The twisted tales of the Wallaces and Abercrombies

Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots hame Bruce have aften led,
Come welcome to thy gory beds …
Or victory
- Burns

When my stepdaughter was about 12 we saw the movie Braveheart, in which Mel Gibson fancifully disguised as William Wallace smote the evil English as well as their allied clans.

I happened to mention I was descended from that same William Wallace and that my second name is Wallace, my paternal grandmother’s maiden name.

Her eyes lit up. I pointed out I wasn’t related to Gibson (blessedly, in light of later events) but the character he was portraying. She was a bit disappointed in that.

Of course, that descent from the great Wallace is part of family mythology and has been handed down for generations. Now, Gran, not only had Wallace as her surname, but her second name was Bruce – as in Robert the Bruce, Wallace’s onetime rival and ultimately successor. Yep, great are those doughty Scots on their heritage.

Of course, lines of succession are sometimes (oftimes) farcical. They rely on the assumption that everybody back down the generations played by the coupling rules and that nobody was ever invited into a lady’s bed to partake of her ‘favors’ (polite term for getting laid) who wasn’t entitled to be there. That was called legitimacy.

Now, I cannot imagine staunch Presbyterian Gran ever indulging in such behavior with anybody other than Grandpa, but who knows about those members of the clan that came before her. Judging from some of her roustabout brothers, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there hadn’t been some questionable carnal activity. Questionable activity that probably led to offspring. Offspring that, for the sake of propriety, would have been accorded the name ‘Wallace’ rather than maybe McTavish or Gordon.

But, this puts me in mind of a book I read a few years ago (the name of which escapes me, or I’d link you), that attested to the fact that our forefathers just might not have been the guys we’ve been told they were. You see, there are two types of virility at play when folk are at play. There is the necessary virility for the transaction to take place, but then there is the virility of the sperm itself.

The author’s point was that as we go back through the generations, especially in the days before effective birth control, that if a woman were liberal with her intimate sharing it was a matter of only the strong sperm doing the deed and actually impregnating her.

So, we will take a hypothetical lady of the manor. Let’s call her Baroness Abercrombie. She is married to Baron Abercrombie, of course. Baron A. wants legitimate heirs so he can pass on all his estates and worldly wealth to someone who has legitimate claim to heritage. So, Baron A. and Baroness A. go at it like cats-in-heat on a regular basis. But, the old Baron’s sperm is a bit on the peaked side due to his personal excesses, and overuse with his seven mistresses. But, regardless of that, he and the Baroness get it on pretty regularly. But, she’s a hot-blooded little minx, so she is also getting prostrate with the gamekeeper, and he is savoring her beauty as much as is her husband. Now, the gamekeeper is much younger and much healthier and therefore, according to the author, so will his sperm be. They will also be much more mobile and capable of making the necessary journey to score that magic touchdown. Voila, the Baroness is pregnant, she produces a son, and the old fart has his heir. The point being, the heir isn’t his at all, but the gamekeeper’s. But, nobody is the wiser and therefore the contemporary Abercrombies fully believe they all have a direct lineal descent that goes back to the days of Richard II.

So, about the Wallace thing, I just cannot be all that sure.

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