The-Jacobites

Lament for Culloden

The lovely lass o’ Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e’en and morn she cries, ‘Alas!’
And aye the saut tear blin’s her e’e:
‘Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
A waefu’ day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear and brethren three.

‘Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman’s e’e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair,
That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee.’

by Robert Burns

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Untitled by olya aleksandrova

anonymous asked:

please. tell us more about your 'folk bangers' playlist. that sounds relevant to all of my interests. (folks and banging)

if you want a playlist for banging folks this probably isn’t the one for you, but if you want to Go Off, Historically then WHAT’S UP 

🤘🏻

Happy Birthday Sam Heughan born 30 April 1980 in Balmaclellan, Dumfries and Galloway.


Sam attended Kells Primary School in New Galloway before the family moved to Edinburgh when he was 12, he went to James Gillespie’s on the edge of the meadows before finishing his school education at the prestigious  Rudolph Steiner School. 

After leaving School at 18 Sam worked and travelled before returning to Scotland and enrolling in the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, graduating in 2003. 

Sam built a solid career in theatre in both Scotland and England starring in productions of Plague Over England, Macbeth, The Talented Mr. Ripley, Amphibians, and King John. He has also been featured in notable indie films, “Emulsion”, and “Heart Of Lightness” but of course it is one particular role that has catapulted him into worldwide stardom, that of Jamie Fraser in Outlander.
For those who don’t know Outlander (yes there are some!) it follows the story of Claire Randall, a married combat nurse from 1945 who finds herself hurled back in time to the 1740’s in and around the time when The Jacobites and Bonnie Prince Charlie made the final illfated attempt to put the Stuarts back on the throne.  Sam plays Claire’s “love interest” she is forced to marry. 

Heughan is also very active in several charities, raising awareness as well as donations, by personally participating in marathons, and triathlons, for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Research Organization. He is also a patron of the Youth Theatre Arts Scotland. 

I have a number of friends who follow the series and have read the series of books by Diana Gabaldon that Outlander is based, there is a lot of speculation amongst the massive online following as to whether Sam and his co-star Caitriona Balfe have continued their online romance into the real world.

A gathering of clansmen and clanswomen has been welcomed to the Great Hall at Edinburgh Castle for the first time in centuries.

The last time the clans marched to the castle was when they came to Edinburgh to lay siege to it during the Jacobite uprisings in 1745.

The gathering on Monday was organised by The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo, which is celebrating its own ties with the Scottish diaspora of clans this year.

Source, to continue reading and see the pictures: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/05/08/clans-given-edinburgh-castle-welcome-272-years-siege-attempt/

272 years, now that’s a grudge!

anonymous asked:

So from 208 we got that amazing scene of Jamie holding and talking to Kitty. My prompt is imagine Jamie holding and talking to Faith had she lived in that moment (or in Paris, you choose!) just Jamie taking care of his baby and his wife by staying up with the restless child! Thanks! Love your work!

“Please, Faith,” Claire pled in a whisper as she rocked the fussing six-month-old. “Your belly is full so please go back to sleep.”

Jamie slipped out of bed and crossed to where Claire sat near the fire, clearly exhausted, Faith squirming in her arms and pulling Claire’s hair as she rubbed her eyes with her fist.

“Let me take her, Sassenach,” Jamie offered already reaching and loosening Faith’s grip on Claire’s curls. “I cannae sleep anyhow.”

“Charles?” Claire asked, sighing with relief as the weight of Faith’s restlessness was lifted from her.

“I dinna ken how to approach him on this,” Jamie admitted, his large hand pressed to Faith’s back as she pressed her face to his shoulder and gnawed on his collarbone, her drool soaking his nightshirt. “He’s goin’ to ask me to gather support for him when we go back, I can feel it.”

“I thought the loss of the wine shipment was supposed to cripple his chances of raising the rebellion,” Claire remarked before groaning with satisfaction as she slipped back into bed and relaxed against the pillows.

“Aye well, God and the mission Charles believes He’s given him cannae be brushed aside so easily.” Jamie turned pressed his nose to the crown of Faith’s head. He found it easier to stifle the shaking rage that Charles Stuart inspired when he held Faith in his arms. She was what mattered––she and Claire were all that mattered. But how to explain such a feeling––an apparent change of heart––to a man like Charles Stuart…

“Tell him God spoke to you in a dream,” Claire said with a yawn. “Charles isn’t the only one whom God can speak to and if He gives you a vision of the Rising failing..”

Jamie chuckled and Faith began to croon her agreement. “I can just imagine how that conversation will go,” Jamie told Faith quietly as he glanced over and saw that Claire had already drifted off to sleep. “Well, yer highness, I cannae be a Jacobite any more. No, it’s no to do wi’ the charges against me being vacated, though I must admit I am grateful for how it’s turned out. Rather, the Lord in His mighty wisdom sent me a vision of what lies ahead should ye take to the field of battle in the near future. It will end with thousands of yer men dead for naught––for worse than naught. If they dinna fight they’d be no worse off than they are now but if they do ye will lose and when ye lose it’ll no be you who pays the price but all the people ye fail.”

Faith began to whimper and rub her face against Jamie’s neck. He cupped her head with his hand and rubbed his thumb soothingly against her temple. “Aye, it will be a sad day should that come to pass,” he agreed with her. He felt her chubby fist slide up his chest to her face and heard the quiet smack of her lips as she began to suck her thumb. The restlessness within her had begun to calm though he could tell she would simply lie against him in a half-awake stupor for some time yet, listening to the rhythm of his words as though he were telling her a story.

“If I’m honest… I dinna think there is a way to stop that wee fool from sailing to Scotland and making his mess… I only hope to keep his foolishness from somehow touching us and Lallybroch… in so far as it’s possible.” Jamie sighed.

He’d come so close to losing everything but time had miraculously worked in his favor. If he had left five minutes sooner or Claire had stayed at l’hopital five minutes later that fateful day, they would have missed each other. He’d have gone to the woods and met Randall, swords drawn. Whether either of them would have died or they both would simply have landed in the Bastille, Jamie only knew with certainty that he likely would have lost both Faith and Claire forever.

Instead, Claire had been in the doorway of their room when he’d finished scrawling his apologetic note. She’d refused to move and forced him to explain what had happened, her hand pressing tighter and tighter circles into her swollen belly as he spoke. She’d asked about Fergus––where was he, had he been examined, was he all right––and Jamie had seen the fear and anger in Claire’s face, felt the shame rise in his own even as he grew frustrated that he was being delayed.

Then Claire had collapsed and getting her to l’hopital was all that he could think about calling for Fergus to come along and help him, Randall forgotten until Claire was settled and her bleeding was under control and his temper had cooled enough for Claire to convince him to have Randall arrested for what he’d done to Fergus.

Everything that happened in the weeks and months after he’d filed the report with the gendarme had been a blur, the passage of time between them marked by Faith’s birth and development. Word of Randall’s arrest and indefinite imprisonment had come as the fear for Claire and Faith faded in the days after her risky birth. Murtagh had arrived back in Paris when it was finally decided Claire and Faith could leave l’hopital and return to the house. The news of Randall’s situation had spread to England by the time Faith had started smiling so all three Frasers grinned when a letter reached them from Ned Gowan that, in the wake of the scandalous tale, he had sought out the Duke of Sandringham to see if one of the additional copies he’d made of Jamie’s petition of complaint might prove more successful in completing its journey than the first; the Duke was only too happy to be of assistance. Faith had just started sleeping through the night when Claire had word from Mary Hawkins about how Jonathan Randall’s disgrace had brought Alex Randall back into his family’s good graces; they hoped her godfather could help convince their respective families to allow their marriage within the year. And now that Faith was cutting her first tooth, word that the petition of complaint had succeeded and the charges against Jamie had been vacated had arrived; they could return to Scotland in time for Christmas.

Yet when he’d shown the letter to Claire he had struggled to understand the weight he still felt on his shoulders, the shadow he couldn’t explain.

“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she had told him while in the process of changing Faith’s clout. “We still don’t know if we’ve done enough to change things and without the certainty…” She’d looked to the gold ring on her finger. Randall was in the Bastille and it didn’t look like he’d be getting out anytime soon and if he did, it was unlikely he’d be marrying Mary Hawkins, yet Claire still had her gold ring.

He was back to pacing the darkened room slowly, the damp of Faith drooling into his shirt slowly spreading.

“I’m glad ye’re too small to ken how scared I am of such a wee fool,” he murmured into the top of Faith’s head. “But I plan to protect you and yer mother from any danger, even that posed by wee fools… and fools like Charles Stuart can be the most dangerous of all, believing they’re about God’s work when it’s other men’s lives they’re risking. I promise we’ll no be leaving France until I can be sure our place in Scotland is truly safe, that Charles Stuart and his half-baked schemes cannae burn us.”

Faith’s soggy thumb left her mouth long enough for her hand to find it’s way to Jamie’s chin. He smiled and raised a hand to press the delicate fingers to his lips, feeling her smile against his shoulder. She sighed heavily and reinserted the thumb in her mouth, her body relaxing further until she was limp with sleep.

“If I cannae convince Charles to give up the Rising, I’ll just have to make my true allegiance clear,” Jamie whispered, rubbing Faith’s back as he crossed to settle her in her cradle. She looked like Claire when she slept, her hair long enough now to start curling around her ear. Afraid the feathery strands would tickle and wake her, he tucked them behind and let his finger trace the round of her cheek, lightly touch the tip of her nose which wrinkled in response.

The restored calm in the room seeped into him as well. He lifted the covers and crawled back into bed with Claire, her cold bare feet finding the warmth of his legs in moments.

Having an English wife he adored should be a good start toward proving he wasn’t the staunch Jacobite he’d been playing at the last few months.

Draping an arm across Claire’s waist and pulling her closer, Jamie pushed his fears out of his mind and into the shadows where they could lurk until morning.

10

Outlander is back, so it seems only fitting to do a Scottish themed FRIDAY FASHION FACT! Nothing is more instantly associated with Scotland than a tartan kilt. There are a lot of myths surrounding the history of this national fashion, so lets set the fact straight.

In about the 8th Century BCE, the pre-Celtic Hallstatt culture of central Europe created a simplistic check-patterned fabric. As the Celtic culture developed, so did their tartans, and when they spread to Scotland, their fabrics went with them. The earliest known tartan in Scotland was the 3rd century Falkirk Tartan, a simple gingham-like check pattern which is still very common today, particularly in menswear. The pattern took several more centuries to develop into what we now think of as tartan. It wasn’t until the late 16th Century that the pattern became popular across Scotland.

Many people believe that this is when clan tartans began. While this is incorrect, it is an understandable mistake. Towns and villages would have a very limited number of fabric makers, possibly just one, and these fabric makers would each create their own distinct tartans. Since families tended to stay in the same area for generation upon generation, they would wear the same few tartans. It was more a matter of limited access to different tartans, instead of “official” clan tartans. Additionally, tartans from the same region tended to have the same color scheme, due to the natural dyes available in those regions. Therefore, it was often possible to identify where a person came from based on the colors of their tartan.

The first big turning point in the history of tartan was when Scotland and England officially unified at the beginning of the 18th Century. There was some extremely bad blood between England and Scotland, to say the very least (which, evidenced by the recent election, still remains to this day), but the tension was amplified by the fact that Parliament had dethroned the Stuart House, and placed the Hanover House as monarchs. The Jacobites, who supported the Stuarts, rebelled repeatedly for decades in an attempt to restore the throne. The Jacobites and their supporters proudly sported tartan. In an attempt to squash their cause, the government instated the Dress Act of 1746, which banned tartan completely, with the exception of the British Highland Regiments’ uniforms. Eventually, for a variety of reasons, the Jacobite Rebellions ended, and with the persuasion of the Highland Society of London, the Dress Act was repealed in 1782.

The second big turning point for tartan was during the Romantic Era, beginning in the 1820s. It was dubbed Romantic for a reason, as the poets, novelists, and artists began romanticizing history. Sir Walter Scott wrote about the Jacobites, and King George IV visited Scotland, then had his portrait painted in full Highland Dress. Shortly before this time, in 1815, the Highland Society of London began to put together an official registration of clan tartans- the start of official clan tartans. Tartan officially became a craze when in 1848, Queen Victoria purchased Balmoral Castle. Scottish fashion swept the nation, and the pattern remains stylish to this day.

As for kilts, to put it very simply, they began in the 16th Century as a large piece of fabric draped over the shoulder. It was so long, that soon men began to wrap the long end around their waist. This was known as a “belted plaid.” It was often in tartan, but not always. Basically, the kilt was developed and perfected from there. The pleats were added to make the garment more polished, and less bulky. So sorry, Braveheart fans, but William Wallace never wore a kilt.

Want to learn more about the history of tartan and kilts? Check out these books:

Scottish National Dress and Tartan, by Stuart Reid

The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Tartan, by Iain Zaczek

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!

The Battle of Culloden

The battle of Culloden, April 16th 1746, was the last pitched engagement fought on mainland British soil. A clash between forces loyal to the British government and those supporting the exiled Stuart monarchy (”Jacobites”), it marked an end to over a century of tumultuous civil war and revolution, establishing the primacy of the Constitutional Monarchy Britain has today. 

The battle was fought on a moorland south-east of the town of Inverness, and opened with both sides attempting to force the other to attack by launching an artillery barrage. The Jacobite cannons were smaller and fewer in number than those possessed by the Government forces, and their crews were inexperienced. Despite the fact that the British artillery was doing considerably more damage, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, commander of the Jacobite forces, prevaricated and refused to order an attack. When the order did eventually go out it was garbled and confused - some Jacobite clansmen simply charged on their own initiative, while the message never reached one flank - the rider carrying it had his head taken off by a cannon ball. 

The “Highland Charge” which followed was furious. The boggy ground channeled most of the Jacobite forces into a single solid mass that struck the left flank of the British line, bringing its full weight against just two regiments. The leftmost, the 4th Foot, stood its ground but was completely overrun.

In previous battles when the Jacobites had reached the redcoat line the morale of the Government forces had always broken, but this time they held firm. Reserves were brought forward, turning the gap punched by the Jacobite charge into a killing zone. Furthermore, highlanders loyal to the British Government assaulted the Jacobite’s exposed right flank. Hundreds of Charles Stuart’s men were cut down in the space of just three minutes, and the rest broke and fled. Victorious British troops, eager for vengeance after a string of bitter defeats, hounded the rebels all the way back to Inverness. 

The battle of Culloden was over, and with it the final chapter in Britain’s bloodiest and most formative century. 

Collision Course - Part Nine

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven,
Part Eight

Only one part left after this and then the Epilogue (and possibly other little snippets as the muse and prompts strike). - Mod Lenny


“I know where we are,” Frank exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straighter behind Claire on the horse.

She looked around, her pulse quickening with fear. They should still be at least a few hours away from the stones; it was too soon.

Then she too recognized the rock formation in the distance.

“Cocknammon Rock,” she said with a smile.

“You remember then?” There was something hopeful in Frank’s voice but Claire was distracted.

“Of course I do. You told me about the British patrols and when we passed this way on our journey to Leoch I warned Jamie about it,” she explained. “He alerted the others and then dumped me off the horse so I’d be safe out of the way while he and the others surprised the soldiers. I tried to get away back to the stones but he found me again before I got very far.”

She remembered how he’d slipped easily down from his horse and crossed to block her way, still covered in blood and dirt from the skirmish and making no hint as to the injuries he’d suffered. She smiled again. The idiot might’ve died if she hadn’t been there when it was his turn to fall off the horse.

“I see,” Frank said from behind her, his tone drastically different from the moment before.

Claire found herself annoyed with him but held her tongue. Like Murtagh had said that evening by the fire, she couldn’t help how she felt. And Frank certainly wasn’t making things easier.

If Murtagh heard the exchange he didn’t say anything about it, only let them know, “It’ll no be much longer. We can either stop for another night so ye dinna arrive where ye’re goin’ in the dark or ye can go through just afore sundown.”

“Tonight,” Frank said quickly. “The sooner we get home, the better.”

“Will it really be better to walk all the way to Inverness in the dark when we’ve been riding all day?” Claire challenged. “Or perhaps we’ll just be struck by a passing motorist. I think we should take advantage of having someone here to help keep watch while we get some rest.”

“What exactly is it that you’re waiting for?” Frank asked under his breath. “Do you think he’ll come after you? He knows his place in this, that you’re married to me, that you’re my wife. He knows you’ll be better off with me.”

“And what makes you so sure about what Jamie thinks?” Claire countered.

“He told me as much himself.”

That caused Claire’s breathing to catch and her chest to seize painfully.

“You two talked about me?” There was an accusation in her voice but regarding what, she wasn’t sure.

“It isn’t as though we have much else in common.” Frank’s tone hadn’t completely softened but it wasn’t as openly antagonistic either. “You did say he was your friend. He wants what’s best for you and that’s for you to come home.”

Claire could completely believe that Jamie had said those things to Frank; he had said similar thing to her. But hearing Frank say them… it changed them, somehow. It made her want to argue, to point out all the reasons she had to stay… but really, there weren’t many reasons for her to stay… just Jamie.

They passed back into silence as they rode the rest of the way finally spotting the hill in the distance as the sun set behind it. She recalled hiding with Frank near the summit of that hill and glimpsing the sun through the crack in the stone as it rose while the local druids danced. She saw the sun again through that crack but with the world turned around and the sun peeking through on its descent, shrouding the world in shadows rather than bathing it in light.

“I’m too tired to face going through that tonight, Frank,” Claire pleaded. “I’m hungry and I want to sleep.”

He sighed while Murtagh pointedly stayed out of the conversation.

“Very well. You’re right; we don’t know how long we’ll have to walk before a car stops and it’ll be safer if they can see us properly when they do,” Frank conceded.

“There’s a wee cottage near here,” Murtagh remarked now that a decision had been made. “It was abandoned last I knew. Might be a sight more comfortable than sleeping in the open.” He looked to Claire who nodded then he turned his horse to one side and led the way.

They set up their final camp in silence and quickly turned in for the night.

Claire lay next to Frank but her mind sought Jamie and refused to quiet. Was she really contemplating staying? How could she even think of doing something like that to Frank? All of it was insane. To think of everything she would have to give up in order to stay––the friends she’d made during the war, the conveniences of modernity, the rights and privileges she had taken for granted…

And what would she get in return? Jamie was an outlaw and since breaking Frank out of Fort William, she almost certainly was too. On top of that she was a woman and English and, as Jamie had told her once, that wasn’t a pretty thing to be in the Highlands of Scotland.

But she would have Jamie. He knew the truth now, about who and what she was; he knew the truth and believed her. She could be herself with him, talk about what life was like in the twentieth century; she could tell him about what lay…

Her heart began to pound and fear gripped her.

Culloden. The Jacobite Rising was just two years away. Would she be able to live with herself if she left Jamie behind knowing how likely it was that he would end up on that disastrous battlefield? If she returned to the future and failed to find out what happened to Jamie––or worse, that he had died in battle…

Murtagh. Whatever she ultimately decided to do with herself, she would be sure to warn Murtagh. If anyone had a hope of keeping Jamie from getting involved in the Rising, it was his godfather.

But she wanted to be sure. And the only way to do that was to stay. So why was she so scared to make up her mind?

She didn’t know how Jamie felt about her. She had her suspicions––she knew he liked her well enough––but he hadn’t ever said anything to her that would suggest…

Despite yearning for rest, Claire got no sleep that night, rising with the sun and staring at the hilltop where her fate would be decided once and for all.

“Are ye ready to go back then?” Murtagh’s quiet voice came up behind her.

She peered through the door to where Frank was only beginning to stir on the floor.

“If anything I’m more confused about what I ought to do than I was yesterday or the day before that or the day before that,” Claire lamented.

“Ye’ll do what ye must when the time comes,” Murtagh assured her. “And then ye’ll pray for the health and happiness of the one ye leave wi’out ye. Cannae do more’n that.”

“There is something I would tell you before we go,” Claire began solemnly. “It’s about… it’s about something that’s going to happen.”

Murtagh’s brow furrowed suspiciously.

“You know that there are always rumors of King James returning and taking back his throne?”

“D’ye mean to say he will?”

There was surprise and hope in the man’s face and Claire’s heart sank as she shook her head.

“His son, Prince Charles, will try in two years’ time… but it will end in disaster. You have to promise me that you’ll keep Jamie from getting involved in it; keep him away from Culloden.”

Confusion returned to Murtagh’s expression.

“When ye say,’disaster,’ ye mean the battle’s lost.”

“It’s more than just that though. The Highlanders will be severely punished in their defeat,” Claire explained as best she could.

“The Clans will end as you know them,” Frank chimed in from the doorway, his fingers tucking the ragged ends of his bandages in where they’d come loose in sleep. “Your language, your tartans––both will be outlawed. There will be raids throughout the highlands by the military––made worse by famine.”

Claire let Frank continue filling in the details that she recalled so little about, absorbing them anew herself. He couldn’t have been more precise if he’d prepared a proper lecture with notes. And Murtagh stood there listening and nodding, his mind already sorting and storing what he would need to know most, discarding the details that he could afford to forget.

Would telling a single Scotsman be enough to change the course of history? Probably not. But it might be enough to save Jamie––to save some of those at Leoch, perhaps, as well.

“Thank ye,” Murtagh said when Frank was through. He extended his hand for Frank but then flushed as he saw Frank glance at his bandages again and hesitate before shaking Murtagh’s hand gingerly.

“I don’t know what use you’ll be able to put it to,” Frank admitted. “But it seems a fair exchange for the services you’ve rendered Claire and I.”

“Fair exchange,” Murtagh murmured with a nod then turned to Claire. “Ye ken where ye’re goin’ from here, I take it.”

“Yes, thank you.” She stepped forward and surprised Murtagh with a hug. “Please, keep him safe,” she whispered.

Murtagh didn’t acknowledge what she’d said, just nodded farewell to her as she and Frank began the climb up the hill.

“Has it really only been two weeks?” Frank muttered, picking his way up carefully.

“For you it has,” Claire reminded him.

“Well, I am ready for the nightmare to be over,” he said with confidence, taking Claire’s hand loosely in his and guiding her to the stone.

She stopped when they were still a few feet away, her hand slipping from his easily.

“Frank…”

“You don’t need to be scared,” he reassured her. “I remember how terrible it was but we just have to do this and it will all be over, once and for all.”

She was shaking her head slowly, tears in her eyes.

He took her hand again and squeezed it as hard as he was able. It was enough for her gold ring to dig uncomfortably into her finger.

“Claire… Just… look at me, all right. Keep your eyes on me. We’ll do this together.”

His eyes were brown; he had dirt on his cheek from where he’d slept with it pressed to the dirt floor of the cabin; he needed a haircut and a shave; there was a sheen of sweat on his face and redness in his eyes; his lips were chapped and he looked desperate and afraid.

She raised her free hand the way he had his other hand raised, reaching for the stone.

“On three,” he instructed. “One… two… th––”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said quickly as Frank’s hand went forward. She pulled her hand from his as he held tight and struggled to pull her forward with him.

And then she fell.

She was on the ground, her head spinning… and Frank was gone.