Ballads; Great Britain -- History; Scotland -- History
*In Wild Northumberland To-day*
These tales of the Borders would hardly be complete without a few
concluding words about the great romantic charm which still invests the
Borderline. Let us, for example, make a brief survey of some of the
haunting spots in wild Northumberland. We will pass over such towns as
Warkworth, Alnwick, Alnmouth; beautiful as they are, they have moved
with the times and are too modern to be more than mentioned here. But
in a place like Holy Island we feel the call of the old days, and the
charm that was theirs. This Island was the scene of the first efforts
of Christianity to curb the wild and warlike Northumbrians; St Aidan,
and St Cuthbert, both men of remarkable genius and great influence,
taught there lessons of peace and justice without which every warlike
state would descend into mere savagery. The island is about two miles
square, and at low tide it is easy to walk across the sands to or from
the mainland of Northumberland. The distance is two and a half miles,
and it is necessary to take off shoes and stockings, for the water on
the sands will often be six inches deep. A row of posts marks the way,
and some of them have ladders, reaching up to a barrel on the top, so
that any caught by the tide can find a safe harbour wherein they will
suffer nothing more serious than a long wait! The island is inhabited
by fishing folk, living simple healthy lives. There are fine rocks and
splendid sands; beautiful flowers and lovely shells. The seabirds are
wonderful. The ruins of the old Cathedral and castle are very
interesting, it is a delightful old-world place, out of the rush and
hurry of modern life.
Retracing our steps to the mainland, and proceeding westward for a dozen
or so miles as the crow flies, we reach the River Till, and the field of
Flodden. Here we are near to the big wild wall of the Cheviot hills,
and to keep on the English side of the border we need to turn due south.
It is then about thirty miles of rough walking through these grandly
rugged hills before we come to the field of Otterburn.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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