An Extraordinary Life

GILES SUTHERLAND considers the life of work of Hamish Henderson in the light of a new biography by Timothy Neat

In G.K. Chesterton’s book on the saint (a lover of animals, some-time soldier and champion of the dispossessed) the English author states that if Saint Francis were to be born in our time he would probably be found in somewhere like Clapham. By happenstance, Clapham is where Hamish spent four years of his life, orphaned after the death of his mother, in the Clapham Boys’ Home run by a charitable Anglican foundation, the Society of the Good Shepherd.

Neat is, however, keen to make the point that “Hamish was never ‘holier-than-thou’”. He adds, “He lived very much impelled by the moment…if Hamish felt like punching someone, he did…it was a very Shakespearian kind of thing – ‘readiness is all’…this idea of enjoying the moment, the lived moment -‘stuffing a rock down the craw of devouring time’. He addressed the moment and addressed the person there.”

Another quasi-religious moment is recounted by Neat in his biography:

Early on 8 May 1945, Hamish drove south from Florence for a meeting in Perugia. Hitler was known to be dead, Allied and Soviet forces were meeting up all over Europe, but the actual date and time of the ‘cessation of hostilities’ was still unknown. It was a beautiful summer’s morning, the Chianti hills were aglow with green and gold. Hamish was exultant: he had come through – the war was won – soon he would be home, all was well. Then, within sight of the city walls of Siena, the Jeep broke down…Seeing a pair of white oxen ploughing in a field below the road, Hamish walked down to ask the farmer if he might borrow them to tow the Jeep into Siena. A requisition order was made and, with Hamish and his driver seated in majesty, the two oxen, led by il contadino, towed the bullet scared Jeep, emblazoned with the words Bandiera Rossa, towards the great medieval city. It was eleven o’clock and, as they approached the north gate, the bells of the churches began to ring out, one after another, all over the city: peace had been declared. Hamish stood up in the Jeep and took off his Balmoral, tears pouring down his face – after six years of the most terrible war in history, all Europe was at peace again. The Senesi were spilling out on to the streets and when they saw the oxen towing the Jeep they cheered in their hundreds. Hamish, gripping the shattered windscreen with his left hand raised his right fist in the Partisan salute and sang the ‘Bandiera Rossa’ time and time again…Shoulder high, he was carried from the Jeep into a café where peace was saluted with vino, kisses and song…Children came with water for the oxen, and the oxen’s collars were plaited with flowers. It was another of Hamish’s great days…”

In conversation Neat states that “the parallels with Christ’s entry into Jerusalem are unmistakable” but again, such explicit observations are omitted from the written biographical text.
 

It is impossible to do justice to a life so various, diverse, long and multi-faceted, even in a two volume biography. In a short review the task is even less possible. However, it is clear that a number of important issues regarding Hamish’s life require re-iteration and explanation. From an early age Hamish had a very clear intimation of his own destiny and his path in life for, despite the diversity and apparent randomness of his life’s course, there is a well-established pattern to his activities.

Primarily, it seems clear from Neat’s researches that Hamish’s all-encompassing vision was the re-energising of Scotland’s political and cultural landscape through song and poetry. However, unlike his literary contemporaries and near-contemporaries such as Robert Garioch, George Campbell Hay, Sorley Maclean, Hugh MacDiarmid and Norman MacCaig (some of whom had seen active service in the same North African theatre of war as Hamish) – Hamish’s vision was a re-energising of culture from the bottom up.

In 1932 in his ‘Second Hymn to Lenin’ MacDiarmid had written, “Are my poems spoken in the factories and fields,/In the streets o' the toon?/Gin they're no', then I'm failin' to dae/ What I ocht to ha' dune.” Arguably, MacDiarmid’s literary efforts, despite having all the hallmarks of genius, never were taken up by ‘the people’. Recognising this, Hamish set himself the task of writing and singing material which was taken up at a popular level.

His songs, written while on active service, such as ‘Ballad of the D-Day Dodgers’ and ‘Pioneer Ballad of Section Three’ were taken up by the ordinary soldier, Jocks, Highlanders and others alike. They achieved almost immediate currency among the ranks primarily because Hamish understood what made song popular – a good tune, lyrics written in the language of the people and, often, a bawdy, earthy element. It goes almost without saying, too, that his ‘Freedom Come-All-Ye’ has achieved a status unparallel in modern Scotland with perhaps the exception of the backward looking, anti-English dirge ‘Flower of Scotland’, which it will, one hopes, eventually eclipse.
 

Hamish Henderson, A Biography, Volume 1 The Making of the Poet (1919-1953) by Timothy Neat, Polygon (£25.00 ISBN 978 1 904598 47 2)

© Giles Sutherland, 2007

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• Polygon