I have stories yet untold. I suppose I wasn’t sure if they were mine to tell. But some stories deserve to be told, and some people deserve to have their story told, though they cannot tell it themselves . . .
In the far north of Scotland is a castle. A small, elegant, brownish-pink castle–a stone’s throw from the sea, yet bordered by attractive gardens, with sheep-grazed pastures and woodlands beyond. It is called the Castle of Mey, and belonged to the late Queen Mother. Not the Queen who passed away one year agone, but her mother, HM Elizabeth The Queen Mother. She purchased the ramshackle castle in 1952, and set about restoring both castle and grounds. It became her summer home (with another visit every October). Here, she enjoyed the natural beauties of Scotland, and here she entertained guests. I couldn’t tell you much about those guests–apart from one. About one couple’s visits to The Castle of Mey, I know quite a lot. I know, because they told me themselves.
The minister of The Church of Scotland Parish of Canisbay and Keiss, the region of Scotland called Caithness where the castle is situated, was for a time one Reverend Alex Muir, MA BD. To you, just a name, to me a thousand memories–most of which occurred at a modest house in the small Scottish city of Inverness. Again, just a house, just number 14, to me so much more. Alex (retired from the ministry by this time) and his wife, Catriona, were members of our church. They were acquaintances who became, in a matter of no time at all, close friends. Me, a young American, still smitten with Scotland, still lonely from time-to-time, still prone to say the outlandish things that Americans tend to say while on foreign soil. John, a Scot, but not known in the “highlands and islands,” and with much to occupy him in his new position at work. We two just a young couple, trying to find our way in the world.
We were invited for lunch one Sunday–a Sunday that became the first of many–and what a delight to be in the home of new friends. I remember the sunny dining room with a view of Catriona’s colorful garden. I remember the blue, yellow, and green budgies, chirping and flitting about their large cage. I remember the black and white photo of Alex and The Queen Mother, hung on the wall. The story behind that photo came to me in stages over the next few years, on visits to number 14. Oh, I loved to be there, amid the old books, and photographs, and cassette tapes–all the ideas, and stories, and melodies, wrapped up inside. Oh, I loved the smell of Catriona’s fluffy scones just out of the oven. Oh, I loved to chat with their boys (all round about my and John’s age) and to hear the stories Alex would tell. Oh, I loved the love in that place.
Alex, a teacher before his years as minister, was a true Encyclopedia of Scottish history and literature. I remember lending him my CD of Lorena McKennit’s musical rendition of The Lady of Shallot. I rather think that could Alex have been transported to The Eagle and Child Pub in Oxford during the 1940s, he would have joined in with the discussions of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and the other Inklings without any effort at all. One day, he presented to me his copy of Mrs. Browning’s Poetical Works, saying that the poet’s hair rather reminded him of mine. But I digress . . .
Literature was not, however, the foremost thing on Alex’s mind. The Scottish Christian revivals of the 19th century–which had transformed so many lives and communities–and church music were the things he spoke about with the most passion. He was a great admirer of American hymnwriter Ira Sankey, composer of Just as I Am, Have Thine Own Way Lord, I Surrender all, and many others. Alex was also an amateur composer and lyricist himself–one who had attracted the notice of The Queen Mother, and in time, The Queen herself . . .
During his years as minister in Caithness, Alex and Catriona (as the parish minister and his wife) were invited to dine at The Castle of Mey on multiple occasions. They came to know and hold great respect for The Queen Mother, and Alex felt quite convinced of her sincere faith in the Lord. One time, she requested a tour of their home, the Manse. Catriona dutifully and I am sure graciously consented. She later told me that when The Queen Mother glimpsed her oldest son’s room, plastered with posters of footballers and movie stars, that she remarked, “All these precious things.” Catriona declared that The Queen Mother always knew just what to say.
On learning that Alex was musical, The Queen Mother asked him to bring along his guitar on his visits to the castle. He played Scottish ballads, folk music, and his own compositions. There’s a story about her making a request for “The Jeely Piece Song.” It would have been at the castle that The Queen, on one of her visits to her mother, would have first met Alex and Catriona and heard him play. It’s all rather like a Scottish fairytale, castle and all, but the story doesn’t end there . . . The Queen apparently so loved Alex’s beautiful, haunting melody, “Bays of Harris,” that she selected it to be played at her funeral, should she pass from this life while in Scotland–which she did. My heart swelled as I watched the talented Karen Matheson sing the words of Psalm 118 in Gaelic to Alex’s melody. How I wished Alex had been there to see his melody performed for The Queen one last time! Bays of Harris was also used at the funeral of former parliament member Winnie Ewing, in Inverness Cathedral. It was sung there by another famous Gaelic singer, Julie Fowlis.
Alex went to his own Heavenly Castle in 2010, and Catriona followed ten years later. I think of them often. A piece of my heart went to Heaven when they left. But oh, so glorious to know their lives–and Alex’s music–are yet reaching hearts and inspiring lives. I wondered what had inspired The Queen to choose Psalm 118. She was very particular in all she said and did. Every Christmas, The Queen gave a Christmas speech, and without fail, every year she spoke about the Savior. Wise and thoughtful woman that she was, she would have known that her funeral was her last chance to “give a speech,” her last chance to address the world. Years before she passed, she carefully chose every word–from hymns to Bible texts–that would be part of her final day. Could it have been verses eight and nine that she wanted to impress upon the hearts of all who were listening that day?
It is better to take refuge in the LORD
than to trust in man.
It is better to take refuge in the LORD
than to trust in princes
-Psalm 118:8-9
It’s been twenty years now since The Queen Mother passed, a year since The Queen herself–I have confidence that she, Alex, and Catriona are now reunited in their glorious bodies–but their legacies live on. And so will the legacies of Alex & Catriona, for all who knew them, and for all who are touched by Alex’s music–today, and for generations to come.
Bays of Harris, Psalm 118, sung by Karen Matheson, former singer with the group Capercaillie, at St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh for the Queen’s funeral (sadly, credit was given to the man who arranged the melody instead of to the composer, Alex)
Psalm 63 sung by Clare Ross to Bays of Harris. Clare recorded this piece with Alex in the 1980s. You will hear English at the end.
God Has Given Us a Dream – Hymn and melody by The Reverend Alex Muir, MA BD, sung by singer and filmmaker, Matthew Todd of Fellowship Film
Avonlea xo
Learn to love mornings & grow in faith . . .
Bookish devotionals for busy moms. Sign up here FREE
Connect with me on Instagram/Facebook @happy.little.sigh
Happy Little Sigh
Homemaking Inspiration from Literature ♥
PS Enjoy the story behind the writing of Bays of Harris, including an interview with Alex, below ⤵
happy little sigh 