Filming took place at Shepperton Studios in Surrey, with establishing shots at Stirling Castle in Scotland. (Stirling, you may remember, is a crucial strategic location in Scotland, and the site of decisive battle after decisive battle, both in Scotland’s internal struggles and in its struggles for independence.) In my most recent viewing, I recognized Stirling Castle, the internal layout of the compound, and the fact that Stirling Castle has been, for many, many years, the headquarters of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. I recognized all this because I have visited Stirling Castle in recent years, have studied the history of the regiment in the museum located in the headquarters building, and have conversed with the docents, who are retirees from the regiment, performing their docent duties in the regimental tartan.

I should say that, at no point in the film, was the battalion identified as belonging to the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. It is clear, though, that this plausible but fictional story was intentionally set within a real military unit, with that unit’s real headquarters clearly identifiable, with unit history and traditions similar to the fictional one, and with a tartan that is more than superficially similar to that of the fictional unit. That being clearly and obviously the case, I will proceed to describe a little of the history and traditions of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. The regiment was created in 1881 by the merging of the 91st (Princess Louise’s Argyllshire) Regiment and the 93rd (Sutherland Highlanders) Regiment. The tartan, as I recall from materials at the museum, was originally a mistake. The decision had originally been to provide the new regiment with a Campbell tartan (I would guess because of the association of Campbell with Argyll); but the procurement contract, as a result, perhaps, of ignorance on the part of some procurement clerk, was let for the tartan of Campbell of Cawdor, an obscure Campbell branch. When so much expensive tartan fabric was created, it could not be wasted. (The tartan is quite attractive.) One of my vivid recollections from the museum of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders was of an organizational roll, I believe from the WWI period. Along with members whose ranks were given variously as Sergeant, or Corporal, or Private, were members whose ranks were given as “Boy” (as in young male person). I inquired of a nearby docent, who explained that boys as young as age twelve were actual members of the regiment. These boys had no direct combat role, but were exposed to enemy fire while serving as messengers or performing other duties. (These facts figure into the film also.) As with other units of the United Kingdom armed forces, the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders have always been comprised of a limited number of regular battalions and a larger number of non-regular battalions. In World War I, the A&S Highlanders had ten battalions in France and Flanders, and four in the Mediterranean – heavy casualties, lots of mortalities, much distinction. More to the point, in terms of the film, in World War II the A&S Highlanders provided nine battalions, including the then two regular battalions. The 1st Battalion fought in North Africa, Sicily, and the Italian mainland. (This fact figures also into the film.) At the end of WWII, the reserve battalions were demobilized, and the two regular battalions were merged into one.

Now we will examine the film, which opens in the winter of 1946 in the officers’ mess at what is clearly meant to be Stirling Castle. Acting Lieutenant Colonel (and acting Colonel-of-the-Regiment) Jock Sinclair, played by Guinness, is in his glory, interacting with his officers, who are clearly his friends, followers, and drinking buddies – one almost might say “groupies” – who, with the exception of one young lieutenant, share with him the combat experience of World War II. As the festivities progress, Sinclair makes an announcement to the effect that he is not to be made the permanent commander, but that an outsider is being assigned, arriving the next day, to take that post. At this point, Sinclair begins the process of discrediting his replacement and creating a bias against the newcomer. Sinclair’s history is that he joined the unit as a “Boy” piper, rose through the piper ranks as an adult soldier, and apparently received a combat commission. The references to his heroic performance in North Africa are bit vague, but the image of Jock Sinclair riding in triumph on the back of a half-track after a critical battle is apparently treasured by the battalion at large. Jock is not just the commander, but the hero of the unit, and he loves it. There are two officers who are not sycophants or groupies – battalion executive officer, Major Charlie Scott (played by Dennis Price), and the battalion adjutant, Captain Jimmy Cairns (played by Gordon Jackson). These two seem to be opposites. Scott is an intellectual, obviously the product of university education, who is aloof from banter and good fellowship, who generally keeps his own counsel, but who expresses his detached analyses, when appropriate, in the most concise and chilling terms. (The viewer is given the initial impression that Scott is a sort of snake-in-the-grass, though this is not the case.) Cairns, on the other hand, is empathetic regarding the needs and characteristics of others (Jock, for example), but open-minded and not easily “programmed” to someone else’s desired bias (again, Jock’s, for example). In the midst of the drinking, singing, and dancing, Lieutenant Colonel Basil Barrow (played by John Mills) arrives, a day early, in civilian attire. He is polite and formal, acknowledges that he is early, and really asks no more than to be shown to his quarters. Sinclair, loosely and incompletely, introduces his officers, bids them carry on with their festivities, and engages Barrow in conversation in which he makes it clear that he thinks it a breach of etiquette for Barrow to have arrived early, and in which he is derisive toward Barrow’s university education, Barrow’s (Jock assumes) politically-connected “plum” assignments, Barrow’s (Jock assumes) having been imposed as an outsider on the regiment, and even (Jock assumes) Barrow’s having spent the war as an officer prisoner-of-war in a “gentleman’s” POW camp. Barrow clearly provides, implicitly or explicitly, the truth of these matters, though Sinclair ignores these truths, in favor of his reconceived notions. The truth is that Barrow started out his military career with this regiment, his original assignment perhaps predating Jock’s. Barrow’s father and grandfather had both previously commanded the battalion, and it had been Barrow’s greatest hope and ambition to himself command the battalion.

As the film progresses, Sinclair takes every opportunity to humiliate Barrow and undercut his authority. They seem to be opposites. Sinclair is loose and informal regarding punctuality and standards (probably because he knows how his officers have performed in battle, and knows their dedication and reliability in combat). Barrow’s style is crisply authoritarian, demanding punctuality and precise standards of performance (probably because he knows that these must become ingrained in a garrison/training situation, in order to insure performance in the next combat situation). As the film develops, it becomes clear to the viewer (though Sinclair either refuses to see, or does not accept) that Barrow has suffered ongoing torture during his captivity as a POW, presumably refusing to reveal military information, and that he is a post-traumatic stress disorder sufferer (though the malady had not been designated in 1946, or even in 1960 when the film was released, as PTSD, nor was it then as well understood as now). Before the end of the film, it is even revealed that Barrow was once married, but is no more, and that, essentially, he lives only for his dream of effectively commanding this battalion.

There are two sub-plots within this film – one that is essential to the development of the major story line, and one that serves to further develop the character of Jock Sinclair.

Sinclair is a widower, occupying quarters with his adult daughter Moraig (played with dignity and beauty by Susannah York). Moraig is in love with Piper Corporal Ian Fraser (played by John Fraser). Sinclair has imposed rules upon Moraig as though she were a child, “for her own good” as he says, which include a prohibition against her being in the vicinity of the barracks without Sinclair’s express permission. Jock Sinclair has revealed himself on these matters in an exchange with Piper Corporal Fraser, before Sinclair was ever aware of the connection between Fraser and Sinclair’s daughter. He asked whether Fraser had a sweetheart. Having drawn out of Fraser an answer in the affirmative, Sinclair then asked if Fraser’s intentions were honorable. (It is clear to the viewer from the way the piper’s part is played that Fraser is 100% serious, upstanding, and honorable.) Sinclair then declared that honor in male/female relationships is of no concern to a piper corporal, but only to fathers like Sinclair.

The other sub-plot has to do with Sinclair’s relationship with actress Mary Titterington (played by Kay Walsh), a woman of checkered past, about Sinclair’s age, who loves Sinclair in spite of his frequent neglect and her clear understanding of his entire complex collection of virtues and faults.

Two other key roles must be identified in this film: Pipe Major Duncan MacLean (played to perfection by Duncan MacRae), and Sergeant Major Riddick (well-played, though played as a bit of a stereotype, by Percy Herbert). These two are the senior warrant officers of the battalion. (In U.K. and Commonwealth forces, warrant officer is the senior non-commissioned officer rank – warrant officer being a rank, and pipe major or sergeant major being a position. In U.S. forces, the warrant officer is a specialist officer.) Pipe Major MacLean apparently was pipe major when Jock Sinclair was a piper corporal, and apparently has been the benign and wise presence in the battalion throughout the entire memory span of any other member of the unit. He wisely advises Sinclair privately, as he does also Moraig and Fraser. MacLean and Riddick are in disagreement on almost any topic. They address each other formally as “Mr. MacLean” and “Mr. Riddick” even when angry. Riddick is not a sympathetic character; however, when MacLean convinces Riddick that the position of the NCO’s on a matter of importance must be made clear to the new commander, Riddick bravely makes himself heard at great risk to his position and career (and, in so doing, redeems himself in the eyes of the viewer).

As Barrow is attempting to effectively command the battalion, against Sinclair’s interference and the negative bias that Sinclair has orchestrated, Sinclair himself is a loose ends. He has reverted to his permanent rank of major, and he seems to have been given no clear role, other than his temporary obligatory role in assisting his successor’s transition to command (an obligatory role in which he has failed by design). During this period, Sinclair goes drunk to Mary Titterington’s dressing room at the theatre and receives a kind but firm rebuff. He attempts to buy drinks for several pipers at the pub frequented by the pipers. They attempt to divert him, but he sees Fraser at a table with Moraig. Though Sinclair and the enlisted men are in uniform, Sinclair strikes Fraser in the face, knocking him down. This is an extremely serious offense, calling for an impartial investigation, the results to be forwarded to higher command for action. Sinclair knows the seriousness of the offense, and he does not attempt to deny his act. Several parties attempt to persuade Barrow that he could handle the matter locally, for the good of morale and the reputation of the battalion; however, Barrow knows that regulations and procedures must be followed. Barrow weakens in his resolve, however, as a result of wheedling and an insincere promise by Sinclair of support henceforth. When the investigation is dropped, and an exchange initiated by Barrow with Scott results in a dispassionate stated judgment by Scott to the effect that Barrow has failed to do his clear duty and displayed weak character also. Barrow shoots himself in the tub room of the officers’ quarters.

As the senior surviving officer, Sinclair takes command of the situation, seeing first to having the scene witnessed by the junior lieutenant, and to having the body properly removed. On the following day, Sinclair gathers the officers and the two senior NCO’s, MacLean and Riddick, to lay out plans for the funeral, the procession to the cemetery, and the recessional. The plans he describes are of a degree of magnitude and formality suitable to the funeral of a field marshal. Sinclair starts the briefing as though it is he who is the upholder of respect and honor to the deceased colonel-of-the-regiment, and as though it is the officers of the battalion (he calls them “mean men”) who have brought about this tragedy. As the event, as described by Sinclair become more and more elaborate (the title “Tunes of Glory” is from his description of which pipe tunes are to be played), Sinclair becomes less and less aware of his surroundings and audience. As he talks, more to himself now than to anyone else, he visibly and audibly descends into grief, remorse, and finally madness. This scene has to be one of the classic dramatic scenes in film history. As he talks, everyone files out except for Scott and Cairns, the two officers of the battalion who have been thoroughly conscientious, each in his own way. The film concludes with Scott and Cairns placing the sobbing Sinclair in a jeep and driving him away.

This film has been criticized for too much “insidery” Scottish detail. I think a good film (one that is not merely for idle entertainment) requires some preparation and homework, and that the viewer is amply rewarded for such preparation and homework. The Scottish accents were done to perfection, at least to my ear, as were the Received Pronunciation (RP) accents of the university-educated characters, Scott and Barrow. I have already mentioned the near perfection with which the fictitious organizational setting fit the realities of an actual Highland regiment.

It remains only to cite the lessons we might learn from the characters in this tragedy. I have not identified by character name or actor the sycophants who so easily allowed themselves to be manipulated. Strength of character is a prerequisite for an officer or NCO. It is not clear always, though, when it is lacking, until a character defect results in tragedy. Conversely, it is not always clear that strength of character is present until the individual has to stand alone as a matter of conscience, as did the Scott and Cairns characters, each in his own way, or as did the pipe major in his quiet way, or the sergeant major in his abrasive way. As to styles of leadership and management, Sinclair and Barrow were not really so different. Sinclair loved to be loved, and Barrow preferred to be cold and aloof, but both were authoritarian. Neither allowed what both referred to as “contradiction” (meaning that neither was willing to accept counsel that a subordinate thought was urgently needed before an imperfect decision was placed in effect). We have all been taught that decisiveness is a virtue in a military leader, the more so when the unit is a combat unit. One can properly take the position that the order of the leader must be obeyed promptly and fully in actual combat; however, the wise leader of even a combat unit in a non-combat setting makes effective use of consultation. Even in the military, the farther an organization is from being a combat unit, the more consultation is appropriate in management. Insecurity played a part in this tragedy. The Sinclair character knew that, by lack of formal education and “paperwork” administrative experience, he was inadequate to the demands of peacetime command. The Barrow character was aware of how damaged he was and how his options had narrowed for making a success of his life and career. Both were prevented by insecurity from seeking and utilizing advice and counsel when they needed it (and the writer carefully supplied characters who had the capacity to provide exactly the kinds of advice and counsel needed by either Sinclair or Barrow). Another lesson is found in the human propensity to see one’s own failings in others. Jock Sinclair, as a young piper, may have treated women as objects, to be treated, not honorably, but as conveniences; however, he had no grounds to assume that Piper Corporal Fraser was the present counterpart of the past Piper Corporal Sinclair. As to the two female characters, each asserted herself as much as culture and station would allow, and each did it lovingly. Those lessons are positive.

All in all, Tunes of Glory is, in my opinion, one of the great films – one that should be seen, not once, but several times.