The Reluctant Rebel by Barbara Henderson - review by Alan McClure

 

The well-aired complaint that Scottish schoolchildren learn nothing of their country’s history, in common with many a teaching myth, doesn’t hold up under much scrutiny. In over a decade of teaching I’ve seen classes immersed in Medieval Scotland and the wars of independence; stone-age Scotland; Roman incursions; Scotland in the industrial age; and of course, the ubiquitous Life and Times of Robert Burns (every year, as regular as Christmas). The Curriculum for Excellence always had room for teachers with particular fascinations to pursue them in line with pupils’ interests, and this has led to many a creative and locally-relevant bit of historical topic work. Whether this empowering approach can long survive the post-Covid catch-up agenda remains to be seen: however, even in full flow I’ve seldom (in fact, never) come across a class taking the opportunity to tackle the Jacobite uprisings of the 18^th Century.

 

I’m happy to be corrected about this, but I suspect the period suffers from being so extremely complex. William Wallace and Robert the Bruce can be drawn in fairly bold strokes, often covering a multitude of sins – their contribution to Scottish history is something of a founding myth and took place so long ago that the issues of the time fade into obscurity against the bright, primary colours of A Good Story. Romans, Vikings and the builders of Skara Brae are even more obscure, their marks on the landscape enigmatic, the stuff of fairytales.

 

Bonnie Prince Charlie is a much harder nut to crack. Although the social upheaval that followed his rebellion is still clearly visible in the Scottish landscape - primarily in empty, ruin-strewn glens - he seems easy to pass over en-route to less confusing figures. The binary Scotland vs. England narratives of the 14^th Century don’t hold, despite regular attempts to make them do so, and ‘Government vs Jacobite’ needs a lot more backstory. The religious aspect of the Jacobite cause may also be a block for some teachers: sectarianism is a very live issue in a lot of schools around the country. The Prince himself plays a confusing role in the drama, the subject of a hundred songs of doomed romance but with a pretty chimeric claim to glory or influence.

 

Of course, ambiguity and nuance have the potential to make an excellent and enlightening class topic, so surely the Jacobite story is ripe for investigation. If so, Barbara Henderson has given any aspiring classroom historian exactly the starting point they need in her latest historical novel for children, The Reluctant Rebel.

 

This is the fourth of Henderson’s historical books that I’ve had the pleasure of reading and like Dark Water, The Siege of Caerlaverock and The Chessmen Thief it frames some very big-picture history in an accessible, personal story. The hero of the title is Archie, a 13-year-old who has witnessed the Highlanders’ crushing defeat at Culloden and, in the company of his devoutly Jacobite cousin Meg, manages to escape the post-battle carnage to return home to his widowed mother. The chaos and confusion of the time is cleverly evoked through Archie’s eyes: “So many souls. I taste bile at the back of my throat.”

 

Archie already has ample reason to be suspicious of the Prince’s campaign: his father was killed in the Battle of Prestonpans, leaving Archie in sole charge of his pregnant mother. As a consequence he is quick to conclude that the Cause is dead and that simple survival is the order of the day. This outlook is neatly contrasted by Meg’s unshakable loyalty – she can barely be persuaded to remove her white cockade, symbol of the Jacobite cause, even when the scrutiny of government troops is inevitable.

 

There is ample description of traversing bleak landscape in desperate circumstances, and the sense of uncertainty over who is a friend and who is an enemy haunts the story from the outset. Archie’s continued loyalty to clan over king is an intriguing glimpse of the old Highland order. However, the tale comes into sharp perspective at the appearance of Charles Edward Stewart himself.

 

Henderson is nothing if not a thorough researcher, and the Prince’s appearance in the tale matches his real-life escape route after the catastrophe of Culloden. In The Reluctant Rebel he is beautifully portrayed, a personally ambiguous figure – deeply charismatic, so much so that even Archie feels his doubts disappearing. This is no celebration of royal birth right, though: the reader never once forgets the carnage and horror that this man’s adventurism has caused, and his efforts to save his own skin seldom seem anything other than cowardly.

 

Students of the period will know, of course, of the Prince’s eventual escape, and perhaps of his ignominious waning years as an expatriate royal in the courts of Europe. The intensely personal perspective of our Reluctant Rebel brings the oft-told tale beautifully to life, and I fully expect this novel to become a fixture in upper primary classrooms around Scotland. This is the perfect springboard to a better understanding of a pivotal point in our country’s history.