[20] Sir David Lindesay in "The Monarchie" thus enumerates the saints
to whom superstitious honours were paid:
Thair superstitious pilgramagis
To menie divers imagis;
Sum to Sanct Roche, with diligence
To saif them from the pestilence;
For thair teeth to Sanct Apollene;
To Sanct Tred well to mend thair ene.
Before turning down Blackford Avenue, which opens to our right, a
hundred yards farther on, let us glance for a moment at that curious
old house, the Grange,--or, as its title more correctly stands, St.
Giles's Grange. This was once the farm belonging to the cathedral
church of St. Giles, in the pre-Reformation days, when each church
and abbey had broad lands attached to it. In the 17th century the
Grange was among the large possessions of Sir William Dick; and in
the wreck of his fortunes, it was preserved to his third son William
by the liberality and wealth of the latter's wife, Janet M'Math. She
had inherited great riches from her own family, of whom she was the
last survivor, as well as from her first husband, Thomas Bannatyne.
Much of this money she devoted to the needs of her second husband's
family, even paying the bill of poor Sir William's funeral expenses.
Her descendant, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder (who also represents a younger
branch of Lauder of the Bass), is the present possessor of the Grange.
When Prince Charles held his court at Holyrood, he visited the
Grange, and presented the family with the thistle from his bonnet,
which is still preserved by them with great care. Robertson, the
historian, spent the last years of his life here, where he died in
1793. Parts of the house are very old, but it has been a good deal
added to, at different times. It is said to be haunted by a ghost in
the form of a miser, who rolls a sack of gold coins about the older
parts of the building. The tradition is, that if any of the family
were to see him, they would become possessed of the treasure.
Till within the last few years, the most picturesque cottages
imaginable stood close to the gate of the Grange. Their whitewashed
walls, overhung with masses of ivy,--their thatched roofs and
irregular gables,--their curious outside stairs, and the air of
antiquity that overshadowed them, made them dear to every artist's
soul; and no scene in the vicinity of Edinburgh was more often drawn
or painted. Now, alas! the mania for so-called improvement, which is
the curse of the present day, has swept them away; and the Grange,
like any other villa, is enclosed by a prim stone wall, ending in the
most modern of lodges.
A little farther along the loaning is the Penny Well, which was
restored a few years ago; but as yet I have not succeeded in
discovering anything of its history or traditions. Somewhere near
here there formerly existed a holy well, to which the nuns of the
convent of St. Catherine of Sienna used to resort; but I do not
know if it can be identified with the Penny Well. The Lovers' Loan
runs along the western boundary of the garden of the Grange, in a
northerly direction, till it almost reaches the Meadows. Not so
many years ago it was a shady, secluded walk,--now it is only a
path between high walls; and though some of the hawthorn bushes at
the northern end still survive, they have been clipped and cut in,
till they have lost all remembrance of their old luxuriance. It
is probable that this is the remains of one of the old paths that
intersected the Boroughmuir, to which we occasionally find reference
in old charters.
A little west of the Grange, Blackford Avenue branches off to the
south. Till the making of the Suburban Railway gave a great impetus
of progress to this part of Edinburgh, it was a quiet country road,
shaded with trees on either side, and leading to the gateway of
Blackford House. The charming description that Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
gives of this place in his _Scottish Rivers_ describes so exactly
what it was early this century, and what it remained up to within a
few years ago, that I cannot refrain from quoting it.
"The house was old, and not very large, and in no very remarkable
style of architecture; but what there was of it--and there were a
good many small rooms in it--might be said to be very rambling.
There was something so venerable in the very air of its front,
that no one could lift its brass knocker without a certain feeling
of respectful awe. It was covered with the richest jessamines and
roses, and the gravel circle before the door was always kept in a
state of the most exact tidiness. On the south side of the premises
there was a high and steep bank of shaven turf, with a pretty little
parterre flower-garden between its base and the house, and a broad
terrace walk at top, that stretched along under some noble trees,
close to the boundary of the place in that direction. The fruit and
vegetable garden, which had some variegated hollies of goodly size
in it, occupied the gently sloping ground at some little distance in
front of the house, and beyond this there was, and we think we may
say _is_, a fine open grove of old and well-grown trees.... There
we find, seated in her arm-chair, but springing from it in a moment
to meet us half-way across the room, an old lady of a handsome,
dignified countenance, lighted up with clear, black, benevolent
eyes, and of a tall and commanding figure, though modified by a
very slight bend.... Those who did not know her so well as we did,
might have supposed her to have been but a little above seventy
years of age only, from the freshness and vigour she displayed; we,
who were aware that in her younger days she had flirted with our
father, knew that she had seen ninety years. But oh, how green and
vigorous her old age was, both in body and mind! and how fresh and
warm were all her affections!... How interesting were the old stories
that she told! how easily were they narrated in the purest Scottish
vernacular, and how perfectly did she bring back and vivify people,
of whom we had heard much, but whom we had not lived early enough to
know personally!"
The old friend whom Sir Thomas describes so touchingly was Miss Menie
Trotter, one of the last of the race of old Scotch ladies, so clever,
so original, almost to eccentricity, so idiomatic and plain-spoken
in their expressions, and yet such perfect gentlewomen. She was
the sister of the laird of Morton Hall, and, though but slenderly
endowed, her liberality and charitableness to her poorer neighbours
was unbounded.[21] All her life she was a very active woman. Every
morning she bathed in the Jordan, which then ran pure and sparkling
through her garden, and afterwards she walked all over Blackford Hill
before breakfast. Ten miles at a stretch was nothing to her within a
few years of her death, which happened when she was above ninety.
[21] Miss Menie was of a very hospitable disposition. At the
beginning of every winter she killed and salted down a Highland
bullock, which she and her guests ate steadily through till it was
finished. Lady Robert Kerr, and my two great-grand-aunts, Mrs.
Mackenzie and Mrs. David Wauchope, constantly dined with her, and she
used to press her neighbour, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, to come, with
the reminder, "We we getting gey near the tail noo."
The railway has shorn the old place of many of its attractions;
and the road now runs past it, and gradually mounts up to the red
sandstone gateway which leads to Blackford Hill. The hill, which
formerly belonged to Morton Hall, was bought by the town of Edinburgh
in 1884, to form a great public park, chiefly by the exertions of Sir
George Harrison, the then Lord Provost. Though no longer a lonely and
sequestered spot, the wind blows as freshly over the hill, the view
is as beautiful, and the whins and thorn trees grow as freely as when
Sir Walter wrote his never-to-be-forgotten lines, which rise unbidden
to the traveller's thoughts, as he slowly and wearily climbs to the
highest rocky point--
Blackford! on whose uncultured breast,
Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,
A truant boy, I sought the nest,
Or listed, as I lay at rest,
While rose on breezes thin
The murmur of the city crowd;
And from his steeple jangling loud,
Saint Giles's mingling din.
Now from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the hill with yellow grain;
And o'er the landscape as I look,
Nought do I see unchanged remain,
Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.
To me they make a heavy moan,
Of early friendships past and gone.[22]
[22] Scott--"Marmion."
Leaving the hill behind us to the west, we pass through the farm of
West Liberton Mains, and, after turning to the right, soon emerge on
the old coach road which led from Edinburgh to Peebles and Biggar,
and all the wide stretch of country between them.
Liberton crowns the hill in front of us, and when we see its
modern-looking church, and the trim villas that surround it, it is
difficult to realize what an old place it is. The name is supposed
to be a corruption of _leper-tun_, as of old a hospital for lepers
existed here, every vestige of which has disappeared. The earliest
mention of this place occurs in charters of David I. between 1124 and
1153, some of which were witnessed by Macbeth, Baron of Liberton.
It was he who granted titles and lands to the chapel, which was
then subordinate to the church of St. Cuthbert. By a later charter
of King David's (1143-47), Liberton was granted to the canons of
Holyrood, who retained it till the Reformation. There were three
subordinate chapels,--St. Margaret's, near the Balm Well of St.
Catherine; the Blessed Virgin's Chapel at Niddrie; and the little
hunting-chapel built by James V. at the Bridgend near The Inch.
Since the 16th century the barony of Upper Liberton has belonged to
the Littles, and it is now in possession of their direct descendant
and representative, Mr. Gordon Gilmour of Craigmillar. The old house
of Liberton stands to the west of the village. An avenue of lime
trees leads down to it, on one side of which stands the dovecot,
in old days the distinctive privilege of the lord of the barony.
Additions to the house, early in this century, have spoiled it
externally, but inside it is very curious. The walls are of immense
thickness, the windows are small and numerous, and over them, as well
as over most of the doors and fireplaces, there are massive arches of
red sandstone. The hole is still visible in the wall of the turret
staircase, which, commanding the outer door, enabled the inhabitants
to fire unseen on their assailants. Over one of the windows is the
date 1695, but the house is far older, and is known to have been in
possession of the Littles in 1570. The tower, hard by, though ruined
and deserted, still lifts its head proudly over the humble sheds and
farm-buildings at its side, and "far o'er the Forth, looks to the
north," across the deep and lonely valley in front of it, as it did
in the old days, when it was the terror of the surrounding country.
[Illustration: _Liberton Tower._]
In a hedge near the cross road, which leads back from Liberton House
to the village, grows the wormwood (_Artemisia vulgaris_), with its
deeply-cut, silver-lined leaves, and curious, aromatic smell. It is
the only place in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh where I have noticed
it growing. When we reach the main road again, we turn to the right,
and, passing the large reservoir that the Edinburgh Water Company
have lately built, we soon reach the east lodge of Morton Hall. On
the opposite side of the road is a small place, St. Catherine's, in
the garden of which still stands the famous Balm Well, to which in
former days so many pilgrimages were made. The water of the spring is
covered with a film of petroleum; and however frequently the film is
removed, it always returns. In old days the well was much resorted
to for the curing of cutaneous distempers. It owes its origin to the
following miracle. St. Catherine had a commission from St. Margaret,
the queen of Malcolm Canmore, to bring her some holy oil from Mount
Sinai. At this very place she happened by accident to lose a few
drops, and on her earnest supplication the well appeared.
When James VI. was in Scotland in 1617, he went to visit it, and
ordered that it should be fenced in with stones from bottom to top,
and that a door and staircase should be made for it, so that it
might be more easy of access. The royal commands being immediately
obeyed, the well was greatly adorned, and remained so till 1650, when
Cromwell's soldiers almost totally destroyed it. It was repaired
again after the Restoration. St. Catherine was buried in a chapel
adjoining the well, which was pulled down in the last century. It
was observed that the man who pulled it down never prospered again.
There are still remains of the old stonework to be seen; and now, as
then, a black, oily substance floats on the top of the water, but the
well is only visited in these days as a curiosity, and not with the
trusting faith that its miracle-working powers excited of old.
When we reach the blacksmith's shop at the corner, our way turns
to the left, and we leave the road we have hitherto followed, to
pursue its course to the shale-works and coal-pits of Straiton and
Loanhead. The thick white smoke drifting along the rising ground
to the south of us comes from the limekilns of Burdiehouse, which
are surrounded by a labyrinth of caves, out of which the limestone
has been quarried. Fossils of curious plants and fishes are found
there in great quantities. It is said that the name Burdiehouse is a
corruption of "Bordeaux," and that the place was so called by some of
Queen Mary's French attendants who settled there.
Taking the next turn to the right, we cross the small burn, and climb
the steep hill to Gilmerton, passing the old Place or Manor House,
which stands within gates at the west end of the village. This was
the dower house of the ladies of Newbyth. Mrs. Baird, the mother of
the famous general, Sir David Baird, of Mrs. Wauchope of Niddrie,
and of Lady Haddo, lived here at the end of the last century. Some
cottages a little farther on bear the pretty and romantic name of
Laverock Hall. In former days the inhabitants of Gilmerton had a bad
reputation as a lawless and turbulent set. Cut-throat Lane, the name
of the road where we again turn to the left, just before reaching the
railway arch, is suggestive of days when highway robberies were more
common than now. Before the Glencorse railway was made, this was a
desolate, lonely spot, and the rough, overgrown hedges on either side
might easily have concealed a dangerous ambush.
When we reach the end of Cut-throat Lane, before turning northwards,
on the way back to Edinburgh, let us pause for a moment; for down
in the hollow to the south is a cottage which deserves more than
a passing mention. Five centuries have elapsed since the terrible
tragedy took place which turned the name of Gilmerton Grange to
Burndale, or the Burnt Grange; and, whether we read the story in the
quaint, unadorned language of _The Memorie of the Somervilles_, or
with the charm of Sir Walter's verse[23] thrown round it, it alike
fills the mind with horror. The tale may be briefly told as follows:--
[23] Scott--"The Gray Brother." For this and other stories of the
Somerville family, see _The Memorie of the Somervilles_.
In the reign of David II., the lands of Gilmerton in Midlothian,
and of Edmonstone in Clydesdale, belonged to Sir John Herring or
Heron, a brave and gallant knight who had fought side by side with
Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie against the English. Sir John had
two daughters, Margaret and Giles; the elder of whom he intended
to marry to his brother's son, Patrick, and to make them heirs to
the greater part of his estate. His intentions were frustrated
in a most unhappy manner. Margaret was very beautiful, and of a
melancholy and devout disposition. She observed strictly all the
rites and ceremonies of the Church, and for that purpose was in the
habit of frequenting the Abbey of Newbattle, about three miles off.
There she made the acquaintance of a young Cistercian monk, who,
under a specious pretext of holiness, insinuated himself into her
confidence, and then took advantage of the ascendancy he gained over
her, to ensnare and betray her. Fearing that this intrigue should
be detected, he arranged to meet her at the little farm called the
Grange, a short distance from Gilmerton, on the road leading to
Newbattle. The surrounding country was then thickly wooded, and he
thought they would be more secure from observation there than at her
father's house, or at the Abbey. The mistress of the Grange, a young
and dissolute widow, was the more willing to lend herself to this
plan, as she was also carrying on an intrigue with another monk of
Newbattle. In spite of the secrecy with which these meetings were
conducted, suspicions arose from the undue familiarity subsisting
between a lady of rank, and one so beneath her in condition, and of
such doubtful character, as the mistress of the Grange, and rumours
came to Sir John's ears. Being a man of violent and irritable temper,
he threatened his daughter with nothing less than death, should she
ever resort to the Grange again. She promised compliance with his
wishes; but that very night she stole out in the darkness to meet the
monk once more, and to warn him of her father's suspicions. Sir John
missed her, and, discovering that her chamber was empty, proceeded
to the Grange, accompanied by two servants. Finding the doors shut,
and no answer made to his demands, in a fit of rage, he took a torch
from his servant's hand and set fire to the thatch. A high wind was
blowing, the flames rapidly spread, and in a short time the building,
with every one in it, was burned to the ground. Eight or nine persons
perished, including Margaret Herring and the two monks.
For this cruel act, which was aggravated into sacrilege by the fact
of two of the victims being Churchmen, Sir John had to fly from
the country, while his estate was forfeited to the king. His near
neighbour and friend, Sir Walter Somerville of Carnwarth, undertook
to intercede for his pardon. He represented to the Abbot of Newbattle
how scandalous the lives of the two monks had been, even before their
acquaintance with that unhappy lady, and how their villainies had
thrown the greatest reproach on the order to which they belonged.
Finally, he prevailed upon the Abbot and the fraternity to listen to
an accommodation, provided he could move the Bishop of St. Andrews to
procure the absolution of the Church.
In the meantime, Sir John, with his remaining daughter, Giles, a
beautiful girl of eighteen, came secretly and dwelt at Sir Walter's
castle of Cowthally. Sir Walter, who was a widower at the time,
fell in love with Giles, and made a bargain with her father, that,
if he procured his pardon from the king, he should marry her, and
that half the lands of Gilmerton should be settled on him and his
wife, and the heirs of the marriage, or any other marriage, past or
to come, irredeemably for ever. The matter was arranged at last by
Somerville's exertions in the following manner:--
"That Sir John should make over for him and his the merk land of the
Grange, where the murder was committed, to, and in favour of the
Abbey of Newbattle, claiming no right therein, neither in property,
superiority, nor vassalage in all time coming; and, further, that
the said Sir John should, bareheaded and bare-legged, in sackcloth,
crave absolution at the Bishop and Abbot's hands, and stand in the
same manner at the principal door of St. Catherine's Chapel every
Sabbath and holy day for one year, and paying forty pennies at every
time to the poor of the parish, and one hundred merks Scots to the
monks of Newbattle to pray for the souls of those that died through
his transgression." These conditions were accepted and performed by
Sir John, whereupon he had his pardon from the king, was restored to
his estate, and had absolution from the Church.
These events happened in 1375, and it was owing to them that the
house of Somerville first acquired lands in Midlothian. For years
afterwards Cowthally in Lanarkshire remained their principal
residence; and it was not till 1584 that Hugh, the eighth Lord
Somerville, began the house of the Drum[24] (the gate of which we
pass on the right on our way northwards to Gilmerton), from the
design of John Milne, the king's master-mason. It was finished the
following year; but the pleasure of Lord Somerville in his new home
was sadly marred by the melancholy event which took place there four
years later, on a hot July morning in 1589, and which is related as
follows in _The Memorie of the Somervilles_:--
[24] The name _Drum_ signifies a rising ground, the back or ridge of
a hill. Here the forest of Drumselch--_i.e._ _Druim sealche_, the
hill of the hunting--began and reached almost to Holyrood House.
"The Lord Somerville having come from Cowthally early in the morning,
in regard the weather was hot, he had ridden hard to be at the Drum
by ten o'clock, which having done, he laid him down to rest." The
servant, with his two sons, William Master of Somerville, and John
his brother, went with the horses to ane shot of land, called the
Pretty Shot, directly opposite the front of the house, where there
was some meadow grass for grazing the horses, and willows to shadow
themselves from the heat. They had not long continued in this place,
when the Master of Somerville, after some little rest, awaking from
his sleep, and finding his pistols that lay hard by him, wet with
dew, he began to rub and dry them, when unhappily one of them went
off the ratch (lock), being lying on his knee and the muzzle turned
sideways. The ball struck his brother John directly in the head, and
killed him outright, so that his sorrowful brother never had one word
from him, albeit he begged it with many tears. A lamentable case,
and much to be pitied. Two brave young gentlemen so nearly related,
and dearly loving one another; who, besides their being brethren by
birth, were entirely so in affection, communicating all their affairs
and designs to one another, wherein they were never known to differ
in the least.[25] ...
[25] It has been supposed by several good judges, including Charles
Sharpe, that this melancholy accident gave rise to the ballad of "The
Two Brothers." The names, William and John, certainly agree with
those of the ballad, but there are several trifling dissimilarities.
In all the different versions of "The Two Brothers," it is a knife
that gives John the deadly wound, whereas the Somerville tragedy was
caused by the accidental discharge of a pistol. Then, in the version
I am about to quote, the scene of the story is laid in the north.
This version differs slightly from all those hitherto published. In
it the brothers are styled _Lord_ William and _Lord_ John. It was
given to Lady John Scott many years ago by Campbell Riddell (Sir
James Riddell of Ardnamurchan's brother), and it has a pretty old
tune.