People are fond of writing their names in books. Sometimes you have a name, date, address, perhaps a wee note. It seems like something that people have always done and for me, personally, I actually quite like it (although maybe not in a 1st edition Tolkien!)

A book that was often written in was the family bible. This was usually the repository of family history with someone listing dates of birth, marriage and deaths of various family members. These are great sources of information for those interested in genealogy and history in general.

Nowadays, these bibles often end up surplus to requirements. People are either not religious anymore, have no interest in family history or simply don't want a large, usually well-worn, unwieldy book hanging around. Oftentimes people find themselves in possession of an old bible that they have no connection with, handed down in some strange sideways fashion from some distant ancestor’s aunts husbands’ family and so may have names that make no sense or are not related to them at all. It's heartbreaking to think how many of these have been, and continue to be, simply thrown away.

One such bible (pictured above) was given to me in the shop a couple of years ago. It, too, was destined for the bin if I didn't want it but it was brought to me because of my well-known love of 'old stuff'. They wanted nothing for it and were just happy that it was going to someone who would appreciate it and appreciate it I did...and then some!

Some booksellers will visibly froth at the mouth over antiquated books. For me, it's not so much the book itself, but who owned it and left their own mark upon the page and, more often than not, these books don't even fall into the antiquated category. Their stories add to the history of the book, and I'm amazed how often this is overlooked. If I find names and places written in a book, I'll often trace the people to see what they did, how their lives panned out and what stories they, themselves have to tell me. This bible was no exception, and while it wasn't a family bible, it told a story about a crucial time in the Scottish church. The name William Gilston that's written in the top right of the title page, meant nothing to those who owned the bible before me - hence why it was given away. Aside from the name, there are other clues which help us reveal more about the history of this particular bible.

We can see the date 1827 and the crucial line "appointed to be read in churches", which suggests it was intended for church or ministerial use rather than as a family bible. So, what about the date? Well, it just so happens that a man called William Gilston was ordained in... you guessed it, 1827.

So, what of Gilston himself?

William was born in July 1792 at Chapelton Farm, Haugh of Urr, Kirkcudbrightshire. He was the youngest son of John Gilston or Gelston, farmer there, and Janet McLure. This was still a time when the eldest son often inherited the estate of the father, while the youngest may be encouraged to pursue a career in the church, and this is exactly what happened with William.

He attended the University of Edinburgh around the year 1808, with one of his tutors being Alexander Murray (1775-1813), the famous son of Galloway and Professor of Oriental Languages. One day, William handed in an exercise in Hebrew to him to which Murray wrote “This is the most beautiful specimen among the exercises delivered to me.”

While still a student of divinity, William was licenced by the Presbytery of Inveraray to become tutor to the family of McNeil of Drumdrishag and by 1821 he is living at 11 Dundas Street, Edinburgh. The following year, in Edinburgh, on the 2nd of September 1822, William married Graham (yes, Graham could be a female forename back then!) Arrott, daughter of John Arrott, a hosier, and Janet Cargill.

Five years later, on the 3rd of February 1827, William Gilston was ordained as minister at Carnock, Fife, and it is at this point that our bible was most likely presented to him.

William wasn't just happy with a new bible, he wanted something more and so he had it rebound so it could contain extra, blank pages, in which he could write his notes and thoughts on various passages throughout. Because William chose to do this, we are now left with a record of his interpretations, his handwriting, his thinking and something of his personality. This elevates what would simply be a fairly ordinary bible into a much more historically important item. From the late 1820s until the early 1840s, William studiously wrote out his notes in his careful hand, but things were about to change dramatically for him, both personally and professionally.

On the 18th of May 1842, Graham Arrott, William's wife of twenty years, died aged just 41. Within a year, the church to which he had devoted his life would be thrown into turmoil.

The Church of Scotland was the established church. This meant it was officially tied to the state who paid the salaries, paid for the churches and manses and everything else, but this also meant that it was the wealthy landowners who decided who was to be appointed to the position of minister in their parishes, even if the congregation was vehemently against it. A significant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt was made in 1834 by the church in order to quell the dissent amongst its ranks by passing a ruling which stated that the congregation could reject an appointed minister. This was fine and dandy until the civil courts decided to overturn this ruling. Parliament was to remain supreme and whomsoever was to be appointed by the parish patron, the congregation would simply have to suck it up.

Obviously, this did not sit well with the clergy and tensions continued to simmer until, in 1843, they finally boiled over in what was to become known as the Great Disruption.

On the 18th of May 1843, the General Assembly met in Edinburgh. The General Assembly was the church's highest court, not dissimilar to a parliament, and met in Edinburgh every year to discuss church related matters. This year was no different, with ministers and representatives arriving from every parish, but when the assembly was convened, around 450 members simply stood up and walked out.

The Presbytery of Dunfermline, to which William Gilston was a part, had a total of 18 ministers. Out of these, seven who had previously supported reform for the church, chickened out and stayed. Four were firmly with the established church and had no intention of leaving, and seven, including William, left with the others and walked down the hill from St. Andrew’s Church to Tanfield Hall and formed the Free Church of Scotland.

This left William without a church and a manse, but thankfully a mostly intact congregation, as he took most of them with him. He persevered, establishing a Free Church in Carnock where he'd served since 1827. William became clerk of the Dunfermline Free Presbytery, a job he held for 34 years and was also chairman of the parochial and school board for many years. 1877 marked the 50th anniversary of his ministry in Carnock and he was presented with a purse of 244 sovereigns, "raised by friends and admirers throughout the country."

He continued to serve as minister of Carnock until a few weeks before his death in the manse at the age of 89, in the 54th year of his ministry.

So here we are, 199 years, give or take a month or two, after William was presented with the bible that now sits open at a page filled with his delicate, cursive, handwriting beside me.

Dunfermline Presbytery. Perhaps Rev. John Robertson, two unknown men, Rev. William Gilston and Rev. Thomas Doig - Photo, National Galleries of Scotland

William's story, his life, is now inexorably tied to this tome. He is no longer simply a signature on a title page, but a fleshed out, if you'll pardon the expression, human being who lived through dramatic events in the church he served for so long.

As I've said, there's sometimes more to a book that what's printed on its pages.