Today was a perfect
day for heading across the border into Scotland, and so that is what we did. We
were away before 9 am, heading south on the A597 then west on the B6347 to
Rothbury, which is to be left for another day’s exploration. On we pressed
through stunning country, green, lush and hilly, firstly up the Coquet Valley, through
the Rothbury Forest, through corners of the Northumberland National Park,
emerging onto the A696 near Otterburn, site of a historical battle in 1388 and
home to a defence camp. The road was now a little wider, and even more so when
we joined the A68 which took us on up to the top of the Cheviot Hills.
We pulled into the
layby at the border crossing at Carter Bar, 418 metres ASL. From here we had
views back over the moors we had climbed and to the west of beautiful farmland
laid out before us. Here in the layby was a bagpiper who boasted on a cardboard
sign he had been doing this here on this spot for the past fifty years; maybe
he had been, and so I would say that it’s time to go home and find something
else to fill his days. Today there was a busload of youthful Asian tourists
trying to make sense of it all; hopefully they were more generous with their
change than we were. Here too was a snack caravan which seemed to be doing a good
trade in selling bottles of water; there are always suckers to pay a fortune
for something they could get free from the tap.
We continued on into
Scotland’s border country, enjoying the landscape and headed to Jedburgh. Chris’s
sister had mentioned this town several times to us and told us how lovely it
was, so a quick trip across the border was bound to include a visit to
Jedburgh. We pulled into a free car park, one of many such, beside Jed Water, a
delightful river reminiscent of those in New Zealand. From the car park, the 12th
century Abbey ruins rose up in front of us across the river and the town
beckoned enticingly. We headed up to the Information Centre and there learned
that our English Heritage and National Trust memberships would allow us free
entry into most of the historic attractions in Scotland. Of course our cards
spell out the same information in small print and we could have also found this
out by going online, but there is nothing like seeking information from a real
person. This did mean we could have visited the Abbey here in Jedburgh for free,
but we had other ideas. We wandered up and down through the streets, the hanging
baskets of flowers so pretty and the buildings most pleasing.
We headed to the
Mary, Queen of Scots House, a 16th century rough-hewn stone house
which houses a museum dedicated to the story of the last Queen of Scotland and
mother of the last King, James IV who became Britain’s James I. She spent her early years in France and then
the rest of her life in Britain controversially married to three husbands, one
after the other, then nearly twenty years as prisoner, first in her own country
and later that of her cousin, Elizabeth I, who eventually signed her death warrant.
Mary reputedly stayed at this house in Jedburgh in 1566, twenty three years
after being crowned, when it was quite new but quite frankly, it does not matter
whether she did or did not; the point of this place is to tell her story, not
to score points.
Emerging from the low doorway of what was once the kitchen, we
wandered about the lovely garden then headed back to the car to retrieve our lunch.
We dined beside Jed Water with a table and benches to ourselves; so very civilised.
There are other
places to visit and enjoy here in this lovely town, but we had many miles to go
and limited time, so hit the road again, now heading north west to Melrose, a
small town immediately to the east of Galashiels.
One of my guide books
described Melrose as the “most appealing town in the Borders” although I have not
been able to find the quote since. However it was enough to encourage us to
call in. The town is situated between the Tweed and the Eildon Hills and is
indeed quite charming. Here is yet another abbey which we did bother to visit,
finding that our English Heritage cards did indeed allow us free entry.
The pink and
red-tinted stone ruins of Melrose Abbey rise impressively above the rest of the
town. Founded in 1136 by King David I, Melrose was the first Cistercian settlement
in Scotland and grew very rich selling wool and hides to Flanders. At one time
the abbey had over 25,000 sheep and by the end of the 12th century,
produced 5% of the total Scottish wool output. The ultimate demise of the abbey
was not due to the Reformation as further south, but the many wars that
occurred through this region. The English repeatedly razed Melrose, most viciously
under Richard II in 1385 and the Earl of Hertford in 1545. The original abbey
was later rebuilt in an elaborate Gothic style, and it is remnants of this that
are on view today. We wandered about with audio guides and enjoyed our visit
very much.
As we returned to the car
via a very roundabout route, we encountered several dozen very smartly dressed
people perhaps heading to a wedding; the men were in jackets and kilts, the
woman wearing glamorous dresses and fascinaters upon their heads. It all made
for a rather wonderful atmosphere.
It should be noted here
that Melrose is the birthpace of the Rugby Sevens, more specifically since 1883 and
these days hosts the Sevens Week in April every year. We had parked at the
rugby grounds and noted lots of small boys buzzing about the field training;
perhaps they are future rugby seven stars?
Again on the road, we travelled
down the Tweed Valley, soon arriving at Kelso. This had been described by Walter
Scott as “the most beautiful if not most romantic village in Scotland”, so
naturally we had to give this the once over. However given that Scott died in
1832 and his visit must have preceded this date, one can only presume that Kelso
looked very different then. For a start, there were no cars and that would have
made for a very different atmosphere.
Here too is an abbey, but
the ruins are so scant that they are open to the public without charge. We
wandered in and poked about. I listened to the chatter of a small group of
Scottish women and was taken right back to my childhood when my grandmother and
her sister were still alive. They were Glasgow born; perhaps these women were
too?
The abbey here in
Kelso, unlike that in Melrose, was inhabited by an order of Tironensian monks,
who seemed to be pretty much like the other lot, dedicating their lives to
austerity, penance and annual labour, however there is no mention of the silence
the Cistercian adhered to. The last monks left here after 1560 but the site
remained sacred with the Kelso folk still choosing to bury their dead here and
continue to use the west end as their parish church.
The afternoon was
well on; we headed back into England, crossing the Tweed at Coldstream, home to
the Coldstream Guards, whose name pops up in history from time to time. This border
crossing is to the north of the Cheviot Hills and the contour of the land is
far gentler than that travelled through earlier in the day.
Not far from the
border, we turned off to the village of Branxton, the site of the Battle of Flodden
in 1513. It was here that the armies of James IV of Scotland and the Earl of
Surrey met in battle and waged their bloody deeds for three hours. By nightfall
James, most of his nobles and perhaps 10,000 of his countrymen lay dead, in contrast
to only about 4,000 English dead. Today the battlefield is marked by a granite
cross, erected in 1910 “to the brave of both nations”.
We parked at the edge
of the village and walked up to the monument and stood for some time looking
out over the farmland, the fields of ripening wheat and the hills before us,
imagining the hordes coming to do battle. It was all quite moving.
From here it was a
fairly straight forward trip south to Powburn, arriving late in the afternoon,
but still before the dew had settled on the washing I had left out the day
before yesterday.
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