Edinburgh
To Berwick
We
left Edinburgh the next forenoon with a view of making Berwick-on-Tweed
our stopping place for the evening, not a long distance in
miles but a considerable one measured in spots of historical
importance. The road much of the way skirts the ocean and
is a magnificent highway leading through a number of quaint
towns famous in Scotch song and story. Numerous battlefields
are scattered along the way, but we found it difficult to
locate a battlefield when we passed it, and generally quit
trying. In fact, in the days of border warfare the whole south
of Scotland was the scene of almost continuous strife, and
battles of greater or less importance were fought everywhere
with the English in the centuries of fierce hatred which existed
between the two nations. The Scots held their own wonderfully
well, considering their greatly inferior numbers and the general
poverty of their country. The union, after all, was brought
about not by conquest but by a Scotch king going to London
to assume the crown of the two kingdoms. The famous old town
of Berwick-on-Tweed bore the brunt of the incursions from
both sides on the eastern coast, as did Carlisle on the west.
The town of Dunbar, situated on the coast about midway between
Edinburgh and Berwick, was of great importance in border history.
It had an extensive and strongly fortified castle, situated
on the margin of a cliff overhanging the ocean, and which
was for a time the residence of Queen Mary after her marriage
with Darnley. Nothing now remains of this great structure
save a few crumbling walls of red sandstone, which are carefully
propped up and kept in the best possible repair by the citizens,
who have at last come to realize the cash value of such a
ruin. If such a realization had only come a hundred years
ago, a great service would have been done the historian and
the antiquarian. But this is no less true of a thousand other
towns than of Dunbar. No quainter edifice did we see in all
Britain than Dunbar's Fifteenth Century town hall. It seemed
more characteristic of an old German town than of Scotland.
This odd old building is still the seat of the city government.
Our
route from Dunbar ran for a long way between the hills of
Lammermoor and the ocean and abounded in delightful and striking
scenery. We were forcibly reminded of Scott's mournful story,
"The Bride of Lammermoor," as we passed among the
familiar scenes mentioned in the book, and it was the influence
of this romantic tale that led us from the main road into
narrow byways and sleepy little coast towns innocent of modern
progress and undisturbed by the rattle of railways trains.
No great distance from Berwick and directly on the ocean stands
Fast Castle, said to be the prototype of the Wolf's Crag of
"Lammermoor." This wild story had always interested
me in my boyhood days and for years I had dreamed of the possibility
of some time seeing the supposed retreat of the melancholy
Master of Ravenswood. We had great difficulty in locating
the castle, none of the people seeming to know anything about
it, and we wandered many miles among the hills through narrow,
unmarked byways, with little idea of where we were really
going. At last, after dint of inquiry, we came upon a group
of houses which we were informed were the headquarters of
a large farm of about two thousand acres, and practically
all the people who worked on the farm lived, with their families,
in these houses. The superintendent knew of Fast Castle, which
he said was in a lonely and inaccessible spot, situated on
a high, broken headland overlooking the ocean. It was two
or three miles distant and the road would hardly admit of
taking the car any farther. He did not think the ruin was
worth going to see, anyhow; it had been cared for by no one
and within his memory the walls had fallen in and crumbled
away. Either his remarks or the few miles walk discouraged
me, and after having traveled fully thirty miles to find this
castle, I turned about and went on without going to the place
at all, and of course I now regret it as much as anything
I failed to do on our whole tour. I shall have to go to Fast
Castle yet, by motor car.
After regaining the main road,
it was only a short run along the edge of the ocean to Berwick-on-Tweed,
which we reached early in the evening. I recall no more delightful
day during our tour. It had been fresh and cool, and the sky
was perfectly clear. For a great part of the way the road
had passed within view of the ocean, whose deep unruffled
blue, entirely unobscured by the mists which so often hang
over the northern seas, stretched away until it was lost in
the pale, sapphire hues of the skies. The country itself was
fresh and bright after abundant rains, and as haymaking was
in progress in many places along the road, the air was laden
with the scent of the newly mown grasses. Altogether, it was
a day long to be remembered.
Berwick-on-Tweed
lies partly in England and partly in Scotland, the river which
runs through it forming the boundary line. An odd bridge built
by James I connects the two parts of the town, the highest
point of its archway being nearest the Scottish shore and
giving the effect of "having its middle at one end,"
as some Scotch wit has expressed it. The town was once strongly
fortified, especially on the Scottish side, and a castle was
built on a hill commanding the place. Traces of the wall surrounding
the older part of the city still remain; it is easy to follow
it throughout its entire course. When the long years of border
warfare ended, a century and a half ago, the town inside of
the wall must have appeared much the same as it does today.
It is a town of crooked streets and quaint buildings, set
down without the slightest reference to the points of the
compass. The site of the castle is occupied by the railway
station, though a few crumbling walls of the former structure
still remain. The station itself is now called The Castle
and reproduces on a smaller scale some of the architectural
features of the ancient fortress.
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