#scottish mary

[futurequibblerjournalist]

mary aileen macdonald < 3

the truest girl's girl

[peristeronic665]

found out today that 'mac' in a scottish surname means 'son of'

so naturally my brain went to our queen mary macdonald

trans scottish queen mary macdonald?

idk if this is some awesome headcanon i've just come up with

but i feel hella chuffed with myself

[forensic-b1tch-aiden]

I kinda wanna do this now

reminder that these are my hcs and I’m not saying that you have to agree

french black brothers, french-greek rosier twins, ugandan-english mary, brazilian-english james, irish lily and peter, welsh-jewish remus, australian marlene, south sudanese dorcas, italian-russian barty, czech sybill, columbian-english benji, filipino-australian emmeline, norweigian xenophilius, greek-english alice, scottish frank, ukrainian severus, irish dolores, kiwi-english gilderoy

[thunderstruck9]

Lys Hansen (British, 1936), Mary, Queen of Scots, 1991. Oil on canvas, 29 x 29 cm. The Stirling Smith Art Gallery & Museum, Stirling, Scotland

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy flew over to another hazel bush, which was thriving on the banks of the burn, and as he settled himself among the dense mass of twigs, the sun suddenly came out again and lit up the yellow catkins that were dangling all around him.

Recalling the old Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme for children, Algy began to sing it to a tune of his devising, reflecting as he sang that the catkins did indeed look like the tails of wee lambs. And he was happy to think that, with luck, there should be a plentiful supply of hazelnuts at the end of the summer for his feathered and furry friends that lived in the wilderness of the wild west Highlands of Scotland.

Like little tails of little lambs, On leafless twigs my catkins swing; They dingle-dangle merrily Before the wakening of Spring. Beside the pollen-laden tails My tiny crimson tufts you see The promise of the autumn nuts Upon the slender hazel tree. While yet the woods lie grey and still I give my tidings: “Spring is near!” One day the land shall leap to life With fairies calling: “Spring is HERE!”

[Algy is quoting the Hazel-Catkin Fairy rhyme from the ever popular Flower Fairies books for children by the English 20th century illustrator Cicely Mary Barker.]

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question : Murder and Disappearance Edition I

Given that Judge Crater, Roanoke, and the Dyatlov Pass Incident are credibly solved, though not 100% provable, I'm leaving them out in favor of things ,ore mysterious. I almost left out Amelia Earhart, but the evidence there is sketchier.

Some people were a little confused. Edward V and Richard of Shrewsbury are the Princes in the Tower.

[quietwingsinthesky]

once again. i am thinking about an alternate end of time ending where the master joins up with the doctor on the tardis, but now specifically, an au where the doctor still ends up regenerating and crashlanding in amy's backyard. au where the doctor doesn't show up 12 years late because two timelords piloting a tardis is (marginally) better than one, and now amelia pond is going on adventures in time and space in the care of the two least qualified being in the history of the universe to take care of a seven year old.

[royalty-nobility]

Mary, Queen of Scots: The Farewell to France

Artist: Robert Herdman (Scottish, 1829 -1888)

Date: 1867

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland

Description

In 1867 the Glasgow Art Union commissioned Herdman to paint four pictures to illustrate episodes from of the life of Mary, Queen of Scots. The literary source for the pictures was the popular poem about Mary by the Glaswegian lawyer Henry Glassford Bell. In 1863 the Queen’s Theatre in Edinburgh had staged a series of tableaux vivants based on Bell’s poem. The success of these performances may well have prompted the Art Union’s commission to Herdman. This is the second picture in the set. It depicts the young Queen’s ill-fated return to Scotland in 1561 after the death of her first husband François II of France. In 1868, the entire set was offered as first prize to subscribers to the Union’s annual lottery.

[uwmspeccoll]

Milestone Monday

On this date, September 9, in 1543, Mary Stuart, at nine months old, was crowned "Queen of Scots" in the central Scottish town of Stirling, and would remain queen until her forced abdication in 1567. A tragic figure, Mary would ultimately be executed in 1587 as a threat to the reign of her regal cousin, Queen Elizabeth I. Mary's courage at her execution helped establish her popular image as the heroic victim in a dramatic tragedy.

To commemorate the occasion of Mary's infant coronation, we present plates from John Skelton’s 1893 work Mary Stuart, Skelton’s third work on Mary, Queen of Scots, all advocating for a sympathetic view of Mary as a heroic victim. Mary Stuart was printed and published in an edition of 200 copies for Europe (with an additional 100 “with a duplicate series of plates … for America”) by Boussod, Valadon & Co. in Asnières-sur-Sein, a township in Île-de-France just north-west of Paris. 

View another post from this volume with more information about the book.

View more Milestone Monday posts.

[valkyries-things]

MARY SOMERVILLE // WRITER

“She was a Scottish science writer and polymath, Somerville was known as 'The Queen of Science'. She was nominated with Caroline Herschel as the first female members of the Royal Astronomical Society. Somerville was a suffragist and hers is the first signature on a huge petition organised by John Stuart Mill in 1866 to give women the right to vote. She owed much of her education to her father's library. She refused to take sugar in her tea as a protest about slavery. Among her works were On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences, Physical Geography and Molecular and Microscopic Science.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - Twenty-Four Hours to Live

@wolfstarmicrofic May 19, word count 977

CW- Blood, Open Wounds, Threats to life

“Get your affairs in order because this time tomorrow, cub, my boys will be coming for you. And you won’t be leaving wherever it is we track you down to.” Fenrir had hissed at him as he clutched the wound in his stomach, blood slowly dripping onto the gravel beneath their feet. 

Remus had stood straight backed, a look of defiance on his face. He disapparated, leaving the bleeding wolf behind. 

Fenrir had been after him for years. He’d wanted him to join his pack at one point, but now he wanted him dead and Remus had just given him the excuse he needed to send his pack after him, not that Fenrir needed an excuse. 

Remus had no doubt that the pack would catch up with him if he tried to run. There was no hiding from Fenrir’s savage wolves. He was going to face them head on and take as many with them as he could. 

He stared at Sirius, sleeping soundly in their bed. He stopped thinking about the future, concentrating on the now and leaving Sirius with a few good memories of him. They’d be clashing lately and Remus didn’t want to leave it like that. 

He walked around to his side of the bed and got in. He stroked a finger over Sirius’s cheek with a feather light touch. His boyfriend shuffled under the covers. He did it again, this time trailing his finger along his jaw. Sirius’s eyes snapped open, his pupils growing large and very round at the seductive look on Remus’s face. They spent the next few hours tangled amongst the bedsheets. Sirius never asked what had brought it on. 

Remus woke early, Sirius still sleeping, his body draped across Remus’s. He placed a sweet kiss amongst Sirius’s curls and carefully removed himself from their tangled limbs. He fancied having his favourite breakfast. A full Scottish breakfast with all the trimmings. He was just plating up when Sirius emerged from their bedroom, the smell of the cooking meats too enticing.

They sat in comfortable silence at the kitchen table, the only sounds were the moans that slipped from their lips as they devoured their food. 

“Can we go to the bookshop today? Remus asked Sirius as he took his plate from him and dumped them in the sink. He wanted to do all his favourite things one last time. 

“If you want,” Sirius replied, looking at him with a strange expression. “We could go look in the music shop next door after as well,” Sirius added. Remus nodded in agreement. 

“Perfect,” He said. “I’ll hop in the shower, and then we can go.” He smiled as he headed towards the bathroom. He leaned his head backwards as he passed the door frame. “Wanna join me?”

By the time they got out of the house it was past noon. Remus rushed Sirius through the busy streets, wanting to have as much time amongst the books he loved before he ran out of time. 

It smelled just the same as always in the muggle bookshop he frequented. Binding glue and fresh unread pages. He wanted to read them all. He ran his hands over a few tomes and pulled a promising one off the shelf. It was short. He thumbed through the pages. He could probably read it by this evening. He put it back on its shelf. He wanted to spend as much time with Sirius and his friends, and hiding his face in a book wouldn’t let that happen. 

“Can we go see Lily and James after we go next door?” He asked as he picked up another book. 

“Okay,” Sirius replied, his eyes narrowed as he carefully watched Remus. 

They didn’t stay long in the bookshop and spent even less time in the music shop. Sirius bought a couple of new vinyls and that was it. They walked towards an alley and apparated to the Potter's house. Remus grinned at the familiar path to the front door, lined with a rainbow of flowers. 

James greeted them, enveloping Sirius in a bone-crushing hug. He was gentler with Remus, but still squeezed hard. 

They followed him inside to find Lily waiting for them in the sitting room with a tray full of tea and other goodies. 

It was the best day Remus could remember having in a long time. He felt he’d spent his last hours well. The only thing he regretted was leaving Sirius alone.  

The time neared when the pack would arrive. He made his excuses to Sirius, James and Lily, pretending he wanted to go for a walk. He apparated to a meadow and waited. 

The pack didn’t take long to arrive. There were more than Remus had anticipated; at least thirty. He raised his wand, ready to fight. 

“Don’t think that silly stick will help you, Lupin. You know what’s about to happen. Don’t struggle and we’ll make it quick. You harm any of my pack, and I’ll personally make sure your death is dragged out over days.” Daniel, Fenrir’s second in command sneered at him. Remus cast a slicing charm, the same one he’d used on Fenrir when he’d cornered him last night and watched the wolf drop to his knees, gasping. “Get him!” Daniel roared, and the remaining wolves surged forward. 

Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack!” Sirius, James, Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas and the Prewett twins apparated beside him, making the pack pause. All had their wands raised. 

“How did you know?” Remus croaked out, grateful that Sirius had come to his rescue. 

“You left the bookshop without buying a single book.” Sirius said simply. “So I put a tracking spell on you,” 

Together they made quick work of the pack. 

“I’ve got you, Moony. Always have, always will.” Sirius said boldly, wrapping his arms around him and taking him home.

[artandthebible]

Christ Taking Leave of His Mother

Artist: John Runciman (Scottish, 1744-1768)

Date: Mid 1760s

Medium: Oil on mahogany panel

Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland

Christ Taking Leave of His Mother

“Christ Taking Leave of his Mother”, which forms the prelude to the events of the Passion of Christ, is first reported in writings of the late Middle Ages. Before his suffering began, Christ is said to have met his mother one last time – together with Mary Magdalene, Mary of Clopas and Mary Salome – in front of Lazarus’s house.

[scotianostra]

On February 8th 1587 Mary Queen of Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay Castle.

The Queen was heard to repeat 'Into thy Hands O Lord, do I commit my Spirit' many times as she went to her death.

Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantome was a member of the French nobility who accompanied Mary during her internment. He provides us with a sympathetic account of Mary's execution that begins with the arrival of a delegation from Queen Elizabeth announcing that the former Queen of the Scots is to be executed the next day:

"On February 7, 1587, the representatives of the English Queen, reached the Castle of Fotheringay, where the Queen of Scotland was confined at that time, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon. In the presence of her jailer, Paulet, they read their commission regarding the execution of the prisoner, and said that they would proceed with their task the next morning between seven and eight o'clock. The jailer was then ordered to have everything in readiness.

Without betraying any astonishment, the Queen thanked them for their good news, saying that nothing could be more welcome to her, since she longed for an end to her miseries, and had been prepared for death ever since she had been sent as a prisoner to England. However, she begged the envoys to give her a little time in which to make herself ready, make her will, and place her affairs in order. It was within their power and discretion to grant these requests. The Count of Shrewsbury replied rudely:

'No, no, Madam you must die, you must die! Be ready between seven and eight in the morning. It cannot be delayed a moment beyond that time.' " It was that sudden, very little time for Mary to prepare, a brutal way to spend the last few hours on this earth........Mary spent the rest of the day and the early hours of the next morning writing farewell letters to friends and relatives, saying goodbye to her ladies-in-waiting, and praying.

At 2 am on Wednesday 8 February 1587, Mary Queen of Scots picked up her pen for the last time. Her execution on the block at Fotheringhay Castle was a mere six hours away when she wrote this letter. It is addressed to Henri III of France, brother of her first husband. The letter was written in French, the following is a translation and is a fascinating insight into the mind of our Queen hours before her murder. Mary had only learnt her fate a few hours earlier.

Note, even though she had been forced to abdicate, and had been a prisoner of her cousin for 19 years, she still called herself, Queen of Scotland.

Queen of Scotland

8 Feb. 1587

Sire, my brother-in-law, having by God's will, for my sins I think, thrown myself into the power of the Queen my cousin, at whose hands I have suffered much for almost twenty years, I have finally been condemned to death by her and her Estates. I have asked for my papers, which they have taken away, in order that I might make my will, but I have been unable to recover anything of use to me, or even get leave either to make my will freely or to have my body conveyed after my death, as I would wish, to your kingdom where I had the honour to be queen, your sister and old ally.

Tonight, after dinner, I have been advised of my sentence: I am to be executed like a criminal at eight in the morning. I have not had time to give you a full account of everything that has happened, but if you will listen to my doctor and my other unfortunate servants, you will learn the truth, and how, thanks be to God, I scorn death and vow that I meet it innocent of any crime, even if I were their subject. The Catholic faith and the assertion of my God-given right to the English crown are the two issues on which I am condemned, and yet I am not allowed to say that it is for the Catholic religion that I die, but for fear of interference with theirs. The proof of this is that they have taken away my chaplain, and although he is in the building, I have not been able to get permission for him to come and hear my confession and give me the Last Sacrament, while they have been most insistent that I receive the consolation and instruction of their minister, brought here for that purpose. The bearer of this letter and his companions, most of them your subjects, will testify to my conduct at my last hour. It remains for me to beg Your Most Christian Majesty, my brother-in-law and old ally, who have always protested your love for me, to give proof now of your goodness on all these points: firstly by charity, in paying my unfortunate servants the wages due them - this is a burden on my conscience that only you can relieve further, by having prayers offered to God for a queen who has borne the title Most Christian, and who dies a Catholic, stripped of all her possessions. As for my son, I commend him to you in so far as he deserves, for I cannot answer for him. I have taken the liberty of sending you two precious stones, talismans against illness, trusting that you will enjoy good health and a long and happy life. Accept them from your loving sister-in-law, who, as she dies, bears witness of her warm feeling for you. Again I commend my servants to you. Give instructions, if it please you, that for my soul's sake part of what you owe me should be paid, and that for the sake of Jesus Christ, to whom I shall pray for you tomorrow as I die, I be left enough to found a memorial mass and give the customary alms.

This Wednesday, two hours after midnight.

Your very loving and most true sister, Mary R

To the most Christian king, my brother-in-law and old ally.

We rejoin de Bourdeille's account as Mary enters the room designated for her execution and is denied access to her priest:

"The scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large room. It measured twelve feet along each side and two feet in height, and was covered by a coarse cloth of linen.

The Queen entered the room full of grace and majesty, just as if she were coming to a ball. There was no change on her features as she entered.

Drawing up before the scaffold, she summoned her major-domo (steward) and said to him:

'Please help me mount this. This is the last request I shall make of you.'

Then she repeated to him all that she had said to him in her room about what he should tell her son. Standing on the scaffold, she asked for her almoner, (chaplain) begging the officers present to allow him to come. But this was refused point-blank. The Count of Kent told her that he pitied her greatly to see her thus the victim of the superstition of past ages, advising her to carry the cross of Christ in her heart rather than in her hand. To this she replied that it would be difficult to hold a thing so lovely in her hand and not feel it thrill the heart, and that what became every Christian in the hour of death was to bear with him the true Symbol of Redemption."

Standing on the scaffold, Mary angrily rejects her captors' offer of a Protestant minister to give her comfort. She kneels while she begs that Queen Elizabeth spare her ladies-in-waiting and prays for the conversion of the Isle of Britain and Scotland to the Catholic Church:

"When this was over, she summoned her women to help her remove her black veil, her head-dress, and other ornaments. When the executioner attempted to do this, she cried out:

'Nay, my good man, touch me not!'

But she could not prevent him from touching her, for when her dress was lowered as far as her waist; the scoundrel caught her roughly by the arm and pulled off her doublet. Her skirt was cut so low that her neck and throat, whiter than alabaster, were revealed. She concealed these as well as she could, saying that she was not used to disrobing in public, especially before so large an assemblage. There were about four or five hundred people present.

The executioner fell to his knees before her and implored her forgiveness. The Queen told him that she willingly forgave him and alI who were responsible for her death, as freely as she hoped her sins would be forgiven by God. Turning to the woman to whom she, had given her handkerchief, she asked for it.

She wore a golden crucifix, made out of the wood of the true cross, with a picture of Our Lord on it. She was about to give this to one of her women, but the executioner forbade it, even though Her Majesty had promised that the woman would give him thrice its value in money.

After kissing her women once more, she bade them go, with her blessing, as she made the sign of the cross over them. One of them was unable to keep from crying, so that the Queen had to impose silence upon her by saying she had promised that nothing of the kind would interfere with the business in hand. They were to stand back quietly, pray to God for her soul, and bear truthful testimony that she had died in the bosom of the Holy Catholic religion.

One of the women then tied the handkerchief over her eyes. The Queen quickly, and with great courage, knelt dawn, showing no signs of faltering. So great was her bravery that all present were moved, and there were few among them that could refrain from tears. In their hearts they condemned themselves far the injustice that was being done.

The executioner, or rather the minister of Satan, strove to kill not only her body but also her soul, and kept interrupting her prayers. The Queen repeated in Latin the Psalm beginning In te, Damine, speravi; nan canfundar in aeternum. When she was through she laid her head on the block, and as she repeated the prayer, the executioner struck her a great blow upon the neck, which was not, however, entirely severed. Then he struck twice more, since it was obvious that he wished to make the victim's martyrdom all the more severe. It was not so much the suffering, but the cause, that made the martyr.

The executioner then picked up the severed head and, showing it to those present, cried out: 'God save Queen Elizabeth! May all the enemies of the true Evangel thus perish!'

Saying this, he stripped off the dead Queen's head-dress, in order to show her hair, which was now white, and which she had been afraid to show to everyone when she was still alive, or to have properly dressed, as she did when her hair was fair and light.

It was not old age that had turned it white, for she was only thirty-five when this took place, and scarcely forty when she met her death, but the troubles, misfortunes, and sorrows which she had suffered, especially in her prison."

The account of Pierre de Bourdeille was originally published in 1665 and republished many times thereafter.

There are many different illustrations of Mary's execution......

[heaveninawildflower]

'Linlithgow Palace' (19th–20th century) by David Young Cameron  (1865–1945).

Watercolour over graphite.

The palace was the birthplace of James V and Mary, Queen of Scots.

Image and text information courtesy Metropolitan Museum of Art and Wikimedia.

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy was always concerned for his wee feathered friends in the depths of the winter, when the weather was cold and they could find little natural food to eat, so to be on the safe side he decided to feed them himself, just in case his assistant was too busy to get round to it before the short January day turned back into night.

The more agile small birds were happy on the peanut and seed feeders which his assistants provided, but the ground feeding birds could not manage to cling to those, so Algy scattered some grains and old sultanas on the frosted grass and then sat down to wait for his fluffy cousins, trying hard to ignore the unpleasant prickling chill in his tail feathers.

At first all was silent and still, but before long there was a rustling and a bustling in the bushes, and a few minutes later the garden birds started to emerge one by one and flock around him, for they were exceedingly anxious to find food.

Algy smiled happily as he watched them, and from time to time he conversed with those who were not too much occupied with eating to pay attention, but when they were concentrating on the all-important business of replenishing their energy, Algy began to sing a well-known song from an old movie – a song which he often hummed to himself at night, if he was finding it difficult to fall asleep…

And if you have a garden or an outside space, or know a little old bird woman or man who sells crumbs – and can spare a tuppence or two – Algy hopes very much that you will feed the birds as well 😊

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul's The little old bird woman comes In her own special way to the people She calls, "Come, buy my bags full of crumbs" "Come feed the little birds, show them you care And you'll be glad if you do Their young ones are hungry, their nests are so bare All it takes is tuppence from you" "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag Feed the birds", that's what she cries While overhead, her birds fill the skies All around the cathedral, the saints and apostles Look down as she sells her wares Although you can't see it, you know they are smiling Each time someone shows that he cares Though her words are simple and few "Listen, listen", she's calling to you "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag" Though her words are simple and few "Listen, listen", she's calling to you "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag"

[Algy is singing Feed the birds from the 1964 movie Mary Poppins.]

And for those who are still young at heart, here is the clip from the original film:

[ocean-liners]

Many famous Cunard liners were built at John Brown & Co. Shipbuilders in Clydebank, Scotland. Can you name them all?