Balmoral Castle by Motorhome
A fascinating story about Queen Victoria is centred on a man named John Brown. Brown was born on a farm at Crathie in 1826 and was employed at Balmoral. He rose to become Prince Albert’s personal ghillie and then the Queen’s servant. After the death of her beloved Albert in 1861. The Queen began spending more time at her beloved Balmoral. She relished the solitude which calmed her shattered nerves. Scandal threatened when she formed an emotional attachment with John Brown. Leading to the Queen being popularly referred to as Mrs Brown. Brown was a rather stern and blunt speaking Scotsman. A loyal servant but one who would call a spade a spade.
Comment: I suppose everyone needs a confidant, even a Queen. Mary Queen of Scots had one such in the person of David Rizzio. He had many at court opposed to his close association with Mary, and David paid a terrible price;
David Rizzio
Mary wis dancin’, happy in the supper room
Wi’ a’ o’ her ladies, the four Marys, in attendance
David wis pluckin’, at his mandolin tae tune
Getting ready for a two-by-two-by-two step dance
Mary said, ‘David, David, can ye play the minuet?’
So he bent doon tae the lute, so that he’d be nearer
‘David, David, have ye no’ goat that thing ready yet?’
He said, ‘I havenae goat the music so I’m playin’ it by ear’
Poor David Rizzio, wi’ his ear so sorely occupied
He didnae hear the rumpus oan the stair
The Thugs rushed in an’ Mary’s favourite music died
Wi’ Darnley’s dagger in his back, an’ him lyin’ oan the flerr
O’ a’ ye Scottish noblemen, hing doon yer heids in shame
Takin’ Mary’s melodies away
An’ the wee Italian troubadour, so far away frae hame
Will haunt ye a’, until ye’re auld an’ grey
Cairngorms National Park
The Motorhomers were sitting in the cafe at Balmoral. The ladies were enjoying pancakes with maple syrup;
‘I shouldnae be dain’ this, Phemie, I’m tryin’ to get doon tae a size sixteen’.
‘Aye, Jessie, me as well, I’m tryin’ tae get tae a size fourteen’.
Phemie, if ye get any bliddy smaller ye’ll need tae dae yer shoppin’ in the Baby-Linen shop oan the High street’.
The lads were having something a little more substantial; two Scotch pies and a cup of Bovril. The Queen was not at home. Francie had ascertained this fact when he had rang the bell at the large oaken door. His bottom lip was still trembling a little as he was telling Josie what happened;
‘Josie, a wee fat doorman answered the door. I asked him if the Queen wis in? He wisnae very pleased an’ he said,”Naw, ye wee eejit, she’s oot. Noo get ye wee git”, an’ he slammed the door oan me’.
‘Ye’re lucky he didnae call the polis, Francie’.
Francie’s eye-balls were spinning in their sockets and he was looking perplexed and bewildered. Josie just knew that there was a question coming;
‘Josie, wis that John Broon a big guy?’
‘Oh aye, Francie, big John wis a big guy’.
‘I thought so, Josie, I saw the film an’ he wis up tae the hoarse’s heid’.
‘That wisnae big John, Francie, that wis big Billy, ye stumour’.
‘It must have been a sight tae see, Josie. Queen Victoria wearin’ her big green wellie boots an’ big Billy wearin’ his big yella banana boots’.
That wisnae big Billy, Francie, That wis big John, ye wee eejit, och, forget it, Francie’.
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie’.
Motorhome at Balmoral.
Perhaps you would enjoy reading the adventures of Francie and Josie.
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