the day in prayer and contemplation of the Cross (or Rood). During the hunt in the fields below Edinburgh Castle, the king became separated from his huntsmen, and he was thrown from his horse at the feet of an angry stag, its head lowered to gore him. Suddenly a mist enveloped the king, and when he put out his hand to ward off the attacking animal, he found himself grasping a cross between the antlersof the deer. The animal ran away—and King David resolved to build an Augustinian monastery, the Abbey of Holyrood, on the site of the miracle. In later years, Robert the Bruce held parliaments there.
In 1502, King James IV converted some of the structures into a royal residence in honor of his marriage to Margaret Tudor, sister of England’s King Henry VIII. This union of the thistle and the rose was celebrated at Holyrood, and the palace was further enlarged during the reign of their son James V. The abbey, destroyed in the “rough wooing” of the English in 1544, fell into ruins and was never rebuilt; only the foundations and the ruined nave of the church remain. The palace itself was rebuilt after the English invasion, and the daughter of James V—Mary, Queen of Scots—took up residence there in 1561. The nineteen-year-old Queen, already the widow of the King of France, married Lord Darnley in the Chapel Royal, and it was in Holyrood that the Queen’s secretary, David Rizzio, was murdered by Darnley and his men.
After Mary’s son, James VI, left Scotland to inherit the throne of Elizabeth I of England, the castle was abandoned by royalty for nearly two centuries. Bonnie Prince Charlie held court there during his ill-fated attempt to seize the throne, but it was not until the nineteenth century that another monarch took any interest in the palace. Queen Victoria, who loved all things Scottish, restored Holyroodhouse, and made it her custom to stay there once yearly, a tradition that has been continued by her descendants to this day.
During her week in residence at the palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen is welcomed to the city by being presented with the keys of the city of Edinburgh in the Ceremony of the Keys, held in thewest front courtyard. It is during this week that the Queen presides over the Ceremony of the Thistle—the Scottish equivalent of the Order of the Garter—in nearby St. Giles Cathedral.
She also hosts a tea party on the grounds of the palace of Holyroodhouse. With eight thousand guests, the event is about as intimate as a rock concert, but it is a singular honor to be invited—and the manicured lawns of the palace are lovely, as are the views of Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crag, majestic in the distance.
Cameron Dawson’s memories of the palace of Holyroodhouse are unfortunately centered on sheep droppings.
“Sheep droppings?”
said Elizabeth, staring at the telephone as if it had misquoted the caller. Several days had passed since their last conversation, and she was phoning to report on the wedding progress, and to augment her newly acquired knowledge of things royal.
“Yes,” said Cameron, after the usual transatlantic pause. “You know, those little brown pellets that tell you where sheep have been …”
“In the
palace?”
“No, of course not in the palace, twit. But just outside the gates of the palace and off to the right there is a rugby field belonging to the Royal High School. At least they use it for rugby. Apparently sheep also have the run of the field. Anyhow, when I was at Fettes—”
“You played rugby?” asked Elizabeth, momentarily distracted from contemplation of the palace.
“Yes, in the seventeenth fifteen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was an abysmal rugby player. The first fifteen is what you’d call the varsity, I suppose. They play in the school stadium and represent theschool. And then you had a second team of fifteen players, and a third fifteen and so on.”
“And you were on team number
seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose
In 1502, King James IV converted some of the structures into a royal residence in honor of his marriage to Margaret Tudor, sister of England’s King Henry VIII. This union of the thistle and the rose was celebrated at Holyrood, and the palace was further enlarged during the reign of their son James V. The abbey, destroyed in the “rough wooing” of the English in 1544, fell into ruins and was never rebuilt; only the foundations and the ruined nave of the church remain. The palace itself was rebuilt after the English invasion, and the daughter of James V—Mary, Queen of Scots—took up residence there in 1561. The nineteen-year-old Queen, already the widow of the King of France, married Lord Darnley in the Chapel Royal, and it was in Holyrood that the Queen’s secretary, David Rizzio, was murdered by Darnley and his men.
After Mary’s son, James VI, left Scotland to inherit the throne of Elizabeth I of England, the castle was abandoned by royalty for nearly two centuries. Bonnie Prince Charlie held court there during his ill-fated attempt to seize the throne, but it was not until the nineteenth century that another monarch took any interest in the palace. Queen Victoria, who loved all things Scottish, restored Holyroodhouse, and made it her custom to stay there once yearly, a tradition that has been continued by her descendants to this day.
During her week in residence at the palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen is welcomed to the city by being presented with the keys of the city of Edinburgh in the Ceremony of the Keys, held in thewest front courtyard. It is during this week that the Queen presides over the Ceremony of the Thistle—the Scottish equivalent of the Order of the Garter—in nearby St. Giles Cathedral.
She also hosts a tea party on the grounds of the palace of Holyroodhouse. With eight thousand guests, the event is about as intimate as a rock concert, but it is a singular honor to be invited—and the manicured lawns of the palace are lovely, as are the views of Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crag, majestic in the distance.
Cameron Dawson’s memories of the palace of Holyroodhouse are unfortunately centered on sheep droppings.
“Sheep droppings?”
said Elizabeth, staring at the telephone as if it had misquoted the caller. Several days had passed since their last conversation, and she was phoning to report on the wedding progress, and to augment her newly acquired knowledge of things royal.
“Yes,” said Cameron, after the usual transatlantic pause. “You know, those little brown pellets that tell you where sheep have been …”
“In the
palace?”
“No, of course not in the palace, twit. But just outside the gates of the palace and off to the right there is a rugby field belonging to the Royal High School. At least they use it for rugby. Apparently sheep also have the run of the field. Anyhow, when I was at Fettes—”
“You played rugby?” asked Elizabeth, momentarily distracted from contemplation of the palace.
“Yes, in the seventeenth fifteen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was an abysmal rugby player. The first fifteen is what you’d call the varsity, I suppose. They play in the school stadium and represent theschool. And then you had a second team of fifteen players, and a third fifteen and so on.”
“And you were on team number
seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose
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