THEIR first night was spent In hastily improvised wigwams of branches. According to legend, this first encampment was on an eminence ever since known aa “Fiddler’s Hill.” Pestered by mosquitoes and black flies, they were apparently in low spirits. Besides being under a depressing nostalgia, they were probably appalled at the prospect of ever establishing clearances In that heavilly timbered land. The story is that a young fiddler, Alex Watt, rescued them from despair by playing those melodies that stir the heart. Under his wizardry, pulses ofthe wild music of a race that dwelt unconquered be- yond Hadrian’s WalL The black mood of despair passed and Scotland took root in Dalhousie.
Once established on their clearances, these Scots began, to feel the need of former associations and social contacts. Old habits and customs of clan hospitality asserted themselves. They visited about the settlement in companies. While on these visits they brought with them sufficient food to help the larder of their hosts for no single homestead had more than sufficient for its own requirements. According to a record of an interview with James Park (descendant of a Dalhousie pioneer), they frequently stayed for an evening at the Ross homestead where “his wife, Lily, would make tea, read the Bible, and sing Gaelic songs far into the night”.
Fiddler’s Hill— Where the Green Grass Doesn’t Grow in Lanark