BY ROGER WATSON
I have been to many Edinburgh Military Tattoos. It became ‘Royal’ in 2010. Over the years, since childhood, during my own military service when I took part and subsequently when I continued to live in Edinburgh, I went regularly.
I had not been back for nearly 25 years but my youngest son, who is a regular, persuaded me to attend this year.
As we made our way up to the Edinburgh Castle esplanade I was only thinking one thing which was “surely they cannot spoil the tattoo”. ‘They’ being the massed ranks of the woke brigade whose representatives on earth make up a large proportion of the Scottish Parliament.
Conclusion?
I think they succeeded.
The tattoo usually has a theme, often loosely adhered to, but at least comprehensible, historic and often martial. This year ‘Stories’ was the theme, and we were promised:
the Show will be a celebration of saga, myths, and legends, transporting audiences on a journey of ideas – from the earliest campfire stories though to the world stage.”
The theme may as well have been ‘Stamp collectors of Papua New Guinea’ for all the sense the stories made. There was much projection of a light show on the castle walls of images and colours which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Attending with us was my son’s father-in-law, also a former military man and tattoo veteran. As a member of the Military Police, he once had the privilege of arresting and locking up the lone piper who was so drunk he was likely to tumble from the battlements. His understudy played that night. We both recalled seeing a history of Scotland with a massive Viking boat whizzing down the esplanade. I recall actual soldiers throwing smoke grenades, firing blanks and playing dead as they re-enacted taking a military position. When I took part in 1991 a group of us officers—all First Gulf War veterans—ran on to the esplanade, paid compliments to the guest of honour and were warned that if we did not skedaddle as soon as our arm had made the ‘short way down’ to our sides that we would be squashed by the desert camouflaged armoured personnel carriers which were going to come down behind us at full speed.
We were both there in 1993 when the seven regimental bands of the Highland Division marched together for the last time as a massed band before disbanding and merging into the two new regimental bands (Lowland and Highland). That was the last appearance of The Gordon Highlanders, my grandfather’s regiment (6th Battalion) in The Great War. I watched with tears flowing down my cheeks and recall the boos when the compère announced their demise. I defy you to watch it and not be deeply moved.
This year the organisers mustered a sizeable pipe band but, in addition to a handful of military pipers, it was augmented by pipers from across the world including many geriatrics at one end of the age spectrum and young kids at the other. It sounded good but the military element was played down, as it was elsewhere in the evening.
There were other military bands including the Royal Marines and Swiss and Norwegian bands who were entertaining. These were augmented by the US Air Force Band and the Trinidad and Tobago Defence Force Steel Orchestra. The US Air Force Band seemed a great deal more enthusiastic about their time on the esplanade than the crowd and, likewise, the Trinidad and Tobago Defence Force.
I was heartened to see that the RAF were on display as they, inexplicably, are best at parade ground drill.
The RAF Regiment are a joy to watch and this year we were entertained by the King’s Colour Squadron Royal Air Force. They were excellent, with perfect timing and impossible looking crossovers and reformations. Disappointingly, they did not do what I consider to be their trademark synchronised firing which always occurs at an unexpected point and always makes people jump. I guess we are now afraid to make people jump. Maybe Health & Safety said no.
There were the usual dancers, but these danced to pre-recorded music and not, as they have in the past, to any of the bands. They were excellent but there was none of the traditional sword dancing and there is only so much circling and weaving a man can watch. I guess we don’t want people to see swords these days?
Then the Electro Pipers. This multi-coloured conglomeration of pipers, guitarists, fiddlers and a drummer accompanied by dancers was truly dreadful. For a taste of what to expect, check them out yourself. If I tell you the drums were playing before the drummer got to them you might suspect, as I did, that a backing tape was being employed.
I am glad to say that the lone piper was flawless but, whereas previous tattoos up to and including the 2022 one, would end with Scott’s Breathes there the man leading into Scotland the Brave which conjures up the kind of Scottishness which nationalist and unionist can happily share, there was nothing.
Finally, and possibly a foretaste of things to come, we were invited to stand (“if we were able”) for the National Anthem. Embarrassingly few sang God Save The King. My son confirmed that in the past few years God Save the Queen had been belted out with gusto.
I don’t recall my first Edinburgh Military Tattoo, but I well recall my final one. I just attended it.
Roger Watson is a Registered Nurse and Editor-in-Chief of Nurse Education in Practice.