The Laird of Bonnie Doon


New documentary & photographic
evidence has been unearthed that
an eleventh century Scottish Lord,
Bruce de Redpath, was crowned
King of Anglo Saxon England
on the 19th of October 1066.
Apparently, when the remaining
English Lords, huddled in London,
learned of King Harold’s demise
at the Battle of Hastings, they
turned to a Scotsman to fend
off Duke William of Normandy,
A.K.A. ‘William the Bastard’ to
his friends, & ‘Stormin’ Norman’
to his enemies.

Bruce de Redpath was the hero
of the Battle of Stamford Bridge,
having slain King Harald Harada
of Norway. Thus putting to an
end centuries of Viking marauding.
Naturally the English King Harold
took all the credit.

After his hurried coronation
King Bruce I (the one & only),
knowing the Peers of the Realm
would soon betray him and
bend the knee to Duke William,
decided to leave the English
Lords to their fate …
and migrate to Australia.

So William the Conqueror
was crowned on Christmas day
1066 at Westminster Abbey.
As a departing yuletide gift
to the Norman Duke, having
taken the real one him, King
Bruce left a papier-mâché
crown, “as befits a Frenchie”,
to be used at William’s
erroneous coronation. And as
a not so subtle reminder of
the feudal law that, ‘Whilst the
King anointed breatheth still
there can ne’er be another’.
A statute still in effect today!

Thus the bold display of the
crown above the Southern Cross
on both Victorian and Australian
Coat of Arms, representing the
legitimate claim of sovereignty
by the true heirs to the British

The implications are profound,
especially for Wills and Kate.
The well stream of Scottish
literature* has been dredged
and the truth flushed out, despite
the Norman attempts to erase all
record of the Redpath Coronation.
History is written by the victors,
but the Norman version of events
has proven to be a tapestry of lies.

The relevant documentation has
now been referred to the Privy
Council for adjudication.
Charles and Camilla have been
advised to check the small print
on their work contracts, along
with the rest of the family

The current Earl, and Countess,
of Strathearn may keep the titles.
But with three wee toddlers,
they best learn how to earn.
As for the soon to be Ex Duchess
of Sussex, I wish her all the best.
Being an actress, she is sure to be
a big success, if that suits the
soon to be former Duke of Sussex

The Scottish tradition of donning
paper crowns at the Christmas feast
is now seen as having it’s roots in
these recently rediscovered events.

According to native folklore
the Bruce settled somewhere north
of Port Phillip Bay, declaring;
“This is the place for a distillery,
to distill some peace & prosperity.”
Despite the ‘Evil Empire’ striking
back, and turning the place into
a prison camp. It would seem, with
the reign of William, the Anglais
acquired a taste for taking other
people’s tribal lands, by force.
Or has it ever been thus?

“Since the serpent in the garden
first played his hand, with a finger
on the scales, all humanity in the
balance. So, you had better watch
out! You had better think twice!
And consider whether you have
been naughty, or nice?”
~ The Book of Picts


* In a chauvinistic time
of barbaric bloodshed
brutality and misogyny
(much like today) that
some, especially the dumb
call the Age of Chivalry
it befell a peace loving
Laird to defend his land,
his subjects, and family.

With the fast approaching
oncoming Norman gloom
the sassenach aristocrats
turned to a brave Laird
from Bonnie Doon. The
Sword-Bearer of Rakkenrune
… the Viking Slayer, and
Bestower of Roman Doom
in the hands of the Clan from
Castle Bonnie Doon.
A weapon that could cleave
asunder any and many an
enemy shield. Given unto the
noble Sir Bruce by the Lady of
the Loch, to righteously wield,
with a Kingdom at stake.
To fight for the good
… for goodness sake.
That be no crock.
That be the Lassie
exotic and aquatic
of Loch Mullardoch.

So upon Laird Redpath’s
regal head was duly placed
the English Crown, by the
nobles, all full of dread
down in old London town.
The crown and sceptre
freely given.
Nay! Not purloined.
By the Bruce freely taken
for safe keeping.
For After all …
he was a Scotsman.
And with great regret
since William first sat
upon that throne
with a paper hat
the English succession
has been distinctly
Frankish. Hence European.

Knowing the barons craven
would not now, nor ever
stand firm and true
with a hop and a skip
the Bruce did a flip
and shot straight through.
The Son of Gaelic Thunder
heading Down Under.
To the land
of the Never Never
with a pouch full
of royal treasure
went the Big Red
that flying kangaroo.
Noblesse Oblige …
‘Twas far nobler he fled
in no particular hurry
leaving the sassenachs
post-haste to taste
some Norman mercy.

Some say the Monarch
took to the sky
like a royal butterfly.
The exodus
most gracious
of the righteous
Maximus Rex.
With his maiden fair
to soon marry ~
the Irish Wildflower
of Dawson Valley
~ his squire and
vassals loyal,
all worldly goods
for to carry,
the Laird Royal
bid farewell
to Bonnie Doon castle.
There to no longer tarry.
And with nought of a care
to be found anywhere
for the good order
of the British Empire.
Being the Mother
… of all hastle.

William the Norman
found despairing
to be wearing
a crown made of paper for
his Christmas coronation.
Appearing as out of
some festive bon bon
upon the frenchman’s head
a most pretty decoration.
He ordered his soldiers
to search all around
for that missing crown.
In a fit of frustration
the ‘Gangsta of Hastings’
then bade them
to burn London down.
Down to the ground.
Down to it’s foundation.

And yet another
message on parchment
from the Knight Caledonian
to the poor folk of London,
stamped with the Great Seal,
and so signed …
~ The Real Royal Deal.
Thus disregarding
the Duke Norman’s claim
with an overture declaring
~ Tell William to take aim
against a sea of troubles
if the English he wish to
be ruling. Likewise he be
dreaming if that Frenchie
believeth with all the
slings and arrows of his
outrageous fortune he might
best a true Scotsman.
A proud Celt from the Clan
for whom Hadrian built a
wall in futility to ban.
Your King from the Castle.
Not some Norman rascal.
The Laird from fair Castle
Bonnie Doon.
Thus endeth the quotation

So dear reader,
all that is left to say,
apart from a hearty
Scots Wha Hae,
is in your heart of hearts
be sure of whom you crown
on this Christmas day.

‘The Laird of Bonnie Doon’
~ by Sir Walter Scotch


The Laird of whom
wandering minstrel still sing;

“Steal a little,
and they throw you in jail
Steal a lot,
and they make you king.
So King Bruce stole the lot
to fit right royally in.”
~ The bard, Robert MacDylan


Irroofutable Evidence;
‘The Crest Victorious’
Victoria’s Coat of Arms,
starring ‘Big Red’, the
original Flying Kangaroo.
Referred to in medieval
Norman writings as
‘that thieving roo’.



Each year on the 19th day
of October a lone piper
plays at Castle Bonnie Doon.
The absent Laird & King
… to always remember.

And later that evening
a highland fling


… being flung.


The Lady of Loch Mullardoch.
According to legend,
the much sought after
weapon of mass destruction,
was returned to the Lady via
Lake Eildon. In safe keeping
for some future generation.


Ancient Druid prophesies
foretell the return to
Castle Bonnie Doon
of the legendary Rakkenrune,
brother sword to Caliburn;

* ‘Then once again
a Celt true blue
will take back
his rightful seat
upon Arthur’s throne.
The place where the
Stones of Destiny are
destined to ever be.
Pictavia’s Royal Stones
by the lowlanders
once stolen.
Like the toss of a caber
and a highland fling
the usurpers out thrown.
From Caledonia to Hibernia
to Avalon and back again
indeed the British Isles
entire ~ a right royal

The ‘Celtic Prognostications’
indicate these events will
herald in a time for severing
all bondages that bind
Scotland to England, and
hence, England to Normandy,
along with it’s union
of surrounding kingdoms
and fiefdoms. Then poor
England’s only hope of
economic salvation would
be by turning back to God,
and to the once jilted
Commonwealth of Nations.
… And not a wee moment
too soon, according to
ancient Druid tradition.

*The Book of Picts
(Revised Edition)


The Valley Red Path as
viewed from Scott’s Lookout,
after a few wee drams,
somewhere south of Brigadoon.
‘Tis said that the ‘Red’ is
for the blood of the foreign
invaders, over the ages
… shed in utter failure.


The three boar heads,
plastered upon the shield
of the Redpath Coat of Arms,
represent the Romans, Vikings,
and of course, the Sassenachs.
Often referred to in Scottish
literature as the
‘three little pigs’, who
all, in turn, failed to blow
the Celtic Wolf’s house down.
Typically, english historians
later completely turned the
story around.

The ever after happy ending.


The diaspora returneth

. . . to the old homestead.
Castle Bonnie Doon seems to be lost
in the mist. Much like Brigadoon.

And to where the cows
are shaggy and horny

. . . Very!

The kids are looking forward
to the new accommodation.

David Bruce Redpath © 2017

First published
December 22, 2017
on WordPress

D. & L. Redpath © 2018

84 thoughts on “The Laird of Bonnie Doon”

  1. My laird Redpath: so good to know more about your history and see your coat of arms. I especially appreciated the photo of horny cows, as well as of you returning to motherland to claim what’s yours. Remember us when you come into your kingdom and don’t pretend you don’t know us, or we’ll happily call you David the Red Bastard and tell everyone we’ve been WP friends. I want a title, a castle and some peasants to work for me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Fair Basilike, I shall forge an
      Anglo – Greco alliance forthwith.
      All those disgruntled, with the
      mean spirited antics of those
      Frankish tyrants of Brussels,
      shall find respite at the round
      table of New Camelot.
      (I have set aside Sterling
      Castle, on the banks of Loch
      Ness, just for you Basilike.
      With the title, Countess of
      Moreroar Ness. But the castle is
      in need of repair, and you’ll
      have to tell those pesky tourists
      to push off.)

      Liked by 1 person

    1. What … Me biased! From my
      Castle in the Highlands, I have
      an uninterrupted 360 degree
      world view. Just like Queen
      Victoria had from her perch
      at Balmoral Castle, after all
      the unsightly peasants were
      moved off their land.
      She couldn’t stand the sight
      of hard working farmers,
      spoiling her view, apparently.
      Perhaps it should’ve been
      named ‘Immoral Castle’?
      Thanks Punam … Glad you
      approve of my correction,
      with vengeance, of history.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks a bunch, Chuck.
      Not many people know that
      the Viking, Eric the Red, made
      regular antipodean voyages,
      trading in eucalyptus oil, and
      flat pack furniture.
      Being a distant cousin of
      Sir Bruce de Redpath (the Celts,
      Picts, and Vikings all got on
      famously in Caledonia, as
      now verified by
      Eric the Red was most obliging
      in transporting the Bruce, and
      all his household, to the Great
      South Land.


  2. I confess I return to your poems quite often. There’s always something new in every read. This one is amazing. (They all are.) I prefer this alternate historical version of events. Can’t wait until we can go sideways in time to be witnesses a la Timeline and prove you were absolutely right. Plus, I really love your photo art. I’m trying to get better at this myself. ♥.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for reading, Niki.
      Your comments greatly appreciated.
      As they say, truth can be rearranged to be
      stranger than fiction. Just been offered a
      a compromise settlement deal by the family
      Windsor lawyers. They get to keep the Isle
      of Wight, whilst I get Buckingham Palace,
      and all the rest. Might have to think about it.
      Strictly confidential at the moment, so don’t
      tell anyone.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yes, unfortunately old Lizzie, she’s hanging
        on for grim death. And nobody wants Chuck
        to take over. I’ve suggested putting it to a
        plebiscite, and let the plebs decide. But after
        the Brexit shock, the illegitimate Nepotist don’t want to take the risk.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s