story of the saltire

story of the saltire

By the ninth century AD, according to the ancient chronicles of the kings, Pictland was almost two-thousand years old, the Picts had at one time resisted Rome like no other race of Europe, but now the celebrated native control of northern Britain was coming to a close, yet still the Picts had one last great achievement that left a striking mark on national history. Early in that century King Unust of the Picts ruled over a shrinking kingdom being attacked jealously on all sides by Scots, Britons, Anglo/Saxons, and latterly the Vikings. The Anglo/Saxons, who would become known as the English, were coming to the fore as the supreme force in Britain, with their cruel dominion now intruding far north to the former Pictish lands at Edinburgh and the Forth Estuary.
King Athelstan of the Angles marched northwards to destroy the Picts with a huge force, King Unust of the Picts went to meet him with a battle-depleted army. In the Lothian region King Unust found himself hemmed in by an English army much bigger than was feared. The Picts were soon surrounded by Athelstan’s massive host , it seemed certain that the Pictish king and his nation were at last finished for good, the awesome English force were poised to roll out their dominion northwards over the whole land.
On the eve of certain destruction as the Picts felt the enemy close all around them, King Unust knew that whether he retreated or fought, he and his men were doomed, and so that night he offered no customary war-cries for the morning’s battle, but simply knelt and earnestly prayed for a miracle. On the day of battle mysterious signs emerged in the heavens, as the dark hordes of English moved in on the hopelessly smaller enemy, the clear day sky turned a deep deep blue, heavy Pictish hearts began lifting as a piercing formation of white clouds took the shape of St Andrew’s cross right above the battlefield, with beams of light bursting through on the small army of Picts so that they glowed with an eary lustre that magnified their presence.
Unease began spreading through the ranks of the enemy as the small ghostly army ploughed fearlessly into the dark sea of English warriors, and all the while the shining diagonal cross remained in the sky overhead. The Picts worked into a frenzy and carved a path right to the heart of the enemy and at the ford of the Peffer Burn they beheaded King Athelstan, and with this the English scattered southwards for their lives.
This all took place at Athelstanford, now a beautiful village nestled in the rolling Garleton hills of East -Lothian. Back then, King Unust’s spectacular victory was seen as a great miracle that became etched into the national psyche, and the symbol of that victory, the white cross of Saint Andrew on a blue background, survived the transition from Pictland to Scotland, and through a thousand years of turbulent history, it remains the flag of the nation. .

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