Obituary: Donald Robertson QC, convivial advocate who had a passion for Scottish history and was always his own man

I knew Donald Robertson for more than half a century, ever since he came to Edinburgh in 1960 to be admitted a member of the Faculty of Advocates. We were colleagues at the Scottish Bar for several decades and friends for even longer.

About the time that Donald was admitted to the faculty, it had become a common practice for those joining the Scottish Bar from the West to lose their west of Scotland accents somewhere on the train between Queen Street and Waverley. Not so Donald – and Charlie MacArthur who came at the same time – and many others who followed them. They made no such compromises, but brought their true personalities with them and, by doing so, enriched the Scottish Bar, taking it nearer to its older traditions.

Donald’s capacity for making friends was remarkable. Like so many others, we were often guests of Donald and Daphne at Cranshaws Castle, a glorious setting for parties, for laughter, for conviviality and for significant – even excessive – indulgence in the good things of life.

Donald enjoyed being a generous host and it was a great sadness for him that after some 40 years he felt that the time had come to leave Cranshaws. But he did so, not least so as to grant some relief to Daphne who did so much to help make – and keep – the castle the friendly and welcoming retreat that it was.

Between them, Donald and Daphne transformed the keep and the grounds into a home from home and a magnificent setting for a unique form of hospitality.

And that hospitality was extended not just to close friends like us in Edinburgh, or to fellow grouse shooters and neighbours from the Cranshaws area, but also to our family members, and our visiting friends from abroad.

They were fascinated by the battlements, the swords and armour – though one granddaughter, of a rather delicate temperament, was horrified by the dead animals that gazed down from the walls, bearing witness to Donald’s favourite sport, shooting. He treasured his collection of beautiful hunting rifles and shotguns.

Donald also had a lifelong interest in numismatics but he loved Cranshaws so much that he sold his collection of coins to finance the restoration of its interior. This was carried out by his friend, the architect, Ian Begg. The result was magnificent. For Donald, how he lived was more important to him than the things that he possessed.

Donald was his own man. He knew who he was. He was never going to build a façade to blur his real identity. Above all, he was a Scot, proud of the part played by Scots in European history and achievement.

He was particularly proud of his middle name “Buchanan”, his mother’s maiden name. He had portraits of Buchanans on the walls at Grosvenor Crescent and at Cranshaws.

He was an ardent admirer of George Buchanan – the greatest Latin scholar of the 16th century, who taught at the University of Paris, and was imprisoned for heresy in Portugal and released from prison only after an outcry from the most celebrated scholars of Europe.

Returning to Scotland he served as tutor of Mary, Queen of Scots. Later he became Moderator of the Church of Scotland and tutor to the young James VI. Donald felt a real kinship with George Buchanan and regretted that he was not better known in today’s Scotland.

Donald was also fascinated by the history of the Scots in Europe, notably as mercenaries serving with the French in their wars with the English.

He would go to France, not to taste the food or sunbathe, but to search out the names, graves and histories of Scots who played such an important, though largely forgotten, part in the battles between the English and the French.

He toured the chateaux of the Loire not just to admire the gardens or the architecture, but to read the graffiti that Scots mercenaries had carved and scribbled on the walls. He went to Venice, not to sail in a gondola or attend the biennale, but to attend an exhibition of Celtic art and achievement.

On one recent occasion on holiday in France Donald guided us to Aubigny-sur-Nere, not far south of Orleans. He knew the town well: it boasted several hundred years of close association with Scotland. It was the centre of activity for the Scots in their military alliance with the French.

Even now, the town has a hotel and pub called The Cutty Sark. On Bastille Day, they celebrate the Auld Alliance with parades and bagpipes.

Donald insisted that we stay in the nearby chateau, now a hotel, that was built by John Stewart of Darnley, Earl of Buchan, on land gifted to him by Charles the Seventh, of France, as a reward for providing him with a large contingent of Scottish soldiers in 1419 to fight the English. As the song says, “those days are gone now”, but Donald treasured their importance and knew intimately the history of the Auld Alliance and of the Scots who played their part in it.

One other little known fact came to light on our visit to France when Bob Henderson invited us to compete on his new tennis court. Donald at first acted as umpire. But after the first match he revealed not only that he played tennis but also that he had reached the semi-final of the Junior Boys tennis championship for the West of Scotland.

That, however, was about 65 years ago. We persuaded him to pick up a racquet and play. With some hesitation he did – clad in kilt, sporran and deerstalker. It was an unusual sight – particularly in the south-west of France.

Whether in Scotland or in France, whether in public or at home, whether on the tennis court or walking the streets of Edinburgh, when Donald wore the kilt, the sporran, the green stockings, the cape and even the bonnet, he was not making a fashion statement. There was no element of affectation.

He was simply declaring his pride in his Scottish identity and his determination to salute the Scottish heritage of which he was so proud.

He even wore the kilt once in court, on the undefended Divorce Roll on a Saturday morning, apparently to the displeasure of Lord Cameron before whom he was appearing. But he wore it just the same.

It was that same fascination with Scottish history that led him to become a regular voluntary guide at the Museum of Scotland, sharing with so many visitors his pride in the Scottish tradition of the democratic intellect and the real contribution that Scots had made to the civilization and intellectual history of Europe. He had a gift for conveying that enthusiasm to others, not least children.

Donald was an advocate not just for his many clients but for the achievements of his Scots forbears. The castle of Cranshaws was a fitting backdrop to that advocacy.

The Faculty of Advocates that Donald joined in 1960 was – and, I hope, still is – a body in which members share a powerful tradition of independence and an unwritten but well understood professional ethic. One very positive aspect of that tradition has always been that, as a member of faculty, you could be yourself; you could be different; you did not have to conform to some restrictive code.

You did not have to look over your shoulder to discover how others saw you. So although – to outsiders – advocates may all look the same in their 18th-century wigs, black gowns and formal court speech, the truth is that, as a member, you are free to express and reveal your own personality.

That suited Donald perfectly. He realised and expressed his personality fully in his work, his leisure, his dress, his friendships and his conversation. He remained the man he was. He was uniquely Donald Buchanan Robertson.

So, at this time of mourning for Daphne, Dirk, Deirdre and the wider family, and all Donald’s friends and admirers, we can surely take comfort not only from the way in which Donald enriched our lives but also in the way in which he lived and enjoyed his own. We treasure our memories of him.

LORD JOHN MCLUSKEY