Tag Archives: Edinburgh

Was My Field Research on the Queen and the Four Marys Just a Boondoggle?

Just a “few” guidebooks I picked up (which added 5 lbs to my suitcase weight)!

I’m back home, after an excruciatingly long flight from Scotland that involved at least eight hours of flight delays.  I was sorry we picked the day I returned to bring home our new puppy, because I was a weary mess.

The purpose of my trip was to see as many of the historical sites important to Mary, Queen of Scots and her Four Maries and kick off a fierce summer of writing with the goal of completing the first draft of my novel by the end of the year.  So how did I do?  What did I really accomplish?   And, was it even necessary in the era of Google Earth/Google Images?  Was I just on a big fat boondoggle? (What’s a boondoggle? It is when you go somewhere under the guise of doing work or business and in fact it is more party than anything else. Favorite American expression.)

Yes! I admit there was an element of boondoggle about my journey.  My parents are from Scotland (Fife) and I spent a lot of time there growing up.  Returning to see my cousins and old friends was fantastic, and I could have spent the two weeks roaming around seeing them.  As it was, I did not get to visit every relative and friend I had hoped to see.  Next time…

Could Google Earth have been a solid substitute?  I have a friend who writes romance novels and has written one set it Germany and England without ever having set foot in either country.  I thought she did a good job capturing England in the 1980s—and I was there at the time.  I’m writing about the 16th Century, which I can’t visit either.  So did being on the ground, viewing ruined castles help me write more detailed scenes?

I did a fair bit of research on Google Earth and Google Images and while it was helpful, there was nothing like being on site, or en route to a site.  I’d seen plenty of photographs of Hermitage Castle but nothing I saw prepared me for the sheer size of it tucked away in the lonely Borders.  No photograph can capture the pure joy I felt traveling through the Scottish countryside on a sunny day, or the miserable feeling I got when on a rainy day the relentless damp chilled my bones. My characters will feel that too.

As I went from place to place, photographing the ruins and researching what happened at each site, I was a little surprised at how being on the ground in castles like Loch Leven, Hermitage, Stirling gave me a greater appreciation for the chaos and strife of Queen Mary’s short, 7-year residence in Scotland during her reign.  I have known Queen Mary’s story since I was 12 and read Lady Antonia Fraser‘s biography Mary Queen of Scots (yes, I was a precocious child).  But knowing a story and feeling it are quite different.

Being on the ground here, I saw my characters a little differently, more deeply.  From the minute I hit the runway at Edinburgh airport I was more aware of the what it was like for five young women under 20 to return to their native lands and their families as almost foreigners.  They were, for all intents and purposes, French women but now expected to pick up a culture and life they had left behind 13 years earlier.  I could even liken their experiences to my own.

As I traveled to the sites and focused on what happened in the lives of Queen Mary or the Maries at each, it hit home how crisis-driven their lives became once they returned to Scotland.  I think of Queen Mary and her Maries as the “it” girls–the celebrities–of their day at the cutting edge of Renaissance culture and fashion. They caused comment wherever they went, whatever they did–and tabloid talk followed.  John Knox was like our on TMZ or News of the World. Queen Mary was a lightning rod for scandal—men fell deeply in love with her (John Gordon, Chastelard, Willie Douglas), never mind the men who wanted her crown (Darnley, Bothwell just for starters).

In that environment, I start to wonder what kept Queen Mary going?  Even after her low point, imprisoned at Loch Leven, she pulled herself together and escaped, rallied troops and went into battle.  She was no coward, no shrinking violet and neither were her Maries.  Seton was bold enough to join her at the Battle of Carberry, then body-double for Mary in her escape from Loch Leven, run with her to England, sharing her imprisonment.   Livingston likewise was at Carberry and she held onto Mary’s jewels and money even under duress from the Regent Morton as late at 1573.  Fleming and her husband held Edinburgh Castle in what can only have been diabolical conditions.

Queen Mary lurched from one crisis to the next, doing her best to manage each.  But with each crisis the stakes were raised higher and she finally lost everything.  Once Queen of France and Scotland, she spent half her life imprisoned.  And yet Queen Mary’s cause was not lost the day she fled to England–there were many, many in Scotland who remained loyal to her.  Not just Edinburgh Castle, but also Doune Castle and Dunbar held for her up until early 1570s, after she was under Elizabeth I’s eye.  Her Maries, their husbands and families all worked for her release and did not give up on it for a long time.  Queen Mary had been escaping from one sort of danger or another since her mother removed her from Linlithgow to Stirling in case she was abducted and taken to England at seven months old.  There was no reason to think once in England she would never see Scotland again.

For me, I can’t imagine writing this book without spending time in Scotland in the footsteps of my characters, seeing the worn stone steps in an ancient castle and knowing my characters helped with the wear and tear, or the fireplace where they would have sat and warmed themselves on a cold day, or following the route they took from one location to the next.

I admit I did not achieve everything I hoped to.  I could easily have spent another two weeks, or three, to really cover the ground.  And I might yet before it’s all done.  Remember, Queen Mary spent a lot of time in France…and England…Just sayin’.

In the meantime, I have journals and drafts and ideas floating in my head and a summer to get them all cohesively on paper. Carpe Diem!

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One of the Four Maries at the Lang Siege of Edinburgh Castle

Yesterday I took a break from driving and caught the train to Edinburgh, a familiar routine from my childhood days when we’d head to Princes Street for “proper” school clothes before flying back to the US. (I swear if my mother could have had me in a school uniform, she’d have been in heaven.)  Love the train, wish we had more of them in the US.

It was another dreichy day to be out and about, but I was determined to see the Castle and Holyrood Palace, both of which I’ve visited before, though like my visit to St. Andrews the memory has dimmed with time!  For example, I’d forgotten just what a hike it is up to Edinburgh Castle!  But once there, you can pretty much ignore throngs of tourists and with an audio guide to wander at your leisure.  Confess these photos do not do it the Castle justice, and I’m missing my Sony DSLR, broken since day 4.

Edinburgh Castle

Portcullis Gate at Edinburgh Castle

I was particularly interested in the early castle, of which not a lot remains.  Mary, Queen of Scots did not spend a lot of time at Edinburgh Castle.  Apart from giving birth to her son, James VI, she was only at the Castle on two other occasions during her reign.  But, one of her Maries — Mary Fleming – was here with her husband, the Queen’s Secretary of State William Maitland of Lethington, during the “Lang Siege” between May 1571 and May 1573.  Note – this was long after the Queen fled to England and was imprisoned by Elizabeth I.

Edinburgh Castle

Fleming was Mary’s cousin as well as her chief Lady in Waiting and one of her Maries.  Like the others, she was loyal to the bone to the Queen.  It is hard to imagine what life within the Castle would have been like during a siege — shortages of food and fuel, limited mobility…and it is damp and cold!  Yesterday was just a cold spring day–I can’t imagine what it would have been like in the dead of winter.  When I finally got into St. Margaret’s Chapel after a 90 minute wait (another wedding) I could easily picture Mary Fleming kneeling in prayer for comfort, endurance, hope…

St. Margaret’s Chapel 12th C

But Scots forces under the Earl of Morton, aided by the English, broke the siege and hanged the key rebels, notably Kirkcaldy of Grange.  Fleming’s husband William Maitland was to hang as well, but he died–say some-“the Roman way” and escaped the noose.

A lot of Queen Mary’s biographers talk about Mary Seton as the most loyal Marie, because she accompanied her into England and stayed with her for most of her captivity.  The remaining three Maries–Beaton, Livingston and Fleming–continued to support Queen Mary’s cause after she went to England.  Certainly Fleming lost her husband to the Queen’s cause and after the Lang Siege Fleming tried, but was denied permission by Elizabeth I, to go to Queen Mary in England.

I left Edinburgh Castle and walked down the Royal Mile to Holyrood Palace, only to find that it was closed while the Scottish Assembly meets through 28 May.  Drat and double drat. Drenched and cold, I made for Marks & Spencer’s Food Halls on Princes Street, and Lush for some bath salts and headed back across the Firth.

On Mary Stuart’s Return to Scotland (and mine)

Inchkeith Viewed from Pettycur Road Kinghorn.

Inchkeith Viewed from Pettycur Road Kinghorn. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mary, Queen of Scots sailed into Leith Harbor on 19 August 1561, returning to her native Scotland after 13 years in France. She was just 19 years old.  One year earlier she’d been Queen of France, but the death of her husband —Francois II—left her a young widow and, for multiple reasons, she decided to return to Scotland.

Among Queen Mary’s companions were her four closest friends, nicknamed the Four Maries (Mary Beaton, Mary Seton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston).  The Maries fascinate me enough to write an entire novel about them and their loyalty to Mary, which withstood enormous strains, particularly upon their return to Scotland.  And that is why I am here—to do a bit of field research.

As I flew into Edinburgh this morning for my own return to Scotland after a long absence (19 years), some of my own experiences may have echoed Queen Mary and the Maries.  They arrived in Leith surrounded by fog, which obscured their first view of Scotland.  Similarly, low clouds shrouded my view of Scotland until a minute before landing, frustrating my eyes eager for a glimpse.  I’m sure Mary and the Maries felt the same sense of anticipation that I had and the same frustration with the weather.

I’m shortly to be enveloped by my mother’s family, scattered across Scotland but coming together this weekend.  We do not see each other very often, but we are family and the bond is close and deep despite our geographical distance.  I expect to laugh till I cry about things only others in my family find funny, like the phrase “there’s thousands at the beach,” which was my Nana’s battle cry as she kicked my siblings and I (“the Americans”) out of the house to find playmates.

The Queen and the Maries would also have been excited – they had grown up in France without their parents and most of their siblings, and while not unexpected for the time, they would surely have been pleased at the coming reunion.  They were likely thinking less about changes in their family–who had grown up, married, died, but like me, just glad to reconnect in person.

For me, it is all roses – two weeks to research and write and spend time with my family.  Not so for the Queen and the Maries.  First, or rather still, there was trouble with the English.  Elizabeth I had refused Mary safe-conduct through English waters and threatened her with warships.  When those warships came upon Mary’s two galleys and two accompanying ships, they saluted her.  But the reminder of that the English did not make for good neighbors may have stirred up childhood memories of fleeing in the night from Stirling Castle to escape the Duke of Somerset and of the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh—where Fleming’s father Alexander and Livingston’s brother John were slain.   For Queen Mary herself, she must have had some misgivings about the nobles she would rule, nobles who had rebelled against her mother, Mary of Guise, who had ruled Scotland as Regent in her daughter’s absence.

But they were young – all about 19 years old – and I have to believe their excitement would have overwhelmed most other concerns, at least on their arrival.  At 19, you have high hopes and the future almost always looks bright.  Certainly, chroniclers report Queen Mary’s high spirits, despite the weather and a decided lack of ceremonial welcome due to the ship being early. I feel her enthusiasm!  I did not, as I like to say, come to Scotland to get a tan, so no amount of rain or clouds will dampen my spirits.

As I said, my own return to Scotland comes after an absence of 19 years—hard to believe time has flown so much since we buried my maternal grandmother and I left to re-emigrate the US. Scotland is my home—or at least it is where my parents were born and raised (in Fife) and I spent so many summer months as a child in Kinghorn on the Fife coast, and as an adult many more weeks on holiday. I do still feel like it is home, though I am not sure many would call me a native daughter!

But then, I have always considered a bit of a foreigner in my native land. As a child I was “that American Lassie,” the US accent and cultural leanings branding me as “different” in the same way that Mary’s overwhelmingly French persona caused a stir—and some resentment—upon her return.  I am pretty sure I took more grief for my accent that Queen Mary did!  I was acutely aware that no matter how familiar everything felt this morning, even after such a long absence, that every time I open my mouth I am pegged for a foreigner, which I suppose only matters to you if you don’t feel in your heart that you are!

Tonight, I write from Kinghorn in Fife, with a magnificent view of the lights in Edinburgh and the flashing lighthouse on Inchkeith.  As a child, I used to look out my grandmother’s window at this view, dreaming big, praying hard, and wondering about life.  I’m long years away from that child, but tonight not so much.