Words: Iona McLean (she/her)
The unicorn disna always glitter with innocence untouched; it is marked by time, by rain, by smoke, by hands that havena always been gentle.
And still, it keeps its form. Still, it stands. There is a purity in that kind o survival, no pristine, but honest, earned through stayin.
Afore ye ken whit the unicorn is meant tae mean, ye ken it belongs tae Scotland.
Crested in stane abuin the close mouths, lifting its heed tae watch as folks pour in tae St Giles, glancing doon as years o graduate classes gang by the staircase.
It is ours.
In the auld stories it is rife, a pure being and no because its fragile but mare so because it cani be tamed, bendin only tae thole and care.
Drawn fae ancient Celtic tradition and carried through the centuries, it became the beast ae kings.
Purely because it couldna be taimed by just anyone.
In the days when beasts carried aw sorts ae meaning, ones woven in tae song and stories, the unicorn wis kent as untaimable, wild o spirit just lit the folk it represents.
Maist people in this great land come close tae it everyday and they dinny even ken.
A hand trails alang the stain it’s carved in tae as they wait fur a pal, a back leans in fur a moments rest, a glance lifts and drifts awa again.
Ye can see where rain has run its ain lines across it, where soot and weather have dimmed the white it wis meant tae keep.
And yet, there it is still; no gleamin, no shoutin, but present. There is a comfort in that kind o presence, in somethin that disna need tae be renewed tae remain.
The unicorn watches without judgement.
It sees fashions change, buildings rise and fall, accents shift and soften.
It watches students arrive unsure and leave thinkin they ken a bit more than they did.
It watches folk fall in love on steps beneath it, watches them part again, watches lives brush past and carry on.
There is nae demand made o us in its gaze. It disna ask for loyalty, nor belief, nor even attention. It only asks tae be allowed tae stay.
That patience is rooted deep in they auld stories.
Long afore it wis carved in stone or set upon a shield, the unicorn lived in tellins passed fae mouth tae ear, woven intae nights round fires and walks through forests where the land still felt alive.
It wis said tae be drawn tae quiet, tae truth spoken without force, tae hands that didna grasp.
Maybe that is why it endured, carried through centuries that otherwise stripped so much away.
When Scotland needed a symbol tae speak for it, the unicorn wis already there, waitin. No a beast o conquest, but o tenderness. No a stranger but a familiar pal.
Crowned and chained in heraldry, aye, but even then, it holds itself as if the chain is only a suggestion, a reminder o the world it moves through rather than a command it obeys.
What I love maist is how little ceremony surrounds it. There are nae crowds, nae flags waved in its honour. It is met instead through habit, passed daily, leaned on briefly, noticed only when it’s missed.
The unicorn belongs tae us not because we salute it, but because we live alongside it.
The unicorn disna always glitter with innocence untouched; it is marked by time, by rain, by smoke, by hands that havena always been gentle.
And still, it keeps its form. Still, it stands. There is a purity in that kind o survival, no pristine, but honest, earned through stayin.
It is maybe in thae small, ordinary moments that the unicorn speaks loudest.
No in myths alone, nor in shields and seals, but in the way it bears witness tae everyday life. It reminds us, softly, that strength doesna aye need tae bare its teeth, that power can bide as well as act.
And it is from that place ; shared, worn, and quietly beloved that your final thought can rise and settle.
Beside England’s lion, roarin, broad chested wae command, Scotland’s unicorn feels like a different answer tae the same question.
It doesna conquer, it withdraws, it doesna rule by force, but by the simple fact o bein impossible tae own.
In this way, the unicorn hauds a kind o independence that is older than parliaments or borders.
Chained in heraldry yet free in spirit, it mirrors a country that has always kent how tae bide within another’s grasp without ever fully belongin tae it, carryin its sovereignty inward, in the independent hearts o its citizens.
Mibby that’s why we the Scots chose it tae represent us, a white, horned dream.
A creature o strength that disnae roar, o power that bides, o innocence that is no ignorance.
In a land full o beasts that bite, drag and droon, the unicorn asks us tae believe that gentleness tae can be a kind o might.
