The Diary of the Reverend William Cowan

UK: The Pentland Press, 1994. Soft cover. Very Good/No Jacket. 5.75 X 8.25. P/B 81 pages, condition is Very Good. This is an extraordinarily lovely story, not a whisper of rancour and it runs at a full gallop throughout. Surprise should not be taken at this equestrian simile for the Reverend William Cowan was at one with horses as with his congregations. Could there be a moral for today; maybe there is, but the internal combustion engine makes a very poor substitute to Roderick his favourite horse and indeed any other of the remarkable animals on which he rode or was drawn over two thirds of Scotland and so much of England. When he wrote that the man that can habitually ride well with hounds must have brains and no mistake, he just spoke from his heart. The aptness of phrase used to describe those whom he met brings life itself to their names and what anecdotes there are from the Heights of the Alma to a garret in a Glasgow close: the description of Lord Raglan at one and a randy tart at the other kept me aboil with excitement throughout. Two other factors dominate the story. First the Disruption of the Established Church and then his many carefully planned walks over so much of Scotland. This is a good account of the personal feelings and, above all, the power which springs from the building a new church. Dr Chalmers' well known reply to the question of financing a new national church was 'by a lot of littles'. Reverend William Cowan tells of at least one marvellous occasion which showed the unanimity of all kinds of people and their utter determination to have their own place of worship. His personal encounters with the greatest of land owners sheds a fresh and happier light on the vexed problem of obtaining a site for the new Free Churches. Reverend Cowan is ever at home in the mining community of Ayrshire as on a farm or in the heart of London, solely because of his persistent visiting of his flock. He seems always to be welcomed with warmth and seldom with surprise. The other element of this glorious personal story of encounter is found in his walking tours of Scotland - once at the same spot he sees the Bass Rock and Ailsa Craig and he never forgets this marvel. While he is always sensibly provisioned and compassed, it did seem interesting that he also carried a loaded pistol. Before I leave these sturdy reflections of his age and swiftly changing times of telegraph and train, my heart warmed to his account of Curling in remote Border country after the snow was cleared away. This is the mark of a true sportsman and I hope all who read of this joyous journey will have a good dram to prevent them from falling out of the saddle.