A Ballad of Heroes

I apologize for not posting anything this week, but for some reason I just ran out of time and when I realized it was already Sunday, I was surprised to find I had forgotten to post anything else! As it is, here is another poem I thought I would post for you to read. It's not necessarily about Wallace, but I always liked it in reference to him. I found this one in an old poem anthology from the 1920s and it's one of my favorites. It's Called "A Ballad of Heroes" by Austin Dobson.

Because you passes, and now are not,--

Because, in some remoter day,

Your sacred dust from doubtful spot

Was blown of ancient airs away,--

Because you perished,--must men say

Your deeds were naught, and so profane

Your lives with that cold burden? Nay,

The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

Though, is may be, above the plot

That hid your once imperial clay,

No greener than o'er men forgot

The unregarding grasses sway;--

Though there no sweeter is the lay

From careless bird,--though you remain

Without distinction of decay,--

The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

No. For while yet in tower or cot

Your story stirs the pulses' play;

And men forget the sordid lot--

The sordid care, of cities gray;--

While yet, beset in homelier fray,

They learn from you the lesson plain

That Life may go, so Honor stay,--

The deeds you wrought are not in wain!

Envoy

Heroes of old! I humbly lay

The laurel on your graves again;

Whatever men have done, men may,--

The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

This poem could easily go to any hero through history, and I think it is particularly beautiful. So many people now days think on heroes from history as simply that: History. They say 'it happened so many years ago. Why think about them?' But I'll give you the answer to that. We think on our heroes of old so we have someone to look up to and follow by seeing their accomplishments and defeats and learning from them. Wallace is a talisman for freedom in Scotland. We remember him today as Scots have remembered him centuries ago as the hero who gave Scotland the right of freedom. And without him, Scotland would be in a very poor shape right now with no one to look up to and admire. That's why we need to remember our heroes. And we need to teach kids about them as well. Kinds need to find heroes like Wallace or George Washington to look up to, not the days leading actors and actresses!

As I have said in earlier posts, I am open for any questions, comments or stories concerning William Wallace and would love to hear your insight and feelings about the man. Even if you read these posts late and the month is over, please comment or email me from my profile with anything you wish to say. I would appreciate it very much!

Slainte, Hazel

Wallace Day

So it's August 23rd, the day we commemorate the life of Scotland's greatest son, William Wallace.

On this day in 1305, (oddly enough, it was a Monday as well) Wallace was taken from the cellar of the house of William de Leyre and conducted to Westminster Hall for his trial. After He was sentenced to a horrible fate, he was taken outside and tied to a board at the tails of two horses, who were to drag him through London. Wallace's captors made sure that the rout through the city went to every possible place, so the people gathered in the streets would have the chance to jeer at their enemy. (If you want a detailed account of Wallace's rout through London, see David R. Ross's book For Freedom. The rout is still walkable today.)

His destination was Smithfield. It was a well known meat market and was also a common place for London executions. Here, as well as in Tyburn (another favorite place) was where many Jacobites met their deaths after the 1745 Uprising. New historic information, discovered by David Ross, claims that August 23rd coincides with St. Bartholomew's Fair, a huge fair that was celebrated in medieval England and well up into even modern times. David Ross thinks that the reason Longshanks was so eager to have Wallace brought down, tried and condemned so quick was so that his execution would make a "good show" for the people who had come from miles around to attend the Fair. This clearly shows how sick that man's mind was.

But from accounts, Wallace still did not back down, even in those last horrible moments. He was said to have asked the priest present to hold his personal book of psalms in front of him as he was being hung. (As an off subject, I have always wondered if his book of psalms is still somewhere in London??? That would certainly be a find!) Then after they had read out the sentence for all to hear, Wallace told them "to do all that they would".

Hanging, drawing and quartering was probably one of the worst execution methods in the medieval days, and England held onto it well into the seventeen hundreds. It was supposedly the death of traitors, though most of the people it was used on were no more traitors than Wallace was. He was hung until unconscious, cut down, disemboweled alive, and, depending on the account you read, he was either beheaded, or had his heart cut out. Once he was dead, his body was cut into quarters and distributed to the four corners of Scotland as a warning to others not to defy England's might. His head was put atop London bridge, and before to long, it was joined by those of several of his comrades.

There is no account as to weather Longshanks attended the execution. I'm not sure what I want to think on that matter, though it would have been almost poetic justice for Longshanks to see Wallace defiant to the last, as he would have been.

Longshanks had hoped that by killing Wallace in such a way would make the Scots forget him. This was obviously not the case. Wallace's death grew a vengeance in the Scots. He was their leader, the only one who dared stand up against England's might and defy them to their face. It was because of his death that Robert the Bruce was crowned King of Scots just six months later and carried on the fight to the ultimatum at Bannockburn. Wallace's death was not in vain, and I hope he realized that before he died. So, Longshanks, you did a really bad job at making us forget him, because it's seven hundred years on now and we're still celebrating his legacy!

They now hold a Wallace Day annually up in Elderslie, put on by The Society of William Wallace If anyone has ever gone, I'm sure it was a great experience. I know that's one thing I wish to do when I go to Scotland!

As my own Wallace Day tribute, here is a poem I wrote last night in honor of the Flower of Scotland who fought a died for his wee bit hill and glen:

Flower of Scotia

There was a time now years ago

That Scotland's soil ran red

With the blood of her countrymen;

Dear Scotia did mourn her dead.

But there came a day in that dark time

That a single thistle grew,

And little did dear Scotia know

That that thistle would make England their deeds to rue.

The thistle grew both tall and strong,

More than all the others around.

Taller than the purple heather,

Stronger than any weapon found.

Braw and fair the thistle grew

In Scotland's soil so red,

As time went on and things got worse,

It was then that thistle raised it's head.

The thistle defied England's mighty power,

The rose of the south, so bloody and cruel,

The thistle pricked anyone's fingers who dared it touch

And would not give England a chance to rule.

The king of England sent all his men

For to cut this bold thistle down,

But when they came in all their numbers

A prick to each finger was all they found.

The bloody rose of England was bleeding itself,

The king was loosing face.

He knew that something had to be done

To save his frightened race.

So he sent to the far corners

Of Scotland and England both,

Looking for traitors and quislings

And unto them he quoth:

"Bring me that defiant thistle

That has stopped me conquering too long.

Bring it down at all costs!

On your lives, do not do me wrong!"

One man stepped forward from the crowd,

The name of John Menteith,

Who said, "I will do your job, my king,

Anything to give Scotland grief!"

So off he set with many hard men

That thistle to bring down.

England's bloody rose at his back,

That thistle to confound.

When he reached the spot that thistle stood,

It was still as tall and strait.

He sneered and jeered at that bold flower,

His face to full of hate.

"What right have you to defy England's might?!"

Menteith sneered at the bold plant.

"You are but one small thistle in a land of blood,

And defy your liege lord, you can't!"

But the thistle still stood there in it's native ground,

The quisling's words it did not heed.

For, because it had not grown in English soil,

It just sat awaiting Menteith's cruel deed.

It was he who cut that thistle down,

Just as the king had bid;

But the thistle did not give up without a fight,

And prick his fingers it did.

The bloody rose of England rejoiced that day

For the loss of it's enemy bold

While Scotia wept for her lost son;

Such tears that land never did behold.

But for all those years and up to this day,

That thistle is remembered still,

Known as the Flower of Scotland

Who stood up against cruel England's will.

So many centuries on and so many more,

We will remember that thistle brave

Who defied English Edward to his very beard,

And ultimately sent him to his grave.

So think on that thistle for seven centuries more.

Lift a glass and think on all he did.

Because of him, Scotland, generations on

Will never do what England shall bid.

Slainte, and have a good Wallace day!

Hazel

A Great Scotch Victory

On this day back in 1388, a great victory, if not an odd one, was won on the Scottish side. It was the Battle of Otterburn, and was one of the many battles fought amongst the border clans and the Wardens of the Marches of the Scottish and English borderlands. (Someday, I hope to go into more detail about the border clans and their relation to the borderers on the English side but that will be far more extensive than what I have time for today.)

It was fought between two of the higher class gentlemen of the borders, Lord of Douglas on the Scottish side and Lord Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland (commonly known by the nickname of "Hotspur"). The two were rivals to begin with, being the two richest men on the borders, but when the English made a raid into Scotland (as they were always doing) they burnt both Dryburgh and Melrose Abby. These were two loved places in Scotland and they could not let the English go unscathed for it. So Lord Douglas gathered his men and went to retaliate.

Outside Newcastle's walls, the Scots were able to capture Percy's banner. In war, the capture of someone's banner was considered a loss of face, so Douglas decided that the Scots would not cross the border for three days, thus giving Percy a chance to re-capture his banner. An interesting tidbit, I should probably mention is that Lord Douglas was grand-nephew to The Good Sir James, the famous Black Douglas who fought at the side of Robert the Bruce through his long campaign for Scotland's freedom.

On the way back to their homeland, the Scottish army camped at Otterburn where they urged Douglas to forget about Hotspur, an old enemy. But he was firm in his first thought to let Percy have a chance to claim back his lost standard. That night, as the sun was setting, Lord Percy was sighted and fell into an attack almost instantly, eager to gain back his dignity.

In the melee before the battle, while Douglas was getting his armor on, he was reportedly stabbed, weather by an assassin or his own armorer, no one knows for sure. He realized the wound was fatal and as his men were already engaged with the enemy, he asked his paged to carry him to the bushes and hide him there so his men would not see him fallen and loose courage. His plan worked, as it turned out, to perfection. Douglas's men soon gained the upper hand over Percy's troops and Hotspur himself was captured by a knight under Douglas's command, Sir Hugh Montgomery. They had men in battle and Sir Hugh had overpowered Percy and forced him to yield. Percy reportedly refused to surrender to anyone but Douglas himself and he was taken to the bushes where the brave commander's body lay. I'm sure you can only imagine the surprise and probably indignation Percy felt when he realized he had been beaten by a dead man. I'm sure he was not happy in the least.

Sir Hugh, however, prospered greatly from Lord Percy's ransom money, called a poind. He bought land in Renfrewshire and built himself a fortress called Polnoon. Some think this might be a corruption of "poind" but that is probably unlikely.

Douglas was buried in Melrose Abby under what is called the "Douglas Window". Besides the loss of their leader, the Scots only lost 100 men in the fight, compared to the English's loss of over 1,800. The English liked to call it, the "Battle of Chevy Chase", the only high point of the battle of them being when they chased the Scots to the Cheviot Hills. The English were never able to take defeat easily!

There's a song about the battle that the Corries sing called Lammas Tide. It is taken from an old ballad about the battle. Enjoy that!

I'll be back next monday for my special Wallace Day post and I hope you will join me then!

Slainte, Hazel

Another Poem

Here's another poem from The Wallace Muse. These is some excerpts by Andrew Munro from his spic poem on Wallace.

"'Twas he, whose aspiration high

His country's banner had unfurle'd-

A banner brave that kiss'd the sky

In pure unsullied liberty,

When Roman conqu'rors of the world

Invaded Caledonia's strand

But fiercely from her bonds were hurl'd

A foil'd and disappointed band!

'Twas Wallace Wight! Immortal name!

The brightest on the page of fame!

'Twas Wallace! the brave patriot

Who to his country did devote

Hid godlike energies, and who

Nor toils nor dangers could subdue;

Nor Southern promises, nor gold

Could shake the firm and stedfast hold

His love on Scotland had, and, as

His through his life had been, so was

He when 'neath death he fell,

Brave, noble, incorruptible!

And while a noble gratitude

Shall swell the breast and throb the heart

Of man for those who, unsubdued,

By threats of death or tyrant's art,

Have nobly acted patriot's part:

The name of Wallace shall rank high

Among the names that ne'er shall die!

And through the ages it shall be

A talisman for victory!

...

Then Wallace sheathes his sword in peace

'My hope is that as freeman I

Shall live, and as a freeman die,

Feeling, when death shall sound my knell,

That I have done my duty well.

Go, publish wide what I have spoken,

And never shall my word be broken.'

And thus he lived, until at last,

When eight more glorious years had pass'd-

Years which he to his country gave

In wisdom great and actions brave-

A Scottish traitor basely sold

The Wallace wight for English gold.

Oh, Edward! England's ruthless lord,

By me and each true Scot abhorr'd;

Debaser of thy country's coin;-

Thou tyrant o'er thy land and mine,-

Thou robber of that ancient stone

On which our kings were crown'd at Scone,-

Thou murd'rer of the Minstrel band

That cheered and nerv'd the Cambrian land,-

Thou who hast made poor Ireland feel

Upon her neck thine iron heel,-

Thief of the Templars' treasure thou,-

The brand of Cain is on thine brow,-

Was e'er thy face grac'd by a smile,

Thou Nero of the British Isle?

Thou liv'd'st a heartless homicide,

And a defeated dotard died.

The man, who had thy vengeance dar'd,

Thou could'st not bribe, yet his thou fear'd;

Yes him, who's patriotic zeal

So nobly for his country wrought,

Thou, ignominious stoop'd to steal

Because he never could be bought.

And as he liv'd , the patriot died,

His country's boast, his country's pride,

A martyr to earth's noblest cause-

His country's liberty and laws;

And while a Scotsman lives on earth,

And while the land that gives him birth

Exists, his memory shall go down

To endless ages and renown.

But thou, Menteith, accursed name,

Damn'd to eternal scorn and shame,

Thy trusting friend for English gold

Thou, fiendish, heartless traitor, sold;

Thy name's on hist'ry's page a blot,

Thou soulless Scotch Iscariot!

I'll be back later this week with another post as long as I can get time to do it.

Slainte, Hazel

To a True Scott

Today is the birthday of one of Scotland's greatest writers: Sir Walter Scott! While Robert Burns is considered the national poet of Scotland, Sir Walter Scott was also a fantastic poet and he was really the one of the first to create the historical novel (My hero!) And his novels are wonderful! Some of my favorite books and poems are written by Sir Walter Scott. If you have not already read Ivanhoe or Rob Roy go pick up a copy! They are jewels of 19th century literature. Scott was a great lover of history, and his house, Abbotsford still holds his collections for everyone to see. He really loved Scotland, and it shows in his beautiful poetry.

To celebrate his birthday, here are some of my favorite songs taken from his poems for you to listen to:

Jock o' Hazeldean

Macgregor's Gathering

I am once against setting off on a trip, this time up the coast to Tennessee, but I will continue with my posts. More of Wallace, and another for the Summer Battle Season this week that will be fun.

Say a nice 'happy birthday' to Sir Walter Scott and celebrate by reading some of his poetry.

Slainte, Hazel

The Trial

When Wallace got to England, it seemed that the whole city had turned out to see him. Reports say that the streets were so packed that the guards set in charge of Wallace were not even able to get him to the Tower of London where he was supposed to pass the night. They ended up having to keep him chained in the cellar of the house of a man named William de Leyre who was an alderman of London. I cannot imagine what Wallace was thinking that night as he sat there, probably awake, perhaps getting a little bit of sleep, but surely nothing restful. I don't know if he knew he was to die the next day.

The next morning, he was taken from the cellar, and taken through the streets again where everyone had turned out once more, taking every opportunity to abuse and sneer at their enemy. Wallace most likely took it silently. He was not the kind of man to complain, being accustomed to the hardships of living out in the hills.

His trial took place at Westminster Hall which still stands today. The whole place was packed, all the nobility of London had come to see the trial of William Wallace. This was medieval entertainment. Peter Mallory was the justicular of England and he was the one of passed sentence on Wallace. The other men of import were Ralph de Sandwych, the judge and constable of the Tower of London, the mayor of London, John le Blunt, and John de Bacwell. Along with them were John de Seagrave and his brother, Geoffrey who escorted Wallace through the town.

Wallace was placed on a dais at the south end of the hall and surrounded by guards while Peter Mallory read out his sentence. It was said that they put a circlet of laurel leaves on Wallace's head which they refused to let him take off. It was thought that this was because he had said he was going to be king of England, but that is just plain stupid because, from what we know of Wallace, that was not the kind of man he was. He didn't even want to be king of Scotland, for goodness sake. The English were famous for making up stories about people they did not like.

Wallace's sentence was also full of foolishness. He was charged for robbery, sacrilege, rebellion, sedition, homicide, and arson. One of the main things mentioned was his killing of Sheriff Heselrig, in Lanark. (Heselrig had Wallace's wife, Marion, killed for hiding him and William took retribution, ending Heselrig's life.) This was a main crime for the English, though they slew many of the Scottish nobles in the Barns of Ayr incident, where they gathered them all together for a "meeting" and hung them one at a time as they came in the door. Wallace's uncle was among them. He was also charged for his foray into England after the Battle of Stirling on the winter of 1297. The English had been occupying Scotland and doing far worse atrocities there than Wallace even thought of when he was in England. At least he left the women and children be. Another foolish thing Wallace was accused of was flying banners in the field against England. I don't exactly know what the point of that was, seeing as you usually fly your countries banners when you are at war. (??) Then they charged his for treason. Wallace was then reporter to have spoke up, saying something "How can I be a traitor? England is foreign to me!" He never served England, he never pledged his allegiance to Longshanks, and thus he was not a traitor. He served his country and he defended it truthfully. This was a high point in Wallace's life for me. I can just see him standing there, surrounded by guards, but still defiant enough to tell them that he was a Scot and he was not going to be made anything different by them no matter what they did to him.

No one seemed amused by his defense though. This was not a real trial and he was not allowed to defend himself. Peter Mallory simply read his sentence:

" And that for the robberies, homicides and felonies he comitted in the realm of England and in the land of Scotland to be there hanged and afterwords cut down from the gallows. And in as much as he was an outlaw, and was not afterwords restored to the peace of the Lord King, he be decollated while he yet lives before being decapitated, and that thereafter, for the neasureless turpitude of his deeds towards God's Holy Church, in burning down churches, the heart, the liver, the lungs and all the internal organs of William's body, whence such perverted thoughts proceeded, be removed out of his person and cast into the fire and burnt. Furthermore and finally, that in as much as it was not only against the Lord King himself, but against the whole community of England and of Scotland, the body of the said William be cut up and devided into four parts, the the head, so cut off, be set up on London Bridge, in the sight of such as pass by whether by land or by water, and that one quarter be hung on a gibbet at Newcastle upon Tyne, another quarter at Berwick, and third quarter at Stirling and the fourth at St Johnstone (Now Perth) as a warning and deterrent to all that pass by and behold them."

That was the sentence passed on William Wallace, Scotland's brave hero and it was to be enacted immediately. The guards hustled Wallace out quickly before the press of the crowd made it impossible and prepared to take him to Smithfield where the execution would take place.

I'll be back next week with more on Wallace (And Sunday is another special birthday!) so please check back!

Slainte, Hazel

A poem about Wallace

As I said before, I am going to try to share some of my favorite poems about Wallace with you this month. This one comes from a book I have called The Wallace Muse, published through Luath Press. It is a compiolation of Poems and some artwork on William Wallace and a lot of the poems are really heart felt and beautiful. The one I am going to share with you today is called "A Summary History of Sir William Wallace" by William McGonagall in the 18 hundreds.

Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,

I', told he went to High School in Dundee,

For to learn to read and write,

And after that he learned to fight.

While at the High School in Dundee,

The Provost's son with him did disagree,

Because Wallace he did wear a dirk,

He despised him like an ignorant stirk,

Which with indignation he keenly felt,

And told him it would become him better in his belt.

Then Wallace's blood began to boil,

Just like the serpent in its coil,

Before it leaps upon its prey;

And unto him he thus did say:

'Proud, saucy cur, come cease your prate,

For no longer I shall wait,

For to hear you insult me,

At the High School in Dundee;

For such insolence makes my heart to smart,

And I'll plunge my dagger in your heart.'

Then his heart's blood did quickly flow, 

And poor Wallace did not know where to go;

And he stood by him until dead.

Then far from him he quickly fled,

Lamenting greatly the deed he had done, 

The murdering of the Provost's son.

The scene shifts to where he was fishing one day,

Where three English soldiers met him by the way,

And they asked him to give them some fish,

And from them they would make a delicious dish.

Then Wallace gave them share of his fish,

For to satisfy their wish;

But they seemed dissatisfied with the share they got,

So they were resolved to have all the lot.

Then Wallace he thought it was time to look out,

When they were resolved to have all his trout;

So he swung his fishing-rod with great force round his head,

And struck one of them a blow that killed him dead;

So he instantly seized the fallen man's sword,

And the other two fled without uttering a word.

Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie,

You were a warrior of great renown,

And might have worn Scotland's crown;

Had it not been for Monteith, the base traitor knave,

That brought you to a premature grave;

Yes! you were sold for English gold,

And brought like a sheep from the fold,

To die upon a shameful scaffold high,

Amidst the derisive shouts of your enemies standing by.

But you met your doom like a warrior bold,

Bidding defiance to them that had you sold,

And bared your neck for the headsman's stroke;

And cried, 'Marion, dear, my heart is broke;

My lovely dear, I come to thee,

Oh! I am longing thee to see!'

But the headsman was as stolid as a rock,

And the axe fell heavily on the block,

And the scaffold did shake with the terrible shock,

As the body of Wallace fell,

Who had fought for Scotland so well.

I'll be back Friday with a post about Wallace's trial. And please, as I said in the last post, I am open to any stories or thoughts you would like to share on Wallace. You can either comment or email me from my profile. I want to hear what you think about the man as well. Poems and stories are welcome.

Slainte, Hazel