The following story may or may not be historically accurate. But it is entertaining and fairly close to the version the tour guide told us while in Edinburgh.
The Stone of Scone, or the Stone of Destiny in English, is the stone upon which a Scottish king sits on his coronation. It has been used in Scottish tradition for so long no one remembers the true origins of the Stone. Furthermore, it comes with the prophecy "wherever the Stone sits, the Scottish shall rule." King Edward I of England tricked it from the Scottish in 1296. How did he do that? At the time, the king of the Scots had died without an heir. Twelve Scottish nobles jumped in claiming to be the next Scottish king. This was so confusing, they called in King Edward I of England to be a mediator. But King Edward took this opportunity and said "No, I am the next King of Scotland!" And he took the stone to Westminster Abbey as the Scots kicked themselves for their own stupidity.
The Scots have repeatedly attempted to get the Stone back under their care for centuries. Then, in 1950, young lawyer-in-training Ian Hamilton was having a few drinks with his friends at a pub. They were talking about Scottish pride, its deflating existence since joining with England, and what they can do to reclaim it. Hamilton had an idea, then. A brilliant idea. It was the idea that can change the world! They could steal back the Stone of Destiny. And, being super cool friends, they said "Yes, we shall!"
So on Christmas Eve in 1950, four people broke into Westminster Abbey. They included skinny academic Ian Hamilton, two of his fellow skinny academic friends, and librarian friend Kay. Believe me when I say that Kay was the strongest of the bunch. Academics that they are, they must have forgotten that the stone weighs about 150kg (330lbs). Geniuses. How were they going to do this with three skinny academics and one librarian stronger than them? They did manage a system in which they lift it a foot in the air and shuffle down the Abbey with it.
Two hours later, they were halfway through the Abbey when a very innocent and plan-changing thing happened. It was so innocent that it brought more trouble than should be allowed.
Someone sneezed. The surprise was enough to drop the Stone . . . and broke it in two.
They spent all of two minutes breathing in their own stupidity. Of course, the two friends decided that they've had enough. They took the smaller of the two pieces and left in one of the two cars before anything else could happen. And that's how they left Kay and Hamilton to deal with the largest piece of the Stone.
But wait, they're smart people, right? They used their brains and did some genius engineering. They somehow managed to get the Stone piece on Hamilton's jacket, and they would push and drag it the rest of the way across the Abbey on their hands and knees. When they finally got it into their car and left the Abbey, they had fifteen minutes before someone would come in to check to make sure everything is in order. Fifteen minutes. That is such a close call.
So when the morning guard came in to check the Abbey, they saw the broken coronation chair and the missing Stone of Destiny. This wasn't something you tell the police. Oh no, this was big enough to go directly to the Current Monarch! And once they heard the news, they closed the boarders between England and Scotland. No one was allowed to pass, no exceptions.
You would think that this would be troublesome for our young Hamilton and his girl Kay. But they've done enough stupid already so it was time to be a bit smart. They did not attempt to cross the border into Scotland. Instead, they went to the south around Kent and buried the stone in a random field where they can retrieve it at a later date. Once the borders reopened, they crossed Stone-free.
Hamilton spent the month of January attempting to find a stone mason who could put the stone back together AND keep their secret. It took all month because at the end of January, Hamilton found one. The stone mason was nice about listening to the story. He didn't say much until the end when he heard what Hamilton did to a giant slab of sandstone. The stone mason got all in Hamilton's face and said "You're telling me that you took a piece of sandstone that's been drying out for hundreds of years and you buried it in a field saturated with rain and snow?"
So Hamilton promptly journeyed back down to Kent to retrieve the Stone. Things were not in his favor, for when he got there, a caravan of gypsies had set up camp right on top of where the Stone was buried.
Seriously, you can't make this up.
Hamilton had a few options before him. For one, he could say "Hey, you gypsies. Would you mind moving your homes for about an hour? Oh, and look that way while you're at it." But that wasn't going to fly. He knew he would be met with a growing resistance if he tried that. So he did the only thing he could do.
He introduced himself, and told them the truth. It's a reasonable gesture. You can trust no one will believe the stories of gypsies. And this turned out to be really beneficial. Because not only did they listen, but they were Irish gypsies. If you know anything about British Isle politics, you know that the Scottish and the Irish share a similar dislike of the English. With that bond in mind, the gypsies were more than happy to uproot their homes temporarily. Not only did they help him dig up the stone, but they also helped him disguise it as a seat in his car for when he returned to Scotland. One of the stronger, burly gypsies went with Hamilton to help carry the stone through Scotland and to the stone mason.
Once the stone was meticulously back together, Hamilton and his friends thought it would be cool to anonymously call the police about a mysterious stone that turned up in a random location. They thought the police would see the Stone and return it to its rightful place. And they did return it to its rightful place . . . in Westminster Abbey.
But the tale doesn't end there. For as valiant as Hamilton's efforts to return the Stone to Scotland, the only man who succeeded at this quest was a conservative candidate in British politics. In his attempts to win the vote of Scotland, he was the one who worked is politician magic to return the Stone to Scotland where it now rests among the Scottish Honors at Edinburgh Castle. (There is comedy in this too because the conservative candidate did not win that election for an even better liberal candidate. In fact, our conservative candidate lost by a mudslide.)
And that, dear reader, is the Epic Tale of the Stone of Destiny.
