The Throes of Death

Galloway man John Mactaggart saw an public execution in Edinburgh and, in his book published in 1824, wished he hadn't.

“Death-Thraws – The throes of death. To the man of feeling, there is not a more horrible site to be seen, as a fellow creature in this wretched state; how alive we are then to the power of death, and how grieved to the soul that we can render no relief. I was never able to stand the scene but once, and will never try it again, unless abruptly compelled. I do not think death itself will be more difficult for me to endure than that appalling scene was.

“Once too, that restless being within me, Curiosity, dragged me to see the execution of a young man, when in Edinburgh, but she'll drag well if she drags me back again to see such a spectacle. I was not myself, Mactaggart, for a month afterwards, my mind was so disordered with the sight.

“In a curious way wrought the phrenzy (as I am one who speaks my mind) I tell this. I felt an inclination, both during night, when dream after dream whirled through my brain's airy halls, and in the day-time, to do some crime or other, that I might meet with a similar fate. Whether this is ever the way with any other person, I cannot tell, but so it opened on me, and which has caused me ever since to say, that hanging, instead of scaring from crime, has a strong tendency the other way. May God keep me far from seeing again any in the death-thraws.”

Pages 164-5. Mactaggart, John. The Scottish Gallovidian Encyclopedia. Hamilton and Adams. 1876.

"I hae min o'"

Some time during the 1960s a typewritten book of memories and stories about old Wigtown was compiled. The book includes sections headed “I have min o” or “I remember.” These were obviously the memories of long-time Wigtown residents. Here are some selections.

People often ate rabbit pie, sometimes with mutton in it. They grew their own vegetables and got gifts of fruit from the gardens of the big houses in the town.

On Sundays, food was a little special. In some houses that meant half an egg with the breakfast porridge; in others, it meant bacon and egg, porridge, and toast.

Ordinary folk had their main meal at noon and called it “dinner.” The gentry called that meal “lunch” and had a knife and fork tea. No one called an evening meal “dinner.” Better off people had damask tablecloths.

When the father was paid, a big ham end would be bought. For a special treat, a man had “a pint at the week-end.” As families were large and wages were small, few could afford more than that one pint a week. People baked a lot at home. Tattie scones were popular.

Farmers' wives bought eggs and butter to the town grocers to sell on Saturdays. Farmers had their own pigs and did their own curing. They also made “bleedy” puddings and white puddings. Farmers' children had bacon and eggs regularly, not just on Sundays.

On Sunday nights, children were given “a piece [sandwich] and milk” away to bed with them.
On New Year's Day there was bacon and egg for breakfast, a “fattened” fowl for dinner, and homemade ginger wine to drink.

***

Here's how to make tattie scones: Ingredients – One pound of potatoes, two level teaspoons of salt, four ounces of flour, two ounces of butter.

Cook the potatoes in boiling salted water for 20 minutes then drain and mash well. Add the butter and the salt, then work in a little flour to give a stiff dough. Turn onto a floured board and roll out to half an inch thick. Cut into three-inch rounds and fry in a lightly greased pan for five minutes each side. Serve buttered while still warm.

Blind Johnnie's music memorial

If you stroll through the graveyard of Inch Church, near the entrance to Castle Kennedy at Stranraer, your eye will be drawn to the cemetery's most impressive monument. This is a polished granite column that obviously commemorates someone important.

That person is not one of the Earls who lived across the road but penniless Blind Johnnie. The inscription on the memorial explains that it was erected by public subscription in memory of John Alexander, afterwards known as Blind Johnnie, who died at the age of 70 on March 26, 1905.

Blind Johnnie was one of that group of people, found throughout Galloway, known as Worthies. These were people who were often disadvantaged but whom local communities valued and looked after. As the fine memorial shows, Blind Johnnie's street music was much appreciated. He played the recorder and the squeeze box – which are in the collection of the Stranraer Museum. He is said to have been able to recognise people by their greetings to him or by the smell of their clothing, which presumably did not come from fancy colognes and body fresheners.

A picture of Blind Johnnie appears in the pamphlet: Dumfries and Galloway Through the Lens 12. Dumfries and Galloway Libraries, Information and Archives with the Whithorn Photographic Group 1999. ISBN 0 946280 36 3.

Two Galloway genetic tales

Talking recently with a Galloway doctor I asked about an old tradition that the family of a man involved in the death of the Wigtown Martyrs had been cursed by his descendants being born with webbed fingers.

He said that he knew the family and instances of webbing in the family are still occurring today. The Wigtown Martyrs were two women who were tied to stakes and drowned by the incoming tide at the Galloway town. They refused to accept the subjugation of belief to Royal decree and today are heroes of the Covenanter movement. The killings took place on May 11, 1685. And one of the men who assisted is said to have been punished by the webbing in the fingers of some of his descendants. Webbing of the fingers is an unusual but not unknown genetic condition which, of course, has nothing to do with superstition.

Another, less serious, feature of another family is their curly hair. Running into one of them recently, I asked her about the curly hair story. “Well, my hair certainly isn't curly,” she laughed. But she did say that it was in many members of the family. Tradition ascribes this to the presence of a West Indian way back in the family history. The man was thought to have been a servant of a wealthy local family that had extensive interests in the West Indian sugar trade. This, of course, was founded on slavery.

Don't talk to the peasants

Gavin Maxwell's book “Ring of Bright Water” is a much-loved account of the otters that live in Galloway.

He lived from 1914 to 1969 and had a very colourful life. A short distance north of Port William, on the top of a cliff overlooking the sea, can be found a bronze statue of an otter and a plaque commemorating Gavin Maxwell.

Talking a few days ago with some ladies who remembered him and the Maxwell family, it became apparent that the family had a very well defined concept of its superior social status. One lady said that her grandfather and father put the plumbing into the big house and she and other children went along some days. “But Gavin and his brothers and sisters weren't allowed to talk to us as we were only the children of working men.”

History on Tap

The World Peace Society does wonderful work and it has a centre about six miles north of Dumfries with a wide range of activities and programmes.

The Society is based at Allanton House, which looks as if it was built at the start of the 20th century.

There are some lovely period details, including a tiny wash basin in a WC, compete with the original “Hot” and “Cold” taps “Shanks and Co. Patentees.” The wall tiles are also original and give a flavour or a perhaps more elegant age, when the throne was suitably placed up a step in an elevated position.

The Shanks Group is today Europe's leading waste management company, being a member of the FTSE 250 group listed on the London Stock Exchange. Revenue in 2009 was £696 million. The company began in 1880 when Guy Shanks and Andrew McLewan set up a a construction company. They worked mainly in the west of Scotland. Today the group has a huge range of interests.

In the grounds at Allanton there is a family vault containing the remains of members of the Symington family. A Symington family was, and very much is, hugely important in the Port, Madeira and Duoro wine trade. The dynasty was founded by a man from Scotland, who went out to Portugal in the late 19th century. Whether or not these Symingtons are connected with Allanton House is not known, at least by me.

See www.worldpeace-uk.org

The wild garlic is sweet and new now and it is a wonderful addition to recipes.

Out strolling and rolling through an ancient deciduous wood we found ourselves next to swathes of beautiful young wild garlic. This is technically known as allium ursinum, or Ramsons.

A large handful of leaves was quickly gathered and later chopped fine to be cooked with a roll of beef brisket, a lovely, inexpensive joint that needs long loving cooking but is wonderfully tender if it gets it. Our chopped wild garlic went into the slow cooker with red onions, shallot-onions, a beef stock cube, a splash of soya sauce, water and some dried herbs. Delicious. The taste of wild garlic leaves is much milder than the more familiar cloves and heads of garlic. Some people eat the leaves raw in salads – but we prefer to play it safe and enjoy them cooked.

The Latin name acknowledges the fondness of bears for the roots of the plant and these are also a delicacy much appreciated by wild boars.

Fog horn memories

Anyone who accuses their partner of snoring like a fog horn will wish to visit the Corsewall Lighthouse on the Rhins Peninsula of Galloway to have a look at the real thing.

Today, everything is automated in lighthouses and the Corsewall Lighthouse is a fine boutique hotel, which has won many awards for its outstanding cuisine and ambiance.

However, the light is still working and a walk around the front of the building, above the jagged rocks below, finds a huge fog horn pointing out to sea. Corsewall is at the southern entrance to Loch Ryan, for centuries the major port for ships travelling to and from Ireland. Today the loch is as busy as ever, with huge modern ferries constantly moving in and out from bases at Stranraer, at the head of the loch, and Cairnryan, about half way up on the northern side. On a recent visit the weather was glorious, except down in Loch Ryan, which was wrapped in a fluffy blanket of sea fog. The lighthouse was similarly swaddled, but the old fog horn was not working. Apparently, modern navigational aids have made long-range fog horns largely unnecessary.

The light from the Corsewall Lighthouse first shone out in 1817. It was automated in 1994 and is now operated from Edinburgh. But local people still remember the lighthouse keepers and at least one is still around, efforts are being made to trace him to find out more about life in a Galloway lighthouse.

The four-star, owner-operated, hotel is set in 20 acres of grounds. The hotel's Range Rover will pick up guests from railway and bus stations in Stranraer, and there is no problem with vehicle access – head north of Kirkcolm. Pickups can also be arrange from Glasgow and Prestwick airports.
Corsewall Lighthouse Hotel, Corsewall Point, Kirkcolm, Stranraer, Scotland, DG9 0QG. Telephone 01776 853 220. www.lighthousehotel.co.uk. Among the items on a sample menu are: “Supreme of Wood Pigeon from the Craufurdland Estate pan eared and carved onto a nest of crisp salad leaves, served with a tangy tomato chutney and pink grapefruit segments; Roast Rack of Galloway Lamb, pan roasted and presented with a mint-scented gooseberry jelly glace; and Breast of Succulent World Renowned Goosnargh Duck, pan roasted and presented with a rich Cointreau and orange zest game jus.”

Bells ring for Osprey arrival

The bells were ringing in Wigtown first thing this morning to announce the arrival of the season's first osprey.

Wigtown has been home to ospreys for several years with pairs arriving to settle into a giant nest and usually raising a couple of chicks. The County Buildings, or equivalent of the Town Hall, has a special bird room on the top floor with a link to a camera focussed on the nest, whose location is secret.

This morning the first arriving member of staff was delighted to see an osprey sitting calmly in the nest. She dashed for the bell rope and rang the bell to alert the town to this happy event. Quickly, people came along and there was great interest in the visitor. Apparently, no ring could be spotted on the bird when it stood up, so it may be a new visitor. Or, perhaps an older one that has lost its ring.

Half a dozen people were quickly on osprey watch at the screen but when we visited, he or she was off flying around. This is an early check in to the nest, last year the first bird arrived two days later.

Great hopes are held for this year's eggs and chicks.

Update: Another osprey arrived at the nest a short time afterwards. It was confirmed that the male was “EP” and the female “H/D” - not, perhaps, the most exciting names in the world for such elegant birds. They have both returned to Wigtown after wintering in Africa. EP has been out and about collecting sticks and started digging an egg hollow in the nest. His partner has enlarged the hollow and moved twigs around to make it comfortable. Meanwhile, swallows have also arrived, being seen in Newton Stewart and the Isle of Whithorn

***

A glimpse of the farming past

This old farming equipment is quietly rusting away at a quiet spot on the Rhins Peninsula.

Americans perish off Portpatrick

Today Portpatrick, on the Rhins peninsula is a popular haunt for tourists with its picturesque harbour and attractive old buildings. But this was once one of the country's most important ports, being the prime access to Northern Ireland – 22 miles away.

The port was never very safe, with violent westerly winds and storms always making access difficult, despite the huge amounts poured into breakwaters and jetties. For sailing ships, the coast of the Rhins was a nightmare. The rocks are savage and jagged and cliffs soar upwards straight from the sea. The seabed is littered with wrecks.

A memorial in the old churchyard recalls the fate of an American ship and its crew

“Sacred to the memory of Captain Allen Bursley who was drowned about a mile to the south of this port on the 1st of February 1835 at half past 2 o'clock a.m by the wreck of the American ship Lion of Boston which he commanded.

“On the left of the stone are interred the remains of seven of his ship's company who perished with him on that fatal morning. Captain Bursley was born on the 10th of May anno domini 1800 at Barnstaple in the State of Massachusetts in which place he left a wife and infant son. The surviving relatives of the deceased are deeply grateful to the humane inhabitants of this place for their kind exertions in recovering these bodies from the deep and depositing them with Christian rites in this Holy Spot.”

The memorial is on a wall at the back of the cemetery, which is behind the ruined old church with its distinctive round tower.

One thought is that many Scots left for America through Portpatrick. Could this have been a ship heading to the port to pick up emigrants? Most of the trade was carried in American sailing packets. The journey to a new life would have taken about 55 days.

If anyone can shed any light on the Lion of Boston, Captain Bursley or his crew, please get in touch at: raxomnium@gmail.com

The Last of the Eagles

Author S.R. Crockett described the fate, in the 1870s, of the last of the eagles of the Southern Uplands.

"As we mount, we leave away to the south the green, sheep-studded, sun-flecked side of Curleywee. The name is surely one which is given to its whaup-haunted solitudes, because of that most characteristic of moorland sounds – the wailing pipe of the curlew. “Curleywee-Curleywee-Curlywee.” That is exactly what the whaups say in their airy moorland diminuendo, as with a curve like their own Roman noses they sink downward into the bogs.

"Waterfalls are gleaming in the clefts - “jaws of water,” as the hill folks call them – the distant sound coming to us pleasant and cool, for we begin to desire great water-draughts, climbing upward in the fervent heat. But our guide knows every spring of water on the hillside, as well as every rock that has sheltered a fox or eagle. There on the face of that cliff, is the apparently very accessible eyrie where nested the last of the eagles of the southern uplands.

"Year after year they built up there, protected by the enlightened tenants of Glenhead, who did not begrudge a stray dead lamb, in order that the noble bird might dwell in his ancient fastness and possess his soul – for surely so noble a bird has a soul – in peace. As a reward for his hospitality, our guides keeps a better understanding of that great Isian text, “They shall mount up with wings as eagles,” than he could obtain from any sermon or commentary in the round world. For has he not seen the great bird strike a grouse on the wing, recover itself from the blow, then, stooping earthwards, catch the bird before it had time to fall to the ground?

"Also he has seen the pair floating far up in the blue, twin specks against the supreme azure. Generally only one of the young was reared to eaglehood, though sometimes there might be two. But on every occasion the old ones beat off their offspring as soon as these could fly, and compelled their children to seek pastures new.

"Some years ago, however, in the later [18]seventies – the eagles left Glenhead and removed to a more inaccessible rock-crevice upon the rocky side of the Black Hill o' Buchan. But not for long. Disturbed in his ancient seat, though his friends had done all in their power to protect him, he finally withdrew himself. He was shot by some ignorant scoundrel prowling with a gun, somewhere over in the neighbourhood of Loch Doon. We have no doubt that the carcass is the proud possession of some local collector, to whom, as well as to the original “gunning idiot” we would gladly present, at our own expense, tight-fitting suits of tar and feather"

Picture: Looking towards Glenhead from Bruce's Stone, Loch Trool.

Pages 59-56. Crockett, S.R. Raiderland, All About Grey Galloway. 1904. Hodder and Stoughton, London. D&G Library Service: (GK91) Crockett, S.R. Raiderland.

Baby memories of Galloway

Samuel Rutherford Crockett was a very popular author more than 100 years ago with his books eagerly devoured by readers. But he is almost forgotten today.

Here he describes two of his memories as a baby at the family farm at Little Duchrae, off the road between Laurieston and New Galloway, on the east bank of Loch Ken. Crockett was born on 24 September 1859.

“The farm I know best is also the loveliest for situation. It lies nestled in green holm crofts. The purple moors ring it half round, north and south. To the eastward pinewoods once stood ranked and ready like battalions clad in indigo and Lincoln green against the rising sun – that is, till one fell year when the woodmen swarmed all along the slopes and the ring of axes was heard everywhere.

“The earliest scent I can remember is that of fresh pine chips, among which my mother laid me while she and her brothers gathered “kindling” among the yet unfallen giants. To young to talk, I had to be carried pick-a-back to the wood. But I can remember with a strange clearness the broad spread of the moor beneath over which we had come, the warmth of the shawl in which I was wrapped and the dreamy scent of the newly-cut fir chips in which they had left me nested – above all, I recall a certain bit of blue sky that looked down at me with so friendly a wink, as a white racing cloud passed high overhead.

“Such is the first beginning that I remember of that outdoor life, to which ever since my eyes have kept themselves wide-open. Of indoor things only one is earlier.

“It was a warm harvest-day – early September, most likely – all the family out at the oats, following the slow sweep of the scythe or the crisper crop of the reaping hook. Silence in the little kitchen of the Duchrae! Only my grandmother padding softly about in her list slippers (or hoshens), baking farles of cake on the “girdle,” the round plate of iron described by Froissart. The door and windows were open, and without there spread that silence in comparison with which the hush of a kirkyard is almost company – the silence of a Scottish farmyard in the first burst of harvest.

“And I – what was I doing? I know not, but this I do know – that I came to myself lying under the hood of an old worm-eaten cradle of a worn plum-colour, staring at my own bare toes which I had set up on the bar at cradle foot.

“These two memories, out-of-door and in-door, have stood out clear an distinct all my life, and so so now. Nor could I have been told of them afterwards, for there was nothing in either which concerns any but myself.”

[pages 20-21] Crockett, S.R. Raiderland, All About Grey Galloway. 1904. Hodder and Stoughton, London.

Marking the miles to Ireland

Just outside Portpatrick, on the right hand side of the road as you drive in, an historic milestone can be seen. This is a marker on the old military road that ran to the port, only 22 miles from Ireland.

The old military road was built from Bridge of Sark, near Gretna Green, to Portpatrick in the 1760s and it stretched for about 105 miles. Segments of the road can still be seen today, but much is probably buried beneath the modern A75. There is a suggestion that the route followed that of an old Roman road.

During the 18th century the British were determined not to allow any more rebellions in Ireland. Land confiscations had been followed by the placing in Ireland of protestant settlers, many from Scotland, in Ulster, Munster and elsewhere. Naturally, this caused deep hatreds, the effects of which are still being felt today.

London wanted an efficient road that would allow it to move troops to Portpatrick, then the main port for Ireland. The harbour is exposed and so huge amounts of money had been invested in breakwaters and improvements. Still, the weather often seemed to get the upper hand and caused considerable damage. But what is known today as "the old military road" meant troops and supplies could move efficiently to the port. A street sign in Port Patrick bears the name Old Military Road.

The milestone gives the following distances: London 415 miles, Port Patrick 1 mile, Stranraer 7 miles, Dumfries 83 miles. The stone also carries the “broad arrow” mark which signifies government property. The origins of this mark are lost in history but would seem logically to come from the arrows of medieval archers. It was first used officially by the Board of Ordnance to mark government property in the reign of Henry VIII. Later it became the mark of the War Department. Today using the broad arrow without authorisation is still an offence.

An officer involved in building the road in the 1760s, complained of endless problems with landowners who wanted the route adjusted to their benefit. And, in a complaint with much resonance at present, he moaned about the difficulty in getting money out of the Treasury.

©Phillip Bruce

Making Bacon

Ken was talking about making bacon during the Second World War.

As a child he lived on a farm and the family pig was a key part of life. Every rural family kept a pig, he said, and slaughtering was carefully planned as sharing was vital. A well-fed pig would produce a lot of meat and this would be shared with neighbours, so that everyone benefited in turn.

Ken's family used to keep their pigs until they weighed about 300lbs, although they were normally slaughtered at about 200lb. The pigs were housed in a comfortable sty and fed well. A copper pot was kept in the kitchen and into that went all the scraps, potato peelings and left-overs from meals. Once a month a ration of meal, or grain, was available and this was mixed with the other food.

The pig always had a pet name but when the time came to slaughter things were efficient. It was hit over the head with a big hammer and the throat cut before being hung up from the rafters. An Irish woman would collect the blood in a bucket to make tasty black puddings.

The next stage was to butcher the pig, with hams and “flitches” being produced. But nothing was wasted and Ken remembered with longing the “chitterlings” which were made by an elderly neighbour. She would take the intestines and turn them inside out over a stick, using her fingers to scrape away the fat. They would then be washed and put in a brine bath for about a week. The chitterlings were then woven into plaits and hung up to dry. They lasted well and when wanted, were taken down, cut up and fried with the bacon. “Lovely,” said Ken.

The bacon was made in the following way. Two large planks of oak were angled together in a V-shape and mounted on trestles. The ends were closed by other bits of oak. The flitches, or sides of the pig, were put into these troughs and steeped in saltpetre, beer and pickling spices. There was nothing very fancy about the spices, said Ken. What grew around was used, such as juniper, with the odd exotic ingredient, such as cloves. The meat was left to soak for about a week. Then it was drained and hung up to dry. The process was not over, as the children of the house then had the important job of regularly rubbing more of the curing mix into the flitches until it matured into fine bacon.

There were plenty of eggs around the farm, with some 40 to 50 chickens running about. They were kept in a barn at night to protect them against foxes and did their egg laying in the straw there. So, fried bacon and eggs were a delight. Ken said that big thick rashers were cut from the flitches, nothing like the paper-thin wafers served today. Occasionally, a larger piece would be cut and put in the oven. Hams, or legs, were also cured and roast ham was a real treat.

He explained how potatoes were kept throughout the winter. A layer of straw would be carefully laid down on a dry, flat, area. Over this would be erected a pyramid-shaped lean-to of about six straw bales. Three to four inches of earth would be packed over these and the potatoes carefully placed inside. A bundle of straw sealed the small entrance. The potatoes were kept snug and dry and could be taken out as needed to feed the hungry family.

“Life was very rural when I was a boy,” said Ken.

Some useful Galloway words and phrases

Some useful Galloway words and phrases

It is always useful to have at least a smattering of the local lingo, and here are some words and phrases from Gallovidian that visitors may find of use in polite conversation. The source is an 1824 book.

Ackavity, Acwavity, or Ackwa – The chief of all spirituous liquors, viz., Whisky, when taken to excess, does not even make such a wreck of the human constitution as others do, such as rum or brandy, and when taken in moderation, as it should be, there is none other half so good...Scotland may be very thankful that it is her prevailing drink; as a drink, like every other nation, she must have; the English have their drowzy brown stout, the Turks their opium; the South Sea Islanders their kava, but what brings on a quicker, or happier intoxication, than the pure mountain dew? How it exhilarates the soul, how it exposes the sons of men, and shows them in their true colours, be they good, bad, witty or how...
Bees in the Brain – People, after they have been “fou” [full, drunk] feel, as they are returning to their wits again, a bizzing and “singin” in the head, which are called the bees o' the brain; also, when they are getting intoxicated, they feel these fanciful insects.
Boack – To vomit.
Bowze – A set-to for some time at eating and drinking.
Bumshot – When any plot gives way with us, we are said to be bumshot.
Capernoited – Intoxicated, giddy, frolicksome, &c.
Cawkie – A dram of spirits; also a shod for a shoe of iron.
Chawchlin – Eating like a swine.
Chollers – Lumps of fat beneath the chin – double chins.
Clay'd Up – Eyes are said to be so when boxing has blinded them.
Clunk – That noise which is produced when a cork is drawn out of a bottle.
Cockabendie – I dare hardly, for the sake of modesty, explain this term; when such is seen to be the case, readers may make a rough guess at what it is.
Cogg – Any flat surface not lying horizontal, is said to be a cogg. An old carter, fond of whisky, would often birl the bawbie [toss a coin] with his horse, to know whether it should have a stimpert of corn, or he one of grog; one cold day, trying the turn of fortune this way, the luck fell on the side of the poor beast, when he bawled out, “That's no fair; that's a cogg;” so he birl'd away, until t he luck came to his side – the inhuman wretch.
Cronie – An agreeable friend.
Crouse – Merry, high in spirits.
Crummie – Grog, half water, half whisky – Crumbie, a Priest who was once a placed preacher in Kirkudbright, amongst many divine things he taught his flock, this species of Punch was one, and it seems to outlive all the rest; yea, and hand his reverend name down to posterity; Crummie's Punch will live as long as Crook o' the Lot or the Pilgrim's Progress.
Currmurrin – The noise in volcanic bellies ready for eruption.
Daffin – Toying with women under night.
Debushed – Debauched.
Dottle – The little piece of half-burnt tobacco left in the pipe after smoking, useful when another pipe-full is to be consumed in lighting it.
Drappie – A little spirits.
Drappykins – Drops or drams of spirituous liquors.
Dringing – Not working, hanging about.
Drouthy – Inclining to dryness; some tipplers are still in that state and would drink fire and brimstone, and put them in a brandy glass.
Drowning The Miller – We are said to be drowning the miller, when we are pouring in too large a quantity of water among the whisky to be mixed into grog.
Druckensome – Inclined to drink to excess.
Fleeter – A full. A bumper.
Fou – Intoxicated with spirits; also, a full of any thing.
Fuddle – A spell at tippling.
Fudjells – Fat, contented persons.
Gardy-Vine – A large beautiful oblong-shaped glass bottle, used for holding spirits. It is from the German, “a gin bottle.”
Gaucy – Jolly, well-dressed and well-fed.
Hawckin – The nose made to clear the throat.
Het-Drinks – Warm drinks of the cordial nature, which gude-wives bumper at “Kimmerins.” [The feasts at birth, women only].
Hochle – To tumble lewdly with women in open day.
Jummlie – Sediment of ale.
Jumpers – Little maggots, which leap; common in hams.
Lippin-Fu' – Brimming full to the lips.
Lunting – Walking and smoking a pipe.
Mill-Shillling. The shelled grain, which runs out of the mill-e'e. When we see a person vomiting, from the effects of drinking spirits, we say he was “sendin' the drink frae him like a mill shilling.”
Nitters – A greedy, grubbing, impudent, withered female.
Peelaneets – Potatoes, boiled with their skins on.
Pinkle-Pankle – The sound of a liquid in a bottle.
Quak – To speak like a duck.
Raffing Fallows – Ranting, roaring, drinking fellows.
Scawd or Scaud – A disrespectful name for tea.
Scullduddery – Fornication.
Smeerikin – The sweetest of all kisses; the kiss one lover gives another, when they are quivering in one another's arms;

Royal Visits to Whithorn

“Among the many distinguished personages who, in the days of yore, visited the famous “Cradle of Christianity,” very prominent notice is due to King James IV, who made several pilgrimages to it [Whithorn].

“On the 10th of February, 1506, an heir to the throne of Scotland was born, an event which gave occasion for great demonstrations of rejoicing throughout the country. The King was so much pleased at the auspicious occurrence that he conferred the gift of a silver cup full of gold pieces, on the attendant who was fortunate enough to be the first bearer of the welcome intelligence to himself.

“He ordered the tidings to be sent without delay to the Crowned Heads of England and several other States. A fortnight afterwards, a grand display was made in the Chapel of Holyrood, on the occasion of the infant Prince's baptism; but to the sad grief, both of his parents and their loyal subjects, it died in the same month of the following year.

“The bereaved young queen was, for a length of time thereafter, prostrated by an illness that seemed to be of doubtful issue, and when she was in this weak condition her devoted husband set out for the shrine of the holy St. Ninian, then so celebrated from the miraculous results that were believed to accrue from a pilgrimage to its venerated precincts. His object being to secure the merciful intervention of Heaven on his royal spouse's behalf, he undertook his long travel on foot, in hope thereby that he would the better succeed in moving the sympathies of the saints, and prevail with them to intercede for the Queen's restoration to health.

“One of the most remarkable circumstances connected with this visit of James IV, if we are to rely on the monastic records, was that it was subsequently discovered that the exact hour in which he was engaged in invoking the services of the saints for the restoration of the Queen's health was the same in which she began to show symptoms of convalescence.

“The next visit of royalty to Whithorn was that of the youthful Queen Margaret herself, who repaired thither as soon as the state of her returning strength would admit of it, to pay her grateful devotions at the same altar where the prayers of her Consort had been so signally answered. Her pilgrimage was, however, of a less self-sacrificing description of the preceding one of her august husband. The King accompanied her, and it is stated that no fewer than 20 horses were needed for the conveyance of their dresses and accoutrements. On this occasion the royal couple were pleased to grace the good town of Whithorn with their presence for about three weeks.

“Nothing of any special moment took place, so far as we know, in connection with any of these royal journeys from Edinburgh to Whithorn, except that on one occasion, when tradition asserts that an accident befell the King, which resulted in the fracture of one of his legs, and his consequent detention for a considerable time in the locality. History is quite silent regarding this unfortunate occurrence in the royal devotee's pilgrimage. The story is to the effect that he was thrown from his horse when riding along the Main Street of Whithorn, which at that time led directly to the Cathedral. There is good reason, however, to conclude that if any mishap did occur to his Majesty it must have been of a more trivial nature than hearsay has assigned to it, or we should in all probability have it referred to in the pages of history.”
Lowland Lore or the Wigtownshire of Long Ago. By Gordon Fraser. Published by Gordon Fraser, Wigtown, 1880. Pages 101-102.

The above account gives the date of 10 February 1506 for the birth of the king's son. But this appears to be wrong. James married Margaret, daughter of Henry VII of England, in 1503. She gave birth to six children. Two girls were stillborn and three boys died in infancy. One son survived and he became James V. Of the three boys who died in infancy, the closest to the date of 1506 ,quoted above, is that of the first son, James, Duke of Rothesay, who was born on 21 February 1507 and who died on 27 February 1508. James also had seven illegitimate children with four mistresses. James was killed fighting the English at the Battle of Flodden Field in 1513, the last monarch to die in battle on British soil.

Margaret Tudor was the daughter of Henry VII of England and the elder sister of Henry VIII. After the death of James IV, she married Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus. She was the grandmother of Mary, Queen of Scots, and of Lord Darnley, Mary's second husband. The great-grandson of James IV and Margaret became James VI of Scotland and James 1 of England. The reference above to the 20 horses needed to carry Margaret's clothes to Whithorn is not surprising as she was a fashion enthusiast. When arrangements were made for her to marry James she was presented with a large wardrobe of clothes. When a fire destroyed her riding gear as she travelled north to marry James the replacement decorative cloth for her horse, a cloth of gold with a velvet cushion, cost 127 pounds to replace.

Time to stand and stare

At the lovely little port village of Port William, on the Machars, a man stands and stares.

The man is a bronze statue and he leans upon a wooden rail, with a flat cap on his head and his hands crossed, forever looking out on the ever-changing beauty of Luce Bay, with the hills of the Rhins Peninsula on the far shore and Ireland beyond them. Perhaps he is modelled on a local fisherman.

The statue by Andrew Brown, was set up in 2005. Close by is a polished slab of granite which quotes W.H. Davies: “What is life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.”

A signpost points out that at this peaceful spot the visitor is 323 miles from the bustle of London and 3,540 miles from New York, the city that never sleeps.

People often lean on the rail beside the bronze man and take the time with him to stand and stare.

The Cairnryan Blacksmith and the Iron Duke

A book published in 1880 tells that:

Some 30 or 40 years ago, an old blacksmith in the village of Cairnryan had occasion to go to London. The cause of his visit we know not, but it was his first trip to the “modern Babylon,” if not, indeed, to any large city.

As he was somewhat of an enquiring turn of mind, and rather intelligent in his way, he seemed anxious to make the most of his visit, as far as sight-seeing was concerned. Amongst other places of special interest, he was very desirous to see through the Houses of Parliament. But how was this to be accomplished? Without any fixed purpose, he sauntered up Parliament Street. Noting a well-dressed gentleman about to pass him, he went up to the stranger, and accosting him asked if he could tell what plan to adopt to get to see through the Houses of Parliament.

The stranger, in return, asked, 'Where do you come from?' 'I come from Cairnryan,” was the reply. “Cairnryan! That is in Scotland, I presume?' 'Yes,' 'Is it a town or a village?' 'A country village, sir.' 'Is it under any landed proprietor?' 'Yes; under General Wallace.' 'Oh, indeed,' rejoined the stranger. 'Is the general still able to superintend the affairs of his estate?' 'No,” said the smith; 'he has been blind for several years past.' 'Do you know the General?' asked the stranger. 'Yes; I am his blacksmith.'

The unknown gentleman then took a slip of paper from his pocket, and wrote something on it, handing it to Vulcan, and saying, 'You see that person in livery? Go up to him and give him that, and he will let you see through the Houses.' The blacksmith went up and presented his paper as directed. The liveried man asked, 'Do you know who the person is you were speaking to? 'No,' was the reply. 'Yon,' said the man, is the Duke of Wellington!'

Lowland Lore of Wigtownshire of Long Ago, by Gordon Fraser. Published Wigtown. 1880. Pages 80-81.

Cairnryan is just north of Stranraer and today it is the site of the large ferry port for Ireland. The Duke of Wellington, 1769-185, led the Allied forces that defeated the French in the Napoleonic Wars. He was Prime Minister from 1828 to1830 and Commander in Chief of the Army.

An aristocratic shooting match

England versus Scotland matches always raise passions and here is an account of a shooting contest that took place in 1823. It was written by Sir Herbert Maxwell, of Monreith estate, near Port William, and appeared in a book written when he was 88, published in 1932.

Sir Herbert wrote: “The following account of a match at partridge shooting was written by my father who was present all the time during the two days in October 1823. In comparing the match with present-day conditions, it is worth remembering that one hundred years ago the sportsman carried a muzzle-loader, flint-lock gun and shot all his birds over setters or pointers.”

Sir Herbert's father wrote: “My father [Sir Herbert's grandfather, who died in 1838 and who had lost an arm commanding the 26th Cameronians under Sir John Moore at Coruna] made a bet, I forget with whom, that he would find a man to shoot 100 brace [a brace is two birds, so, 200 birds] of partridges in one day on his estate in Wigtownshire. He asked Lord Kennedy [Son of the first Marquess of Ailsa, died 1832] to do it for him, who, after pronouncing it impossible, backed himself to shoot partridges on two days in Scotland against Mr W. Coke [Nephew of Coke of Holkham who was created Earl of Leicester in 1837] in Norfolk in the month of October.

“Lord Kennedy had intended to shoot his first day at Newton Don near Kelso, and was not expected at Monreith for ten days. My father was not at home, and only I, a lad of seventeen, was here to receive him when he arrived unexpectedly at Port William about 9 a.m., having travelled all night.

“Hearing of his arrival I went and found him, Valentine Maher (umpire for Coke) and Farquharson of Blackhall just finishing breakfast. Lord Kennedy gave me a letter he had from Sir Alexander Don saying that he could not ensure him twenty brace at Newton Don as the corn was all uncut, and advising to shoot both the days of his match with Coke at Monreith. In consequences he had posted [travelled] all night in order to be here in time for the first appointed day, as well as for the hundred brace match. I told Lord Kennedy I could not let him go on the ground kept for the hundred brace match, and I went off in search of our gamekeeper, who told me he could only take his lordship either to ground that had been shot over in September, or to other ground which had been driven and disturbed in preparation for the hundred brace match.

“About eleven o'clock Lord Kennedy started, and that day got between forty and fifty brace. Coke shooting on the same day at Holkham ninety-three brace. My father came home that evening, having been well night lost in a gale in his yacht. He wished Lord Kennedy to stay and walk over the ground before the second day of the match, but he would not, and returned only on the evening before the second day's shooting.

“On that day, when the hundred brace match was to be decided, when Kennedy stopped at a farm house at 11.30 a.m., he had sixty brace in the bag, and the best of the ground before him. It was still a fine day. We had a brace of steady old setters ready for him, but he would not shoot a bird over them, insisting upon using his own black pointers, which had never before been shot over except on moorland. Also he refused to follow the coveys marked into whins and broken ground, seeming to think that would not be fair, although Coke's umpire Val Maher agreed that he ought to do so.

“The only 'hedge' which my father had to a heavy book was a bet of some twenty guineas that Kennedy would not get a shot in twenty minutes if he persevered over a line of bare grass fields, instead of going to the driven and marked coveys. As it was, he got 93½ brace and Coke at Holkham 96 brace. I think these were the numbers; at any rate neither of them made the 100 brace, while each shot more than 90 brace.”

A footnote explains: “In Yarrell's British Birds, vol ii. p. 389 (ed 1856), the numbers differ from those given by my father as follows:

“First Day. Sir William Maxwell's figures: Lord Kennedy, 45 brace. Mr Coke 93 brace. Yarrell's figures: Lord Kennedy 50 brace. Mr Coke 80½ brace. Second Day. Sir William Maxwell's figures: Lord Kennedy 93½ brace. Mr Coke 96 brace. Yarrell's figures: Lord Kennedy 82 brace. Mr Coke 87½ brace.”

The account continues: “A great many dead birds were picked up here afterwards. Both Val Maher and Farquharson were disappointed with Lord Kennedy's shooting; but I have never seen anything so good. Certainly very few birds were missed, and the whole ground was strewn with cripples for days afterwards. I recollect my father saying nothing on earth would induce him to allow another match to be shot on his land. I am convinced that Lord Kennedy killed and 'kilt' 120 brace that day. None of us had the least doubt – nor, after the event had Lord Kennedy himself – that he would have killed over one hundred brace had be shot over old dogs and gone where our gamekeeper advised. I remember being told that Coke had his birds driven into turnips, and shot over an old pointer 'as slow as a man.”'

Sir Herbert Maxwell commented: “A radical and, in my opinion, regrettable change was wrought in grouse and partridge shooting by the introduction of breech-loading guns. That became general about the end of the 'sixties [1860s], and tended to change field sportsmen into mere marksmen. Previous to that shooters relied upon well-trained setters or pointers to find game for them, and due consideration had to be given to the dogs. They must not be hustled in drawing up the birds; they got a few minutes rest at 'down charge' for the muzzle-loader, which was of special advantage to them in hot weather. I always derived more pleasure from the behaviour of the dogs that found the game for me than from the mere knack of bagging it.

“A discussion on this subject with a neighbouring laird, Machaffie or Torrhousemuir, resulted in a match being arranged between us – he to have birds driven into turnips and walk them up, which he maintained was the surest way to make a good bag. I to shoot over pointers handled by myself. The result was very near a tie. Machaffie bagged 57½ brace of partridges and 5 grouse; and I, working three brace of pointers – one brace at a time – shot 61 brace of partridges and one grouse. I was very tired that night, for in addition to working the pointer I lifted practically every bird from my own retriever.”

Earlier in the book Sir Herbert gives details of the birds shot by Lord Stair on Tuesday, 3rd December 1931. Lord Stair, of Castle Kennedy near Stranraer, said: “Five of us, including myself, went out to fill every column of the game book, and succeeded as follows:

“1 grey-lag goose, 4 grouse, 2 blackcocks, 1 partridge, 6 cock pheasants, 4 woodcockes, 4 snipe, 2 golden plover, 88 wood pigeons, 2 stock doves, 1 water hen, 1 sparrow hawk, 1 mallard, 1 widgeon, 3 teal, 1 shoveller, 1 pochard, 1 tufted duck, 4 golden eye, 3 roedeer, 3 brown hares, 1 blue hare, 11 rabbits, 2 carrion crows.”

Monreith House and estate, Galloway, see: www.monreithhouse.co.uk. A sign at the estate says that it is open from Good Friday to September 30. Telephone 01988 700 248. Holkham Hall is next to the village of Holkham, on the north coast of Norfolk. It is at the heart of a 25,000 acre private estate and is the home of the Earls of Leicester. It is open to the public for tours. See: www.holkham.co.uk. Presumably, shooting continues at both estates today. The account of the 1823 shooting match can be found, pages 130-134, Maxwell, Sir Herbert. Evening Memories. Alexander Maclehose and Co, London. 1932. The 1931 bag appears on page 14.

Lovely walls have bleak background

The many dry stone walls that criss-cross the Dumfries and Galloway landscape are much loved today as an integral part of the landscape. However, they have a grim history.

The Rev C. H. Dick explains in his book, Highways and Byways of Galloway and Carrick, published in 1916:

“...about 1725, when we hear of the Levellers. The trouble was occasioned by the fencing of fields and other measures adopted for the improvement of their estates by the Galloway proprietors. The former practice was that each tenant had the right of pasturage over the whole property of the landlord, and this provided employment for many herds. The erection of the dykes interfered with this work. At the same time the grouping of small crofts into farms led to much hardship. The evicted families emigrated to America and elsewhere if they had the means; otherwise they were thrown into great distress and sought desperately to obstruct the operations of the landlords. It was at Whitsunday, 1723, that the new measures began to take effect.

The lords and lairds they drive us out
From maillings where we dwell;
The poor man says, “Where shall we go?”
The rich says, “Go to hell.”

These words they spoke in jest and mocks;
But by their works we know
That if they have their herds and flocks,
They care not where we go.

Against the poor they still prevail
With all their wicked works,
And will enclose both more and dale
And turn corn fields to parks.

The discontented, however, did more than compose or repeat lampoons. A great annual fair was held at Kelton Hill [near Castle Douglas] in the month of June and here the plan for a general levelling of the fences was devised.

A company of Levellers might consist of about fifty men with a captain, and, according to the account in The Castle Douglas Weekly Visitor, “each man was furnished with a strong kent (or piece of wood) from six to eight feet in length, which he fixed into the dyke at the approved distance from the foundation and from his neighbour. After having ascertained that all was ready, the captain bawled out, 'Ow'r wi't, boys,' - and ow'r accordingly it tumbled, with a shout that might have been heard at a distance of miles.”

Dragoons had to be brought into Galloway to suppress the movement; but they behaved with restraint, and only a few lives were sacrificed. The malcontents made their last stand at Duchrae in the parish of Balmaghie [north of Castle Douglas], where the military took over two hundred prisoners. As they were being marched to Kirkudbright, many of them were allowed to escape; but the leaders were brought to trial. Some were punished with fines or imprisonment, and others were banished to the plantations [of the West Indies, where they would have become white slaves].

***

Why the crocs in Dumfries?

In the very centre of Dumfries, near to Marks and Spencer, there is an ornate historic fountain. This is painted deep red with features picked out in gold. So far as is known, the water no longer runs.

At the top are four herons, below them four dolphins and at the bottom four cherubs each holding a crocodile in his lap.

Crocodiles are an unusual decorative element and one wonders why they should be featured in the Dumfries fountain.

Crocodiles have always been feared and, even today, they remain a problem in several parts of the world. The large salt-water crocodiles of northern Australia take a regular toll on unwary humans. Once these were widely distributed throughout Asia, and it has been suggested that the crocodile is the origin of China's “dragon boats.”

We owe our word “mugger” to the crocodile. The widespread Mugger Crocodile is the most common type in India, and is found in Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Nepal, Iran, Indo-China and perhaps Southern Iraq. “Makara” is the Sanskrit word for sea dragon. From this comes the Urdu “magar.” And it is from that that “mugger” entered the English language for an attacker that sneaks up without warning on its innocent victim.

So, there are four muggers featured prominently on Dumfries' attractive historic fountain.

A thought. J.M. Barrie, who wrote the story of Peter Pan, or the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up, attended Dumfries Academy from 1873 to 1878. While there he and his schoolmates played in the gardens of Moat Brae House, developing a fantasy saga that Barrie is said to have later developed into Peter Pan. Currently, an extensive restoration effort is under way at Moat Brae – see www.moatbrae.org. Barrie's first play, Bandalero the Bandit, was performed by the Dumfries Amateur Dramatic Club in 1877.

The villain of Peter Pan is the evil Captain James Hook – who was terrified of crocodiles. Peter Pan cut off Hook's hand and he wore an iron hook as a replacement. The hand was eaten by a crocodile which so liked the taste that it stalked the captain ever afterwards. Fortunately, the crocodile also swallowed a clock so that Hook knew when it was around.

Could the young Barrie have gained inspiration for the crocodile of Peter Pan from the crocs of the Dumfries Fountain? It would be interesting to know when the fountain was erected.

***

Making lime from cockleshells

The soils of Galloway are generally poor and so in the past they were improved by the application of lime. The Rev C.H. Dick, in a book published in 1916, quoted a description of making lime from cockle shells at Baldoon, near Wigtown. He says he is quoting a description of “Symson,” a clergyman, who watched the process “more than 200 years ago.” He comments: “The information might be useful if one were cast away on a desert island.

Symson wrote: “On the banks of this Park, that lyes opposit to the sea, if there be in the winter time any high tides and storms from the South East, the sea casts innumerable and incredible quantities of Cockleshells, which the whole shire makes use of for lime, and it is the onely lime which this countrey affords. The way of making it is thus: Upon an even Area (the circumference they make less or more, according to the quantity of shells they intend to burne,) they set erected peits [peats?], upon which they put a layer of shells a foot thick or more, and then upon them again lay peits, and so, stratum super stratum, till they bring it to a head like a pyramis; but as they put on these layers just in the center, they make a tunnell of peits, like a chimney, hollow in the middest reaching from the bottom to the top (just almost as Evelyn describes in the making of charcoal;) this done, they take a pan full of burning peits, and put them down into this tunnel, or chimney, and so close up all with shells. This fire kindles the whole kilne, and in twentie-four hours space, or thereby, will so burn the shells that they will run together in a hard masse; after this they let it cool a little, and then with an iron spade they bring it down by degrees, and sprinkling water thereon, with a beater they beat it, (or berry it, for that's their terme; this word they also use for threshing, and so call the thresher of their corne the berrier) and then put it so beaten into little heaps, which they press together with the broad side od their spade, after which, in a short time, it will dissolve (they call it melting) into a small white powder, and it is excellent lime.

“I have heard good masons say that, as it is whiter, so also it binds stones together surer and better than stone lime itself.”

This last point makes one think of Saint Ninian, who brought Christianity to the British Isles in the fifth century and who built a church at Whithorn, Galloway. This church was built of stone, at a time when all buildings were made of wood. It shone famously and could be seen for miles, particularly from the sea. Could this brilliant white have been the result of using the cockle shell lime described above?

p 204-205. Highways and Byways in Galloway and Carrick, by the Rev. C.H. Dick. Macmillan and Co Ltd. London. 1916. Illustrations by Hugh Thomson. 1916.