A medieval nightmare...

 

Inside a little glen on the old Scottish West March can be found the roofless shell of Hermitage Castle. Like an ancient tree, this menacing Border stronghold refuses to fall down, unbroken by the barrage of time. Hermitage was built to guard the valley of Liddesdale, home to some of the most unspeakably dangerous criminal gangs in Anglo-Scottish history. Something of the region’s bloodsoaked past can be sensed in the gaunt lines of the castle, a forbidding lump of stone with no frills or pretence to comfort or decoration. A strange quiet hangs over the surrounding valley, broken only by the gurgle of the stream: well might George MacDonald Fraser, a prominent Border historian, have described Hermitage as a ‘medieval nightmare.’

Hermitage was supposedly built in the mid-13th century by one Nicholas de Soulis, in a regular Norman motte and bailey pattern. It remained in the family until about 1320, when his descendent William de Soulis was accused of witchcraft and the attempted regicide of King Robert I of Scotland. According to legend, William was a powerful magician whose flesh could not be harmed by steel or rope. His tenants, an enterprising bunch, seized hold of their master and boiled him alive inside a pot of molten lead on the Ninestane Rig, a nearby megalithic circle. The tale is a gruesome one, and perfectly suited to the castle’s sinister reputation, but untrue; in reality William died a prisoner at Dumbarton Castle. Even so, one of Hermitage’s many ghosts is said to be Redclap Sly, the restless spirit of William de Soulis.

The castle then fell into the hands of the Douglas family, who added their own grim history. Sir William Douglas, ironically known as the Flower of Chivalry, had his former comrade Sir Alexander Ramsay imprisoned and starved to death at Hermitage. Thereafter the castle passed into the custody of the Dacres, then back via inheritance to the Douglases. The 14^th century remains that can be seen today are the work of John Lewin, master mason at Durham Cathedral, employed by Earl William Douglas to build a new stronghold on the site of the earlier. Earl William’s heirs split into two branches, the Black (or Earls of Douglas) and the Red (Earls of Angus). By the late 15^th century both strands of this troublesome and ambitious family had annoyed the Scottish kings beyond endurance. As a result the castle was granted to the Hepburns of Bothwell, who became Keepers and lords of Hermitage.

It was a Bothwell who triggered the most famous incident in Hermitage’s history. In 1566 James Hepburn, 4^th Earl of Bothwell and lover of Mary Queen of Scots, came to Hermitage to exercise his duty as Keeper of Liddesdale. Brave and arrogant, he aimed to teach the local reivers a lesson, while Mary did the same to rebels at Jedburgh. At first Bothwell was succesful, and managed to capture a number of Elliotts, one of the chief riding surnames of Liddesdale. The earl sent them to Hermitage for safe keeping and ventured out again, eager for more action. He soon found it in the shape of Little Jock Elliott of the Park, a famous reiver and a worthy feather in Bothwell’s cap. Throwing aside all caution, Bothwell recklessly charged at Jock and engaged him in single combat. After a tussle, Bothwell shot Jock from the saddle and then dismounted to check the man was dead. This proved a terrible mistake: Jock leaped up and stabbed Bothwell three times.

While the reiver was left to die, Bothwell’s soldiers lifted their wounded master onto a cart and took him back to Hermitage. They arrived to find that the Elliotts had escaped from prison, overcome the garrison and taken over the castle. To add to his humiliation, Bothwell was forced to negotiate with the Elliotts before he could gain admittance. The news of his injuries prompted Mary to ride at breakneck speed to Hermitage, a famous romantic dash that ended with her blundering into a marsh. She very nearly died of a cold, and the two damaged lovers must have wished themselves anywhere but the godforsaken Border. As for Little Jock Elliott, who apparently died of his wounds, his embarrassment of Bothwell inspired a famous rhyme:

‘Fierce Bothwell I vanquished clean, 
Gar'd troopers an' fitmen flee; 
By my faith I dumfoondert the Queen, 
An' wha daur meddle wi' me? 
Alang by the dead water stank, 
Jock Fenwick I met on the lea, 
But his saddle was toom in a clank, 
An' wha daur meddle wi' me? 
Wha daur meddle wi' me? 
Wha daur meddle wi' me? 
Oh, ma name it's wee Jock Elliot, 
An' wha daur meddle wi' me?’

The refrain ‘Wha daur meddle wi’ me?’ - who dares to lay a hand on me, essentially - expresses the Border spirit of defiance against outsiders.

In 1594 James VI of Scotland granted Hermitage to Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch, direct ancestor of the poet and author of the same name, famous in his own right as the ‘Bold Buccleuch’. As well as Warden of the Scottish West March, Keeper of Liddesdale, and a thorough-going scoundrel, Scott also helped to mastermind the famous rescue of Kinmont Willie from under Lord Scrope’s nose in 1596. After the Union of the Crowns in 1603 the castle lost its purpose and slowly fell into ruin. Some repairs were carried out in the 1800s, and this enduring monument to the high era of the Border Reivers is now in the care of Historical Environment Scotland.