Edinburgh Tales #1: In Celebration of a Terrible Poet

Having just returned home from a brilliant trip to Scotland, where I spent most of my time in the glorious city of Edinburgh, my head is so full of stories that I picked up there that I want to get them all down as soon as possible, before I forget any!  The fact is, Scotland is just SO full of history; it is such an old country, which is something that really strikes you as you travel around, and it has been home to some fantastic characters throughout history.  Edinburgh itself is an incredibly unique city - it's dark, old, gloomy and romantic, the perfect backdrop to some truly gruesome and horrific stories from its past (think Game of Thrones, which is actually pretty tame compared to the real stuff, on which the show is based).  Maybe it's that I have a dark side to my personality that absolutely loves this kind of thing (the more gore the better), but it became clear very quickly that I had too much to write about and too many tales to recount in one blog post alone, which is why I have decided to split them up, giving each story it's own deserved space.  I have also decided to start off with one that is not so gory, but more comic, about a certain poet who had quite an interesting life.

You might not know, I didn't anyway, that J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, at least the first book for sure, in a cafe in Edinburgh.  She has described how she used to work for hours at a time in this particular cafe, taking breaks to stroll around the neighbouring old Greyfriars graveyard.  Well, in this graveyard, you can find a few graves where Rowling evidently took inspiration for some of her own character names; there is one Tom Riddle, who became Rowling's Lord Voldemort, and another William McGonagall, Professor McGonagall in the books, although a character of the opposite gender.  I was really interested to learn that this William McGonagall was a very well known, and very bad, Scottish poet!  In fact, he is famous for being the writer of some of the worst poetry in the English language!

William McGonagall, who was born in 1825 and died in 1902, wasn't always a poet - he actually began his career as a budding actor.  Already though, he was known amongst his peers and friends for being atrociously bad on stage and the theatre where he performed only allowed him to do so if he paid for it!  On one occasion, performing the role of Macbeth, who is supposed to die at the end of the play, McGonagall felt that one of his fellow actors was trying to upstage him, so he refused to follow the script and die!  I would have loved to be in the audience for that one.

McGonagall began writing poetry after he felt a wave of divine inspiration to do so, and he actually has a vast catalogue of work, including about 200 poems!  He performed his poetry in pubs and music halls, recited and sold it on the streets of Edinburgh and London, once tried to become 'poet laureate' to Queen Victoria, and even worked for some time in a circus, where the audience was allowed to pelt poor McGonagall with eggs while he recited his poetry!  However, he never really made any money from writing; instead he survived off loans and donations from his friends.

Unfortunately, for his whole working life, McGonagall was continuously mocked and made fun of for his terrible poetry.  His friends detested his work so much that they once came up with quite a devious plan to get rid of him; they fabricated a letter from the Mayor of New York, requesting that William McGonagall come to New York, offering him the position of resident poet there.  McGonagall believed it immediately and set off on the long voyage to the new world by boat.  After months of being cooped up on the boat, McGonagall finally arrived in New York and declared his presence to the Mayor himself, who, as you can imagine, was extremely confused, angered and sent him right back to Scotland on the boat!  At least his friends got what they wanted - a few months of peace!

What I find really amusing though, is that, throughout his whole life, McGonagall never seemed to realise that he was a terrible poet!  He never noticed his bad reviews or heard his critics, he paid no attention to his friends when they made fun of him and when his job in the circus, which consisted of having eggs thrown at him, was cut, he was disappointed and argued to get it back!  His belief in his own work was so strong that he left for New York straight away, without even questioning the letter.  Isn't there something remarkable about that?!  If ever anyone was hurt by a stupid/bad review or an insensitive remark by a colleague or critic, take some inspiration from old William McGonagall!

Lines in Praise of Sunlight Soap

~William McGonagall

Ye charwomen, where’er ye be,

I pray ye all be advised by me,

Nay, do not think that I do joke,

When I advise ye to wash with Sunlight Soap.

In my time I’ve tried many kinds of soap,

But no other soap can with it cope,

Because it makes the clothes look nice and clean,

That they are most beautiful to be seen.

Ye can use it, with great pleasure and ease,

Without wasting any elbow grease,

And, while washing the most dirty clothes,

The sweat won’t be dripping off your nose.

Therefore think of it, charwomen, one and all,

And, when at any shop ye chance to call,

Be sure and ask for Sunlight Soap,

For, believe me, no other soap can with it cope.

You can wash your clothes with little rubbing,

And without scarcely any scrubbing,

And I tell you once again without any joke,

There’s no soap can surpass Sunlight Soap;

And believe me, charwomen, one and all,

I remain, yours truly, the poet McGonagall.