The Man—and the Miracles—Behind Glasgow’s Patron Saint

Glasgow’s back story is a bit more telenovela than sober history, really. Let’s delve a bit deeper, shall we, into the life and times of Glasgow’s patron saint, Mungo, and how he, a mere mortal, became the centerpiece of a city’s lore, psyche, and coats of arms.

Mungo—or Kentigern, if we're sticking with formal names—was born under shady circumstances that might not even fly on Days of Our Lives. His mom, Saint Teneu—or Her Brittonic Princess of the Ancient Kingdom of Gododdin and Mother of Saint Mungo, Apostle to the Britons of Strathclyde and Founder of the City of Glas Ghu, you know, if we’re sticking with formal names—was Scotland’s first reported rape victim and unmarried mother.

Turns out that Medieval Times were not exactly a shining of enlightenment [1]—especially when it came to logic, parenting, and, well, empathy. So, Saint Teneu, she gets assaulted, and her dad, instead of, I don’t know, offering a shoulder to cry on or maybe running out to seek justice, goes full medieval dad and throws her off a cliff.

Saint Teneu showed him, though, by surviving the fall. At the bottom of the cliff, she climbed into an abandoned little boat and drifted across the Firth of Forth [2] to Culross in Fife. She was taken in at the monastery by Saint Serf [3] and gave birth to young Mungo. [4] I imagine most of the bedtime stories he heard had a lot of super-dicky grandpas in them.

As it turns out, our little Mungo was a great little future saint. Saint Serf doted on him, which did not play well with all the other little hoodlums being minded by the monks. And that brings us to the three miracles that made Mungo who he is today, related to a bird, a tree, and a fish.

The bird was a robin tamed and kept as a pet by Saint Serf. One day, during their roughhousing, the boys accidentally killed Robin. Naturally, their first thought was, "Let’s blame Mungo! He’s such a little goody two shoes." But Mungo, already a paragon of chill, just prayed and over Robin and—bam!—zombie bird! Miracle #1!

The little hoodlums were gravely vexed.

Sometime later, Mungo was tasked with keeping the fire burning overnight [5] but fell asleep. So those little brats put it out and went sniggering back to their beds, sure he’d catch holy hell in the morning. But Mungo woke up, broke off some frozen branches from a hazel tree, and caused them to burst into flames by praying over them. Miracle #2!

By now, Mungo could see the writing on the wall. So he set off wandering the countryside to get away from all the Heathers at the monastery. He ended up in Stirling hanging out with another holy man, Fergus. [6] Fergus died. Not knowing exactly where to bury Fergus, Mungo loaded up the body into an ox cart and let the oxen wander wherever the whim took them, not stopping until they'd reached the spot where Glasgow is today. You know, as one does.

Mungo, by now something of a rock star in the early Scottish church, stayed and established a religious community there. He called it Glas Ghu, or “dear green place,” and even coined a motto that stuck, “Let Glasgow Flourish.”

It was here that Mungo met Queen Languoreth, wife of Hydderch Hael, the King of Cadzow. At some point, Languoreth had given her wedding ring to one of her husband’s knights. Um, why? It seems an odd souvenir for any hanky panky. But whatever, Hydderch caught wind of it. So one night during a hunting party, Crafty Ol’ Hyddie lifted the ring while the knight was asleep—and threw it into the Clyde River.

When he got home, he demanded to see Languoreth’s ring and threatened her with death if she didn’t produce it, knowing full well that she couldn’t. Clever bastard.

Weepy Languoreth ran to the knight, who, of course, was in no position to help. He did confess to Saint Mungo, though, who sent one of his monks to bring back the first fish he could catch in the river. The ring was in the fish's mouth! Miracle #3!

Though, honestly, why any of the players in that little intrigue wanted to stay together is beyond me. They all seem a little untrustworthy.

All of which is where we get the Glasgow coat of arms from! Well, and there was a bell. But it doesn't fit the whole "miracles" storyline. It's just some random bell that Mungo brought back when he visited Rome. So a souvenir. Maybe the pope gave it to him. Or maybe he just picked it up at a tchotchke store in the via del Mascherino. Who can say? But the Glaswegians LOVE it.

So everywhere you look, these five things are plastered on everything—the bird, the bell, the tree, [7] the fish, and Good Ol’ Saint Mungo. They even have a little verse about it:

Here is the bird that never flew

Here is the tree that never grew

Here is the bell that never rang

Here is the fish that never swam.

What’s the deal with the never flew, never grew, never rang, and never swam, you ask? No one knows! It makes about as much sense as that Monty Python Dead Parrot sketch.

So, Glasgow’s creation story is a mishmash of questionable miracles, a primer on how NOT to treat women, and bad poetry, all courtesy of a man who knew how to turn a peculiar personal history into a city’s lasting legacy. So raise a glass to Saint Mungo, the man, the myth, the...branding genius? Cheers!

1. Explaining, I suppose, why they saved the name The Enlightenment for a completely different historical era.

2. Not to be confused with the Thecond of Third.

3. So. Many. Saints….unless maybe it was just a really common first name?

4. Youngo?

5. An important job because Scotland can get, as my father might’ve said, “cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table.” He might’ve said other things, too, but this is a family channel.

6. Not a saint. Go figure.

7. An oak tree, mind you, with nary an explanation for how a hazel twig somehow turned into an oak tree. It's a miracle!