There's a sort of tickle at the back of Jamie's head, but he can't focus on something so silly, not right now, not ever, really, because he has to concentrate, and-
"Creag an tuire!"
-and the Redcoat is dead, and Jamie feels kind of guilty, but it's just part of that tickling feeling at the back of his head. He moves forward, and the Redcoats are overpowering them, but a Scotsman never gives up, and Jamie'll be damned if he's the exception to the rule, and-
"Die, you filthy highlander!"
-and the bullet missed him, just barely, and Jamie's focused on the top of the hill, not on the moors, where the only Redcoat with a gun stands, and Jamie starts to run.
"Creag an tuire!"
And the Redcoat is injured, rolling back down the hill, holding his musket, and Jamie's already back on the moors he knows so well, and-
"Gotcha!"
-and he's caught, suddenly, held by two redcoats with his knife out of reach, and the Redcoat general pacing, and-
"We've captured all your little friends, too. You can all die together."
-and Jamie realizes that the battle's over, and England's won, and he's not a Scot anymore, he's a Redcoat, and-
"You'll be hanged, of course, unless you prefer to be sold into slavery, like some of your coward comrades-"
-and Jamie's on the podium, his head held high against the rope itching at the back of his neck, and he's hoping that a doctor will save him like they always do, and-
-and Jamie McCrimmon indulges that little tickle in the back of his head, and there's a girl named Victoria, and a girl like a younger sister called Zoe, and there's a man called the Doctor, and-
Snap.
-and Jamie McCrimmon's part of history is over.
Two hundred and fifty years later, little Amelia Pond is under her covers cuddling her Raggedy Man doll, reading about the Scottish rebellion and a piper called James Robert McCrimmon.