Long ago and far away, on a tiny little island off the western shores of Europe called Great Britain, there lived a man who would one day be named Kirkpatrick. He wasn't named Kirkpatrick when this story starts; names were scarce when the world was young and not everybody got one.

If you could walk up to the top of a hill, look across an entire valley and know that all twelve farmers, twenty geese and four sheep would obey your every command, then you were a noble and you had a name. Something like "Fergus Big-Fisted" or "Angus Who Wears His Kilt Too Short". (They were new at this and it would be a few more centuries before it got smoother.)

If you were armed, had a horse and could ride to the top of a hill, well, all those nobles would come over for tea whenever you asked; you were royalty or perhaps even a monarch, which they all agreed was pretty much a good thing whenever they got together at conventions and such.

Sometimes there were fallings out after the meetings and that's where the Kirkpatrick comes into it. I don't know what he was doing before the day he earned his name. I've heard things about "clan feuds" and "border wars" and some Roman taking one look at the whole country and deciding it was better to build a wall across it and keep 'em where they started. I think the Kirkpatrick was one of those.

One fateful day, when the cattle raiding was more active up north because that's where the cow was this week, a noble by the name of The Red Bruce decided really, England was awfully far away to be so bossy. What they needed in Scotland was a local boy in charge. And since local boys can't be choosers, he was willing to take up with some people who didn't even have names though they did have nasty dispositions and at the very least sharp sticks. The man who was going to be Kirkpatrick was definitely one of those.

And so on one fine morning, those Scottish boys rode out, or in the case of most jogged out, and they came upon an enemy who had the bad taste to be in a church. I don't know who he was or why he had to die but it seems our heroes did. The problem was, it was considered unlucky to slaughter a man at prayer. Or at least when he's at prayer on holy ground. When anybody's looking.

So they talked it over. Does God care about manners when the enemy is English? And was the guy really praying in there or was he tunneling out under the altar? And when are we getting to the next pub, laddy; we don't have all day, you know?

The Red Bruce knew an opportunity to demonstrate leadership when he saw it. Straightening himself up and drawing his sword, he silently went into that church alone and came out again, alone, and he stood there in the foggy, foggy dew.

A question came from the crowd of waiting warriors, "Is the Englishman dead?"

The Red Bruce thought about it and replied, "Well, he's sick." (Even though it was early in his political career, he knew better than to directly answer a direct question.)

And now is the moment. Our man steps from the crowd and shouts, "Is he sick? Well, I'll make him sicker!" And that man goes into that church and though his valor was unwitnessed, it is a fact the wounded Englishman did not escape and the day was won and the pub was reached before closing.

Kirkpatrick got his name for his work that day and a coat of arms showing a hand holding a bloody dagger and the motto he is remembered for: "I make sicker." His wife never could get him to stop telling the story at parties, either.

Now had the local boys won the war, as they won that battle, things might have been different but they didn't. Later there was much rowing over to Ireland in the night and centuries spent eating potatoes, but that's another tale for another day; this is just the story of how Kirkpatricks came to be.

* I got my source information from one paragraph that was glued to the back of a tourist plaque we bought in Dublin. Steve's dad's version follows, varies slightly from mine and is based on actual research. You can take your pick, since neither of us was actually there at the time.

"The Kirkpatrick name - Long, long ago, there was a young laddie named Donald Kirk. Donald distinguished himself in battle one day by bravely saving his lord's life and as a result was granted some land (near the present Dumfries) and the right to form a clan. He combined his father's name, "Kirk", with his mother's name, "Patrick", to form "Kirkpatrick, and built himself a "keep" (a stone fortification full of geese, sheep and folks to defend). The tiny village of Kirkpatrick-Flemming was the result, and it is there to this day.

Early in 1306, in the town of Dumfries, Robert and several of his lieutenants saw one Red Comyn duck into the church of the Grey Friars. Red Comyn was an English supporter, and was a rival to Robert de Brus. Robert followed him into the church with drawn sword. When Robert came out he was wiping blood from his sword and said " I think I may have killed him." One of his lieutenants, Robert Kirkpatrick, said " I'll make sure " ( "I mak siker", in Gaelic), and went into the church with dirk in hand to finish the job. Both Robert de Brus and Robert Kirkpatrick were excommunicated by the Church for their acts on this fateful day.

The Kirkpatrick motto is "I mak siker", and this accompanies a bloody dagger on the family crest. The famous cave in Kirkpatrick-Flemming is where Robert de Brus hid from the English in 1307. He watched the spider persist in respinning its web as it was continually damaged by the wind, and decided to give the fight with the English one more try.

Robert de Brus was very lucky, and Edward died of natural causes at about that time. His heir, Edward II, didn't give a damn about invading Scotland and immediately returned to the good life in London. Robert de Brus, also known as "Robert the Bruce", was later defeated in 1314 , at Bannockburn, outside Sterling. Later references to the family throughout Scottish and Irish history indicate that the bulk of the clan were "soldiers of fortune" for various lords and well known for their skills with the dagger and other weapons of stealth and ambush. And that's the rest of the story..."

Dad (Thomas Kirkpatrick)

Text and images Copyright 1998 Cyndi Kirkpatrick. All rights reserved