The Tumultuous Wedding of the Thistle and the Rose

I could just quote the e-mail sent to me by the composer/arranger of “Thistle and Rose (with ‘Ye Bonnie Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon’),” Phyllis White, in answer to my inquiries about her thought processes as she wrote the piece, and you’d be quite well informed. I will indeed quote her later in this post. Have to say that it’s a total joy when I can communicate with living musicians as I’ve been able to do here.Let me first, though, unpack the symbolism of the thistle and the rose, which stand for Scotland and for England respectively. The story about the thistle comes from an incident in Scotland’s history:

It was 1263 when King Haakon’s fleet of battle-hardened Norsemen was blown off course and landed on the shores of Largs in Ayrshire. To their delight there was a sleeping Scottish army nearby. Not suspecting an attack, the Scottish were doomed to suffer an ambush. The Norsemen removed their boots in preparation for sneaking up on the slumbering soldiers. Fortunately, a field of thorny thistle flowers surrounded the Scottish. One Norse soldier, stepping on a thorn, yelled out in pain. This scream woke the Scottish men, who jumped into action and slaughtered the invading Norsemen. (“History and Legends of the Thistle”)

Well, it coulda happened that way, but I have my doubts. For one thing, I can’t see Viking soldiers taking off their boots as they’re going into battle. (This legend is in the same category as the one about the sacred geese hissing in Rome to alert the people about the approach of the Gauls.) But it makes a good story, and it’s certainly true that the thistle is everywhere in Scotland, showing up in coats of arms, tapestries, and The Most Ancient and Noble Order of the Thistle. It’s also Scotland’s national flower.

What about the rose as a symbol of England? That question has a more historically-grounded answer, since the rose was so commonly used as a reference to the Virgin Mary and to courtly love. It’s not surprising, then, that noble families used the rose in their own coats of arms. The so-called “Wars of the Roses” between the Yorkists (with a white rose) and the Lancastrians (with a red) resulted in the union of the two dynasties in 1485 when Henry Tudor (a Lancastrian) became Hanry VII and married Elizabeth of York. He then created the “Tudor Rose,” which combined both flowers. Note, though, that the red petals are quite a bit bigger than the white ones. Henry always wanted the last word!

The wily Henry decided that a peace treaty with England’s hostile neighbor Scotland would be wise, and he sealed the deal by marrying his daughter, Margaret, to Scotland’s then-king James IV in 1503. This marriage is the original source of the symbolic union of the thistle and the rose, with the poet laureate of Scotland, William Dunbar, producing “The Thrissil and the Rois” in honor of the occasion. And how long did the marriage, and the peace between the two countries, last? Ten years. Henry VII died in 1509 and his swaggering son became King Henry VIII. As a warmup to all of the other chaos he would unleash on England, he announced that he considered himself to be the true ruler of Scotland because of James IV’s refusal to end his alliance with France. Long story here which we won’t get into, but the end result was the Battle of Flodden Field in 1513, in which James was killed and the Scottish troops were defeated for the time being. (Without in any way minimizing the horror and death of that battle, I can’t resist saying that I always associated “Flodden” with “sodden,” as in “sodden with blood.”) There would be many more horrible battles to come; the Battle of Culloden in 1746 being the definitive one. “Loch Lomond” concerns itself with that battle.

On to the lovely composition/arrangement of “Thistle and Rose” combined with “Ye Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon” by the contemporary composer Phyllis White. I was intrigued by her choice to join these two texts, as “Bonnie Doon” is a poem by Robert Burns about a spurned lover, and while based on a true story it doesn’t concern itself with Scottish history per se. So I tracked her down online and requested some insight into her thought processes. She answered promptly and generously, giving me permission to quote her in this post. First, though, let me quote her informative paragraph from the back of the sheet music:

When the Scots extended their kingdom to its present boundary in 1018, a long era of conflict began with England. After many years, the Scots accepted union with England: first with the Union of Crowns in 1603 [when Elizabeth I died without heirs and the crown passed to her cousin James VI of Scotland, who then also became James I of England] and then with the Union of Parliament in 1707. In July of 1999, for the first time in three centuries, a Scottish Parliament holds session in Scotland. This song was written to commemorate and to celebrate the Thistle (Scotland) and the Rose (England) in this historic accomplishment.¹

Now for the info from her e-mail to me:

I share both English and Scottish heritage and as one blended from both the Rose and the Thistle, I had a particular propellant of curiosity about the music and places of my ancestors. [Love that phrase “propellant of curiosity”]

The intersection of the texts for me first came through exploration of the word “bonnie.” In the first stanza of Burns’ poem that opens the piece, we are presented with the lovely Doon, the river that travels for nearly 40 miles passing Ayrshire, Scotland where the poet was born, evoking rugged beauty and pastoral images juxtaposed with a heart that is weary and full of care. 

The tension of the ideas that the flowing bonnie river and the heavy heart of care held in the opening was what I sought to continue as the song goes on.  The “Aye, Scotland” melody introduced next is intended to stir a sense of pride in courageous nationalism simultaneously against the heartbreaking reality that so many beautiful and young men died in that ongoing quest…hence the lyric “the bonnie have bled for you.” 

The inclusion of the percussion is a military gesture as the third melody is introduced as well as the partnering of the previous melodies were all intended to reflect the layered and complex relationship of England to Scotland’s history. The piece ends as it begins, with open fifths evoking the Dune river’s the slow and free return to the Burns text, just as the Parliament returned home to Scotland in the dedication. 

I don’t know that I have anything to add here. Let me just say, though, that something in White’s wording reminded me that it wasn’t only Scottish men who were killed at Flodden; lots of English soldiers were killed or maimed too. Plenty of sadness to go around.

Here’s a nice performance by a high school choir–appropriate, alas, since so many of the soldiers killed at Flodden would have been young:

Debi Simons

1. Originally published by Heritage Music Press, a division of The Lorenz Corp., and now available through many sheet music outlets. ↩︎