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There is always the danger of a dedicated academic becoming too bookish. I have known colleagues whom I have had to classify as workaholics. I have sympathy with them. The feeling that there are not enough hours in the day to accomplish everything one wants to do is powerful. There is the operation of an invisible law that the more one produces the greater stress there is to produce more. But in theological studies priorities are of utmost importance. I was soon aware of the need for some diversion from the constant pursuit of knowledge. I needed a hobby. What was it to be?
As a boy I had been introduced to the rudimentary techniques of piano-playing, but much to my later regret I had allowed this to lapse. Nevertheless I never lost my interest in making music and persisted to teach myself the best I could. I never had an acute ear for music. I was quite incapable of playing the simplest tune from memory. I was completely tied to sight reading. Although I have never progressed far in the expertise of piano-playing, I realised the therapeutic value of the exercise. At the end of a tiring day I have found no better method of relaxation than playing at the piano. What has appealed to me most in the complete concentration which is demanded. Intense sight-reading does not permit the mind to wander without giving immediate warning in the disharmony which at once followed. It has been a most effective way of crowding out whatever theological or exegetical points had absorbed my attention earlier in the day. I envy scholars who have an more expert attainment in the production of music. I think of men like Derek Kidner and George Beasley-Murray. Yet to me music has been the most efficient means of soothing the nerves of any that I have known.
I have often reflected on the parallel between the sense of rhythm required in the production of music and the self-knowledge that I had acquired in the course of overcoming my speech problem. Again the key seemed to be smoothness of movement and this became emphasised whenever I played the piano. My repertoire tended to be limited since my object was to produce music with the least effort and the more familiar pieces were best adapted to that aim. Only on rare occasions did I use my piano playing in public, and those were when I found myself preaching at a small church which happened to be without an organist. I preferred a piano although I did on occasions manipulate an organ. I arrived at one church to discover that the organist expected had not turned up and I offered my services until he did. The trouble was it was an electronic organ and I could not understand the stops. The best I could do was to get a whispering air from the treble and absolutely nothing from the base. The organist had apparently been stuck part way there with a broken down car. I very much wished I had not offered my services.
Much later on I decided for the sake of keeping myself fit that I would attend a class held by the local council for the teaching of Scottish Country Dancing. The idea of movement to music had always appealed to me and I thought it was worth trying. It was recommended to me by a friend of mine who had been attending the local class for several years. When I enquired I discovered that the course of instruction had already begun some four weeks previously. Nevertheless I was allowed to join. I had little idea of what was involved. I did not realise how many different Scottish dances there were, nor the intricacy of so many of them. What with the difficulty of the steps and the problem of remembering the formations I began to wonder whether my intention of achieving some pleasurable exercise was not entirely misplaced. My doubts grew as it became obvious to me that the instructor, who was a very forceful Scottish lady, formed the habit of fastening on one person to criticise in public. I was told that this was quite a normal procedure for her, although her demanding attitude towards those who failed to meet her requirements had through the years resulted in many withdrawing from the class. It was clear that she had decided on a rigorous campaign to mould me into a real Scottish dancer. I must admit I was not well prepared for this kind of treatment and was at first at a loss to know how to react to her. I figured out, however, that her excessive bullying of me was probably because she suspected that I would not adversely react to her. She expected a submissive approach to her instruction and I suppose she saw me as the sort of person who would not fall out with her over it. I felt too that however difficult I found the technique, her attentions would not have been wasted on anyone who possessed no potential.
I have learnt a great deal more than reels, jigs and strathspeys in that Scottish Dancing class. I have learnt more about myself. It was a complete change to be in a position in which roles were completely reversed. Instead of being the theological teacher with enough experience to communicate my expertise to others, I was now on the receiving end, the complete novice faced with a most demanding teacher. It was a salutary experience. It required of me a good measure of humility. So often did the teacher single me out for criticism, that my fellow members of the class marvelled that I continued to come back each week. But if they had imagined that a woman’s scorn would put me off they badly miscalculated. I came in fact to see the often rude criticisms as a genuine attempt to help me and I not only accepted the remarks in that light, but appreciated the teacher’s desire to turn me into something of a Scottish dancer. Rather than diminish my regard for her I came to have an increasing appreciation of the trouble she was taking over me. It was only after some time that I discovered that she was one of the most highly rated Scottish Country Dancing teachers in the country and was regularly an instructor at the Royal Scottish Country Dance Society’s summer school at St. Andrews. With such a teacher it was no wonder her standards were high. Nothing less that elegance of movement would satisfy her. Indeed she maintained that Scottish dancing which was not elegant was not truly Scottish.
One of the reasons that caused me to choose Scottish dancing was because of my Scottish ancestry and the desire to learn something more of Scottish culture. Another reason was that the nature of Scottish dancing differed from other forms in its essentially social context. Others forms of dancing had neither appealed to me nor had I considered them legitimate. Indeed, many in the circles in which I grew up would have roundly condemned them. But I could see no objection to the concept of Scottish Country Dancing with its emphasis on graceful movement and social integration. There is nothing so fascinating and attractive as Scottish dancing properly performed, especially when the performers are traditionally dressed with the men in kilts and the ladies in fully flared dresses. The swirl of those kilts and skirts in the twists and turns of the various formations is always a joy to behold.
My eminent Scottish dancing teacher prefers the men in her class to don the kilt, and to meet this I first of all managed to borrow one from a friend of mine. It was however too large for my slender waist and I was obliged to pull it in considerably by means of a belt. But I soon realised that a more fitted kilt would be much more comfortable and I was able to obtain one of the right fitting and the right tartan. Those unfamiliar with Scottish affairs may wonder why the tartans are significant. At least in such circles in which Scottish Country dancing thrives, the properness of the tartan is not generally ignored. The clan tradition possesses its own conventions and most Scottish surnames are classified under the main clans. The Guthrie clan has its own tartan and this was the one I was entitled to wear. For any of its participants who cannot lay claim to any of the standard tartans, the Royal Scottish Country Dancing Society has its own special tartan.
It may be wondered why the Scots ever adopted the somewhat strange habit of wearing kilts. The convention is certainly not as old as the clan system, but it has undoubtedly done much to help to preserve that system. Tartan kilts were a means of identification, and were officially banned for some years following the 1745 rising. But this does not explain their popularity. Many south of the border dismiss the idea as quaint or even feminine. But few would deny the magnificence of the meticulous turn out of a Scots regiment in their kilted uniforms. There are also few who would not agree that a beautifully made kilt and jacket with all the necessary accessories is not a very attractive dress. It at least gives the men the opportunity to compete with the ladies in colourful clothing.
One other comment is called for and that concerns the general lack of enough men to take up Scottish Country Dancing. It tends to be dominated by women and this must be because men do not regard it as a sufficiently masculine pursuit. It is probably because the stress on rhythmic movement does not appeal to most men, who are not renowned for love of elegance. But a good deal of the reluctance stems from prejudice. To do it properly calls for a grace that many men would consider irrelevant.
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