16
National Emergency
As the cell door slammed shut in Forfar’s police station, the mystery surrounding arguably Scotland’s greatest heist was drawing to a close. It was 12 April 1951 and officers had the nation’s most wanted under lock and key. There was no food, no water sent to the cell – not even a blanket for the evening stay. There was no legal representation, no communication with the outside world. There were, however, frequent checks – just to make sure that there was no escape.
For the police on duty in the Angus town that evening, it was no ordinary assignment. What sat behind the metal bars of their custody area was not a master criminal but instead a lump of solid rock. It was no ordinary rock – it was the Stone of Destiny.
Whilst the recovery of the stone ended a mysterious chapter in law and order on both sides of the border, in truth, the story was just beginning. For decades, the intriguing tale of the circumstances of the audacious raid has captured the imagination and there is no sign of that abating. When the referendum on Scottish independence was proposed and then scheduled for September 2014, it brought the notion of nationalism to the fore and the debate on both sides of the argument raged on. The only thing that is certain is that it is not a new issue, as the theft – or liberation – of the Stone of Destiny proves.
How it came to rest in a Forfar police cell is just one of many facets to a story with layer after layer beneath the surface. It had been driven to the town by Angus County Police, who took possession of the artefact, which is treasured and disputed in equal measure, after they were summoned to Arbroath Abbey – where Scotland had signed a declaration to fight for freedom in 1320. Just before the police arrived, a car had pulled up at the historic abbey and the three men inside were greeted by two town councillors, D. A. Gardner and F. W. A. Thornton, who both had strong links to the Scottish Convention movement. The Convention had been responsible for the Scottish Covenant – a petition to the Westminster parliament calling for home rule. First mooted in the 1930s, the push for Scottish home rule began to gather pace in the post-war years. John MacCormick, a leading nationalist, oversaw the drawing up of the Covenant, which was penned in Edinburgh during a national assembly of the Scottish Convention. The petition was eventually signed by around two million people – more than a third of the total population of Scotland at that time. It was, however, dismissed out of hand by the UK government. Not surprisingly, those behind the Covenant were outraged by this reaction.
Councillor Thornton aided the mysterious trio as they carried the heavy stone towards the abbey whilst Gardner was dispatched to Arbroath’s police office to let them know. And so the media frenzy began. The stone had been draped in the Saltire as it was slowly paraded up the aisle and laid at the high altar – the grave of King William the Lion of Scotland. It was presented to James Wishart, custodian of the abbey, and he remained by its side until police arrived.
Delivered with the stone were two unsigned letters. One was addressed to the King and the other to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. The letter to the King read:
Unto his Majesty King George VI, the address of his Majesty’s Scottish subjects who removed the Stone of Destiny from Westminster Abbey and have since retained it in Scotland, humbly showeth.
That in their actions they, as loyal subjects, have intended no indignity or injury to his Majesty or to the Royal Family.
That they have been inspired in all they have done by their deep love of his Majesty’s realm of Scotland and by their desire to compel the attention of his Majesty’s Minister to the widely expressed demand of Scottish people for a measure of self-government.
That in removing the Stone of Destiny they were restoring to the people of Scotland the most ancient and most honourable part of the Scottish regalia, which for many centuries was venerated as the palladium of their liberty and which in 1296 was violently pillaged from Scotland in the false hope that it would be the symbol of their humiliation and conquest.
That the stone was kept in Westminster Abbey in defiance of a royal command and despite the promise of its return to Scotland.
That by no other means than the forceful removal of the stone from Westminster Abbey was it possible even to secure discussion as to its rightful resting place.
That it is the earnest hope of his Majesty’s Scottish people that arrangements for the proper disposition of the stone may now be made after consultation with the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland who as successors of the Abbots of Scone are its natural guardians.
That it is the earnest prayer of his Majesty’s loyal subjects who have served his Majesty both in peace and war that the blessing of Almighty God be with the King and all his peoples so that in peace they may enjoy the freedom which sustains the loyalty of affection rather than the obedience of servility. God save the King.
The letter which was addressed to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland asked that the representatives of the Church should ‘speak for the whole people’ and arrange with the authorities in England for the Stone of Destiny to be ‘retained in Scotland’.
Having witnessed the incredible scene, Wishart described how the stone had been carried on a wooden ‘litter’ up the former nave of the abbey between the ruins of pillars, to be placed at its symbolic resting place. The abbey’s custodian told reporters: ‘They laid it at the three stones which marked the site of the high altar. They carried the stone in a reverent manner, their heads were uncovered, and it was a solemn and impressive little ceremony. The men shook hands with me and wished me the best of luck and then went. As soon as I knew that the Stone of Destiny had been placed in my charge I locked the gates. I have always told visitors that one day the Stone of Destiny would come to this historic spot and I am glad that my words have come true.’
Details of the trio who carried out the deed were scarce, save for being billed by Wishart as ‘young’ and ‘well set-up lads’. Their vehicle was big and black – that was all there was to go on. But then, the detail was not really the key as this was a heist which was all about the bigger picture.
The relic, also known as the Stone of Scone, was, and is, of huge symbolic importance to nationalists. The Stone of Destiny was linked to St Columba, who was said to have used it as a travelling altar, and the nation’s kings had been crowned on the slab, making it part of the country’s historic tapestry. That was until 1299, when King Edward I stormed Scone Abbey and stole it, carrying it off to Westminster Abbey. The history was one which lived fresh in the minds of nationalists.
It remained in London, hidden beneath the Coronation Chair – the oldest piece of furniture in the abbey and one which had been used for 27 coronations up to that point. Only once did the stone ever leave the abbey and that was as far back as 1657 when it was taken across to Westminster Hall for the installation of Cromwell as Lord Protector.
And then came 1950 and a major police incident which saw roadblocks thrown up and some of the country’s most senior detectives enlisted. It began when the alarm was raised in the early hours of Christmas morning. The Stone of Destiny was gone and, according to police, there was ‘absolutely no trace’ of it as they began their search. It was nightwatchman Andrew Hislop who was the first on the scene. He had been doing his rounds when he spotted marks on the altar carpet, indicating that something heavy had been dragged down the stairs and towards a side door. It did not take him long to identify the missing piece and a frantic call to police followed soon after.
The early theory was that those responsible for the heist must have camped out in a chapel at the abbey overnight before springing into action but that proved not to be the case. Closer inspection identified the point of entry, with a wooden door showing signs of having been forced open. It appeared as though a crowbar had been wedged between the door and frame, with significant force needed to then burst it open. Despite the undoubted noise and commotion that would have created, the size of the Westminster buildings meant, through good fortune, the intruders did not arouse suspicion.
That was just the first step for those who had gained entry. A rail which separated the public, in ordinary circumstances, from the Coronation Chair had been pushed away but removing it from the seat was not straightforward. A bar of wood holding the slab in place was peeled away and left splintered in the process. Even then, there was work to be done as the stone was eased out of the confined space where it was held within the chair. A metal plaque, bearing the legend ‘Coronation Chair and Stone’, was also missing. With the historic piece dislodged, the group then had to manoeuvre it out of the building. The sandstone-coloured artefact was not huge – measuring 26in by 16in by 11in with two rings set into it – but it was heavy and, therefore, cumbersome. Police presumed it had been transferred into a waiting car outside the door at Poets’ Corner.
That car, according to early information collated from witness statements, was a Ford Anglia. Descriptions of the vehicle, which was seen in the area at the time of the heist, were issued along with information on a man and woman, both with Scottish accents, who were travelling in it. The assumption was that they were nationalists who were intent on taking the stone back to Scotland with them.
For three months the investigation drew a complete blank. Broadly speaking, the police knew who had stolen it but a list of suspects spanning half the Scottish population was not a great asset to them and narrowing that search proved to be a frustrating effort. They did get within touching distance, as the net closed in on the quartet who had masterminded the headline-grabbing heist. Those individuals were Ian Hamilton, Gavin Vernon, Alan Stuart and Kay Matheson.
Police searched properties across Scotland as they attempted to track down the stone, going as far afield as the Wester Ross croft of Matheson’s family. She had been studying at the University of Glasgow when she joined the idealistic gang and stood up to fierce interrogation at the hands of determined officers. She had also been responsible for driving the stone through roadblocks and evading detection as it made its potentially hazardous trip back home. It transpired the stone had broken during its repatriation but it had, in fact, survived far worse in the past, having been targeted once before, in 1914, when a bomb was placed under the Coronation Chair in an attack believed to have been led by the suffragettes.
Months passed before the time was deemed right to take it on the final journey, to Angus. Following its ‘delivery’ to Arbroath Abbey and subsequent collection by police in April 1951, it was returned to Westminster by the authorities. In 1996 it was returned to Scotland as a gesture of goodwill and can now be seen at Edinburgh Castle. In the 1920s, MP David Kirkwood was given permission to bring a bill for the removal of the stone to the Palace of Holyroodhouse but that bid did not come to fruition.
Even after their identities had become clear, none of the four cross-border raiders faced prosecution. It has been claimed the government feared the student population would rise up and revolt if their varsity counterparts were hauled before the courts.
The death of Matheson in 2013, by then living a quiet life in the Highland village of Aultbea after carving out a reputation as a respected Gaelic scholar and fine teacher, brought the incredible story back to the fore – not that it has ever been far from the Scottish consciousness, having been immortalised by various filmmakers over the years.
The 2008 movie Stone of Destiny, in which Matheson’s role was played by Kate Mara, was just one of a number of film and television productions to have touched on the drama of the episode.
Former Liberal Democrat party leader Charles Kennedy was at one stage a fierce political rival of Matheson, as the pair went head to head in elections, but he was among the first to lead the tributes when news of her death broke. Kennedy said she was ‘an inspirational force’ and added: ‘The redoubtable Kay was a truly remarkable character, one of whom I was truly fond and someone who was tremendously kind towards me. I was apprehensive in the extreme when I first stood locally in 1983 to find Kay – of Stone of Destiny fame – as my SNP opponent. In fact we hit it off so well that a firm friendship was formed.’
Ian Hamilton, who went on to qualify in law and rose to serve as Queen’s Counsel, has no regrets about his part. Now in his 80s, he told Telegraph journalist Olga Craig that the incident remains a source of great pride to him. During that interview in 2008, Hamilton said: ‘You sort of know that when you take a crowbar to a side door of Westminster Abbey and jemmy the lock that there isn’t really any going back, don’t you? Not when you know that the next thing you are going to do is steal one of the ancient relics inside. Not that it was stealing. It was a liberation. A returning of a venerable relic to its rightful ownership. Of course back then I didn’t realise the scale of the thing. That it would become an international incident.’
For years Hamilton did not speak about his past – after all, in the years which followed, his life was upholding the law of the land. With age, he relaxed and revealed more about the planning and execution of the heist, giving his approval to the 2008 film version of the story. Directed by Charles Martin Smith, the movie retold the story for a modern audience. It starred Robert Carlyle, a fittingly Scottish casting, and received decent reviews when it aired. Initially, the team behind the concept had hoped to attract Hollywood interest but found the tale of the fight for Scottish independence did not hold much sway in California. In time, funding was secured, with a combination of Scottish and Canadian backers bankrolling the production, and the filming could begin. Beneath the title ran the tag line, ‘A heist 600 years in the making’.
Despite enjoying the cinematic re-creation, Hamilton insisted, at the time of the movie’s release, that his days as a political activist were long gone. He said: ‘No more breaking and entering for me. ‘I’m no longer a particularly political person. I believe deeply in my country. But as we say here: “No Scotland, no me”. I’m no hero, the title doesn’t fit. Yes, though, I am immensely proud that that young man is me.
‘I’m not ashamed. In fact I’m rather proud. We drove down the bleak, narrow roads to London to hurt no one. Rather to puncture England’s pride. To save no one but the ruined hopes of our country. I wanted to waken the Scots up, that was all.’
It transpired that the then SNP activist John MacCormick had bankrolled the expedition. Bankrolled is perhaps over-glamorising the process – a crisp £50-note was the extent of the financial transaction behind the great heist. That money helped pay for petrol for two cars to make the long and arduous trip on 1950s roads from Glasgow down to the Big Smoke in winter weather and with no heaters. It was not a walk in the park.
They did their homework on the abbey, making an earlier visit and discovering that a door at the east end of the building was made of pine rather than oak. That was the chosen point of entry and it worked a treat. Getting in was only half the battle; the removal element proved more of a challenge than had been expected. Matheson, the getaway driver, waited patiently outside whilst her three partners in crime wrestled with the stone inside. It toppled and smashed in the process, breaking a couple of Scottish toes along the way.
As one piece was transferred to Matheson’s car, the plan came unstuck – a policeman, walking the beat, appeared on the scene. Ian Hamilton eloquently documented his experiences in his 1952 book No Stone Unturned. In an illuminating passage on the moment the plot almost unravelled, he documented his fear caused by Matheson’s decision to move the getaway car into position before the stone was ready to be loaded. Hamilton wrote:
I opened the door, and as I did so I heard the car start up. It moved forward into the lane, whence it was clearly visible from the road. We still had to drag the Stone down the masons’ yard. It was far too early to move forward yet. ‘The fool,’ I said, and dashed through the line of sheds to tell Kay to get back into cover. The car was standing outside the gap in the hoarding. I opened the car door. ‘Get the damned car back into cover,’ I spat. ‘We’re not ready yet.’
Kay looked at me coolly. ‘A policeman has seen me,’ she said. ‘He’s coming across the road’. I got into the car beside her and silently closed the door. I reached forward, and switched on the lights. I fought breath into myself and wiped the dust of the Abbey off my hands on to Kay’s coat. I put one hand over the back of the seat, and groped for Alan’s spare coat. Carefully I draped it over the fragment of the Stone. Then I took her in my arms.
It was a strange situation in which we found ourselves, yet neither of us felt perturbed. Kay was as cool and calm, as though we were on our way home from a dance, and for a couple of minutes I was so immersed in the task at hand that I completely forgot the approach of the policeman. It was our third night without sleep, and I think we were both so drugged with tiredness that we would have accepted any situation as normal. Our minds were cold as ice, and we had thrashed our bodies so hard and worked for so long in the shadow of our ultimate aim that fear or panic played no part with us.
The policeman loomed up in front of us. ‘What’s going on here?’ he thundered. It was perfectly obvious what was going on. Kay and I did not fall apart until he had had plenty of opportunity to see us. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, you know, officer,’ I explained. Christmas Eve be damned!’ he answered. ‘It’s five o’clock on Christmas morning.’ ‘Ochone! Ochone!’ I said. ‘Is it that time already?’
You’re sitting on private property here,’ he told us. ‘And why did you move forward when you saw me coming?’ ‘I know,’ I said humbly. ‘I knew we shouldn’t be here. We put on the lights to show you that we were quite willing to move on.’
But where can we go?’ asked Kay, vamping him. ‘The streets are far too busy.’ ‘You should be off home,’ he told her, and looked at her severely. We explained to him that we were down from Scotland on tour, and that we had arrived in London too late to get a bed. We sat and held hands in front of him, and tried to give him the impression that we were too much in love to go to a hotel and be parted.
He began to warm to us. To my horror, he took off his helmet, and laid it on the roof of the car. He lit a cigarette and showed every sign of staying, till he had smoked it. ‘There’s a dark car park just along the road,’ he said, smacking his lips contemplatively. We knew that car park. The other car was there.
‘Och, well,’ said Kay, thrusting her head into the lion’s mouth, ‘if we’re not comfortable there we can always get you to run us in and give us a bed in the cells.’ ‘No! No!’ said the PC knowingly. ‘There’s not a policeman in London would arrest you tonight. None of them want to appear in court on Boxing Day to give evidence against you.’ Kay gave my hand a squeeze. ‘A good night for crime!’ I said, and we all laughed.
All this time I had been conscious of a scraping going on behind the hoarding. Why on earth didn’t they lie low until the policeman had gone? It transpired afterwards that they had no idea that we were entertaining the police, and they were calling my parentage in question to the tenth generation for sitting in the car while they did all the work.
Kay heard the noise, too, and we engaged the constable in furious conversation. He thought us excellent company. His slightest sally brought forth peals of laughter, and when he essayed a joke we nearly had convulsions. Surely they would hear our laughter and be warned.
There was a muffled thud from behind the hoarding. The constable stopped speaking, tensed, listening. My heart sank to my boots. Kay’s hand became rigid in mine. Then the constable laughed and said, ‘That was the old watchman falling down the stairs.’ Furiously and hysterically, Kay and I laughed at the idea of the watchman falling down the stairs. Surely they had heard us now. ‘I wish it was six o’clock,’ said the policeman. ‘And then I would be off duty.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door in the hoarding slowly opening. Gavin’s face appeared, followed by his head and shoulders. Suddenly he froze. He had seen the policeman. His lips formed an amazed oath. Inch by inch he edged back, and the door closed behind him. The policeman finished his cigarette and put on his helmet. ‘You’d better be going now,’ he said. ‘We had indeed!’ I said, wiping the sweat out of my eyes. ‘Will you show us the way?’ asked Kay, trying to get him off the premises. ‘Oh, you can’t miss the car park,’ he said, and redirected us.
Kay started the engine. She is, although she will be annoyed that I say so, a very bad driver, but that morning her bad driving was designed and not incompetence. Never has clutch been let in so jerkily; never has a car veered from side to side so crazily. I looked back and waved to the constable. As Kay had expected, he was following down behind us – too amazed at the crazy driving to pay attention to anything else. We reached Old Palace Yard and Kay put her toe down.
Hamilton and his sidekick had managed to talk their way out of the situation but Matheson had no option but to pull away and head for the hills. She drove to Birmingham for the first stop on the journey back, with the remaining three dealing with the other half of the stone. In a delightful detail, the slab was doused in whisky at the border to mark its homecoming.
Of course, it was soon winging its way back south after being reclaimed for Westminster in 1951. Upon its return to Scotland in 1996, it became a popular visitor attraction at Edinburgh Castle – a talking point for tens of thousands who passed through the doors each year.
But the many twists and turns in the story of the Stone of Destiny did not end in 1996. According to many, the greatest mystery remains to be solved.
Two popular theories have been floated. One is that the English never had the real stone in the first place – that King Edward was duped in 1296 by a replica and canny Scots had squirrelled the real version away to prevent it falling into enemy hands. The other conspiracy tale is that, even if the original had been housed in Westminster, it was not handed back in 1951. The story, whether fact or fiction, is that, when it was liberated by the student quartet, it was hidden away and a very well-made copy was what was ceremonially presented at Arbroath Abbey.
That is a chain of events supported by the family of Bertie Gray, the stonemason who was said to be behind the switch. It was Gray who was entrusted with the difficult job of repairing the stone following the damage inflicted upon it during its liberation from Westminster. According to his children, he made two perfect replicas at the same time – complete with bolts where the repair had been made – and they are convinced the real one was not handed over to the authorities. The intention, it is claimed, was to wait for the hullabaloo to subside and then go public with the facts about the real deal.
But they say their father took the truth to the grave with him when he died in 1975 and even they have been left to fill in the blanks. In the age of modern analysis, it would be possible to forensically examine the stone on show in Edinburgh but then that would spoil the fun. The great charm of the Stone of Destiny is the air of intrigue relating to every facet of its history. Claims, counter-claims and opinion have ensured that almost everyone in the country has their own thoughts on the subject – particularly those of a nationalist leaning.
In 2014, the year in which Alex Salmond, as First Minister, would take his dream of independence for Scotland to a public vote, it is fitting that he has the final word. Salmond said: ‘There are two questions that are key to the mystery of the stone. Did the Abbot of Scone meekly surrender Scotland’s most famous symbol to Edward in 1296, or did he allow him to ransack a substitute? Was it the real Stone of Destiny that turned up on the altar at Arbroath Abbey in 1951 after being repatriated by Ian Hamilton and friends, or was it a replica made by bailie Bertie Gray? On balance, my view is that the Abbot of Scone furnished Edward with a substitute. What I believe cannot be in doubt is that the stone currently in Edinburgh Castle is the one that lay in Westminster Abbey for 700 years. Neither question can ever be finally answered – and that is why the mystery of the stone is one best left unsolved.’