Some books don’t just sit on your shelf, they settle into your soul. Robbie Lawrence’s Long Walk Home, published by Stanley/Barker, has precisely done that for me, one of my favourite photobook to date. This exquisite double-volume work, a blend of candid action shots, studio portraiture, and a lyrical essay by the late poet John Burnside, takes the Scottish Highland Games as its core and transforms them into a profound exploration of identity, community, and belonging. It is a celebration of tradition that also questions its myths, and for me, it is a deeply personal journey that echoes my own ties somewhat.

Growing up in Aberdeen, the Highland Games at Hazlehead Park were a fixture of my childhood, a cherished day out filled with the skirl of pipes, the thud of the caber, and the graceful swirl of Highland dancers. With the next event set for Sunday, 15th June, I can still feel the pull of those memories, of friends, family, and the electric buzz of a community coming together. Long Walk Home brought all of that rushing back, yet it is so much more than a nostalgia trip. Lawrence peels back the layers of these traditions, asking what they mean in a world where identity is fluid and history is continually reinvented. It is a question that strikes me deeply, quite literally, as it mirrors my own families experiences.

Lawrence’s narrative weaves through the book, rooting it in a personal story that mirrors my family’s history. He reflects on his childhood move to Corby, a town shaped by Scottish immigrants, and how that displacement sharpened his sense of identity. My mum made a similar journey in 1959, leaving Aberdeen at the age of six with my grandparents and great-grandparents to begin a new life in a steelworks community in Corby. My great-grandfather drove cranes, my nanna worked in a canteen, and my grandfather joined the blast furnace department while the others found their own paths. My uncle Alex, my namesake, was eight, my auntie Yvonne a toddler, and my uncle Bob (Robert, just like Lawrence) merely a child at the time. They returned to Aberdeen eight years later when the oil and gas boom called, but those Corby years left an indelible mark. When I discussed Long Walk Home with my mum, we couldn’t help but wonder if our families’ paths had ever crossed. If Lawrence was born around 1952, just a year before her, perhaps his kin mingled with ours at the local social clubs where Scots gathered, we wondered if they were ever at at he same annual family fun day that Stuart Lloyds held, It’s a small-world moment that turns this photobook into a bridge between personal histories.

The Highland Games themselves are a fascinating beast. The first historical reference to the type of events held at Highland games in Scotland was made during the time of King Malcolm III c. 1031 – 13 November 1093 when he summoned men to race up Craig Choinnich overlooking Braemar with the aim of finding the fastest runner in Scotland to be his royal messenger but more recently born from a 19th-century revival following the Jacobite rebellions and the later ban on Highland dress, they have evolved into a vibrant symbol of heritage, both in Scotland and its diaspora. Lawrence spent five years travelling across Scotland and the United States to document these events, resulting in a visual and emotional tapestry. The first volume bursts with the raw energy of the Games: the sheer physicality of the caber toss, the precision of tug-of-war, and the ethereal grace of dancers in mid-step. His eye for timing and composition is impeccable, sometimes he lets vivid colour make tartans and textures sing, while at other times he shifts to black and white for a quieter, more reflective mood.

Certain images linger long after you turn the page. I recall a striking portrait of a drum major in full ceremonial garb, staff in hand, his face taut with concentration as he prepared to lead the parade. I can almost hear the crowd’s hush of anticipation. Another image features an elderly woman in layered wool jumpers and a sun hat, her grey hair framing eyes brimming with quiet wisdom, it is a story in itself. These are not merely photographs; they are invitations to imagine the lives behind them.

The second volume shifts gears with with Burnside’s evocative essay, they add a haunting depth. His words, “Myths let us roam, they make space for the imagination, for re-invention, for a sense of belonging that is not conferred by a clan name, or a verified birth certificate”, cut to the core of what Lawrence is exploring: a challenge to the Games’ oft-cited Victorian roots and cultural nationalism, while simultaneously embracing the joy and connection they foster.

That dialogue between myth and memory is what sets Long Walk Home apart. Lawrence admits he initially wrestled with the nationalistic undertones of the Games, but over time, his perspective softened. He did not aim for cold objectivity; instead, he leaned into the nostalgia and the myth-making, celebrating the warmth and sense of home that the Games evoke. It is a journey I recognise in myself; my own relationship with Scottish traditions has evolved from casual enjoyment to a profound appreciation of their enduring resonance and a reap proudness of who I am and where I have come from. The Games are not merely a spectacle; they are a thread that ties people to a shared past, real or imagined.

The craft behind the book is as impressive as its content. Housed in a silk-screened slipcase, the two volumes feel like treasures, beautiful to hold and even more engrossing to explore. Lawrence’s use of natural light, particularly in the studio images, imparts a painterly glow, while his fusion of modern aesthetics with traditional techniques perfectly mirrors the tension between old and new that runs throughout the work. The editing, meticulously overseen by Stanley/Barker, ensures that every image earns its place, building a narrative that is both cohesive and compelling. Many images were left out, but what stays is the essence of the story Lawrence set out to tell.

For all its focus on the Highland Games, Long Walk Home transcends its subject. It is about community, the deep human need to connect, and the narratives we forge to define ourselves. Lawrence’s photographs do more than document events, they capture a palpable feeling: the camaraderie, the atmosphere, the weight of history in every kilt and caber. It is a book that speaks to anyone who has ever felt the pull of a place or a tradition, whether experienced firsthand or only ever dreamt of.

This is not a one-read wonder. It has earned a permanent place on my bookshelf, a treasured volume I will revisit time and again. With each viewing I know that new details will emerge: the subtle flick of a dancer’s wrist, the texture of a woollen jumper, the unspoken stories in a stranger’s gaze and I can’t wait. As a photographer, I see it as a masterclass in using images to convey truth, even when that truth is complex or contradictory. More than anything, it is a reminder of why these rituals endure, not just in Scotland, but wherever people seek a sense of home.

Long Walk Home is a dialogue, a conversation between past and present, between photographer and viewer, between myth and memory. For anyone who loves photography, cultural history, or the art of storytelling, it is an absolute must-have. Robbie Lawrence has created something extraordinary: an ode to the Highland Games, to Scotland, and to the very idea of belonging. I cannot recommend it enough.

Regards

Alex