That's the rather busy version of the tartan. In the book I use the more subdued one which can be seen as the background to the avatar on this blog. But this is the Macleod tartan, or The Loud Macleod as it is commonly known, for obvious reasons when you look at it.
Tartan is something closely identifiable with Scotland, and as such it is a delicate issue in Naked Hero. Lewis's relationship with his homeland is strained to say the least - blaming it for taking his father and never having returned there since he left shortly after the man's death in a car accident. It is something that becomes a major theme in The Journey Home, but is introduced in The Journey Away. And there is no more poignant a moment for this sensitive subject than when Lewis is confronted with The Loud Macleod.
Here's a snippet from that scene...
“...There is one more shirt, though,” Lee nervously added. “It might be a bit over the top… you can decide if you want it or not.”
“Let’s have a look,” Lewis brightly encouraged.
Lee brought out the last of the shirts, still in its wrapping, and handed it to Lewis for him to open. He placed it on the table and sat down, fascinated to see what Lee had kept up his sleeve for the grand finale. He expected another Aboriginal design, but surely not based on ‘Man’s Love Story’,
that would be too much to put on a shirt. It was too complex to be reduced in that way. As he prised open the wrapping, he froze when he saw what lay underneath. The others did as well.
Lewis just stared at it, a minute passed before he even drew breath - his fingers slowly moving over the fabric, teasing and caressing it. He seemed transfixed.
“Do you recognise it, Lewis?” asked Fiona, the only one brave enough to dare break the spell.
He tried to look up to her, but his head only rose a fraction before it was pulled back down, the spell still binding, fixing his eyes to the material that he held. Finally he put it down, pushing it away slightly, but his eyes never wavered.
“It’s my dad’s tartan... He wore it to his wedding... when he married my mum. She’s still got the kilt. I think so anyway.”
“Of course she has, Lewis,” said Fiona.
Lee was desperate to speak, to ask him if it was okay, but Fiona touched him on the arm and held him back.
“It’s not just your dad’s tartan, Lewis. It’s yours as well: the Macleod tartan. The ‘Macleod of Lewis’ to give it its proper name, because that’s where the clan hails from – your ancestral home – your dad’s original home before he moved to Ayr. This tartan is something that links you to him, passed down from father to son. It’s part of your heritage, just like these other shirts are part of a heritage. And don’t you think for one second that you’re not worthy of wearing it. Your dad would have been so proud to see you walking onto that court tomorrow, but nothing would have made him more proud
than to see you in this.”
She walked over and crouched beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders and wiped away the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks.
“Perhaps it’s something you can keep special and put it on when you’re ready.”
“Aye, when I’m ready.”
Tartan is something closely identifiable with Scotland, and as such it is a delicate issue in Naked Hero. Lewis's relationship with his homeland is strained to say the least - blaming it for taking his father and never having returned there since he left shortly after the man's death in a car accident. It is something that becomes a major theme in The Journey Home, but is introduced in The Journey Away. And there is no more poignant a moment for this sensitive subject than when Lewis is confronted with The Loud Macleod.
Here's a snippet from that scene...
“...There is one more shirt, though,” Lee nervously added. “It might be a bit over the top… you can decide if you want it or not.”
“Let’s have a look,” Lewis brightly encouraged.
Lee brought out the last of the shirts, still in its wrapping, and handed it to Lewis for him to open. He placed it on the table and sat down, fascinated to see what Lee had kept up his sleeve for the grand finale. He expected another Aboriginal design, but surely not based on ‘Man’s Love Story’,
that would be too much to put on a shirt. It was too complex to be reduced in that way. As he prised open the wrapping, he froze when he saw what lay underneath. The others did as well.
Lewis just stared at it, a minute passed before he even drew breath - his fingers slowly moving over the fabric, teasing and caressing it. He seemed transfixed.
“Do you recognise it, Lewis?” asked Fiona, the only one brave enough to dare break the spell.
He tried to look up to her, but his head only rose a fraction before it was pulled back down, the spell still binding, fixing his eyes to the material that he held. Finally he put it down, pushing it away slightly, but his eyes never wavered.
“It’s my dad’s tartan... He wore it to his wedding... when he married my mum. She’s still got the kilt. I think so anyway.”
“Of course she has, Lewis,” said Fiona.
Lee was desperate to speak, to ask him if it was okay, but Fiona touched him on the arm and held him back.
“It’s not just your dad’s tartan, Lewis. It’s yours as well: the Macleod tartan. The ‘Macleod of Lewis’ to give it its proper name, because that’s where the clan hails from – your ancestral home – your dad’s original home before he moved to Ayr. This tartan is something that links you to him, passed down from father to son. It’s part of your heritage, just like these other shirts are part of a heritage. And don’t you think for one second that you’re not worthy of wearing it. Your dad would have been so proud to see you walking onto that court tomorrow, but nothing would have made him more proud
than to see you in this.”
She walked over and crouched beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders and wiped away the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks.
“Perhaps it’s something you can keep special and put it on when you’re ready.”
“Aye, when I’m ready.”