Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy slope of country, one of the richest in Scotland, which lies between the Pentland Hills and the Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam-like a bent bow, embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses of the great estuary on one side of you; and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate. Edinburgh, with its two lesser heights - the Castle and the Calton Hill - its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur's Seat lying crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to take care of itself without him - lay at our right hand. From the lawn and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape. The colour was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its colour and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose. ("The Open Door")
Mrs. OliphantTags: nature scotland landscape edinburgh firth
The village lay in the hollow, and climbed, with very prosaic houses, the other side. Village architecture does not flourish in Scotland. The blue slates and the grey stone are sworn foes to the picturesque; and though I do not, for my own part, dislike the interior of an old-fashioned pewed and galleried church, with its little family settlements on all sides, the square box outside, with its bit of a spire like a handle to lift it by, is not an improvement to the landscape. Still, a cluster of houses on differing elevations - with scraps of garden coming in between, a hedgerow with clothes laid out to dry, the opening of a street with its rural sociability, the women at their doors, the slow waggon lumbering along - gives a centre to the landscape. It was cheerful to look at, and convenient in a hundred ways. ("The Open Door")
Mrs. OliphantTags: church scotland landscape village
From the woods that surrounded the burgh came a mass of men. Some rode, others ran. All carried weapons, mainly axes or spears. A few wore mail shirts and cloaks, but most just leather aketons. Among them were a handful of men clad in the short tunics favoured by Highlanders. These men were bare from
thigh to foot, an alarming sight to Ormesby, who had only heard rumour of these wild men of the north. As
they came, they roared a multitude of battle cries. Ormesby caught one name in the din, issuing from a group of mailed riders who followed a burly man on a finely caparisoned horse.
‘For Douglas!’ they howled. ‘For Douglas!’
Below, the townsfolk were scattering. The English soldiers had formed a tight knot outside the hall, blades drawn, but even as Ormesby watched, the forlorn group of beggars he had seen threw off their ragged skins and furs, revealing thickly muscled warriors. They fell upon the soldiers with savage cries,
daggers thrusting.
Footsteps sounded on the hall stairs. The door burst open and two soldiers appeared. ‘We must go, sir!’
The clerks and officials were already hastening across the chamber. Donald was running with them.
Ormesby remained rooted. ‘Who are they?’ he demanded, his voice high as he turned back to the window, seeing the horde rushing into the town. His eyes fixed on a giant of a man running, almost loping
in the front lines. Taller than all those around him, agile in the stride, he wore a simple dark blue tunic
and wide-brimmed kettle hat. The other men seemed to be running in unruly formation around him. But it was the blade in the man’s hands that Ormesby’s eyes were drawn to. He had never seen such a sword, so broad and long the giant had to grasp it in both hands as he came. Another name now became audible in the roar of the mob.
‘Wallace! Wallace!
At the negotiations in Irvine, it became clear to me that there was no side I could stand on. The English despise me and my countrymen don’t trust me. Wallace and the others are rebelling in the name of Balliol. I cannot fight with them. It would be as much a betrayal of my oath as when I was fighting for England. I know what I must do. What I should have done months ago.’
Robert felt embarrassed, about to say the words. Inside, his father’s voice berated him, but he silenced it. ‘I want you to weave my destiny,’ he finished. ‘As you did for my grandfather.’
When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘And what is your destiny?’
He met her eyes now, all hesitation and embarrassment gone. ‘To be King of Scotland.’
A smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t a soft smile. It was hard and dangerous. ‘I will need something of yours,’ she said, rising.
Tags: scotland destiny rebellion royalty
At that moment, Robert saw James Stewart turn to him. A jolt went through him as the steward nodded. Before anyone could begin speaking again, he headed out of the crowd towards Wallace, leaving his men looking on in surprise.
‘We have chosen to elect this man as our guardian.’ Robert’s voice was harsh as he gestured to Wallace. ‘But he is still just the son of a knight.’
‘You dare to challenge his election?’ demanded Adam. Other shouts of scorn and ire joined his.
‘On the contrary,’ answered Robert, ‘I am suggesting that a man of William Wallace’s achievements, a man who is to be sole guardian of Scotland, bears a title befitting his prowess.’ He faced the crowd. ‘I, Sir Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, offer William Wallace the honour of a knighthood.’ He turned to Wallace. ‘If he will bend before me.
Tags: scotland rebellion knights
Dear friends, he began, there is no timetable for happiness; it moves, I think, according to rules of its own. When I was a boy I thought I'd be happy tomorrow, as a young man I thought it would be next week; last month I thought it would be never. Today, I know it is now. Each of us, I suppose has at least one person who thinks that our manifest faults are worth ignoring; I have found mine, and am content. When we are far from home we think of home; I, who am happy today, think of those in Scotland for whom such happiness might seem elusive; may such powers as listen to what is said by people like me, in olive groves like this, grant to those who want a friendship a friend, attend to the needs of those who have little, hold the hand of those who are lonely, allow Scotland, our place, our country, to sing in the language of her choosing that song she has always wanted to sing, which is of brotherhood, which is of love.
Alexander McCall SmithTags: friendship love scotland brotherhood
The noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England!
Samuel JohnsonTags: scotland samuel-johnson james-bosw the-great-cham
Another lesson to file away about Scotland: insulting other people in a childish manner was the national pastime.
Molly RingleTags: scotland insults culture
That's how vile i am! I live Ireland, I breathe Ireland, and Christ how I loathe it, I wish I were a bloody Scot, that's how bloody awful it is being Irish!
Iris MurdochDid not strong connections draw me elsewhere, I believe Scotland would be the country I would choose to end my days in.
Benjamin FranklinTags: scotland
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