The story of Brexit in Scotland was about whether – and, if so, how – Scotland’s vote to Remain in the EU was to be acknowledged. In Albert Hirschman’s terminology, was it to be through the exercise of voice – a role for Scotland’s representatives in influencing the form of EU withdrawal and its domestic implications or through exit, by triggering a second independence referendum? In the end it was neither. The UK-wide majority to Leave the EU prevailed, with no concessions to the Scottish government’s preferred form of Brexit and no second independence referendum. This result exposed radically conflicting visions of the nature of the UK’s territorial constitution – a Union State based on Scottish popular sovereignty, or a Unitary State based on the sovereignty of the UK Parliament. A Brexit premised on the restoration of Parliamentary sovereignty and the desire to ‘take back control’ laid bare the subaltern nature of the Union-State account and the fragility of Scotland’s constitutional protections within the Union. Devolution in Scotland has been left diminished and the pathway towards independence mired in uncertainty.

Romanticism Bewitched concludes with a discussion of Joanna Baillie’s Gothic tragedy, Witchcraft, written as a response to what she believed to be a missed opportunity by Scott in his novel, The Bride of Lammermoor, to explore the psychological and social dimensions of the rise of witchcraft. The first section outlines the similarities between Scott’s novel and Macbeth. Both Scott’s novel and Shakespeare’s tragedy take place in Scotland in a politically precarious moment with squabbling factions and dwindling confidence in the central authority of the government. In the second section, Baillie argues that the decidedly unsympathetic treatment of the female supernatural by Scott and others perpetuates damaging stereotypes and diverts our attention from the real problem – a social structure founded on inequity. Baillie’s tragedy explores the outbreak of accusations of witchcraft as the consequence of a diseased patriarchy and the abdication of the responsibilities of fathers, literally within the family unit and figuratively as the representatives of the authority of church and state.

The presence of witches in Walter Scott’s Waverly novels is suggestive of social and occasionally political disorder, but their presence – like the context of revolutionary crises – also provides his male characters with an opportunity to confront something larger than themselves, a possibly inimical force, and to evolve in this process. Scott, not satisfied with collecting works of demonology, decided to write one himself. This chapter investigates the tensions in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft between Scott’s impartiality as a demonologist and a writer of historical fiction, his antiquarian impulse and the genuine sympathy he has for women accused of witchcraft.

Scott’s sympathy for the figure of the witch is put to the test in Guy Mannering with the introduction of Meg Merrilies, the Roma prophetess and witch. Merrilies’s status as a local sibyl and matriarchal leader within the Romany community is deliberately contrasted with Guy Mannering’s academic magic as an educated English astrologer, and, later, his social standing as a colonel and beloved father/patriarch. In addition, Merrilies’s powers as a storyteller or story-shaper are also in tension with Scott’s authorial control. It is not surprising, therefore, that the climactic resolution in Guy Mannering hinges on the death of Merrilies. Yet Scott’s effort to suppress and contain the disruptive presence of Merrilies by disposing of her is not entirely successful. This chapter concludes with a brief overview of the afterlife of Meg Merrilies in theatrical productions, Keats’s famous poem, and her influence on the aged Sarah Siddons.

Scott’s struggles to maintain authorial control against the incursions of Merrilies’s witchlike powers compels him to consciously assume the more distanced role of an antiquarian collecting stories of female enthusiasm in subsequent novels, offering up prognoses of mental instability for the witches in The Antiquary, The Pirate and Ivanhoe. This chapter also introduces an entirely new and different witch figure: Rebecca, a lovely young Jewish healer whose potential marriage to Ivanhoe is challenged by racial prejudice and misogynistic suspicions that brand her as a witch. Although Rebecca is rescued from her trial as a witch, she does not receive the happy ending she deserves. Scott writes her out of the narrative in the end when she and her father decide to leave England. Yet Ivanhoe’s choice of a bride – the mild and dutiful Rowena – pales by comparison to Rebecca, inviting readers to envision an alternative ending: the union of Rebecca and Ivanhoe, and the socially transformative potential of this marriage between a Christian and a Jew, the story’s hero, and a purported witch.

The Introduction situates Romanticism Bewitched within current historicist scholarship on gender and witchcraft, feminist political theory and recent scholarship on misogyny and women’s anger. In addition, it traces the trajectory of witchcraft belief from the seventeenth century down to the Romantic era, exploring the eighteenth-century fascination with Shakespeare’s Macbeth and the gendered politics of representations of Lady Macbeth. During the Romantic period, Siddons’s powers of enchantment in that role, and the effect it had on her audience, is an example of how the figure of the Romantic witch opened a space to imagine and explore the constructive and destructive uses of female magic. While some Romantic witches confirmed the worst fears regarding female magic and its pernicious influence, other Romantic witches invited more positive reactions, ranging from sympathy to the deep admiration bordering on awe that Siddons inspired.

This chapter examines the key principles of applying mental health and capacity legislation in the perinatal period. The four nations of the United Kingdom have different legislative frameworks. England and Wales are governed by the same legislation – the Mental Health Act 1983 (MHA) and the Mental Capacity Act 2005 (MCA), although with some minor variations. Scotland has an entirely different framework – the Mental Health (Care and Treatment) Act 2003 and the Adults with Incapacity Act 2000. Northern Ireland is in a (slow) transition from having mental health legislation (the Mental Health (Northern Ireland) Order 1986) sitting alongside, in effect, no formal framework for thinking about capacity, to ‘fused’ legislation (the Mental Capacity Act (Northern Ireland) 2016) with no stand-alone mental health legislation. This chapter focuses on the position in England and Wales, primarily because it has the largest body of case law to help understand how to think through the dilemmas covered; for those in other parts of the United Kingdom grappling with those dilemmas, the most useful resource is the BMA’s Ethics Toolkit which has specific sections for each of the nations.

The study of dialects in Britain and Ireland yields insight into the manner in which social forces affect the development of language. The history of English, outside of the trajectory which led to Southern Standard British English, shows a rich and varied tapestry of features, processes and interactions, which make this subject particularly rewarding in the context of an inclusive view of the language’s history. The identity function of local norms is apparent in all the studies of dialects in individual locations and ultimately accounts for the survival of local varieties despite the increasing pressure from supraregional forms of English represented in the educational system and very widely across the media landscape of modern Britain and Ireland. Looking beyond Britain and Ireland, factors that have influenced the English spoken in four small but significant locations in Europe (the Channel Islands, Malta, Cyprus and Gibraltar) are examined, revealing a rich interaction of colonial legacy, contact and national identity.

This chapter considers Arthuriana in two distinct linguistic zones: the Celtic languages (excluding Welsh) and Older Scots.  The Arthur of the ‘Gaelic world’ is a figure associated with marvellous, and sometimes comic, adventures – the overtly political themes that persist in Welsh and English writing are usually absent. In the Cornish and Breton regions, Arthur appears in politically complex hagiographical and prophetic material. Older Scots also offers complex and consistent engagement with politics, though from a different vantage point. Here, the dual themes of sovereignty and advice to princes are closely related both to one another and to the long and complex history of contemporary Anglo-Scots political and literary relations. At issue too are crucial questions of geography and national identity.

This chapter explores the folk and traditional music of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales – the so-called Celtic regions of the British Isles – in terms of the concepts and processes through which such music is made, representing both the everyday and the elite, past and present; modalities, in short, that I feel represent a timeless importance to our aesthetic understanding and a foundation for negotiating traditional music’s social and historical value today. Threading loosely through my exploration of these modalities is what ethnomusicologist Constantin Brăiloiu called ‘the problem of creation’, which serves as a useful lens through which I remark on the making of traditional music as a complex interplay of function, acquisition, structure, symmetry, orality, improvisation, variation, literacy, and memory. I present these modalities chiefly through the prism of Scottish music owing to its significance in the historical discourse surrounding our very concept of the folk.

A cherished myth in devolved Scotland is that writers and artists were crucially responsible for the establishment of the new parliament. While there is some truth to this, understanding the full context requires looking beyond the literary texts typically viewed as pivotal in reviving national confidence. Alasdair Gray’s Lanark (1981) certainly impacted a small literary audience, but its status as a “national” novel emerged from broader print culture networks. To appreciate its political significance, we must consider magazines like Scottish International, which published extracts of Lanark in 1969, alongside cultural periodicals like Chapman and the Edinburgh Review, which integrated Gray’s political vision into their missions during the 1980s and 90s.This chapter considers a range of Scottish political writing that contributed to this process. Here, “political writing” refers not to grand rhetoric, but to the organised creation of a neo-national public that recognised itself. It encompassed literary novels, journalism, and philosophical essays, including Tom Nairn’s work and the Red Paper on Scotland, edited by Gordon Brown (1975). The Red Paper, published by the Edinburgh University Students Publication Board (EUSPB), was connected to numerous Edinburgh-based magazines and the literary publisher Polygon. By examining this network of magazines, campaign groups, and party factions (Labour and SNP), we can identify the discursive frameworks and political alliances that led to the Scottish Parliament’s establishment in 1999, tracing much of contemporary Scottish politics back to the writing, editing, and publishing efforts of prior decades.

Matthew Paris’ representation of and reporting on Ireland, Scotland and Wales.