WE begin with a warning for those

of a sensitive disposition (sullen voice: “That’s nearly everybody now”). We have no alternative, in this historical chronicle, but to mention The People Who Must Never be Mentioned.

No one wants to risk being called – all together now – “racist” or anti-The People Who Must Never Be Mentioned for fear of causing offence, but in a tale involving wars between Scotland and the afore-unmentioned, mention must be made. Some of my best friends, lovely countryside, nothing but admiration, blah-blah. There, that’s that out of the way.

Now, to begin at the end, everyone will be familiar with William Wallace’s grisly demise at the hands of the People We Shall Delay Mentioning and of how he cried out in his final agony: “Some form of federalism based on devolutionary principles!”

A few of you witnessed this scene in the documentary film Braveheart. This caused controversy by being the only movie ever made that took liberties with historical fact for the sake of a good yarn.

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Scottish people complained that Braveheart should have stuck to the facts like British and American war movies. Scots are The People That Can Be Mentioned, as I am one, and so, at no risk of being called racist, let me state immediately my scientifically based view that a larger than average proportion of Scottish people are nutters.

How did this come to be? Well, lest anyone think Wallace went to the Battle of Stirling Bridge by First Bus, come with me back through the mists of time to the late 13th century as we explore the setting of events. Stay together, folks. For we are in a world where forest covered the land and wolves roamed willy and, according to some historians, nilly.

As for people, it’s thought the population was around 400,000 (2-3 million in England – aargh, said it!). Gaelic was widely spoken, English (sorry) in the east, particularly Lothian. Among right posh people, the lingua franca was French.

Normans stoated aboot the joint, spreading feudalism, the backward societal arrangement thought progressive at the time. The cowardly Norse, too frightened to go near centres of power, still swanked about the outer fringes in lands conquered after mighty battles with pacifist monks and unarmed villagers.

The idea of Scotland, as distinct from loyalty to local gang, was in its early stages. Most people worked in agriculture. It was an idyllic time, with relatively few lawyers and accountants.

Problems began with the death of Alexander III, thought to have been a good king as these things go (i.e. he didn’t kill or shag everybody).

A marriage was arranged between Alexander’s only surviving descendant, the Maid of Norway, and Prince Edward, son of Edward I of England, Lord of Ireland and conqueror of Wales (seeing a pattern here?). The sales pitch was that it would bring the countries of England and Scotland closer together. Better together, see?

By way of reassurance, in July 1290 at Birgham on the River Tweed the agreement ratifying this arrangement specified that Scotland was to remain “separate, apart and free in itself, without subjection to the English kingdom”.

Alas, the M of N, aged seven, died on the way over. There followed much squabbling over the throne and, after initial reluctance – and noting a large English army massing at Norham – the various contestants agreed that Edward I should be overlord, er, impartial referee.

John Balliol and Robert the Bruce were the two finalists in Scotland’s Got Talent. Eddie plumped for the former and never let him forget it.

When Edward started fighting with France (England has ever been at odds with its neighbours: the Welsh, Irish, Scots, French. They’re not even sure about the Cornish), a council of nobles and bishops took over the government of Scotland from John and threw their lot in with France.

Mildly irritated, Edward massacred 15,000 men, women and children at Berwick, then effectively took over the rest of Scotland, filling the place with sheriffs and tax-collectors.

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At first, there was little resistance, as ye woke of the day said it would be “anti-English” to say anything. But soon ordinary decent ratepayers such as William Wallace started fighting. Wallace blootered the sheriff of Lanark and chased another placeman out of Scone.

As the chronicler Fordun put it: “From that time there gathered to him all who were of a bitter heart and were weighed down beneath the burden of bondage under the intolerable rule of The People Who Must Not Be Named. And he became their leader.”

Wallace joined with Andrew Moray who was similarly kicking ass in Aberdeenshire and the Mearns and, together, they faced the Earl of Surrey at Stirling. A bunch of amateurs against a seasoned army fresh from fighting its other neighbours in France and Wales. Only one winner: the amateurs! The Earl of Surrey fled on horseback and didn’t stop till Berwick.

Soon, Scotland was regained and Wallace became Guardian. Cue sound effects of thunder and howling winds, then, as Edward headed north with an army of 14,000. Confronting the invaders at Falkirk, the Scots were in good spirits but lacked knights and archers, relying on more manly methods of combat. The English (actually Welsh) longbows won the day.

Wallace spent the next seven years trying to organise another fightback until, betrayed by a Scottish knight loyal to Edward, he was captured near Glasgow on 3 August 1305.

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Dragged through London streets lined with jeering crowds, he was hanged, cut down while still alive, castrated, disembowelled, beheaded and quartered. Still, he fought on. No, only joking. That was that.

Although an embarrassment to some (“I’m a proud Scot but Edward had the right idea and was a much misunderstood man ahead of his time”), Wallace is still honoured in Scotland today. The Wallace Monument overlooks the site of the Battle of Stirling Bridge. The Wallace Well retail park, on the site near where he was captured, has a McDonald’s and a Costa Coffee.