Early on the morning of April 16, 1746, the Jacobite (Scottish) uprising came to a brutal end. The highlanders had come close to reinstating their "Bonnie Prince Charlie" but the battle on Culloden moor lasting barely an hour saw their forces decimated and all hope for an independent Scotland dashed. Historians have parsed every move of the opposing forces but the best retelling I heard came from a teacher in front of a group of ten year-olds.

Inverness is a lovely town on the Firth 'o Forth or some such waterway and besides the food and drinks and conversation — the Invernessians speak with an accent that would not be out of place in Winnipeg with its descendants of Lord Selkirk's Red River Settlers — it is close to Culloden Moor, the location of that decisive battle in 1746. 

You can take a bus out to the historic site and wander about reading little signs put up by the historical society. Or, if you're fortunate and have timed your visit to coincide with a visit by a class of local schoolchildren, you can surreptitiously join the group and listen in. 

This was a teacher everyone would want their child to spend time with. He loved his country and his subject enough to be rigorously honest. I sidled close and learned, along with that group of ten year-olds, that:

• • A canon ball will tear through four bodies and kill the fifth.

  • Swords, no matter how big and fiercely wielded are no match for a musket ball.

  • Charging over hummocky marshy ground at a stationary enemy with canons and muskets is a serious tactical error.

  • Lord Cumberland, commander of British forces, had trained his soldiers to stab to the right into the body of an opposing highlander rather than to engage the adversary immediately in front. The upraised sword arm of that foe would open a bayonet target in the chest.

  • It does not help morale if your Bonnie Prince Charlie has no experience as a battle commander and was more concerned with tea with a local hostess than preparing his army. Although willing to fight to the death, he was led away from the scene of carnage and eventually made his way to the safety of France.

I chose not to participate in the charge across the still hummocky ground at an imaginary enemy. The thoughts of twisting an ankle or being trampled by those enthusiastic ten year-olds were deciding factors. I came away wondering that the battle had lasted even the recorded hour. The aftermath of the defeat was horrific as the clans were decimated with  wounded tracked down and killed, clan tartans forbidden, prisoners executed. Poor Scotland.

I revisited Culloden with my older brother some years after this instructive event. We had visited a cousin in England and were now using up a rail pass by sightseeing through Scotland. We didn't see a lot because it rained. I thought of the elderly gentleman of that first trip who had informed me that, "If ye canna see the heelans, it's rainin' and if ye can see the heelans, it's aboot ta rain". 

Nevertheless I persuaded Big Brother to rouse himself and come with me for a bus ride out to the historic site. As we stood in the drizzle waiting for the bus, he wanted to know where we were going when there was a warm tap room at the hotel we had just left. I started in on a history lesson but he interrupted as soon as he had the gist of it with, "So these guys got wiped out by these other guys, Right?" 

"Well, yeah." 

"OK, I got it. Let's go get a beer."

Bonnie Prince Charlie had felt the same need for a social drink but it had cost him considerably more.