Castle Campbell

 There’s Castle Campbell, high in the Ochil Hills between the Burn of Care and the Burn of Sorrow, and once called Castle Gloom. How much more evocative can you get? If you have ten minutes, take a virtual walk through Dollar Glen and up to the castl now!

There is simply no choice but to write a scene–any scene!–in such a setting!  Whether that will be today, I don’t know, because there are so many wonderful sites that might work better for the underlying themes in the scene.

I moved on to abbeys, in particular, those along the “Four Abbeys Cycle Route,” a ride I fully intend to make some day.  There’s Jedburgh, in the haunts of the great James Douglas, Bruce’s close friend and loyal knight.  It’s tempting to set a scene here, as Douglas appears in Book 2 of the Trilogy.  There’s Dryburgh, secluded on ten acres in a loop of the River Tweed, and Kelso,  known as one of the grandest.

But for sheer picturesque beauty and mystique, Melrose stands out.  It is no wonder it has been lauded by several poets, including Walter Scott, in The Lay of the Last Minstrel:

and further in the poem:

Melrose is widely considered the most beautiful of religious houses in all of the United Kingdom, noted particularly for its Gothic architecture and its many detailed carvings of saints, gargoyles, plants, and dragons.  Notable among the sculptures is the bagpipe playing pig. 

Like all ancient churches, it is built in the shape of a cross, facing east and west.  It features 50 windows, more than 50 buttresses, and a number of side chapels, many containing tombs.  On one of its stairways, is carved the motto of the town of Melrose: “Be halde to ye hende.”  Meaning, Keep in mind, the end, your salvation. 

At the request of David I of Scotland, so renowned for his piety that he was sometimes called St. David, the  Cistercian monks founded this beautiful abbey in 1136.  They selected the site, two miles west of a former monastery on the River Tweed, preferring the better farm there, over the site of the former monastery.  Early records, recorded in the Melrose Chronicle, show grants of land to the abbey by Roger de Skelbrooke of Grennan, about 1193; and grants of Maybole and Beath to the Abbey by Duncan, Earl of Carrick.  Other lands came from Raderic mac Gillescop and his wife Christina (daughter of Roger de Skelbrooke), and from Walter Campania in the mid-1200′s.

The town of Melrose grew up around the abbey.  Through the years, the English attacked both town and abbey.  In 1322, 8 years after the Blue Bells Trilogy begins, Edward II destroyed much of the abbey.  Robert the Bruce rebuilt.  Richard II attacked in 1384, while driving Robert II of Scotland and his army back to Edinburgh.  It took more than a hundred years to rebuild, and in fact was still not finished in 1504 when James IV visited. 

Barely completed, it was once again attacked by Sir Ralph Evers during the “Rough Wooing” of 1544, in which Henry VIII demanded, rather forcefully, the infant  Mary, Queen of Scots, as his son’s bride.  The English, this time, vented special rage upon the tombs of the Douglases, some of whom are buried there.  The following year, in 1545, the English were back, under the Earl of Hertford, to wreak more damage. 

Melrose Abbey was never completely repaired after this, and it declined as a working monastery.  Its last abbot died in 1559, and its last monk some 31 years later in 1590.  Not quite content, the English assaulted one last time, under Oliver Cromwell, in the mid-1600′s. 

Although it was disestablished in 1609, it was partially re-roofed and continued, even in its semi-ruined state, to be used as a parish church from 1618 until 1810.  For years, nearby residents used the church as a quarry to build their own homes, further destroying its former grandeur.

Bruce’s Association with Melrose

Through the Arches

The Bruce seems to have had a place in his heart for Melrose.  (A little historical humor, as there is now a place in Melrose for his heart, but I suppose one logically follows from the other.)  On March 11, 1302, the 27-year-old Bruce wrote to ‘the anxious monks of Melrose Abbey’ that, despite being called to his Carrick army in previous years, he was now ‘troubled in conscience’ and thus promised never again to do so, ‘unless the common army of the whole realm is raised for its defense.’  (An echo, perhaps, of his own father granting certain freedoms to the men of Melrose Abbey in 1285?)

Around March of 1309, he made a royal grant of the lands of Eksdale to the abbey. 

In 1316, in the wake of his success against the English at Bannockburn, Bruce maintained especially close ties to Melrose Abbey.  He signed a charter there on June 8 of that year; 20 days later, from Kilwinning, he granted letters patent to Melrose.  On October 6, it was the Abbot of Melrose who was given safe-conduct to England, presumably to deliver Bruce’s own guarantees of safe-conduct for English negotiators to come north.  Those negotiators arrived at Jedburgh on November 21, and on that same day, once again from Melrose, Bruce signed a writ to James Douglas.

In 1322, Edward II pushed all the way to the gates of Edinburgh.  However, frustrated at the Scots’ harassment of his army (imagine that!), he retreated, attacking Scottish abbeys on the way.  The men of Melrose fought back, resulting in the English killing Melrose’s Prior William Peebles and three invalids  (what a glorious victory)  and going on to descrate, loot and seriously damage the abbey. 

 In January 1326, Bruce granted the abbey a hundred pounds per year to serve each monk “The King’s Dish” each day, a supplement to the standard rations.  The money was to come from Berwick, Edinburgh, and Haddington; James Douglas was charged with enforcing the payment, and as soon as August, had to do so, threatening the sheriff of Berwick with a 10 pound fine.  Several months later, Bruce gave 2,000 sterling, the equivalent of $50,000 today, to Melrose for repairs.  Those repairs are credited with making the abbey so particularly beautiful, as Gothic architecture was at that time at its height. 

In his last written requests as he lay dying at Cardross, on May 13, 1329, Bruce asked that his heart be buried at Melrose Abbey.  Does his request have anything to do with the fact that his own father was buried at Holm Coultram, a daughter house of Melrose, in England?  After Bruce’s death, as per another request, Bruce’s heart made a brief trip to Spain to fight the Crusades, embalmed in a silver casket.  On its return, it was buried at Melrose as requested.

The abbey became the burial place of many important figures.  An 1890 guidebookto Melrose Abbey, by J. Wass, lists William Douglas, “The Dark Knight of Liddesdale,”  and hero of Otterburn and Chevy Chase and many of his descendants; Alexander II and his queen Johanna; many of the Karr family; and the heart of Robert the Bruce, on its recovery from the Crusades, to which James Douglas carried it. 

Among the most interesting stories of the dead at Melrose Abbey is that of Michael Scot, “The Scottish Wizard.”  His life straddled the 12th and 13th Centuries,  and some believe he retired in old age to Melrose, and is buried there.  Sacred-destinations.com claims this is authenticated, while other sites call it conjecture and put forth other places as his retirement and burial.  Nonetheless, it is said that in 1812, roughly 600 years after his death, his stone coffin was found in the aisle of Melrose’s south chancel.

Got Ghosts?

Like all good ruins, Melrose is home to a few ethereal presences.  Michael Scott is reputed to be one of them.  Many people report a chill in the air near his grave.  A group of ghostly monks likes to walk the grounds, while another, unnamed figure ‘slides’ through the ruins like a snake, close to the ground. 

Cemetery at Melrose

A fourth story tells of  a vampire.  Answers.com gives a fairly detailed account, calling this an ‘actual vampire,’ and reporting that the case was chronicled by William of Newburgh, author of Historia rerum Anglicarum, in the 1100′s.  It is worth noting that William of Newburgh comes down through history with the reputation of a ‘careful historian,’ and that he reports his case on the authority of ‘reputable’ clerics who experienced the events firsthand.  The story is also recounted in Stories of the Border Marches, by John Lang.

These reputable clerics tell of  a priest of Melrose who neglected his vows for frivolous activity.  Other sources state more forcefully that he was given to all manner of sin and vices, and called Hundeprest, Dog Priest, for his love of hunting on horseback with a pack of hounds at his heels.  On his death, he rose from his grave and made several attempts at entering the cloister.  Failing this, he wandered the countryside, entering the home of a woman to whom he had been chaplain.  Apparently not caring for her dead chaplain’s nighttime visits, she reported him to the abbey. 

Several of the monks sat watch by his grave.  Most of them went to warm themselves by a fire, leaving only one witness to the nightly rising.  This monk struck the dead–or not so dead–with a battle axe and forced him back into the grave.  When the other monks returned, the earth appeared undisturbed.  They dug up the corpse to find it marked with the wounds of a battle axe, in accord with the monk’s story, and the coffin full of blood.  They burned the body and scattered the ashes over the Lammermuir Hills, but the story of the undead priest, and many say his presence, too, remain at Melrose.

The rumors of vampirism and other crimes are often linked back either to Michael Scott or to the delinquent priest, and the sliding presence is said to possibly be a manifestation of the evil spirits left behind by one or the other of them.

Today

Melrose Abbey stands today as a top attraction in the Borders region of Scotland, including the ruins, the old cemetery, and the Commendator’s House Museum, containing a variety of medieval objects.  If you’re interested in learning more about it, there is a fascinating and detailed guidebook from the 1800′s available online.

Blue Bells of Scotland is an old folk song which, like many, has multiple versions springing from different eras.   Although histories vary, most now say that the song started off as the poetry of a woman named Anne MacVicar Grant, or, in the parlance of another age, Mrs. Grant of Laggan.  Born in Glasgow in February of 1755, to a British soldier stationed alternately in America and Scotland,  Annie MacVicar married a Scottish minister in 1779.  Some 22 years later, she was left widowed and penniless while pregnant with the youngest of 8 surviving children.  (There were 12 altogether.)  In a classic story of pluck, she supported her children by publishing the poems she had written over the years.

One of these was entitled Oh, Where, Tell Me Where?  It was written for the departure of the Marquis of Huntly, with his regiment, to Holland in 1799.  (My research suggests he was a member of the Gordon Highlanders, but not what his connection to Mrs. Grant might have been.)

Oh! where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?
Oh! where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone?
He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done.
And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home,
He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done.
And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home.

Oh! where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?
Oh! where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?
He dwelt among the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey,
And many a blessing followed him the day he went away,
He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the river Spey,
And many a blessing followed him the day he went away.

Oh! what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
Oh! what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war.
And a plaid across the manly breast, that yet shall wear a star,
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across the manly breast, that yet shall wear a star.

Suppose, ah, suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound
Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound?
The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly,
The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye,
The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly,
And for his king and country dear, with pleasure would he die.

But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds.
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds ;
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While wide through all our Highland hills his war-like name resounds,
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While wide through all our Highland hills his war-like name resounds.

The original words of Mrs. Grant’s poetry have, over the years, been used for the song, and at times replaced with others.  From the Scots Musical Museum, a collection of 600 Scottish folk songs, we get a very different version:

O, fair maid, whose aught that bonny bairn
O, fair maid, whose aught that bonny bairn ;
It is a sodg-er’s son, the said, that’s lately gone to Spain,
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

O, fair maid, what was that Rodger’s name?
O, fair maid, what was that Rodger’s name ?
In troth a’tweel, I never speir’d—the mair I was to blame,
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

 O, fair maid, what had that sodger on?
O, fair maid, what had that sodger on?
A scarlet coat laid o’er wi’ gold, a waistcoat o’ the game.,
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

O, fair maid, what if he should be slain?
O, fair maid, what if he should be slain?
The king would lose a brave sodger, and I a pretty num
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

O, fair maid, what if he should come hame?
O, fair maid, what if he should come hame?
The parish priest should marry us, the clerk should say amen
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

O, fair maid, would ye that sodger ken?
O, fair maid, would ye that sodger ken?
In troth a’tweel, an’ that I wad, among ten thousand men.
Te dilly dan, te dilly dan, te dilly, dilly dan

The lyrics better known today follow a similar pattern of question and answer, regarding where he’s gone, where he dwells, what he wears, and what if he dies:

Oh where, tell me where is your highland laddie gone?
Oh where, tell me where is your highland laddie gone?
He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done
And it’s oh! in my heart I wish him safe at home.

Oh where, tell me where did your highland laddie dwell?
Oh where, tell me where did your highland laddie dwell?
He dwelt in bonnie Scotland where blooms the sweet bluebell
And it’s oh! in my heart I love my laddie well.

Oh what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
Oh what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
A bonnet with a lofty plume, and on his breast a plaid
And it’s oh, in my heart I lo’ed my Highland lad

Oh what, tell me what if your highland lad be slain?
Oh what, tell me what if your highland lad be slain?
Oh no, true love will be his guide and bring him safe again
For it’s oh! my heart would break if my highland lad were slain.

There are many slight variations on these lyrics, and some larger ones.  For instance, through the years, the Highland laddie changes his clothes:

O what lassie what does your heelin’ laddie wear?
O what lassie what does your heelin’ laddie wear?
A scarlett coat and bonnet wi’ bonnie yellow hair
And there’s none in the world can wi’ my sweet love compare

What clothes, in what clothes is your Highland laddie clad?
‘His bonnet’s of the Saxon green, his waistcoat’s of the plaid ;
And it’s oh! in my heart, that I love my Highland lad.

But the ending follows the pattern set out in previous incarnations:

Suppose, oh, suppose that your Highland lad should die?
The bagpipes shall play over him, I’ll lay me down and cry;
And it’s oh! in my heart, that I wish he may not die!

O what will you claim for your constancy tae him?
O what will you claim for your constancy tae him?
I’ll claim a priest tae wed us and a clerk tae say amen
And I’ll ne’er part again from my bonnie heelin’ man

A later version references George II and the Napoleonic Wars, which ran from 1803-1815, after the Scots Musical Museum, Mrs. Jordan, and Mrs. Grant versions were printed:

In addition to the plethora of verses, the title has also changed over the years, being known also as The New Highland Lad; O Where, Tell Me Where, and The Bells of Scotland. 

The source of the lyrics is largely undisputed; there’s a little more controversy over the origins of the melody.  The North Country Chorister,published in 1802 by Ritson (who does not appear, in all my research, to have a first name), printed this song as The New Highland Lad, which started with the words “There was a Highland laddie courted a lowland maid.”  The second verse of this version was “Oh where and oh where does your Highland laddie dwell?”

The song was brought to prominence by a Mrs. Jordan.  She was actually neither a Mrs. nor a Jordan, but Dorothea Bland, born near Waterford in 1762.  She led a colorful life, in ironic contrast to her name, moving from her training as a milliner to life on the stage, and having fourteen children, ten of them with William, Duke of Clarence/ King William IV, although they never married.  But she is often remembered for singing Blue Bells of Scotland, at Drury Lane around 1800, set to what she called her own composition.  Others describe it as a modified version of the original melody.  Ritson later noted on copies of his version that, “The song has lately been introduced upon the stage by Mrs. Jordan, who knew neither the words nor the tune.” 

The 1853 edition of The Scots Musical Museum states that the words were set to a ‘modern’ Scottish air, but gives no indication of which one, or this modern air’s relation to either Ritson’s or Mrs. Jordan’s melody.

In Immortal Songs of Camp and Field, published in 1898,Charles Mackay and Sir Henry Rowley Bishop debate whether it is actually a Scottish air or an older English melody from Sussex, discovered by a Mr. Fitzgerald, which began with the words “Oh, I have been forester this many a long day.”  This Sussex melody has several bars similar to the second half of Blue Bells.  Sir Henry wrote on October 22, 1852, that Mrs. Jordan based her melody on the one discovered by Mr. Fitzgerald, but altered it to accommodate her own vocal range. 

Another history of the melody of Blue Bells of Scotland tells of George Thomson, born in 1757, who directed the first Edinburgh Music Festival.  As a violinist and lover of Scottish music, he disliked the melodies of some of Scotland’s airs.  Seeking better music, he forwarded these airs on to Franz Joseph Haydn, in 1799, who worked on some 200 of them, including Blue Bells of Scotland. 

Blue Bells of Scotlandon youtube: although there are dozens of versions, I have chosen this one as a fairly simple piece that sticks very close to the traditional melody.

Robert first married Isabella of Mar, daughter of Helen of Wales and the Earl of Mar, one of the seven guardians of Scotland.  What little is known of her suggests she was beautiful, educated, and wealthy, heiress to a large section of northeastern Inverness. She spoke both Gaelic and High English.  Moreover, she and Robert were in love, an unusual thing in the arranged marriages of the time.  She was 18.  In December 1996, at the age of 19, she died shortly after giving birth to their daughter Marjory. 

Of dozens of sites I’ve read on Bruce, only one mentions a ‘second’ marriage license, dated September 19, 1295 to Maud Fitz Alan.  The source reports that this marriage ended, without children, in divorce or annulment, probably due to their having a blood relationship.  However, since Bruce married Isabella in 1295, and she lived through most of 1296, it is impossible to imagine how a second marriage could have occurred that year.  Was it a first proposed marriage that fell through?

Six years after Isabella’s death, in 1302, Robert married another beautiful and wealthy young woman, Elizabeth de Burgh.  Records of her birth date vary greatly, but she may have been as young as 18.  Their early marriage was hardly a honeymoon, much of it being spent in hiding from the English.  In 1306, Elizabeth was captured at Tain with Marjory and several others.  She was imprisoned in a convent until after Bannockburn, in 1314.  Her children were born in the years following Bannockburn: David, Matilda, Margaret, and John.

Marjory, Bruce’s eldest daughter, is a story of triumph and tragedy.  Most sources agree she was born in December of 1296, the same month Longshanks invaded Scotland and took Berwick.  As an author, I could hardly write better foreshadowing for the life Marjory would lead.  In June 1306, at the age of 9, she was captured at St. Duthac in Tain, north of Inverness, while trying to escape to safety in Orkney.  It is all too easy to imagine the terror of a 9 year old girl, separated from her father, who she knows is fighting not just for his kingdom, but for his life, seeking safety in a church with her aunts and step-mother, and seeing armed men storm into what should have been a place of refuge and safety.  It is easy to imagine the terror of wondering what had become of her Uncle Nigel who had tried to protect them,  still under attack back at Kildrummy; or what would become of Sir John of Atholl, who had whisked them away from Kildrummy for safety, or her aunts and step-mother. 

We know that two of the women captured in the church that day–Isobel MacDuff and Mary Bruce, Marjory’s aunt–would spend years living in cages hung on castle walls.  Edward I had a similar cage built for Marjory at the Tower of London, but in a rare moment of softness, reconsidered and instead ordered her held in solitary confinement in the nunnery at Watton.  There, the young Marjory lived, virtually alone, for 8 years.  She was released after Bannockburn in 1314, when she was still 17, in exchange for English prisoners held by the Scots. 

 The following year, she married Walter, the 6th High Steward of Scotland, who was only 22 himself at the time, but one of the heroes of Bannockburn.  She very quickly became pregnant.  The following March, she rode her horse in the late stages pregnancy, fell when it reared, and delivered the future Robert II by c-section on March 2, 1316, according to Electric Scotland. 

The tragedy of her life is that she died at the age of barely 19, having spent close to half her life in near-solitary confinement.  It hardly gets more tragic than this.   

Marjory’s triumph is that, despite a tragically short and difficult life, spent mostly alone, she became the mother of the Stewart Dynasty and ultimately, all future monarchs of Scotland, and England since the Union of the Crowns in 1603, right down to the present day!  A partial list of her descendents: Robert II of Scotland, Robert III of Scotland, James I, James II (James of the Fiery Face), James III, James IV (who married Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII), James V, Mary Queen of Scots, mother of James VI of Scotland who was also James I of England, father of King Charles I of England, Charles II of England, James II of England (VII of Scotland), father of Mary (wife of William of Orange) and Anne. 

Of Marjory’s half-siblings, Margaret, Matilda, and John, we know very little.  John died in childhood.  Margaret married the 5th Earl of Sutherland and died in 1358.  Matilda married a Thomas Isaac, with whom she had two daughters, Joan and Katherine.  She died on July 20, 1353.  

David II, King of Scotland, like his half-sister Marjory, is a lesson to those who wish they’d been born kings and queens.  History says it is rarely a pleasant or easy life.  He was born March 5,1324,  and married Joan of the Tower, the daughter of Edward II of England, on July 17, 1328, as per the treaty of Northampton.  Yes, he was 4.  He succeeded to the throne on his father’s death in 1229, at the age 5.  He was already an orphan.

 He and Joan were crowned at Scone in November of 1331, when he was 7.  A series of guardians ruled while he was a minor, one after another being lost to death in battle or capture and captivity.  He spent much of his youth in France, safely away from Edward Baliol, who was trying to claim (or reclaim as he saw it) his father’s brief kingship of Scotland.  David ruled Scotland in his own right from June 1341 until he was captured at the Battle of Neville’s Cross in October 1346, and held prisoner in England for 11 years.  He returned to Scotland in 1357, promising to pay his ransom money to England.  Instead, he returned to a poverty-stricken kingdom, a third of its population decimated by the Black Plague while he’d been imprisoned in the Tower of London.  Payment to England was impossible.  He tried to trade the inheritance rights to the throne of Scotland for remission of his debt to England.  The Scots nobles did not particularly care for this plan.  He died unexpectedly at Edinburgh Castle February 22, 1371, without children, and is buried at Holyrood Abbey.

Robert Bruce also had a number of children termed, in medieval terms, ‘natural,’ or, in our words, illegitimate.  Historical sources state their mothers as unknown.  Others, primarily genealogical sites, claim they are all the children of Robert’s wife, Elizabeth de Burgh.

Robert Bruce of Liddesdale was born about 1303, although his birth dates range from 1299 onward.  He was killed at the battle of Dupplin Moor, August 12, 1332.  Prior to this, he had led an unsuccessful attempt at preventing Edward Baliol from landing in Scotland.  One site mentions that Clan Elliott made an unusual move from Glenshire in the north to the Teviotdale in the Scottish Borders, in order to protect Robert Bruce of Liddesdale, whom Robert Bruce (king), had made lord of Liddesdale, as the previous lord, William de Soulis, had been imprisoned for treason.  Does this mean Robert Bruce of Liddesdale had a connection with the Elliott family?  Little more is said of this son, except that he made a gift of 20 pounds to St. Fillan’s Church, in the year his father died.  (Robert Bruce had greatly venerated St. Fillan.)  One site lists his mother as Matilda, and another lists his mother as a woman who, according to all my other research, never existed and is unlikely to have, and if she did, was certainly not Bruce’s wife as that site claims.

Of Bruce’s remaining children, Sir Neil Bruce of Carrick died at the Battle of Neville’s Cross on Oct 17, 1346.  His half-brother, King David II, commanded the army at this battle.  Of the rest, we know little beyond names.  Walter Bruce of Odistoun on the Clyde, pre-deceased his father; he is not mentioned at all in some genealogies.  Christina Bruce of Carrick died after 1329, at which point there is a record of her receiving a pension.  Of Margaret Bruce, we know only that she was born before 1327–one site tells me Dunfermline in 1307–was alive as of the 29 February, 1364, and married Robert Glen.  Elizabeth Bruce, the youngest, married Walter Oliphant of Gask.  Sources suggest that these children, though illegitimate, were treated with love by Bruce.  Elizabeth, for instance, is called Princess Elizabeth in a site on Clan Oliphant.  Robert Bruce of Liddesdale was made a lord and given lands by Bruce.  And Neil Bruce was knighted.

Bruce was Scoto-Norman and Franco-Gaelic, and a direct descendant of David I of Scotland on his father’s side.  It is believed that, as a result, he spoke the several languages of his heritage, in addition to Latin.  He was the third child, but oldest boy, of 10, 11 or 12 siblings, depending on the source.  The confusion seems to lie in the fact that multiple names are often attributed to the same person, much like our Roberts and Bobs, Williams and Bills.  For instance, one source lists seven sisters for Robert Bruce: Isabella, Christina, Maud, Mary, Margaret, Elizabeth, and Marjory, while another source lists Isabella, Christina,  Elizabeth, Mary, and Margaret, but calls the sixth and last daughter Matilda/Marjory.  Yet another source lists only five sisters, leaving out Elizabeth, and listing Isabella, Christina, Margaret, Matilda, and Mary. Undiscovered Scotland says there were ten Bruce siblings.  There is no confusion about his brothers, Niel/Nigel, Edward, Thomas, and Alexander, perhaps because, being deeply involved in politics and warfare, there are clearer records of them.

 The older Bruce siblings may have remembered the time of peace before Alexander III’s death, but for the most part, they would have grown up in a world of turmoil, as Scotland fought Edward Longshanks’ continued efforts to subdue and control Scotland.  This was perhaps the motivating force on all their lives.  Only Isabella could be said to have had anything like a peaceful life, as queen of Norway.  (And I say that in comparison to the harsh fates of so many of her siblings.)

Bruce himself, spent years living in conditions most of us will never suffer, in caves and hunted both by the English and various Scottish clans who for various reasons sided with the English (or against Bruce, which of course had the same effect, if different motives) and fighting battles.  His sisters did not routinely fight battles, but they did suffer for his stand against the English.

Christina, or Christian, the second child and daughter, was betrayed and captured, along with Bruce’s wife and daughter, at Kildrummy, shortly after Bruce’s crowning at Scone in defiance of Longshanks.  She was ‘lucky’ enough to only be held in a convent from 1306 until after the Scots’ victory at Bannockburn in 1314.  But life was hard, and she lost three husbands.  Her first, Gartnait Earl of Mar, died of natural causes in 1305.  Her second, Christopher Seton, was brutally executed by the English in 1306.  Not the long marriage she had perhaps hoped for.  Her third, Andrew Murray, spent his life in battle against the English and serving Scotland.  Deborah Richmond Foulkes, in her novelized and very detailed account of James Douglas and his family, does an excellent job of portraying life for the wives and children left behind throughout countless battles and years of warfare, highlighting the fear and waiting which must have colored so much of Christina’s life.

She had three children, at least as recorded by history: Donald Earl of Mary and Helen with Gartnait and Lord John and Sir Thomas with Andrew Murray. 

Even apart from her sufferings on behalf of her brother’s and husbands’ politics, Christina must have been yet another remarkable woman in her own right.  Of course, this would undoubtedly come from her mother’s forceful personality, which deserves an article of its own.  But one of the few things that is remembered about Christina is that she successfully commanded the defending forces of Kildrummy Castle in Aberdeenshire, against David de Strathbogie, Earl of Atholl, leader of the English forces, in 1335.  She was in her 60′s.  It is unusual enough for a woman in medieval times to command an army; it is unusual in any time for a woman in her 60′s to do so.  It is a brief story that speaks volumes about who Christina must have been.  She lived to be 84.

Little enough is said of Mary Bruce, but we do know she was one of the younger sisters.  Along with Christina, Isabella MacDuff, Robert’s wife Elizabeth and daughter Marjory, Mary was betrayed and captured by the Earl of Ross.  Not treated so well as Christina, she and Isabella MacDuff were both held prisoner in wooden or iron cages, suspended from castle walls, for the amusement of crowds who mocked and threw things.  Mary lived like this, exposed to all seasons, from 1306 until 1310 on the walls of Roxburgh Castle.  She was kept in captivity even afterward, only being set free in exchange for English prisoners after Bannockburn in 1314.  Shortly after, she married one of Bruce’s closest companions and most loyal supporters, Neil Campbell.  He died very soon afterward, in 1316, and she later married Alexander Fraser of Touchfraser and Cowie (how would you like to fill that name out on your children’s school and medical forms!) 

Like so many, very few details of Mary have survived, but Nigel Tranter, the historian and novelist, paints her as a forceful and colorful personality.  Given her family background, it seems likely.

Virtually nothing has come to us of Bruce’s other sisters.  It is not even clear how many of them there were.  Is it because they were the younger siblings and so less involved in the immediate events of the time?  Perhaps more sheltered?  Given how long the wars of independence lasted, it seems unlikely they were that fortunate.  Is it because their names, Elizabeth, Marjory, Maud, and Matilda, are so easily confused with Bruce’s wife and daughters?  Were they less forceful or colorful personalities such that they left no records?  At this point in my research, it is impossible to say, but if anyone knows more of Bruce’s youngest sisters, I would very much welcome the information. 

Tomorrow, Bruce’s brothers.  Next week, his wives and children.

Take the name John Comyn.  In the time of Robert Bruce, alone, there are several of them important enough to have come down in history.  The best known is the John Comyn, Guardian of Scotland, slain by Bruce before the altar of Greyfriars Kirk.  That John Comyn is also known as John III Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, and the Red Comyn. 

His father, John II Comyn, also Lord of Badenoch, also a Guardian of Scotland at one stage, was the Black Comyn,  and, like his son, fought for the crown of Scotland with a Robert Bruce–although with Robert Bruce’s grandfather,also Robert Bruce,  known as “The Competitor,” in the late 1200′s, whereas John III, the Red Comyn, fought with the younger Robert Bruce, of Braveheart and Bannockburn fame.

Home of the Comyn Family

Current with this John Comyn was his cousin, John Comyn, differentiated by  the title Earl of Buchan.  In an interesting, perhaps sad, twist, this John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, though a great supporter of John Baliol and enemy of Robert Bruce, was also the husband of the remarkable Isobel MacDuff, Countess of Buchan, who left her husband to ride north and claim the MacDuff family’s traditional role of crowning the Kings of Scotland, by placing the crown on Robert Bruce’s head, shortly after he murdered her husband’s cousin, John Comyn, at Greyfriars Kirk.

Confused yet?

Actually, writing it all out has made it all much clearer.  Now for my second act… on to the Alexander Comyns and Alexander MacDougalls!

Whether Bruce went with the intention of killing Comyn, or whether the crime was committed in the heat of an argument is unknown, but the end result is remembered 700 years later: Robert the Bruce, Scotland’s greatest king, killed a man in front of an altar on holy ground.  The deed launched him on a more abrupt road to kingship and war with England than he most likely intended.

Killing was not an unusual matter in medieval life.  Killing a man on holy ground, however, was a serious matter.  Bruce knew that he would be ex-communicated for it, and, more importantly, that an ex-communicated man cannot be crowned king.  His answer was the race to Scone, where he was crowned before the Pope could get the news and proceed with the ex-communication.

The killing at Greyfriars also cemented some of the great families of Scotland against Bruce as king, and leading them to side with England in the years leading up to Bannockburn.  Who’s to say what would have happened, had tempers stayed cool at Greyfriars that day.  Would Scotland have had an easier time, had the Comyns and their kin not turned against Bruce?  Or would Scotland have had a harder time, with continued infighting amongst the clans?  Regardless, the incident stands out as a major event in the life of Robert Bruce and the history of Scotland.

More on John Comyn tomorrow.

Ale, in short, was largely the drink of the medieval day, made with malted grains (oats, barely, or wheat, for instance), water, and yeast.  It may have been flavored with spices, herbs, sugars, or fruits.  Beer, by contrast, contained hops, which gave it a touch of bitterness and helped with preservation.  Most speculation is that medieval ale was weaker than today’s, and had little to no carbonization, although these points, like any others, are up for debate.  In medieval England, it was served fresh, meaning still, or only very recently done, fermenting.

As usual, opinions vary about the state of things seven hundred years ago.  Both music and ale have similar problems: we have no direct experience of their medieval versions.  In the world of music, we have a few manuscripts from which to re-create a few pieces, but not many, and we can’t hear the actual instruments, nor how a medieval bard would have interpreted what manuscripts we have.   

In the world of ale, a few written household records have survived.  Judith Bennett quotes many such medieval sources in her book Ale, Beer, and Brewsters in England, and these sources were used to construct two possible recipes for medieval ale, and brew several batches, using no modern equipment.  

Opinion on medieval ale veers strongly toward it having been sweet; the brewer says the ale from his first recipe was definitely not sweet, although this may be due to the ale being deliberately weak.  He describes one batch as quite cloudy, tasting ‘tannic,’  like ‘liquid bread,’ and apparently being quite low in alcoholic content.  Despite this, he says, it was ’quite drinkable and refreshing.’  Further batches, produced from a recipe that would have been more appropriate for an aristocratic household, gave tastes ranging from paint thinner to pleasant apple.

 We can safely say there would have been a great variety in the taste of ales from one town to the next, depending on the individual brewer, and the ingredients and equipment available.  But it seems that in general, they would have been sweeter and weaker than what we know today.

sources: Recreating Medieval English Ales by Paul W. Placeway, Getting Medieval by Jeri Westerson

I don’t know why Nigel Tranter caught my eye, but he did: a thick, green book with an archaic painting of Robert the Bruce in a flowing red beard adorning the front.  The book was The Bruce Trilogy, a collection of Tranter’s three novels about Robert the Bruce.  It was so much of what I had gone to Scotland to learn, wrapped up in one giant volume.  I considered the price and the exchange rate, and reluctantly left it on the shelf.  Within minutes of getting home, I hit amazon and found a used copy for significantly less. 

 It arrived in days, and for several days afterward, I was lost in the world of Robert the Bruce– as a hot-headed young man, as the eager, new husband of Elizabeth deBurgh, as both friend and enemy of Edward Longshanks, “The Hammer of the Scots.”  

In between reading of Bruce living in a cave, hunted by Longshanks, ferrying in secret across swamps, and reigning supreme at Bannockburn against impossible odds, I read up on Nigel Tranter himself.    A native of Glasgow, he is a man who deserves far more recognition on our side of the Atlantic.  He is a prolific author in the worlds of both fiction and non-fiction.  His fiction alone spans from children’s books to historical fiction to Westerns and contemporary and adventure novels.  His non-fiction is a testament to his love of Scotland, covering castles, counties, and landscapes.

While we all have different opinions of what good historical fiction is, I personally like historical accuracy.  There are those authors with reputations for playing fast and loose with historical facts, twisting facts to fit the story they wish to tell.  Tranter, by contrast, has a reputation for impeccable research, down to the fine details.  There are those storytellers, for instance, who have liked to dramatize the death of Longshanks in ways it didn’t actually happen.  When you read Tranter’s historical fiction, you will read something very close to the historical record, in story form. 

Among Tranter’s novels, I have only been lucky enough to read The Bruce Trilogy so far, but thoroughly enjoyed the detailed look at one of Scotland’s– I would even say the world’s– greatest men.  We see the forces that shaped him, turning him from a reckless young man with a hot temper, to a firm and determined leader, capable of taking on the greatest army the world had ever seen, with his small band of 5 or 6,000, and not only surviving, but triumphing, and turning Scotland’s fate.

If you love Scotland or medieval times, I consider The Bruce Trilogy a must read.

With roots going back so far that the origin of the word itself is no longer known, but it originated in deep winter celebrations of sun and fire, and moving from there into the Roman Saturnalia, a Baccnalian event if ever there was one.  The Reformation drove much of the Hogmanay celebrations underground until the 17th Century, and in recent years, they have become far more extravagant even than what most of the 20th Century knew. 

Hogmanay celebrations these days are large events, often held at castles.  They include music of all sorts, rock bands, pipe bands, drinking, revelry, lots of kissing– it is New Year’s Eve, after all–fire ceremonies, swinging fire balls, fireworks, and singing of Auld Lang Syne.  In smaller towns, Hogmanay may be celebrated with ceilidhs (dances).

One youtube clip shows “1000 Pipers” marching down the Royal Mile outside of Edinburgh Castle: 1000 Pipers

Be prepared: this is a lot of bagpipes!  And I’m saying that like it’s a good thing.  It’s quite a sight to see so many marching in their kilts and sporrans, all playing together.

Scottish History at Suite 101 explains the reasoning behind the “first footing” tradition of it being considered good luck for the first person to cross your door at midnight to be a tall, dark-haired man: in the days of the Viking attacks, you didn’t want to see shorter, blonde men.  They were often raiding, pillaging, and raping.

Interestingly, as I search for details on how Niall might have celebrated at Glenmirril, I find that, with the exception of a few sketchy paragraphs about old traditions, and no details as to just how old those traditions are, there is virtually nothing.  There is plenty about medieval Christmases, but no mention of Hogmanay in the same period.  As Niall lived just after the days of the Viking raids, he may have still been celebrating very much like their Yule, which is also thought to have been a strong influence on Scottish Hogmanay.  He lived long before the Reformation that drove it underground, so chances are high that he did in fact celebrate it.

Today’s question was another seemingly simple question: what might the chapel at Castle MacDougall look like?  In my initial draft, I called it ‘gothic.’  But then I decided I better check the years in which architecture was actually considered ‘gothic.’  It turns out the years are accurate: gothic architecture began in the 1100′s in France, and spread out to the rest of Europe, continuing into the 1500′s. 

But Europe is a broad term, and it turns out even gothic is a relatively broad term– if you want to be specific (or is that picky) about it.  I like to be, and found, in the process, that there is great regional variation in what the word means. 

A gothic cathedral in France, for example, would likely be built out of limestone, and feature a narrow transept, the crossarm which divides the long nave (where the pews are) from the choir.  Its eastern end– the choir– is likely to be polygonal with a ring of chapels (a ‘chevet.’)  The cathedrals of this time in France are more often found as ruins out in the country– because the prevalent order, the Cistercians, liked to build farther out.

A gothic cathedral in England, by contrast, may well be built of not only limestone, but red sandstone, dark green Purbeck marble, and timbered “hammer-beam” roofs.   Its transept is likely to have strongly projecting arms, compared to France’s rather narrow ones, its eastern end is going to be square, and the whole structure is probably going to be in a town, where England’s dominant order, the Benedictines, liked to build.

Typical of gothic church construction are pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses.  They exaggerate height and emphasize light.  I found this particularly interesting, as the word gothic, today, tends to have darker connotations.  Gothic fiction, for example, combines romance and horror.  A wikipedia article on gothic fiction says: The ruins of gothic buildings gave rise to multiple linked emotions by representing the inevitable decay and collapse of human creations.  And: Gothic writers often associated medieval buildings with what they saw as a dark and terrifying period. Gothic fiction features such ‘light’ themes as hauntings, madness, doubles, decay, death, mystery.  Where are you, Edgar Allen Poe!  The cast includes a variety of madmen, evil-doers, and creatures of the night such as werewolves, demons and vampires, who you would most likely not want as your neighbors.  (Then again, maybe you would.)  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic_fiction)

Gothic fashion is typically dark, even morbid.

The word gothic, as applied to the architecture itself, was originally an insult, meaning barbaric or rude.

And yet, with the word gothic having so many dark and negative connotations,  the hallmarks of gothic architecture are light and height.  Solid walls have been replaced with rows of roof-supporting columns that let light flow through the building.  Ceilings soar high, with clerestory windows that pour in light.  The height and vertical emphasis give a feeling of lifting to Heaven, or airiness and lightness (in the other sense of the word.)  I personally find gothic cathedrals to be incredibly beautiful.

Gothic Cathedral

…all of which brings us back to the chapel at Castle MacDougall. 

A castle chapel is not a cathedral.  What applies to Europe between the 12th and 16th centuries is not necessarily accurate for the west of Scotland in 1314.  And even if it does, could the thieving MacDougalls, the Darth Vader of the 14th century, really have a beautiful, light and airy chapel?  It would be an interesting contrast to the character of the MacDougall.  Maybe that’s exactly what he will have.  Then again, maybe not.

It’s been fun, but right now, I’m back at square one.  Next I’m going to research specific churches of the thirteenth and fourteenth century Highlands.  And we’ll see what MacDougall’s chapel looks like in my head in a few days.  At least I know what Amy finds there!

What do you think MacDougall’s chapel should look like?