Prelude to the Glorious Revolution

"The Highland Charge" was interesting to watch. It was the custom of those brave lads to set aside their plaid kilts before battle, fire a volley, then run full tilt at the enemy with broadswords, wearing only their shirts. And a big smile, I suppose.

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It would be hard to put an estimate on the number of email requests I have received from Americans, mostly from the Midwest, asking me - practically begging, actually - to make a series of posts that would, once and for all, finally explain the ins and outs of the Jacobite Risings which were semi-rife starting in the latter part of the 17th century in Great Britain and Ireland. Those in Iowa primarily were interested in the Orange William gentleman.

In response to this evident thirst for something to mentally chew on during the regular corn-growing season in breadbasketville, you are now reading the first of what will probably be a dozen or so posts on the fascinating subject. Boy, is it ever.

I am also going to try to pull this off without once mentioning the name Guy Fawkes (oops!) or using the words recusant or undercroft. (Dang!)

I suppose I should first mention that Jacobus is Latin for James. I don't know if that clears anything up or not, but I feel it is important. I am foggy as to whether Latin in Scotland at the time was important because James II (and VII) was Catholic, or whether it was just a carryover from ancient Roman occupation. Be that as it may...

The demise of the childless Elizabeth in 1603 pretty much bit it, historically speaking, for the Tudors. Well, bit it except for the fact that Henry VIII had an older sister, I guess. Thus did come forth the Stuarts upon the scene, descending from the north. Everyone loved them.

First, of course, you had your James I and VI, who was, lo, the great-grandson of the aforementioned esteemed elder Tudoress. This, in case you are keeping score already, was known as the Union of the Crowns. Thus did it come to pass in 1604 that the King of Scotland became also the King of England and Ireland. As was usual for British monarchs of the age, he also called himself King of France (though of course he wasn't) mostly just to anger the French in general and keep them agitated.

The above is only for historical review and really doesn't actually constitute any red meat with regards to the Jacobite Risings, yet seems almost necessary if you are to place James II and VII in proper historical context. I hate to admit it, but some Iowans OFTEN have that trouble. You know who you are. Oddly, they know instinctively, however, that Jacobean refers to James I and VI, while JacoBITES refers to James II and, ah, VII.

Well, sir, long story short, James I and VI, normally uninterested in women to the extreme, finally had it called to his attention that women were necessary if an heir was to be produced and so he married a 14-year-old Dane named Ann who got shiprwrecked in a storm on the way to Britain and ended up in Norway, whereupon her beloved James, whom she had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, came to collect her in person with 300 or so of his buddies. My God, but it was romantic.

To quote the Brothers Four and the lyrics to Eddystone Light, "From this union there came three, a porgy and a porpoise and the other was me." (Yo ho ho, etc.) Actually it WASN'T me but was, rather, he who was to become Charles I after the porgy and the porpoise died ahead of him. Well, to be absolutely honest, Charles I died as well, but not before becoming king and trying to rule without Parliament and bringing on the English Civil War wherein Charles REALLY lost his head. And that's a fact.

After the republicans had mucked about for a bit, kings were reinstalled and you had your Charles II (and XXVVII??) and James II. And VII. Sigh. THEN came the Jacobite (rhymes with "take a bite") Risings.

Please don't be angry that I make you wait until the next post before talking about Scottish clans. You may be sure it will be worth the wait. Not to tease you needlessly, but if there is time I will also tell of the War of Jenkins' Ear.

Guy Fawkes Day (That's today)

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,

The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I know of no reason

Why Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent

To blow up King and Parliament.

Three-score barrels of powder below

To prove old England’s overthrow;

By God’s providence he was catch’d

With a dark lantern and burning match.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.

Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

I must tell you that on the day I started this blog a couple years back, all that I knew about Guy Fawkes was... um... nothing, actually.

Today, I know a little bit more about the holiday, though I still don't know why you would want to have a holiday for such a man. It is as if we in the U.S. were to have a Benedict Arnold Day, or, more to the point of bombing government buildings, a Bill Ayers Day. Now, if you were to have a "Burning Guy Fawkes in Effigy Day," that I would understand. I am going to use this space today to tell you what I've learned about Guy Fawkes.

First, a couple of really cool words I have added to my vocabulary:

1. Recusant

2. Undercroft

Recusant: a person who refuses to submit to an authority or to comply with a regulation. Primarily refers to historic Roman Catholics in England who refused to attend the Church of England.

Undercroft: a basement or cellar under a building, often bricked and with vaulted ceilings. Used for storage, of, say, gunpower or like that.

Guy Fawkes (1570-1606) was born in York. His father died when he was eight years old and his mother then married a recusant Catholic. Fawkes himself converted to Catholicism and emigrated to Spain. Where there were a LOT of Catholic folk.

As often happens with religion, Spain fought the 80 Years War with the Protestant Dutch just because, and Guy (called "Guido" by the Spanish) took part and became a fairly knowledgeable soldier. I don't know how long the war lasted. I'm guessing Guido was a demolition man, but I don't know that for sure. Somewhere along the way I'll bet he learned to speak Spanish. According to another unreliable source (Wikipedia being the first) it is said that when he was about to be drawn and quartered, he shouted, "Ole! Ole!" just before he jumped. Only this source had two upside down exclamation marks and mine doesn't.

Sometime after his military discharge, Guido, having fallen in with a bad crowd, thought it would be a good idea to return to England and kill King James I. As you do.

Security being not quite what it is today in our airports, the conspirators were able to rent some storage space in the undercroft under Parliament. "Hire," I mean. They have since installed motion detectors and retired security guards down there. But, back then, it didn't occur to anyone that renting out space under Parliament to people who frothed at the mouth was anything unusual.

Quickly, the protestant-hating renegades moved in a couple megatons of explosives and chose Guido F. to guard the stuff until D-Day.

Someone who either loved James or hated Guido sent an anonymous letter to the authorities, though, and in the early morning of 5 November, 1605, the coppers came arrestingly, and read the hapless G.F. his rights.

"You have the right to be tortured until you confess." And, before long, Guido broke. As you do.

Yes, Guido broke from the torture (no pun intended) and the hanging/quarter-drawing was scheduled for January next.

Well, getting more or less right to the point, on 31 January 1606, standing on the gallows and a-waitin' his hanging, no doubt freezing his treasonous arse in the January breeze, contemplating the agony that was awaiting him at the drawing and quartering party which was scheduled after the half-hanging (partial strangulation, actually) and came to the obvious conclusion: "Fuck this!" and jumped off the scaffold and broke his neck. By breaking his neck, he thus avoided hanging and... um... breaking his neck. He showed them.

But, truly - and there is no real reason not to throw in a tidbit of truth here - back then they didn't hang you like we think of hanging. No, when that many people show up for the show, they drug it out more. So instead of dropping you with a rope around your neck, they slowly RAISED you with a rope around your neck. When you turned purple enough, they took the rope off and brought you back to consciousness, then they had four horses yank your arms and legs off your torso. Then you just sort of lay there looking up at the sky, blinking rapidly, yearning for some pain killers. I assume. Piking your head was then optional. This was supposed to act as a deterrent for any would-be traitors in the viewing audience. It probably did.

Since Guy Fawkes was to be hanged and then drawn and quartered, of course the British celebrate this event with bonfires and fireworks. Go figure.

You'd think they'd hold horse-pulling contests or something.