William Soutar

‘To accept life is to give it beauty.’

William Soutar’s Background William Soutar was born on 28 April 1898 in Perth, the only son of a close and loving family. He described himself as 'a terrible nuisance' at primary school, but at Perth Academy he excelled at both lessons and sports, fell in love and began to write poetry.

William Soutar’s Background Following his enlistment in the Royal Navy in 1916 Soutar served two relatively quiet years before demob. However, his last few weeks were spent on leave as he was already suffering from the first symptoms of the disease that was to immobilise him.

William Soutar’s Background Soutar began a medical degree at the University of Edinburgh, but soon transferred to study English, graduating in By now his health was a continual problem. In 1924 his illness was diagnosed as ankylosing spondylitis, an incurable disease of the spine.

William Soutar’s Background Soutar received what was considered to be the best medical attention available at the time, but after an unsuccessful operation in 1930 he was confined to bed and remained there for the rest of his life. He kept a journal most of his adult life. On one page in the early 1930s there is an aside that simply says: ’Shan’t get up again’.

William Soutar’s Background Having been diagnosed with tuberculosis in July 1943, Soutar began a new volume of his journal, which he entitled Diaries of a Dying Man. He died on 15 October The house Inglelowe was bequeathed by Soutar's father to Perth Town Council, with the condition that Soutar's room should be preserved and shown to 'any interested person... at all reasonable times’. Now known as the Soutar Hoose, it has for some years been the base for a writer-in-residence, and is used for readings and community events.

Diaries of a Dying Man As I enter the thought for the day on the day following, there can be no entry for the day on which I die. Let me write it now. ‘To accept life is to give it beauty.’ (Diary entry of 14 May 1930)

Diaries of a Dying Man Why do we wish to be remembered, even when none remain who looked upon our face? Surely, though it must retain an element of self-consideration, it is a last acknowledgement that we need to be loved; and having gone from all touch, we must trust that memory may, as it were, keep our unseen presence within the borders of day. (Diary entry of 13 August 1943)

‘Black Day’ A skelp frae his teacher For a’ he cudna spell: A skelp frae his mither For cowpin owre the kail. A skelp frae his brither For clourin his braw bat: And a skelp frae his faither For the Lord kens what.

‘The Daft Tree’ A tree’s a leerie kind o’ loon, weel happit in his emerant goun through the saft simmer days: but, fegs, whan baes are in the fauld, and birds are chitterin wi’ the cauld, he coosts aff a’ his claes.

‘A Riddle’ I am ae thing: I am nae thing Baith a big and sma’ thing: And belang to a’ thing.

‘Tradition’ ‘Heh! young folk arena what they were’: Wheeng’d the auld craw to his cronie: ‘Sic galivantin here and there, Sic wastrie and aye wantin mair; Their menners far frae bonnie. ‘Eh me! it’s waur and waur they get In gumption and decorum: And sma’ respec’ for kirk or state.’ Wi’ that the auld craw wagg’d his pate As his faither did afore him.