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Oh, they began well enough, those first white settlers! Their hopes were high, they had crossed the oceans on a raft of raised promises, loans and expectations.

Homesick and seasick, they clutched the deck rail of their ship. They saw the land dimly, through a mist of demanding memories. In their minds they named it 'The Tartan Isles'. The hills seemed to sing to them in familiar voices as they glided past. 'Oh, ye banks and braes!' And soon, they unrolled across the country the carpet they had brought with them, a plaid of lines and rectangles, fences, farms and paddocks. The plaid was strong and stubborn. It erased everything in its way. It had a familiar pattern.

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