Remember Dolly? It was startling news in 1996, a lamb cloned, not conceived in the traditional way. Dolly was cloned from a mammary gland cell taken from a six year old Finn Dorset sheep and an egg cell taken from a Scottish Blackface sheep.
Dolly was born July 5, 1996. The team from Roslin Institute, here in Roslin village, led by Professor Sir Ian Wilmut and made up of embryologists, surgeons, vets, and farm staff, knew it was a successful clone because, if the lamb was genetically related to her “mother,” she would have had a black face, which she did not. Her face was white, like a Finn Dorset.
The DNA that made Dolly came from a mammary gland, so, with the humor for which the British are famous, the lamb was named Dolly, after Dolly Parton.
The Roslin Institute was running experiments to find a better method for producing genetically modified livestock. Scientists also wanted to learn more about how cells change during development, and whether a specialized cell – skin or brain cells, for instance – could make an entirely new animal. Dolly was the 277th attempt.
When I arrived at the visitor’s center, I hadn’t booked on line as the website instructed, so I had to produce a credit card to pay (contactless payments only.) The young woman tending the pay point commented on my name: Sinclair. We both had a chuckle about it. I have no idea if I’m related or not. I was curious mainly because of the “DaVinci Code,” just like thousands of other visitors.
I stepped out of the visitors’ center, and looked at the Chapel. It doesn’t seem huge when you look at it from the side. Some people are disappointed by that because in the various paintings and photographs, it looks like it should be bigger, similar to the “Sphinx effect.”
What we know as the Rosslyn Chapel was officially named the “Collegiate Chapel of St. Matthew,” and founded by Sir William St. Clair in 1446. The original plans were for a large cruciform (shaped like a cross) building with a tower in the center, much like the abbeys that dot the Scottish countryside.
“Collegiate Chapels” were all the rage in the years between 1406 and 1513, the years ruled by James I through James IV. These were secular foundations, meaning they were not owned by the Church, and their purpose was to spread intellectual and spiritual knowledge, and, by the way, provide people to pray for the patrons after their death so they could be assured of a blissful eternal life. How large, how decorated, and how well staffed these collegiate chapels were depended on the wealth of their founder and benefactor.
Sir William was a very rich man. The St Clairs owned lands in the Orkney Islands, Caithness, Fife, Lothian, and Rosslyn, and held the title of Baron of Rosslyn and Prince of Orkney. He endowed the Collegiate Chapel of St. Matthew with provision for a provost, six prebendaries, and two choristers. Later – 1523 – his grandson Sir William provided land for dwelling houses and gardens for these.
The founder hired “an abundance of all kinds of workmen.” These were masons, carpenters, smiths, barrow men, and quarriers. To provide for them and their families, Sir William built the town of Roslin, and gave everyone a house and land, in addition to the wages he paid, which were generous for their time.
When a person walks toward the Chapel from the visitors’ center, they are approaching the north wall. On the north wall at the edge of the roof, is an inscription: W L S F Y C Y Z O G M iii I L. The letters are carved on shields, alternating with shields bearing the engrailed Cross of the St Clairs. They are very hard to see from the ground, but they are there. It stands for: “William Lord Sinclair Fundit Yis College Ye Zeir Of God MCCCCL.” (The Rosslyn translation says “Sinclair” instead of “St Clair,” which they use nearly everywhere else. I don’t know why.) The date is 1450 rather than 1446, perhaps indicating that the foundations took four years.
I would add that my passing acquaintance with Middle English indicates that “Y” symbolized a diphthong we would now write as “th” rather than a “y” sound – so all those “Ye Olde Shoppes” in tourist-trap villages would have sounded like “The Old Shops” if pronounced accurately. I can’t vouch for the “Z” that must have sounded like what we would now write as a “y,” but the people at Rosslyn probably know and I’ll take their word for it.
The outside is interesting enough, with the flourishes, gargoyles, and carved figures that appear around the windows and roof, but it is the inside that is overwhelming.
When I visited, there were three other people plus the docent, Norheena. In the last half hour of my time slot, I had the whole place to myself and an enjoyable conversation about the Chapel with Norheena. It has not always been so uncrowded. After “The DaVinci Code” became a blockbuster movie, the number of visitors soared, and some days there were a thousand visitors crowding through the Chapel.
The sacristy was not open when I visited the Chapel, due to distancing requirements. Norheena indicated the nineteen Rosslyn barons, from William the Seemly, created Baron in 1070, to Sir William St Clair, who died in 1778, “The Last Rosslyn,” are interred in a crypt beneath the Chapel floor because Sir William the Founder brought the previous barons to the Chapel, and then the following nine were interred there also.
The earlier barons are laid out in their armor, as described in the poem, “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” written in 1805 by Sir Walter Scott. He took some literary license, as the poem claims the barons number twenty, although he may have included one St Clair who was killed before he succeeded to the barony, but left behind a son who became the next baron. Norheena said that at some point, they began using coffins, but she didn’t know exactly when. Sir Walter Scott’s poem was based on a local legend that the Chapel glowed in the night when a Baron of Rosslyn died.
The guide book, however, indicates “three princes of Orkney and nine barons of Rosslyn are buried here,” according to a 17th century engineer. In the context of the engineer’s commentary, it’s not clear whether “here” means the sacristy specifically, or the Chapel as a whole. Further, it speculates with some confidence that the sacristy building may be older than the Chapel itself, i.e. existed prior to 1446. It is connected physically to the Chapel now, but is built into the slope on the eastern side of the Chapel, and could easily have been an earlier structure incorporated into the construction of the Chapel.
It is perfectly plausible that early interments took place there, and either remain there or were moved to join the other barons in the crypt. Frankly, I prefer the rather romantic notion that they all lie together underneath the Chapel in the crypt.
Sir William the Founder did not live to see the Chapel finished, even this section, which was to be the choir section of a much bigger building. What we see today took forty years, 1446 – 1486. After he died, his son, Oliver St Clair, saw a roof built onto the Chapel, but there was no more work done toward finishing the building that Sir William had planned. Perhaps Sir Oliver saw the future.
The Reformation, which is usually dated from 1517, when Martin Luther published his 95 Theses, arrived in Scotland by 1560, led by John Knox. The Church of Scotland grew quickly and dominated Protestant theology in Scotland. Calvinism was the Reformation theology taught by John Knox. It was an austere approach to worship that frowned on anything hinting at idolatry, such as flowery decorations or human images, especially if the images were not the Apostles or other saints. In other words, anything like the Rosslyn Chapel.
The Chapel’s survival was not a sure thing. When the founder Sir William died in 1484, he left endowments for the Chapel, as mentioned earlier. In 1571, the provost and prebendaries resigned. Local records show that the endowments were taken “by force and violence” away from the Chapel and placed in secular governance.
Even being John Knox’s brother was not much protection. “The Presbytery records of Dalkeith reveal that in 1589 William Knox, brother of John Knox and minister of Cockpen, was censured ‘for baptising the Laird of Rosling’s bairne’ in Rosslyn Chapel, which was described as a ‘house and monument of idolatrie, and not ane place appointit for teiching the word and ministration of ye sacramentis’” (From the Rosslyn Chapel Guidebook, written by the Earl of Rosslyn.)
In 1592, the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland required Oliver St Clair (a later one) to remove the altars of the Chapel or face excommunication. The altars were removed, the Chapel ceased to be a place of worship, and began to deteriorate. There were further indignities during the English Civil War, when the building was used to stable horses, and again after James II was deposed by William of Orange, when a local mob broke into the Chapel, destroying furniture and vestments now considered “Popish,” and damaging the building some more.
The Chapel survived principally because it was privately owned, thereby escaping the destruction that consumed many Catholic Church properties, and because of its relatively remote location, away from large cities. It remained unused and unattended until 1736, when General James St Clair commissioned some repairs, which included glazing the windows and fixing the roof.
The Chapel’s fortunes improved from there. It was repaired enough that it was rededicated by the Bishop of Edinburgh in 1862. Not all repairs turned out to be helpful, but finally, in the twentieth century, comprehensive conservation plans were made, funds were raised, and the Chapel has been brought back to its former condition, aged somewhat.
According to the guide, at one time these sections were all painted, the flowers with their green leaves, red or white flowers, and silver stars against a deep blue background, representing the sky. I have heard this while visiting other medieval buildings that are now grey, brownish, or pink, depending on the stone used, that at one time they were painted bright and glorious colors. Castles gleamed in white with bright trim. It seems amazing to think about now, with the drab, unpainted exteriors that survive.
The pillars, along with the roof, were covered with flora in frequently lush representations, such as the photo above. There were “Green Man” images in many places. Chapel historians say that this was because the 4th Baron of Rosslyn was sympathetic to the plight of gypsies who traveled through the area, although the Green Man is well-known and popular throughout Scotland, even without the gypsy association.
Some of the flora has equal interest by reason of its uniqueness. There is an archway that is decorated with ears of maize, a plant originating in the Americas, not in Europe, and the image below, the top plant with three leaves that has been identified as trillium, again a plant originating in the Americas and not in Europe, pictured below. Some believe these plants represented a nod to ancestor Henry St Clair, the 1st Prince of Orkney, who was said to have sailed to North America around 1398.
As I mentioned, there is an active congregation, although they are not meeting currently. Someday, I hope I would be able to come back and see the Chapel as an active venue, learn more about the history, and explore more of the Chapel.
Edinburgh Castle sits at the other end of the “Royal Mile” of Edinburgh from the Palace. The Royal Mile is the traditional name for the roadway between the Palace of Holyroodhouse and the castle. Once travelled by kings and queens, its daily name now is High Street as it runs through Old Town.
Nowadays, High Street changes names in the last tenth of a mile, but the road into the castle winds up the hill, across the esplanade, through the gate, and leads visitors deep into the castle’s heart. At the very top is the center of the castle. Parts of the castle have been destroyed then rebuilt, and other parts have simply been built on top of, so one must abandon any effort to make chronological sense of the road’s progress.
The wide view of the surrounding countryside from the hilltop is why this spot has been used for defence for over a thousand years. It was used as a gathering place in 638 AD, as mentioned in “Y Gododdin,” an ancient Welsh poem that includes the earliest reference to “Din Eidyn,” a precursor to “Edinburgh,” which is pronounced, “edinburra.”
Around 1140 AD, King David I ordered the nobles and clergy to gather at Edinburgh Castle to enact laws and pass judgements, a forerunner of the current Parliament that now meets in a very modern building near the Holyrood Palace.
During the Wars of Independence, the castle changed hands several times between the Scots and the English, most famously in 1314, when Robert the Bruce led a small force in a stealth attack. The group climbed up the northern rock face on a moonless night, surprising the English defenders. Robert ordered the castle to be “slighted,” a term that means to destroy or damage an asset – building, boat, farm – so it cannot be used by the enemy.
Edinburgh Castle is a living castle. Royalty no longer lives here, nor do they make overnight visits to the palace. But events are held in the Great Hall, and the Scottish War Memorial, the One O’clock Gun, and the National War Museum, all attract visitors, both native and foreign. The local military governor lives in a house in the castle, and two military units have museums there besides the ones above.
In a less stable time, Edinburgh Castle was the royal residence. Its walls wound around the hill, protecting the palace and the other buildings required to maintain the monarch and impress friends and enemies with the futility of challenging said monarch.
There were four cannon batteries that defended the castle. Dury’s Battery is no longer there. It was built around 1710, after the 1708 Jacobite uprising, but was dismantled after 1757 and the area became an exercise yard for prisoners of war. The oldest battery was built in 1544 by James V – the Forewall Battery – along the line of the medieval defense. The Half-Moon Battery was built after the “L’ang Siege” of 1571-73. It’s located on top of the remains of the residential tower (destroyed during the L’ang Siege) built by David II in the 1300s. The fourth battery, the Argyll Battery, was built around 1730. All of the cannons that are presently in these three batteries date from the early 1800s.
There are two more cannons. One is a current design: the One o’Clock Gun, pictured below. It is fired daily at precisely one o’clock, a tradition that began in 1861 to provide the ships in the Leith port an accurate time setting for navigation. It was silenced only during WWI when soldiers recovering from battle fatigue were being cared for in the castle’s hospital.
The other is Mons Meg, below, a huge cannon that was given to James II by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy. It was made in the city of Mons, Belgium, in 1449, designed to smash castle walls. She was moved to different locations, despite weighing more than six tons, using horses or oxen. The path in front of her had to be levelled by gangs of laborers, and a timber-framed winch was used to remove her from the cart and into position.
The Palace was built on the upper courtyard, guarded by Foog’s Gate, which was the main entrance until the outer wall was looped around the hill to accommodate both cannons and musketry by King Charles II. Early kings of Scotland used the castle as a residence. Even though Queen Mary I, better known as “Mary, Queen of Scots,” lived primarily at Holyrood Palace, she gave birth to James VI here, probably because she felt more secure at such a vulnerable time, given the turmoil during her brief reign.
The only room open in the palace when I visited was Laich Hall, a lovely room that was restored for James VI when he returned in 1617 after a 14 year absence, having become also James I of England in 1603. He hosted a banquet there, then left and never returned. The last royal presence here was James’ son, Charles I, who stayed here before his Scottish coronation in 1633. After the Act of Union, there was no separate coronation.
The Great Hall was built for King James IV, who wanted it for ceremonial occasions. This was a constant theme that ran through my visits to castles and palaces – nobility and monarchs used their buildings to advertise their wealth and power. The Great Hall is a good example. The walls are panelled, the ceiling is high and elegantly constructed, the windows are stained glass with displays of coats of arms embedded among other decorations.
The Great Hall was completed in 1512. Mary Queen of Scots held a banquet here on her return to Scotland from France in 1561.
Between ceremonial uses, the Great Hall is filled with displays of weaponry and armor from various periods and places. Some of the suits of armor are battle trophies rather than vintage Scottish armor.
In 1650, Oliver Cromwell converted the hall into soldiers’ barracks. The hall was restored in 1887 by Queen Victoria, and is still used for state functions today.
Sitting across the courtyard from the Great Hall is the Scottish War Memorial. Carved over the main door are the years 1914 – 1918, so presumably it began as a memorial to those lost in the “war to end all wars.” Sadly, there were more. On the inside – no photos allowed – were tributes to people from many wars or colonial conflicts, and included support personnel, such as medical units and engineering corps.
The Castle, like the history of Scotland, is a complicated set of many layers with diversions interspersed along the way, a great adventure to understand how Scotland became such a brew of creativity and beauty.
“Rood” is the Scottish word for “The True Cross,” the cross upon which Jesus was crucified, so the word, “Holyrood,” meant “Holy Cross,” and the Abbey was the “Holyroodhouse.”
It is more usually called Holyrood Abbey, for brevity’s sake. It was founded in 1128 by King David I in honor of his mother, Margaret, who was later made a saint. The Palace began life as a guesthouse for the Abbey, and then the Abbey gave its name to the Palace of Holyroodhouse when it was expanded to be a royal residence in the 15th century, and became the large and lovely place it is today.
The outer courtyard is large, but still dominated by this beautiful fountain. Everywhere I looked on it, it had another face, another animal, another figure or foliage. It’s amazing. Many hours of meditation are available here.
The palace is built in a large, square shape. The side facing the outer courtyard has the entry gate, and twin towers on both front corners. These particular towers, pictured below, are where Mary, Queen of Scots’ private royal chambers were.
It was a rainy day when I visited the Palace of Holyroodhouse. The rain came and went. The clouds hung around, sometimes lighter, sometimes darker, but always present. If you are concerned about having fresh water, you should come here.
Queen Elizabeth II stays here during Holyrood Week, and hosts lunch in the Throne Room for Knights and Ladies of the Order of the Thistle, the highest order of chivalry in Scotland. “Holyrood Week” is held in mid-summer and is designed to celebrate Scottish culture and history – probably skipping the rebellions.
When Bonnie Prince Charlie returned to claim Scotland’s throne for his father in 1745, he stayed at the Holyroodhouse Palace for six weeks. During this brief time, the Great Gallery was used to host the Scottish lords and clan leaders with food, music, and other entertainment. Prince Charles then went on to the Battle of Culloden, which he lost, and with it was lost the dream of a Stuart Restoration. Prince Charles escaped to Europe, where he and his father lived in exile the rest of their days. (Recently, I read where an heir to the throne, descended from Bonnie Prince Charlie, has been identified and confirmed through DNA analysis. He did not, however, indicate any plans to raise an army.)
At the far end of the Great Gallery, visitors pass into the earlier days of Stuarts’ reign. There are artefacts from the life of Prince Charles, but one quickly passes these and goes up the steep, narrow, winding staircase to the upper floor, where Mary, Queen of Scots, had her royal chambers. It was here that she lived from 1561 until 1567.
The northwest tower reflects the 16th century desire for a fortified residence, but the rooms that Mary used were quite comfortable. Her bedchamber had oak panelling on the ceiling and tapestries on the wall. Her private supper room was very small. It was here that her secretary, the Italian David Riccio (or Rizzio) was murdered by Lord Darnley and his supporters. Riccio was stabbed 56 times.
In the outer chamber, now filled with displays of jewellery and artefacts, Mary received visitors, often including John Knox. The devoutly Roman Catholic Queen Mary and the equally devout Calvinist John Knox had lively debates about their religious beliefs. Too bad their tolerance was not emulated by others of their generation.
As you exit Holyrood Palace, you enter what were once Holyrood Abbey gardens. As for the Abbey itself, only ruins remain, and just the nave, at that. In the 13th century, the Abbey Church could hold a thousand worshipers for mass. It was 250 feet (76 meters) long, with high vaulted ceilings, huge stained glass windows, gilded wood, and painted stonework. Large landholdings provided financial support for the Abbey.
Holyroodhouse served the secular world as well. It was a place where parliaments and councils were held, beginning with Robert the Bruce in 1327. From that meeting came the Treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton that brought peace between Scotland and England, at least, temporarily. James II was born, married, crowned, and buried at Holyrood. In 1469, James III and Margaret of Denmark were married here. In 1503, Margaret Tudor (sister of Henry VIII) and James IV of Scotland were married. It was this union of Tudor and Stuart that resulted in the Union of the Crowns of Scotland and England. It made Mary I, Queen of Scots, and Elizabeth I, Queen of England, first cousins, and so when Elizabeth died without an heir, Mary’s son, James, became King of England as well as Scotland. Charles I, a Stuart king, was the last coronation at Holyroodhouse.
Within the Abbey grounds were a large octagonal chapter house, dormitories, a refectory, and cloisters. These were surrounded by gardens, providing food and medicinal herbs. Royal guests stayed in houses within the Abbey complex. The foundations of these other buildings and the larger church can be found in places around the palace gardens.
The Abbey suffered during the reign of Henry VIII, as he wrestled control away from the Pope, and the Abbey was abandoned altogether after the Protestant Reformation (1560 AD) when the eastern parts were demolished, leaving just the nave, which remains today. The chronology was not clear. It seems the church became Catholic again, because the church was attacked by Protestant citizens in 1688, destroying most of the interior and breaking open the tombs. The formerly magnificent building became a “romantic ruin,” inspiring artists over the centuries.
From the back of Holyrood Palace, there is a great view of “Arthur’s Seat,” a high bluff that is a popular place to climb for views of Edinburgh.
At the western end of the “Royal Mile,” and a little beyond, sits the Parish Church of St. Cuthbert, the oldest Christian site in Edinburgh. The church’s congregation states in its history that the church was founded in 670 A.D. by St. Cuthbert himself (pre-sainthood, of course.) Other histories are more vague, and simply say the 7th century, during or not long after the life of the saint. The church has been through several iterations, and the original building survives only as part of the foundation of the current building, built in 1894.
The first official mention, however, is in the records of King David I, when he granted the church building to the Holyrood Abbey. (There was only the Catholic Church in that era.) The area served by this church used to be quite large, with several “chapels of ease,” meaning other small churches or chapels in the parish. But after the 1560 Reformation, it became a Protestant church, and was known as the West Kirk. After the Restoration came in 1660, the West Kirk’s congregation was loyal to the Covenanters, and has remained part of the Church of Scotland.
In one of the iterations of the building, in 1773, some bones and a leaden urn were found inside a leaden coffin. The urn contained an embalmed human heart, believed to be the heart of a crusader, that had been returned to his family from the Holy Land. There was no indication in the source that anything was done with the bones or heart, so presumably, they were placed again in the new church building.
I was visiting the church grounds – the church was not open due to the pandemic – and there were a lot of people walking around. The Princes Streets gardens are quite popular at the noon hour. Residents of Edinburgh enjoy their parks and squares, and don’t give them up even in a light rain.
The Scott Monument is also on Princes Street, about midway along the stretch of city between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace known as the Royal Mile. It is the largest monument to a writer in the world. Scott was born and raised in Edinburgh, and spent some of his youth collecting folk tales from “the Borders,” an area to the south of Edinburgh.
Contemporaries of Scott’s considered these tales too lowly to dignify by writing them down, but Scott recorded them, and used these as inspiration for his poetry and romantic novels, the first such novel being “Waverley,” which he published anonymously in 1814. It was a new genre – the historical romance novel.
Sir Walter Scott (1771 – 1832) is important to Scots and Scotland because he raised the image of Scotland at a time when Scots were considered dangerous by many in England, the Scottish Enlightenment notwithstanding. Gaelic had been outlawed in 1616, and tartans and bagpipes in 1746, after the Battle of Culloden, led by Bonnie Prince Charlie, who claimed to be the rightful king of Scotland. It was a clear effort to suppress Scottish culture. Scott orchestrated the first visit by a British monarch in 171 years, and helped reinstate the language, dress, and music of the Highlands.
The monument is two hundred feet tall. Construction was begun in 1840, and the edifice was inaugurated in 1846. The sculpture of Scott and his hound, Maida, is made of a single, 30 ton piece of Carrara marble, created by Sir John Steele. There are 287 steps, divided by four levels (where you can stop and rest.) On one level, there is a museum, which was closed during my visit, in fact right now, no one can go inside at all.
While I loved Edinburgh, one of the disappointments of my visit was that many of the smaller museums were closed and did not anticipate opening again until 2021. The Sir Walter Scott Memorial museum and the Writer’s Museum, featuring Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, and Robert Louis Stevenson, were closed. The other disappointment throughout Scotland was the lack of music; there were no venues playing traditional music except for the occasional lone piper.
One country’s fight for freedom was another country’s rebellion. The India Cross, pictured below, is placed near Edinburgh Castle. It honors the “78th Regiment of Foot,” the Ross-shire Buffs, who died during the “Indian Rebellion.”
Sir Walter Scott helped raise the image of Scotland, but the Scottish Enlightenment was furthered by a host of people you’ve heard of, David Hume and Adam Smith among them, earning them each a statue along the Royal Mile.
Lesser known currently, but widely read in his day, was the poet Robert Fergusson. This statue of him stands in front of the Canongate Kirk, an unassuming church near Holyrood Palace. Robert Fergusson is buried here. Robert Burns himself paid for the tombstone, and then Robert Louis Stevenson (“Treasure Island”) himself was going to pay for the repair and renovation of that tombstone. In honour of the “three Roberts,” the Saltire Society had Stevenson’s words inscribed on the tombstone as part of the repair. (The Saltire Society was founded in 1936 to preserve Scottish culture and to encourage creativity.)
The Canongate Kirk was ordered built by King James VII (James II in England) in 1688. His idea was to create a chapel for the Order of the Thistle. The arms of King James were put above the door originally, but by the time the building was finished, those arms were replaced by the arms of King William III of Orange, according to the parish history. Politics moved at a speed faster than construction.
The current arms, near the top of the building, are of Great Britain, that is, England and Scotland. The plaque above the doorway indicates that the arms just above it belong to King James VII, the monarch who began construction.
The Canongate Kirk is where Adam Smith (1723 – 1790) is buried. The plaque marking his grave notes that he was the author of the “Theory of Moral Sentiments” and the “Wealth of Nations.” The slab below is engraved with one of his more famous quotes, “The property which every man has in his own labor, as it is the original foundation of all other property, so it is the most sacred and inviolable.”
Adam Smith was an economist, author, and philosopher, educated at Oxford University, Balliol College, University of Edinburgh, and University of Glasgow, and considered the “Father of Economics,” or of capitalism, depending on your perspective.
One more person is buried here in Canongate Kirkyard whose name you might remember from the movie about Mary, Queen of Scots, with Vanessa Redgrave: David Riccio. Riccio was an Italian diplomat who became Queen Mary’s secretary. Mary’s husband, Lord Darnley, became jealous of Riccio, believing that she favored Riccio over Lord Darnley. In 1566, a group of men murdered Riccio while he dined with the pregnant Queen, stabbing him repeatedly. In the movie, it was a ghastly scene, with Riccio crawling on the floor under the table, wounded, trying to escape. He was initially buried at Holyrood Abbey, but was later moved to Canongate Kirkyard.
The Stuarts ruled Scotland for around three hundred years. Robert the Bruce was a legendary leader in Scotland, though not a “king” in our modern definition of such. His son, Robert II, was the “High Steward” of Scotland, for King David II, his half-uncle, and succeeded David in 1371. Robert still carried the title “Steward,” which morphed into “Stewart” and “Stuart” over the next couple of generations as surnames came into use. The dynasty had remarkable longevity, despite the challenges of circumstance. James II became king at age 6; James III was dethroned by his son, James IV; James V inherited his throne at 17 months of age. Mary, Queen of Scots, was a Stuart, and became Queen while still an infant. Regents for the minors came and went, but the dynasty continued.
Scotland was joined with England when Mary (the one beheaded by Queen Elizabeth I of England,) Queen of Scot’s son, James VI of Scotland, became also James I of England in 1603 after Elizabeth I died without an heir. James I’s son, Charles I, was beheaded by Cromwell and the Glorious Revolution. After Cromwell’s death, Charles II, Charles I’s son, was invited to return. His successor, James II (VII of Scotland,) Charles II’s brother, although Protestant, tried to impose an Anglican prayer book on the Church of Scotland, which followed an austere Calvinist practice, and it was the final straw.
Mary, James II’s daughter from his first marriage, and her husband, William of Orange, both Protestants, were invited to assume the throne. William invaded in 1688, and Mary was declared Queen by Parliament in 1689, and they became King William III and Queen Mary (who bought a local mansion and created Kensington Palace.) They were succeeded by James II’s second daughter and Mary’s sister, Queen Anne, another Protestant, who died childless.
After James II’s first wife had died, but before he was deposed, James married Mary of Modena, a Catholic. They had a son, James Francis Edward, who was raised as a Catholic. When this James gained his age, he declared that, as James II’s son, he was the rightful heir to the thrones of England, Scotland, and, by this time, Ireland, as well, rather than George I of the House of Hanover, who Parliament had declared heir to the crown of Great Britain.
James Francis Edward’s claim was recognized as legitimate by Louis XIV of France, the King of Spain, and the Pope. James Francis had supporters, and not just Catholics. This was an age that still believed in the divine right of kings, and there were those who agreed that James should be king.
Parliament, however, had made their choice by rejecting his father’s continued rule and rejecting a Catholic successor, James Francis Edward, and by inviting William and Mary to accept the throne of Great Britain. Parliament passed the Settlement Act in 1701, which made it law that only a Protestant could succeed to the British throne. There was no interest in having the Catholic James Francis assume the throne, thus ending the Stuart dynasty.
Nevertheless, in 1715, James and his supporters attempted to regain the throne. This uprising became known as “The Fifteen.” James was disappointed by the too-weak support, and returned to France, where Louis XIV had been supporting him. However, Louis had died by this time, and James was no longer welcome. He went to Rome, where Pope Clement XI gave him a palace and an annuity. James married Maria Clementina Sobieska, and had a son, Charles Edward Stuart, born 1720. James Francis Edward became known as “the Old Pretender,” and Charles as “the Young Pretender.”
This Charles also became known as “Bonnie Prince Charlie.” He had many supporters, known as Jacobites, “Jacob” being the Latin form of “James,” after his father. There was an attempt to win the throne for Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1745, an attempt that was stronger than the Fifteen, but not strong enough to succeed. This attempt became known as “the Forty-five.” Bonnie Prince Charlie barely escaped with his life – he escaped, disguised as a woman servant, and was rowed out from the Isle of Skye to a small island, where he was rescued. It was the end of the Jacobite Restoration attempts. Ultimately, it was the friction caused by the Reformation, Protestant v. Catholic, the was the final undoing of the Stuart dynasty. On the Isle of Skye, the woman who rowed Charles to safety is buried in Killiemuir Cemetery, Flora MacDonald.
The Princes Street Gardens are filled with flourishes of decoration, mostly dating from the Victorian era.
It would take a long time to explore Edinburgh thoroughly. Like so many places I have visited, I hope someday I can return – I may need another lifetime….
The building of the Royal Yacht Britannia was commissioned by the father of Queen Elizabeth II, His Majesty King George VI. Sadly, he died before it was finished.
It was Queen Elizabeth II who smashed the bottle of wine to christen the ship: “I name this ship Britannia. I wish success to her and all who sail in her.” The Queen then pressed the button at the Clydebank shipyard of John Brown & Company to launch the yacht, ship no. 691, into the Clyde River.
The bridge provides sight and information from the gauges, and it’s the place where orders about steerage are generated, but the yacht is actually steered from the wheelhouse, which is below the bridge. That’s because the bridge is visible to other ships and therefore more vulnerable to attack. The process is: orders from the bridge about direction and speed to the wheelhouse, and then instructions from the wheelhouse to the engine room regarding speed.
The ship’s wheel on Britannia came from a racing yacht that was built for the Prince of Wales (son of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, later King Edward VII) in 1893. After he died, the yacht went to George V.
The captains of the royal yachts were always admirals, right up until 1995. The last admiral-captain of the Britannia was Sir Robert Woodard, KCVO. From 1995 until 1997’s final voyage, Commodore Anthony Morrow, CVO, served as captain.
The ship’s compass is carved from a solid piece of mahogany, and is one of two identical compasses. The other is in Greenwich, in the National Maritime Museum. The pair of compasses began life on the “Royal George” (1817,) then were moved to the “Victoria and Albert” (1855,) and to each subsequent royal yacht, until the Britannia, when they were separated.
By tradition, the royal yacht was a “floating palace,” a family home for the royal family, with friendly faces, family photos, and the rooms used by the family were decorated accordingly. Enormous effort was made to allow the family, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip especially, to feel at home on the ship, such as bringing on Malvern water for tea. The crew, although members of the Royal Navy, were called by their first names while serving on the Britannia.
Daily routine for the Queen included briefings from the Press Secretary and reviewing with the Queen’s Personal Secretary the contents of the government boxes sent daily.
Because of who they were, the ship was also the “Royal Court afloat,” so it had to be equipped for more formal functions. Leaders of other countries were sometimes hosted on board as a state visit. Such an event meant that about five tonnes of luggage (including the royal jewels) had to be brought on board, plus accommodating up to forty-five members of the Royal Household, such as valets, dressers, clerks, right up to, and including, the Press Secretary and the Surgeon.
Below is the drawing room, used for before dinner drinks and after-dinner activities, such as games or music, by the family, and for gathering for more formal occasions during a state visit.
The ship itself required twenty officers and two hundred twenty yachtsmen. “Daily Orders” were prepared and printed each day that had that day’s scheduled activities, times, and other details on them. Any last minute changes were posted on the “Red Hot Noticeboards” around the ship. In addition to being called by their first names, orders were given with hand signals in order to maintain a quiet, home-like atmosphere when the Royals were on board. Serving on the Britannia was so unique that an association of “Yotties” was founded in 1989 for all who had served from January, 1954, through December, 1997.
The crew functioned on an established hierarchy, and each group had their own mess, dining room, and quarters assigned to them. The decorations were done accordingly, with the officers ranking highest.
I have probably gotten these out of order, so please forgive this landlubber if I have.
The laundry room is huge, and seemed large for the yacht, even this family’s yacht. And it was. It was made so large because the yacht was made to be convertible to a hospital ship if there was a war or other large military operation involving casualties, and additional capacity was needed. It was launched in 1953, so, luckily, the need never arose while the yacht was under sail.
Although Britannia never served as a war-time hospital, in 1986, the Queen did send her to rescue British nationals and other persons who were suddenly trapped in the middle of an uprising in Aden, some of whom were injured. Over 1,000 people were rescued from hotels that were being shelled. As a non-military ship, Britannia could enter the close waters without increasing tension in an already tense area or attracting fire.
Edinburgh’s Old Town is riddled with small alleys, singly called “a close,” too narrow for vehicles, that can take pedestrians from one street to another. Sometimes they are a direct route, sometimes they bring you to an open area, a square, or small plaza, and then out the other side through another close, and sometimes they bring you to a courtyard, but you have to go out the same way you came in. Sometimes they are fairly level, sometimes they have steps, sometimes a lot of steps. It just depends.
“The Real Mary King’s Close” is a tour worth taking if you have the opportunity. It is mainly underground, and it is designed to show you how the not-well-off people in Edinburgh lived during the 1600s and The Plague. It wasn’t pretty.
Edinburgh of the 1600s had become terribly overcrowded as people moved to the city, but the city walls held them in. Houses had no room to spread out, so they spread up, sometimes as high as eight stories. Existing houses were absorbed into the new houses as foundations, or simply ground floors. The closes themselves were only a few meters wide – with the tall buildings on either side, daylight rarely made its way in.
There was no indoor plumbing. People used buckets for sewage, which was then dumped into the gutters. The people living on the bottom floors had to live with open sewers outside their doors. Obviously, the higher floors were most desirable – they had windows, after all – and those went to people with some money. The ground floors went to the poorest, who lived there with few windows (and sometimes none,) the sewers, and the occasional cow living in the next room.
And then, 1644 rolled around and brought the plague with it. The rich left the city, but the poor had nowhere to go. Edinburgh lost almost half of its population. Gruesome stories circulated of people being locked into the close, left to die of the plague, but the reality was that they were quarantined and food and water was brought to them. Mary King’s Close was abandoned by 1645.
Our guide, dressed in period costume of the 1600s – 1700s, talked about the plague itself, carried by the flea-infested rats, and the different ways it developed. He also talked about Mary King. She was a widow and therefore able to own property. She established herself as a fabric merchant, and became a person of local prominence, which is why the name Mary King’s Close. The tour is called “The Real Mary King’s Close” because the developers of the tour wanted to emphasize that Mary King was a real person in 17th century Edinburgh, not a made-up character.
Eventually, people moved back in and were living there when city authorities decided to build a new Royal Exchange in order to stay competitive for business, which the New Town was threatening. (“New Town” was close by, more of a neighborhood name than a new city. Things in Edinburgh are still identified by these terms. As the city grew, new area names were added.) The location they wanted was across from the St. Giles Cathedral, where Mary King’s Close is located. They tore down the upper floors and used the lower floors as foundation, where people continued to live and work – people ran businesses from these low-ceilinged rooms.
The last to leave, in 1902, was a saw maker, Mr. Chesney. He and his business were forced out when the Royal Exchange Building, which had become City offices, was extended, and the last buildings were sealed off. These buildings had survived because of the steep grade that they had been built on – as upper floors were developed, the lower floors still had access to the close.
The tour was a couple of hours. To observe the social distancing requirements, there were letters A, B, C, and D painted in specific places in the rooms we visited so that we had two meters separating us. Again, the distance meant that getting to know others on the tours wasn’t possible. Also, photographs are not allowed because we were walking through the foundations of the government buildings above.
As I emerged after the tour, I was standing across from St. Giles Cathedral, blinking into the daylight.
Edinburgh’s St. Giles’ Cathedral was founded in the 12th century, but this building was begun in the 1400s and completed in the 1600s, although significant changes were made in the 20th century. The church began as a Catholic church, but became part of the Church of Scotland in 1559 during the Reformation. John Knox was its minister, and is buried in the church, along with other notables.
Ah, the Anchor Close. Anchor Close is named for a tavern that used to be here, which was best known for hosting the “Chochallan Fencibles,” an 18th Century drinking club. The drinks fueled the intellectual debate, or so the guides would have you believe. Maybe it’s so: the club was founded by William Smellie, who edited the first edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Intellectual debates or not, I’m sure the drinks fueled the volume. And, of course, Robert Burns was a member.
The inscription above and the plaque pictured below are the same place. David Hume lived here in 1751. He was an economist and philosopher, a major figure of the Scottish Enlightenment. Two of his best known works are “A Treatise of Human Nature” (1740) and “An Enquiry into Human Understanding” (1748). He challenged the then-current beliefs, and was considered a radical. “I have written on all sorts of subjects,” he wrote, “yet I have no enemies, except all the Whigs, all the Tories, and all the Christians.”
Riddle’s Close is even with the street face on Lawnmarket Street, but when you walk into the short tunnel, you are underneath a building constructed in 1727. Emerging from the short tunnel, you are in a courtyard that has been there since 1587, and used to be the front building. There is yet another courtyard to be found behind that, but there was no additional date given for that, so it may be contemporary to the 1587 buildings.
James VI attended two banquets here, both honoring Queen Anne of Denmark’s brother, Ulric, Duke of Holstein. Queen Anne was James’ wife, and Ulric was the envoy of the Holy Roman Empire. This was in 1598, before Hume’s time, and a few years before James VI of Scotland became James I of England (1603.) The house belonged to a wealthy merchant in Edinburgh. It’s been restored and is now available for hosting events, if you are so inclined.
Riddle’s Close is notable for another visitor as well. “Fringe Festivals” began in Edinburgh, and have become widely known. They are artistic events, mostly performance arts, organized outside of traditional performance organizations. Riddle’s Court became a Fringe venue in the 1950s, and this is where Maggie Smith gave her first public performance. The rest, as they say, is history.
A person could spend the better part of a month exploring the collection of closes that are part of Old Town, and discovering their history. Someday, maybe.
I rode the LNER train from London to Edinburgh, almost five hours. The United Kingdom does a great job with their trains. They are pleasant to ride and have useful schedules, even now, during the pandemic. Passengers had to scan their tickets in order to enter the boarding area, so no conductors came around to check tickets. There were a few attendants in the area, available for any issues that might arise – confusion over seats or luggage or such.
I relaxed in my seat as scenes of England and Scotland moved past my socially-distanced window, leaving the suburbs of London, stopping at large villages, and passing rural scenery that looked “just like the pictures.”
I had reserved an AirBnB centrally located in Old Town. I arrived to find there was a mix-up, and my place already had a resident. Enterprising entrepreneurs have made a business of managing multiple vacation rentals through AirBnB, so there were options available. I was reassigned to a place on Simpson Loan, next to the University of Edinburgh, an upgrade from the place I had reserved, so no complaint about that. On a map, it looked to be a longer walk to visit places, but, as I have learned, Old Town is very compact and easily walked for most people. Being in a university area had its benefits, too, as there were several coffee places and a well-stocked Sainsbury’s (grocery,) to boot. My apartment overlooked an open, grassy area belonging to the building next door, and both buildings were adjacent to “the Meadows,” a large park with paths for bikes and pedestrians and playing fields for games of soccer or rugby.
The next morning, I followed a path, the Middle Meadow Walk, that led from the Meadows toward “the Royal Mile.” Along the path were a couple of old logs, and a sign. The sign said that these logs were water pipes.
Hard to believe in the middle of this rainy summer, but water in old Edinburgh was sometimes a problem. Maybe dry summers were more frequent then, because the sign said that the “draw-wells were frequently inadequate during dry summers.” People walked a long way out of town to get water. To remedy this, a reservoir was built at the top of Castlehill, and water was fed from there to various parts of Old Town (and later, New Town,) by way of underground pipes.
The first pipes were made of lead (!), but they became too expensive, they were heavy and hard to work with and maintain, so they were replaced by wooden pipes. Elm trees were used because they did not absorb much of the water. The logs were hollowed lengthwise with an auger, and then sharpened at one end to allow a tight fit when put together. By 1790, however, the wooden pipes were replaced by cast iron pipes, piping the water to a dozen masonry well-heads, five of which survive around Old Town, such as the one in Greenmarket.
Even this improvement was not perfect. People had to queue for their turn to get their daily water, sometimes late into the night. Well-off citizens would hire a “water caddy” to get a place in line for them and wait for a turn. Waiting at the well ended by 1822, when water was piped directly into the houses.
Middle Meadow Walk ended when it became Forrest Road, which carried car traffic and was lined with small shops. At the juncture of Forrest Road and Candlemakers Row, stands an old church, now known as “Bedlam Theatre,” closed for the time being because of the pandemic prohibition of crowded venues.
Across the intersection from the Bedlam is a statue of a small dog called “Greyfriars’ Bobby.”
According to local record, Greyfriars’ Bobby, a small dog, followed the remains of his master to the Greyfriars Kirkyard (“kirk” being the Scottish word for church) and stayed. The statue was donated, and pays tribute to the dog’s “affectionate fidelity,” lasting from 1858 to 1872, when the dog passed away.
The entrance to Greyfriars Kirk was next to the Greyfriars Bobby pub. I have always enjoyed a good graveyard, during the day time, at least, and the gate was open.
Many of my ancestors came from Scotland – Sinclairs, Alexanders, Johnstons, Kennons, and others – so I was on the lookout for familiar names. I didn’t find any that belonged to my family, but I found a few that appeared in the Harry Potter stories – McGonagall, Moody, Erskin. I thought it was an interesting coincidence, but when two young men stopped to ask me if I had seen the Tom Riddle headstone, I learned that J.K. Rowling apparently often walked through this particular kirkyard, so that the names were not just a coincidence. I wasn’t much help to the two looking for Riddle. I hadn’t seen Tom Riddle, but I was able to tell them where it wasn’t, because I had walked up and down the rows behind me, quite methodically.
Of course, from then on, I looked for Harry Potter names as well as my family names. For family, all I found was one man whose middle name was Sinclair. There were lots of given names “Alexander,” but none whose surname was Alexander, Johnston, nor anything else sounding familiar. For my family, the kirkyard was a bust, but I finally did find Tom Riddle. It was in the farthest corner, and it was “Thomas Riddell.” His son, also Thomas Riddell, was there, too. For an author making up a plot, it’s not a far stretch to reach “Tom Riddle,” a more mysterious iteration.
There were other things about the Greyfriars Kirkyard that were notable, too. One more “Harry Potter” thing, the inspiration for Hogwarts, supposedly: the George Hariot School. It can be seen from the back gate of the kirkyard.
The Greyfriars Kirkyard was also the location of the Covenanters’ Prison, rather ironic since the church was where the Covenant was signed, February 28, 1638, and one of the co-authors is buried there.
Religion and politics do not mix well, no matter what the century, it seems.
John Knox led the Scottish Reformation in 1560, based on the teachings of John Calvin. Mary I (Mary, Queen of Scots) disapproved because she was Catholic, but did not actively suppress the Reformation. When James VI gained the throne, and then the English throne in 1603 as James I, he was convinced that Presbyterianism was incompatible with monarchy. “No bishop, no king” was his belief, but rather than war, he used diplomacy. By the time he died in 1625, the Church of Scotland had bishops.
Charles I (later beheaded by Oliver Cromwell and his followers) was less diplomatic, and tried to force the Prayer Book of 1637, a slightly modified version of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, on the Church of Scotland. It caused riots, and precipitated the National Covenant, which protested the new prayer book and other liturgical innovations, setting those who signed the National Covenant in opposition to Charles I.
A thousand of those signers were put into the Covenanters’ Prison in the Greyfriars Kirkyard, defeated by Government forces at the Battle of Bothwell Brig. They were held for more than four months with no shelter, and only 4 ounces of bread per day.
Some prisoners died, some were tried for treason and executed, some escaped, and some were freed after signing a bond of loyalty to the Crown. Those who were persecuted and died under Charles I are memorialized by the Martyrs’ Memorial on the wall of the Kirkyard, and in the Greenmarket. In the longer arc of time, although the Covenanters lost the Battle of Bothwell Brig, they won the war.
After spending a couple of hours in the kirkyard, I continued walking along the main road, George IV Bridge Road. I passed The Elephant House, which had a sign in the window claiming it was the “Birthplace of Harry Potter.” It’s a cafe/coffee house, so I presume that means that J.K. Rowling spent time in there, writing her stories. They didn’t specify, nor was there anyone to ask – they were closed for the pandemic.
Further up the road, there was a road that turned downhill, lined with little shops, curving around as it wound downward. I spotted the small shops, and decided to explore.
It was Victoria Street. Merchants in Victoria Street are happy to proclaim that this street inspired “Diagon Alley” in the Harry Potter stories. There are even a couple of places that claim to have inspired specific stores in Diagon Alley. I was beginning to think that Edinburgh had developed their own version of “Washington slept here.”
Victoria Street morphs into Bow Street as it passes the curve, and ends in Grassmarket, where people once bought and sold horses and cows – Cowgate Street is adjacent to Grassmarket on the far side. Now, the grass is gone, and it’s covered in cobblestone, edged with pubs, cafes, and a couple of clothing stores.
The pubs and restaurants have put as many tables outside as they can, and they were filled. Tables outside don’t have to be as strict, but they are still at a distance of 1 meter. The tables inside are at a 2 meter distancing. People, including tourists, are required to wear face coverings indoors in most places. Obviously, eating establishments can’t require constant coverage, and hence the greater distance when people are in a confined space.
The Bee Hive Inn was where I waited for the “Literary Pub Tour” last Sunday evening. The upstairs of the pub allowed our group to spread out but still hear. The tour consisted of me, a three-person family from Birmingham, England, and two actors, both nice guys.
The two actors, who stated at the outset that they were actors not scholars, were our entertainment, and we had a grand time listening to them argue good-naturedly about the social and anti-social qualities of Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, and Robert Louis Stevenson, and reciting from their works. Their clear favorite was Robert Burns, and they performed works in English and in Scottish, which is not Gaelic, but rather English in the strong Scots dialect.
They were serious about not being scholars. As we walked from Grassmarket to Victoria Street, we passed the monument to the Martyred Covenanters. I asked one of the actors what the Covenant was about, hoping for some history on it, but he didn’t know what it was about, only that the spot was where many were hanged.
We ended at a pub – where else? – and had a glass as we answered some questions about Scott, Burns, and Stevenson, the “older generation,” and J.K. Rowling, part of the “new generation.”
Their scholarship notwithstanding, they were fun, their stories about the authors were humorous, and the family from Birmingham and I had a good time with them. Social distancing was the order of the evening, and the group was small to make that easier. I didn’t get to know the people from Birmingham at all – that kind of traveler collegiality is the victim of social distancing.
By this time, Old Town Edinburgh had worked its way into my imagination. It is utterly charming – narrow alleys, twisty cobblestone roads, and turreted stone buildings abound. It’s easy to see how Edinburgh added inspiration to J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter stories. I found myself thinking what life would be like if I was living here.
I am not complaining. I want to make that clear. I have been to London twice before on more hurried visits with different agendas when everything was open. I had to manoeuvre through crowded crowds of people and their children, for not very satisfying views of well-known sights. I haven’t had that problem on this visit. I expect that it will change soon, perhaps even by the fall, when I will return to London.
The title is a minor exaggeration. There are things open, but they are not tourist sights per se. Cafes, hotels, stores, pubs, and many restaurants are open, so as a visitor it is quite possible to survive, although finding a place to sit down and rest your feet for a few minutes is challenging. Most cafes (and all Starbucks) are takeaway only, and there are no seats available. Some cafes are able to provide “socially distanced” seating, but I’ve only found two – one with partitions and one with enough space for appropriate seating. Even then, their main business was takeaway.
Buses are running, and taxis, and some Tube lines are running, but most of the Tube stations are still closed, and generally, public transportation is discouraged. Fortunately, I am a walker, and so far, I’ve tallied about four miles per day. I know by reading the directional signposts that tell me how far it is to my destination. And, by George, it’s really good for me, right?
The great thing about walking around London is that I can stop whenever I want and look at the buildings. It is easy to become overwhelmed by the incredible decorations – lions, friezes, brickwork and stained glass – it is a serious feast for the eyes. These buildings (below) were all on the same street, on the same block, near Oxford Street.
I took a shopping day on Monday, and walked to Selfridge’s, which is on Oxford Street. It’s a large department store that has changed their business model by sub-leasing parts of their store to other enterprises, such as Topshop, Lululemon, and Sweaty Betty, and the jewelry counters were all sublets. Some parts of the store are still Selfridge’s, I assume, but it was hard to tell. I ended up making several visits during this week.
Hyde Park is huge, and I still haven’t been through all of it. Monday, I had stopped at the Italian Fountains on my way to Selfridge’s. It was sunny then, as you can see. Tuesday, I decided to explore the west area around Kensington Palace.
Hyde Park began as acreage that King Henry VIII acquired in 1536 so that he would have a handy place to hunt deer. It’s not clear when the character changed from hunting ground to park, but it was probably in the 1690s, after King William III and Queen Mary II moved into Kensington Palace.
The palace itself began life as a mansion built in 1605 by Sir George Coppin in the village of Kensington, outside of London. In 1619, it was purchased by Haneage Finch, the 1st Earl of Nottingham, and became known as Nottingham House.
It was when William and Mary ascended the throne in 1689, becoming William III and Mary II, that Nottingham House became Kensington Palace. King William suffered from asthma, and Whitehall Palace, then the royal residence, was located too near the fog and floods of the River Thames, so they looked for a better location. They bought Nottingham House for twenty thousand pounds, and instructed their Surveyor of the King’s Works, Sir Christopher Wren, to expand the mansion.
William and Mary moved into Kensington Palace just prior to Christmas, 1689, and the palace remained the primary royal residence for the next seventy years. Queen Anne added the Orangery (now a restaurant,) and Queen Victoria was born in the palace in 1819. The state apartments were opened as a museum in 1899.
Kensington Palace is owned by the Crown Estate, which makes the palace available to the reigning monarch and her descendants “to use as they wish,” mainly as living quarters. Currently, there are about sixty people living there, notably the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge in a four-story apartment within the palace, but there are other royals, military, courtiers, and staff that live throughout the palace complex.
Approaching Kensington Palace from the Hyde Park side, there is a lovely statue, a tribute to Queen Victoria honoring her fifty years as queen. The plaque notes that the statue is “the work of her daughter,” but doesn’t name her. One source said it was Princess Louise. The tribute was given by Queen Victoria’s “loyal Kensington subjects.”
Because the parks are right next to each other, it took a couple of map readings for me to realize that what I was calling “Hyde Park” was actually two entities: Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. Kensington Gardens is adjacent to Kensington Palace, and extends from the palace to West Carriage Drive, which seems to form the boundary. On the other side is Hyde Park. Kensington Gardens has the Prince Albert Memorial and the Diana Memorial Playground, whereas Hyde Park has Speaker’s Corner and the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain. The two parks have separate park offices, but for the casual user, they are functionally one big park, and it is a very popular place.
Anyone who pays attention to English history knows of Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who was married to Queen Victoria in 1840. They had nine children. Prince Albert had an active interest in the arts, science, industry, and commerce, and, with Henry Cole, was instrumental in organizing the “Great Exhibition of 1851,” a showcase of industry and science, the largest of its day. Between May and October of 1851, about six million people visited the exhibit, which was held in the Crystal Palace, built for the occasion.
Prince Albert died in 1861 of typhoid fever, and Queen Victoria had this memorial built for him. The decorations immediately surrounding the golden statue reflect his interests – commerce, science, arts, and industry, and the four corners of the steps symbolize the reach of the British Empire at that time – the continents of Asia, Africa, America, and Europe.
Colonial issues acknowledged, but the memorial is still a beautiful work of art.
And, across from the Albert Memorial, is the Royal Albert Hall. The capacity was originally designed for 8,000, however, reconfigurations brought the number to 12,000. Current safety standards have reduced the number to 5,272. So, still not really known, Beatles notwithstanding.
From the Royal Albert Hall, I walked on to Buckingham Palace, passing the Wellington Arch circle on the way, where several memorials have been placed.
The emblem of the United Kingdom contains imagery dating to about 1200. The three lions came into use during the time of Richard I, the Lionhearted. His father, Henry, incorporated the lions that came from the coat of arms of Eleanor of Aquitaine in France into the lions already in the Plantagenet arms. The Celtic harp in the lower left division symbolized Ireland. After the Republic of Ireland was established, it was retained to symbolize Northern Ireland. The upper right division is the lion of Scotland, a traditional emblem, although their national animal is the Unicorn. The Unicorn occupies an equal place with the English lion because the two countries were joined under James I of England (James VI of Scotland) after the death of Elizabeth I. The coronet-collar and chain on the Unicorn is traditional, and was used even when Scotland was a separate kingdom. Unicorns came from Celtic mythology, symbolizing purity and power, but at the same time, were considered dangerous animals and untameable, and therefore held in check by a chain.
The land for St. James’s Park was acquired in 1531 by Henry VIII, and in 1532 he built St. James’s Palace adjacent to his newly acquired deer park. It has served as the official Royal Court since it was built. Even today, ambassadors present their credentials and are recognized by the Court of St. James.
From St. James’s Park, I walked on to Parliament Square.
I become fascinated with the details of these buildings. I know that the decorations include figures and images that are significant to the people of the country, but I don’t know who they are. I’m sure somewhere there’s a key to who they are or what they symbolize, and what their place in history was. (The pictures are dark because it had begun to rain.)
This church building, consecrated in 1523, is the third built on this site. St. Margaret’s has been the church of the House of Commons since 1614. It has windows that commemorate Caxton and Milton, who worshipped here, and Sir Walter Raleigh is buried in front of the altar. After about 900 years of service as a parish church for the people of Westminster, St. Margaret’s is now under the care of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, by Act of Parliament in 1973. It is still in regular use for worship and music recitals.
The sign nearby says that “Visitors are welcome to this beautiful church.” But not right now. Like everything else around Parliament Square, it is closed, but I am hoping to catch it – along with many other things – on a return trip this fall.
Westminster Abbey, formally titled the Collegiate Church of Saint Peter at Westminster, was founded as a monastery in 960AD under the patronage of King Edgar and direction of Dunstan (later St. Dunstan.) King Edward re-endowed the monastery and built a stone church in honor of St. Peter the Apostle. That church was consecrated on December 28, 1065. Edward died a few days later, which precipitated the arrival of William the Conqueror in 1066, the first English monarch to be crowned in Westminster Abbey. The remains of King Edward were first interred in front of the High Altar, but were moved to a special shrine within the Abbey after he was canonised in 1161 as St. Edward the Confessor, the first Anglo-Saxon saint.
Henry III tore down Edward’s church, except for the nave, and built the current Abbey. Timing of reigns and sovereigns worked out, so that all of the coronation ceremonies have taken place in Westminster Abbey, even though the building itself changed dramatically. The only monarchs not crowned in Westminster Abbey were Edward V and Edward VIII, because neither of them were crowned at all. The history of Westminster Abbey is intertwined with English history, and is an interesting read all by itself.
It was during the time of Elizabeth I that the modern administrative structure of the Abbey was established: a Dean and Prebendaries, responsible to the Sovereign, not to an archbishop or bishop. It is a “Royal Peculiar.” The Dean and Chapter were tasked with much of the civil government of the City of Westminster, a responsibility it had for over three hundred years, which probably explains the religious figures present on the decorations of the Supreme Court building, pictured earlier in the blog. The civil responsibilities were relinquished in the early 20th century, although the Abbey still has an annual service for Judges at the beginning of the legal year. Two other annual services are a thanksgiving for victory in the Battle of Britain, and the marking of Commonwealth Day.
Thursday, I walked through Hyde Park on my way to Mayfair, Grosvenor Square, and Fortnum & Mason.
That’s most of what I saw during this visit to London. Many things I wanted to see are still closed, the museums and palaces, and who knows when the theatres will be open? Still, walking around so much was entertaining by itself – Notting Hill, the Covent Garden Square, Mayfair, Oxford Street, the parks, Chinatown – everyday Brits doing everyday things. And the cabbies, always talkative.
Tomorrow, I will take the LNER train from King’s Cross Station to Waverley Station in Edinburgh, so I can explore Scotland for a while.
On Independence Day, July 4th, my self-isolation was done, and I could wander as freely as anyone else in the UK, so, of course, I did.
I had a list of errands, things I wanted for my stay here. My first stop was (drum roll here) a bookstore! Foyle’s, to be exact. To keep track of my plans, I have been using an 18-month desk calendar. The monthly planner works well for me, being able to envision a larger chunk of time. But I was coming to the end of the calendar, which ends August 31, so I had been looking for a replacement that wasn’t in Arabic or Ethiopian. I figured the UK would be the place, and when I discovered Foyle’s bookstore nearby, I checked it out online. Foyle’s had an 18-month calendar, a different brand, but conveniently beginning July 1, so a pretty good fit. It will end December 31, 2021.
Foyle’s is a lovely bookstore, three floors of different subject areas – philosophy, cooking, science, thousands of books, just waiting for someone to pick them up and give them life. I always struggle to resist. I could have spent hours, but I knew that I didn’t need to buy any books. Well, I gave the travel guidebook section a good go, but the only book I liked was very heavy – glossy photos weigh a lot, so I passed. Any book I bought would live in my suitcase for months. The calendar was a success, so that was my purchase.
I spotted a Starbucks about a block up the street – Charing Cross Road – and stopped in for the first “grande mocha, no whipped cream, please” I’d had in weeks. It tasted just as I remembered, such is the benefit of corporate coffee.
I walked, coffee in hand and mask over face, to the church yard of St. Giles-in-the-Fields, the church I described in an earlier post. The church yard had big trees, scrawny grass, and benches with workmen from the area’s construction projects seated on them, taking a break. The people with dogs (there were several) were sitting on a low wall just by the church. They were regulars. You could tell by the ease of their chatting, and their dogs knew each other.
St. Giles has seen better days, but it still has dignity. The doors were shiny with glossy black paint, and the steps were in good repair. No broken windows.
I sat on one of the empty benches, away from people, so I could drink my coffee without my mask on. It was peaceful, the dogs scampering around, their owners chatting, and the four workmen smoking cigarettes together – they were not “socially distancing.” A woman came into the park, pushing a stroller with a little boy, about 12 months old I would guess. She got him out and held his hand as he walked around, a little wobbly on the uneven grass.
Coffee done and disposed of, I walked along Charing Cross Road on my way to the Piazza, an area of spendy shops and cafes in Covent Garden. I was headed to a specific store there. Along the way, I walked down to take a photo of the Palace Theatre, where “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” was, or had been, playing. All of the theaters, along with concert halls, and such, are still closed.
At the Piazza, I took care of getting a U.K. SIM card for my phone, which was the primary errand, and then wandered around, window shopping. I don’t buy much anymore.
There was a puppeteer playing to the scattered crowd. His marionette was a skeleton. He was a pleasant distraction. Cafes were open, and many had seating outside, which is what I chose. I ordered the incredibly over-priced avocado toast, with hummus and goat cheese. It was beautifully presented and very tasty – it was an interesting combination, and filling. The avocado was soft, and had been piped onto the toast over a layer of hummus, with small chunks of goat cheese on top.
I learned from the carving on the church, behind the entertainer, that the first Punch’s Puppet Show was played near this spot in 1662, reported by Samuel Pepys.
On my way to the Piazza, I noticed a building I had seen from my balcony down one of the side streets. After lunch, I went to investigate further.
Curiosity satisfied on that point, I checked out the other side of the road, where some pubs had opened, but shops were a mix of open and closed. The hat shop ladies sported their wares, but were available “By Instore Appointment only:”
After my day of freedom, it was time to return and prepare to move to my next “home” in London.