Highways and Byways in the Border: IllustratedLang, Andrew
History
Highways and Byways in the Border: Illustrated
Lang, Andrew
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Description and travel
Berwick is, for historically minded tourists, (not a large proportion
of the whole), a place of many memories. In July, 1318, Bruce took
the castle after a long blockade; an English attempt to recover it was
defeated mainly through the skill of Crab, a Flemish military engineer.
Guns were not yet in use: "crakkis of war," (guns) were first heard in
Scotland, near Berwick, in 1327. In 1333, after a terrible defeat of the
Scots on the slopes of Halidon Hill, a short distance north of Berwick,
the place surrendered to Edward III, and became the chief magazine of
the English in their Scottish wars.
By 1461, the Scots recovered it, but in 1481, the nobles of James III
mutinied at Lauder bridge, hanged his favourites, and made no attempt
to drive Crook-backed Richard from his {006}siege of Berwick. Since then
the town has been in English hands, and was to them, for Scottish wars,
a Calais or a Gibraltar. The present bridge of fifteen arches, the most
beautiful surviving relic here of old days, was built under James VI and
I.
[Illustration: 0026]
They say that the centre of the railway station covers the site of the
hall of the castle of Edward I, in which that prince righteously awarded
the crown of Scotland to John Balliol. The town long used the castle as
a quarry, then came the railway, and destroyed all but a few low walls,
mere hummocks, and the Bell Tower.
Naturally the ancient churches perished after the Blessed Reformation:
indeed the castle was used as a quarry for a new church of the period of
the Civil War.
Immediately above Berwick, and for some distance, Tweed flows between
flat banks, diffusely and tamely: the pools are locally styled "dubs,"
and deserve the title. The anti-Scottish satirist, Churchill, says,
{007}
"Waft me, some Muse, to Tweed's inspiring stream
Where, slowly winding, the dull waters creep
And seem themselves to own the power of sleep."
"In fact," replies a patriotic Scot, "'the glittering and resolute
streams of Tweed,' as an old Cromwellian trooper and angler, Richard
Franck, styles them, are only dull and sleepy in the dubs where England
provides their flat southern bank."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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