. 12 Scotland expressed much of its identity though its martial traditions such as the kilted highland soldier who became emblematic of the British imperial army. Yet, while Scotland was proudly loyal to the Empire, much of its popular culture, notably in songs, either celebrated victory over the English or mourned defeat at their hands. In sharp contrast to the essential simplicity of Lutyens's Cenotaph, a work of 'striking minimalism' in the words of Jay Winter, the SNWM (designed by Robert Lorimer working within an Arts & Crafts perspective), is a highly detailed, allegorical monument within which each Scottish regiment has its own, individual 'memorial'. 13 Although it 'neither glorified or condemned' war, the SNWM, unlike the Cenotaph, was not free of patriotic symbolism; while it sought to be inclusive of the whole nation, it clearly celebrated Scotland's military identity. 14 The principal figure behind the construction of the SNMW was the Duke of Atholl. Not only was it his idea from the start but he was in charge of the actual proceedings on the day of the unveiling and he had very clear ideas about what was needed music-wise; 'The desire is to have martial and Scottish music, but of a dignified kind.' 15 Atholl corresponded with two people in particular over the choice of music, the order of playing and the arrangements of each piece. These were the Band Master of the 2 nd Battalion of the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders stationed at Redford Barracks which would provide most of the music on the day, and W.G. Allt, the Master of Music at St. Giles Cathedral whose choir would provide most of the singing. There were no obvious disagreements between the three over the choice of tunes and hymns but it is clear that Atholl was determined to leave little to chance. In a very detailed letter to Allt, the Duke suggested that while the King was in the actual memorial hall Kipling's 'Recessional' 'might be sung outside in Crown Square'. At the same time, however, he worried about the noise made by the band, 'as if it were too loud it would disturb the King going round looking at the Memorials.' 16 Atholl was keen to have appropriate selections which would have a definite effect and both hymns and songs were curtailed as necessary to fit with the timing of the event and to ensure their impact. The band of the Cameron Highlanders were to play 'Scots Wha Hae' as the colours marched past the Prince of Wales into the shrine and Atholl thought 'it would be nice' if the choir would sing at the same time, but he worried about getting the arrangement and timing just right. In response Allt stated that 'Three verses of "Scots Wha Hae" sung at Army slow march time take 1 minute 45 seconds.' 17 Even though subsequent services at the Memorial would never have the same weight as the original unveiling Atholl continued his concern with the choice of music in following years. Determined that there should be an annual ceremony in July to be held on the anniversary of the unveiling (not only a service of remembrance every November), Atholl recognized that the scale and scope of the original could not be replicated. Nonetheless his attention to what should be played and the arrangements remained the same. In 1928 there would be no military band available, 'but the pipes and drums are there, the pipers will be playing "The Flowers of the Forest" . . ..' Atholl was particularly desirous of having 'Scots Wha Hae' included, but without a band it would have to be 'sung by choir without music . . . and we should lose the great Thud . . . Thud . . . Thud. . . so peculiar to that tune.' 18 A soldier who had seen active service in the Sudan, South Africa and in the Dardanelles, Atholl was highly conscious of the emotional impact music could have at a public event and, while he recognized the importance of having all Christian denominations involved, he saw unveilings as 'essentially a soldier's show . . ..' 19 While many might not have agreed with that sentiment, most memorial committees seemed to have been willing to leave the musical element of the unveilings to the military. At Stirling, dominated as the town is by its castle and the barracks within, the choice of music seems to have been decided by Major Scott who was the commander of troops in the castle. In a 'Special Order' dictated by Scott it was stated that the buglers would 'sound "Last Post" and "Reveille" [and] Sgt-Piper Ormiston . . . and Sergeant Ancell . . . will play the Lament.' 20 Other, smaller locations within Stirling county also deferred to military expertise in such matters. Both the Callander and Buchlyvie memorial committees simply wrote to Stirling Castle requesting pipers and buglers for their ceremonies without stipulating what actual music they were to play. 21 It is unlikely that there would have been any disagreement over the choices made, but it does appear to have been recognized as the prerogative of the military.

Unveiling ceremonies
Most ceremonies did include speeches, usually by whoever had been invited to perform the unveiling as well one or two local figures. Where speeches were delivered they could be expressive and powerful but could be almost bland as well, tending towards the familiar; praise for the dead, recognition of the loss suffered by families, the debt owed to those who survived, and an undercurrent of hostility to socialism by stressing how the war had shown the nation triumphant through unity. A rare exception was Dundee where General Iain Hamilton called, almost provocatively, for the State to intervene practically to help ex-servicemen. Even where the notion of the 'citizen army' was emphasized the ceremonies were overwhelmingly martial in form with senior members of the military on most platforms and usually performing the actual unveilings. As well as being militaristic the commemoration services were religious in nature with the Church of Scotland and the United Free Church of Scotland being particularly prominent at a time when both were working together to strengthen the position of a united Church ambitious, once again, to speak for the nation. While the Scottish Episcopal Church played an active, if lesser, part also, the Catholic Church and the Free Church of Scotland were, for their own different reasons, largely absent from proceedings.
Perhaps the ubiquity of war memorials has rendered them largely invisible to us in the early twenty first century. Like statues to the famous they have become part of our 'urban wallpaper' but we need to consider whether without the memorials the memory of the War would have remained so prominent and so pertinent for so long. 22 Among contemporaries there appears to have been a widespread awareness, indeed almost fear, that a permanent, public location for grieving and remembering was necessary if the sacrifice of the war was not to be forgotten. At the unveiling of the Glasgow memorial in George Square the Lord Provost explained: The site of the memorial was appropriate and central, and as the citizens saw it day by day they would be reminded of, if indeed they could ever forget, the obligations under which they lay to those who made the supreme sacrifice, and to those who were happily able to return and resume their place in civilian life. 23 As early as the mid-1920s concern was expressed that the Great Silence should be discontinued as it would be inevitable that memories would fade and participation decline, and there was a recognition that as time progressed the public mood did change; from the tragic to a more formal mark of respect. 24 While Armistice Day itself remained dominated by a mood of sombre restraint, the night before gradually became more relaxed. Describing various celebratory dinner dances and balls held on 10 November 1926, the Scotsman commented on the return of, 'Something like the old spirit of rejoicing which was abroad on the night of November 11 eight years ago.' 25 It is the case also that Armistice Day could be a contested ceremony. In 1921 in particular there appears to have been a pronounced degree of deliberate disruption by the unemployed and the Communist Party against the 'hypocrisy and inhumanity' of the event with press reports of protests in Dundee and Liverpool. 26 Resentment was fuelled as unemployment remained stubbornly high and efforts to help veterans were reined back or abandoned. For instance, in Glasgow the Prince Albert workshops for ex-servicemen which were established in 1919 as part of the City's memorial were shut down only three years later. 27 In what appears to have been a common pattern, town or parish councils took the initiative in forming a war memorial committee which would have responsibility for raising the finance and deciding on the form of the memorial but without being a formal committee of the council. For instance, in Glasgow the Lord Provost issued a letter to 'prominent citizens' in January 1919 and it was this group which was established as the 'Grand Committee' in September that year. 28 At the unveilings the ownership and care of the memorials would then be given over to the local authorities. Aberdeen appears to have been different in its memorial committee being formally part of the Town Council, while at Perth the committee handed ownership to the Town Council which in turn immediately passed it over to the Church of Scotland (given that Perth's memorial took the form of the restoration of the ancient Church of St John's in the city centre). 29 The platform parties were largely made up of local and national dignitaries. Lord Provosts and magistrates were, as one would expect, prominent participants along with the chairmen of the memorial committees. Where speeches were made the Provost would usually deliver an oration sometimes accompanied by the committee chairman, though the main speaker would be the person performing the actual unveiling. In Glasgow this was Earl Haig himself, a more than acceptable second choice 24  after Buckingham Palace turned down the city's request that the King do the honours. The Palace pointed out that there were simply too many such requests and that 'His Majesty therefore decided only to perform the unveiling of the National Cenotaph and of those memorials erected on his own property.' 30 Edinburgh was successful in getting royal participation, with Prince Henry unveiling the capital's own memorial, while the Prince of Wales officiated at the SNWM. At Inverness the ceremony was conducted by Mackintosh of Mackintosh, prominent local landowner, Lord Lieutenant of Inverness-shire and an officer in the Cameron Highlanders. 31 At Dundee it was General Hamilton whose army career had come to an end at Gallipoli but who was the most prominent military figure in Scotland after Haig in supporting the ex-servicemen's cause. 32 At Perth the honours were done by General Sir William Peyton, Commander in Chief of the Scottish Command. 33 Aberdeen was somewhat different in that there appears to have been no speeches delivered at the unveiling but only dedicatory prayers offered up by the Rev. John White, Moderator of the Church of Scotland, and the Rev. James Harvey, Moderator of the United Free Church of Scotland. 34 As indicated above, the only speech which contained anything controversial was that delivered by Hamilton at Dundee. Excoriating the secret diplomacy that had led, and would lead again to war, Hamilton focussed mainly on the plight of those who had survived but who were 'existing, more dead than alive, upon the "dole"' and declaring it 'was the first duty of the state to think of their old soldiers' souls as well as their stomachs.' 35 Elsewhere the speeches tended towards the commonplace. At Inverness orations were made by the memorial committee chairman, the Lord Provost and Colonel Mackintosh. The first mostly spoke about the work of the committee in securing the monument while the Provost's main concern appeared to be about needing to protect the memorial from possible future vandalism. Mackintosh spoke of the value of the memorial to those who could not visit the graves of their loved ones abroad, and drew attention to the suffering of the wounded. 36 At Glasgow the Lord Provost gave a lengthy speech eulogising the dead, calling attention to the duty owed to ex-servicemen, and appealing for a continuation of the national unity of war-time; 'The best tribute they could pay to the memory 30  of the glorious dead was for all sections of the community to unite togetherirrespective of creed or party'. 37 Haig then delivered a typically brief address, praising the dead, offering condolences to those bereaved and ending with a reminder of the duty owed to ex-servicemen. 38 Haig must have given dozens if not hundreds of memorial speeches, all very similar. His lack of oratory, however, may well have been part of his popular appeal after the war. It has been argued that it was not Haig's military competence that made him a hero to many in the 1920s, but his 'post-war activities on behalf of veterans, the disabled and the dead'. 39 At Edinburgh's city memorial the Lord Provost spoke before introducing Prince Henry who gave a very short and almost studiedly conventional address: Year by year on this solemn Day of Remembrance the citizens of Edinburgh will now be able to assemble here to pay their tribute to those gallant Scotsmen who so readily gave their lives. It is a high honour to me to associate myself with this historic ceremony. 40 At Perth the Lord Provost made a short speech before handing over to General Peyton whose comments were remarkable only in not making direct reference to those who had fought but survived. At the subsequent official lunch Peyton spoke of the need to get men into the Territorials where, 'there was that bond of discipline and sympathy and of devotion which abounded in the Army, and which must carry into civil life and citizenship which all worked against unfortunate class hatred.' 41 As the last unveiling examined here, it may be that, by late 1928, it was no longer felt compulsory to emphasize the debt to ex-servicemen.

The role of the military and the clergy
Given the militaristic and religious nature of the unveiling ceremonies they could not be universally inclusive. Even after the large intake of Labour MPs from the General Election of 1922 none of those associated with 'Red Clydeside' participated in any ceremony. 42 While politicians and even family members among the bereaved might perform the duty, the most thorough account of memorials in Scotland concludes that it was the military that carried out 'most unveilings and were to play a major role at almost every unveiling.' 43 This is confirmed at the unveilings at Inverness, Glasgow, Dundee and Perth, and even at Aberdeen, Edinburgh and the SNWM, the military were fully represented on the platforms, particularly at the last where the commanding officers of all three services were in attendance.
The other consistent feature was the role of the clergy and in particular the Church of Scotland. Even where ministers from other denominations took part the services were hardly ecumenical. The 'ceremonies' as they were sometimes referred to were in effect religious services performed by Presbyterian ministers and, as in England where the Church of England came to play an increasingly organising role in Armistice Day, so in Scotland also the Catholic Church retreated into holding its own separate services. 44 Even for some Protestants, notably the Free Church of Scotland, the memorialisation of the dead caused them grave disquiet, particularly the increasingly popular view among other Protestant clergy that the fallen of the War had been secured a place in heaven through the sacrifice of their lives. For the 'Wee Frees' (as the Free Church is referred to colloquially in Scotland) this was more or less blasphemy as God alone could determine which souls were to be saved. 45 In a similar vein for England, Gregory has referred to the blending of patriotism and the sacrifice of the fallen 'as a convenient means of justifying the ways of divine providence, even if it was theologically lazy to the point of heresy'. 46 More research needs to be done, particularly in the Highlands and Islands, to see how memorialisation was conducted where Free Presbyterian and Catholic communities predominated, but for most of urban Scotland the unveiling services took a particularly Presbyterian form with the Church of Scotland taking a leading role in all those discussed here. In the cases of Glasgow, Dundee, Edinburgh and Perth the only minister officiating appears to have been from the Church of Scotland, while at the SNWM all four major protestant denominations participated: Church of Scotland, United Free, Free Church and the Scottish Episcopalian Church. It seems likely that even the Free Church, not in evidence at any of the others, felt that on this occasion it could not afford to be unrepresented at the nation's memorial. 47 At Inverness and Aberdeen, as was a common pattern elsewhere, the dedications were made jointly by ministers of both the Church of Scotland and the United Free Church, which were then in deep negotiations over the unification process that would be finalized in 1929. 48 Perth offers the most direct association between the Church and memorialization, since, to give it its full title, the 'War Memorial to the Dead of Perth and Perthshire after the Great War' took the form of the restoration of the city's ancient church, St John's. This was not only a physical restoration but a re-unification, as the three separate Church of Scotland congregations that inhabited St John's became a single communion again. 49 The role of the church further emphasizes the importance of music in the ceremonies or services; it was not only prayers that were said, but hymns, psalms and paraphrases that were sung. Most popular seems to have been the 121st psalm, 'I to the Hills Will Lift Mine Eyes', sung at Inverness, Edinburgh, and the SNWM, while the 2 nd paraphrase 'Oh God of Bethel by Whose Hand', was part of the programme at Inverness and Perth. At Glasgow the hymn, 'The Supreme Sacrifice' was sung alongside Kipling's 'Recessional' which, as we shall see below was not universally popular. At Aberdeen the single psalm was the 46 th 'God is Our Refuge and Our Strength'. At Edinburgh the 121 st psalm was accompanied by the hymn 'Oh God Our Help in Ages Past', while in Perth, as well as the 2 nd paraphrase, the 100 th psalm, 'Make a Joyful Noise Unto the Lord', and the anthem, 'Sorrow Not for Those That Sleep' were sung. Whatever the exact combination, however, such religious music was ubiquitous with the exception of Dundee where there appears to have been an absence of hymns; the only direct religious element being the prayer and dedication spoken by the Rev. A.W. Ferguson. 50 It is clear that the unveiling ceremonies or services attracted massive crowds. At Inverness those present numbered 5000. At Aberdeen press estimates of the numbers visiting the memorial gave 30,000 on the day of the unveiling with 15,000 the following day and 18,000 the day after that. 51 At Glasgow, where the Cenotaph is located in George Square immediately in front of the City Chambers, it was remarked that the numbers present were the largest the city had ever known. Contemporary accounts are of a vast crowd assembling in the square before the ceremony was due to start, with overflow meetings arranged in various halls, and two open-air assemblies (south and north) at Bellahouston and Springburn public parks where the service would be broadcast (the former organized by the BBC and the latter by the Marconiphone Company). 52 At the SNWM, where space at the Memorial was limited, the service was duplicated on the Castle espla- nade to allow greater public participation. 53 Later the same year Edinburgh's own memorial ceremony was broadcast by the BBC. 54 At Perth where all the seating within the newly restored St John's was taken, more space was made available in the adjacent City Hall from which the service was broadcast. 55

Music and emotion: the power of the pipes
The huge number of memorials erected after 1918 meant that unveiling ceremonies became fairly standard as 'many [committees] simply copied what others had done beforehand'. 56 The SNWM ceremony may have been particularly 'splendid' as described in The Times but it was not that different from the others, just more 'elaborate'. 57 Yet the unveiling of the SNWMwith its complete lack of any speechesand Aberdeen with prayers only, forces us to re-consider how the emotional message behind the memorials was conveyed. In short it was possible to have an unveiling without speeches, but impossible to have an unveiling without music. Alongside the hymns, non-religious music was played at every unveiling and contributed hugely in establishing the mood of the occasion. 58 It has been said that Handel's 'The Dead March' was the most popular choice for commencing an unveiling though it does not appear to have been included in the ceremonies studied here. 59 There were variations and idiosyncrasies in the musical programmes with Kipling's 'Recessional' being sung at Glasgow and 'Before Bannockburn' (also known as 'Scots Wha Hae') sung at the SNWM. The most popular songs or tunes were the National Anthem ('God Save the King'), 'The Last Post', 'Reveille', and 'The Flowers of the Forest'. Whilst one might expect 'God Save the King', it was sung only at Inverness, Glasgow, Aberdeen and the SNWM. 'The Last Post' and 'Reveille' were almost ubiquitous, with the former not appearing at the SNWM and the latter not played at Inverness. Finally, the lament 'The Flowers of the Forest' was performed either by massed pipers or a lone piper at Glasgow, Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Perth and the SNWM, and it is to the significance of this tune that this article will now turn. its 'generational loss' and the First World War became increasingly pronounced. Stevenson and Pentland have pointed out that, 'As the conflict developed and its nature and costs became clearer, the idea that Flodden as a national catastrophe, and an icon of loss, would bear comparison with the Great War became increasingly apparent.' 60 While the words sung today are from the eighteenth century it is not known exactly when the melody was written; it was first committed to paper in the 1620s though there has been speculation that it may well have been composed 'shortly after Flodden'. 61 Where this tune was not played, an alternative lament was performed: 'The Land of the Leal' at Inverness and 'Lochaber No More' at Dundee. Indeed, the pipes and the lament also followed the Scottish diaspora across the Empire. At memorial services following the death of Haig in 1928, in London, South Africa (Kimberley) and Canada (Ottowa), pipe bands performed 'The Flowers of the Forest' or an alternative. 62 Given the enormity of what they were commemorating these ceremonies were bound to be moving, yet it is, at the same time, inconceivable to imagine them without music. The speeches may have been worthy and considered but they were hardly dramatic or uplifting in the way that the bugle or the pipes could be. At Aberdeen as the final notes of the Last Post 'echoed away over the City', the massed pipe bands played 'The Flowers of the Forest'. At 'this the most heart-gripping moment of the service, women were seen to break down completely as the touching pipe music rose upon the air.' 63 Even those who were hostile or at least ambivalent about the memorials succumbed to the raw power of the lament. The Glasgow socialist newspaper Forward usually took the opportunity of remembrance or memorial ceremonies to make direct or oblique criticism of the war. For instance in May 1924 Forward ran a 'Public Notice' by Glasgow Corporation about the closing of George Square for the unveiling of the Cenotaph alongside an advert for a pamphlet by the MP Ernest Thwaite on those executed by the army, Shootings at Dawn. 64 Forward's coverage of the unveiling ceremony was written by a prominent member of the ILP, Helen Gault, who was among the crowd in George Square. In her article she questioned the motives of those who attended. Some had a 'genuine desire to pay homage to the dead', some were there out of 'idle curiosity', some were there for some excitement and colour in otherwise impoverished lives, and some were drawn by the 'magnetism' of a crowd. For ILP members such as Gault who were mostly pacifists, the problem with memorials and the ceremonies around them was the militarisation of bereavement and the justification, as they saw it, of the war and future wars to come. Gault was scathing about the singing of Kipling's poem 'Recessional' which she regarded as 'shameless hypocrisy'. Yet, when it came to 'The Flowers of the Forest', Gault's mood changed: it 'touched a deeper chord . . .. The mournful wail of the pipes seemed to renew an ancient grief.' 65 If not exactly the same piece of music, it was certainly something very like it which the French geologist and friend of Adam Smith, Barthélemy Faujas de Saint Fond heard in Edinburgh in the 1780s. Clearly struggling with how to appreciate 'an instrument which lacerated the ear', Faujas wrote, the piper then passed, without transition, to a kind of andante; his convulsions suddenly ceased: he became sad and overwhelmed in sorrow; the sounds of his instrument were plaintive, languishing, as if lamenting the slain who were being carried off from the field of battle. This was the part which drew tears from the eyes of the beautiful Scotch ladies. 66 Such similar responses, separated by over a century, force us to consider what there is about music that makes it convey and provoke emotion so well.
It is widely recognized that music is not only a source of individual pleasure but has, 'since its beginnings, served to foster social cohesion [such as] through the evocation of empathetic sharing in religious and secular ceremonies.' 67 While there is a widely held view that 'music is a universal language of the emotions', perhaps a more useful approach is that which recognizes music as culturally and historically specific and that appreciation of its significance relies upon understanding distinctive cultures and histories. 68 In order to comprehend what particular music is expressing a listener has to be 'suitably qualified' but this does not necessarily or even usually demand being formally trained or musically educated. It means simply being familiar 'with the type of music in question, with its genre, style and idiom'. 69 The immediate context in which one hears the music is crucial. As Meyer has commented, Such theoretical approaches can be given more concrete expression when we consider the music played at Scottish memorials and particularly those tunes played by the pipes. In his history of Scotland's Music, John Purser emphasizes the role of the military in sustaining and developing bagpipe music and the influence that music has had on the wider field of traditional music and beyond, going so far as to say that 'it finds its place even in the racial subconsciousness.' 71 While one may not agree with this assertion, it is difficult to dispute Purser's more practical claim that the pipes are an excellent accompaniment for marching and public meetings because of the unique 'power of their sound [which] travels over a long distance and can be heard above the noise of a crowd'. At the same time, however, they are not simply 'warlike and raucous, but . . . can convey both anguish and tenderness, with a power and intensity that few could match'. 72 That intensity is recognized within Scotland both in fictional and factual accounts. In James Kennaway's novel Tunes of Glory, first published in 1956, the hard-bitten Colonel Jock Sinclair reflects, To the unpractised ear a pibroch has no form and no melody. . . But it is a mood and pibroch was something Jock felt almost physically, damp, penetrating and sad like a mist. It enveloped him and pulled at your heart . . . the pibroch very often comes to a sudden end; it is a finish that makes it a fragment, and the more sad for that. 73 In one of the few personal accounts of how people actually felt at an unveiling, the architect of Auchtermuchty's Memorial, Reginald Fairlie, wrote, 'A piper . . . played Lochaber No More. It was the first time I had heard it. I was touched very much by the music.' 74 Fairlie, who had served in the war and designed a number of other memorials, would represent what Davies has described as a 'qualified listener'; the particular tune may have been unknown to him but he would have been familiar with pipe music generally. 75 One tune he would certainly have recognized was 'The Flowers of the Forest', known in Scotland since at least the early seventeenth century and probably for much longer. Its appeal can be gutwrenching. John (Lord) Boyd Orr recalled his experiences of the Somme when, returning to the reserve trenches after the slaughter of his 'friends and comrades', he heard 'the piper of a Highland regiment which had suffered a similar fate, playing "The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away". I have never in my life felt so unutterably sad.' 76 And at the funeral of Haig himself, It was only when the piper came down the nave . . . pouring forth the strains of that Lament which enshrines the woes of Flodden and all the Floddens of history, only then did the eyes grow dim with tears, and the sob rise in the throat. 77 Its unique emotional power was used to end Sunset Song, the most famous and popular novel of twentieth century Scotland, first published in 1932 and reprinted numerous times since as well as being dramatized on the stage, television and cinema. Grassic Gibbon not only referred to 'The Flowers of the Forest' but reproduced the actual musical notation within the text of the final scene. As we have seen above, it was the most commonly played lament at unveilings and became inextricably linked with Remembrance Day and other ceremonies of public mourning. As the historian of Scottish music John Purser has explained: 'So deeply is the tune associated with such occasions that there is a kind of taboo among pipers on its performance in most other contexts. It is never played merely to entertain.' 78 There could hardly be a clearer example of how context is crucial in determining emotional response.
The War stimulated the demand for pipers as the regiments increased massively in size and each new battalion appointed their own; it has been estimated that 2500 were active on the Western Front alone. 79 The casualty rate was horrendous with 500 killed and 600 wounded. 80 The pipes and pipers in their kilts and tartan are most obviously symbolic of Highland Scotland and, in paying homage to those who fell, Haig wrote, 'Their fame will inspire others to learn the pipes, and keep alive their music in the Land of the Gael.' 81 Yet by the early twentieth century the bagpipes and piping were common throughout Scotland, urban and rural, lowland and highland, due to the growth in the second half of the nineteenth century of the pipe bands in which pipers played with drummers. Plebeian and urban, and disliked by the purists and the elite who dominated the world of the solo piper, the band movement became phenomenally popular involving large numbers of participants in both the army and in local communities. With its own competition circuit, practice sessions and often playing at communal events, the pipe band was ubiquitous in Scotland's towns and cities with more or less everyone familiar with its sound. 82 Westminster Abbey in 1920, and about which The Times rhapsodized as, 'a piece of music which says in the language, not of any one time or people, but of Eternity . . ..' Recognising the transcendental quality of music, the report went on, 'Whatever we were thinking before we heard the first sound of it in the distance, that sound uplifted us to the height of the occasion and we were made one people, participants in one act of remembrance.' 89

Conclusion
It is clear that, seen through the prism of unveiling ceremonies, the official purpose behind memorials and memorialisation was inherently conservative in the sense that honouring the dead was done in such a way that their sacrifice was to be seen as justifying the status quo. This 'message' was mostly implicit but could be made very explicit. In its leader on Armistice Day in 1926 The Times thundered against the leaders of the General Strike and made a direct association between British industry regaining its share of world markets and victory in the War. 'Those lives were not given, those sufferings were not undergone, to leave open the way for strife and for "class war"'. 90 This perspective is different to that of Winter who sees the primary function of memorials as helping the bereaved recover from their loss. Yet their meaning was fluid and, in a sense, uncontainable; those attending unveilings were as free to take an anti-establishment view of the war and sacrifice of the fallen as they were to support it. Thus this article supports Winter's argument that it is likely that many held within themselves conflicting or opposing views. 91 The emotions of the public could be stimulated but they could not be controlled completely. The ceremonies examined here were military and religious, the potency of which came largely from tapping into established, if apparently contradictory, emblems of Scottish tradition and culture such as the highland soldier, Jacobitism, Protestantism, Scottish nationhood and British Imperialism. However, at that moment, what reconciled and transcended all of these was the power of a music that was associated both with the military and the popular. It was a music that was not triumphant, that did not extol great victories, but which, on the contrary, was focussed on defeat, sadness, bereavement. It was the piper's lament, most notably 'The Flowers of the Forest', that best expressed the common sense of loss and which, in so doing, established the link between the public and the memorial. 88 Gregory, op. cit., 138. 89 The Times, 12 November 1920, 'Supplement', 1. 90 The Times, 11 November 1926, 15. See Gaffney, op. cit., 109-12 for similar condemnations and appeals for unity between the classes at memorial unveilings in the South Wales coalfield. 91 Winter, op. cit., 85.