Kilmaurs continued--The old
Church--Its appearance and history--An Anecdote of the Rev. Hugh
Thomson--The Glencairn Isle and Monument--The appearance of the Vault when
opened--A Ghastly Keepsake--The Rev. George Paxton--"Wee Miller"--"The
Double Suicide"--The Old Manse--Covenanting Relics--A Stroll along
Crosshouse Road--The Estate of Plann--Bushbie Castle--The Tumuliiat
Greenhill Farm--Home again.
At the foot of the village
of Kilmaur, in the centre of a small graveyard, stands its old Parish
Church--a Gothic structure of considerable antiquity. Finding the gate of
the little burying place open I entered and stood for a few moments
leaning on my staff surveying the grass-covered mounds were
"Servants, masters, small and
great,
Partake the same repose;
And where in peace the ashes mix
Of those who once were foes."
Stoical indeed must the man
be who unmoved can stray through an old churchyard without musing upon the
apparent end of life, or cherishing a passing thought upon the layers of
fellow-mortals who moulder beneath his feet.
"Like leaves on
trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering to the ground;
Another race the following spring supplies;
They fall successive and successive rise."
The church upon near
inspection appears to be a quaint old building which has received several
additions. According to the author of Caledonia it was dedicated to
a Scottish saint named Maure, who is said to have died in 899, and who was
commemorated on the 2nd of November. "So early as 1170," says
Paterson, "Robertus filii Wernebaldi granted the church of Kilmaurs, in
the township of Cunninghame, with half a caracute of land, to the monks of
Kelso. This charter was confirmed by Richard Morville, Great Constable of
Scotland; and Lord of Cuninghame, the superior; also by Engleram, Bishop
of Glasgow, who died in 1174.…. The monks enjoyed the rectorial revenues,
and a vicarage was established to serve the cure. In Bagimont’s Roll, as
it stood in the reign of James V., the vicarage of Kilmaurs, in the deanry
of Cunninghame, was taxed at £2 13 s. 4d., being a tenth of the estimated
value. The interior of the church is in keeping with its exterior, being
plain and of a peculiar shape. It contains nothing of interest. In the
wall there is a stone slab to the memory of Hugh Thomson of Hill, minister
of the gospel at Kilmaurs, his wife, and twelve children. Mr. Thomson died
in 1731. "He was a person of great muscular strength," says the writer of
the Kilmaurs article in the
Statistical Account. "We have heard
that, being in Kilmarnock on a market day, he approached a stand on which
a blacksmith had exposed to sale horse-shoes and other hardware articles
of his own manufacture. Mr. Thomson, wishing to purchase some of the
horse-shoes, asked the price of them, and on being told, said by way of
joke--’So much for these. I could twist them with my fingers.’ ‘Twist
them, then,’ said the smith, ‘and you shall have the price of your own
making.’ Mr. Thomson took one of them up and twisted it almost with as
much ease as Samson broke the green withes with which he was bound. The
blacksmith stood aghast; and thinking his customer no cannie, he
gave him the shoes on very reasonable terms, and was right glad to see his
back turned." Separated from the church by a narrow passage stands the
Glencairn Isle--a dungeon-like building with an iron gate, and a small
barred window, through which the light of day streams and dimly illumines
the interior. Under the window there is a brass plate bearing the
following inscription:-- "This ancient burying place of the Glencairn
family, which had fallen into ruins, has been restore by Dame Charlotte
Montgomery Cunninghame, in memory of her beloved husband, Sir Thomas
Montgomery Cunninghame, 8th Baronet of Corsehil, and descendant
of Andrew, 2nd son of the 4th Earl of Glencairn. He
passed to his rest 30th August, 1870."
Against the eastern wall
stands a handsome mural monument, erected by James, the seventh Earl of
Glencairn, in the year 1600. This beautiful specimen of ancient
architecture contains with a recess formed by receding columns--which are
surmounted by an entablature and some beautiful scroll work--full-sized
half-length figures of the Earl and Countess clad in armour. They stand in
the attitude of prayer, with folded hands and open books before them.
Beneath on a lower level are the figures of two boys and six girls which
represent their family. They also have folded hands and books before them,
and a devotional appearance. Behind the figures of the adults there is a
tablet containing a semi-faded inscription, now quite unreadable. Upon one
of the columns "NOTHING SHURER THAN
DEATH, BE THEREFOR SOBER THAT AND WATCH IN PRAYER"
is still legible. It was long believed that
this monument commemorated William, 9th Earl of Glencairn, who
died Lord Chancellor of Scotland; but this was fallacious, because it was
erected forty-four years before his death. Some years ago when the aisle
was undergoing repair, the vault was opened, and the bones ad dust of
generations of the Glencairn family were seem lying confusedly upon the
damp floor amongst rotten coffins which had fallen to pieces and scattered
their contents. Amongst the skulls there was one with a reddish hue
supposed to be that of the Chancellor. A tradition states that his lady,
Margaret Montgomery, was so strongly attached to him that she had his
corpse decapitated and the head embalmed. The ghastly trophy was kept in
her bedroom and when she died it was--in accordance with a wish she
expressed--placed in her coffin and buried with her. Both aisle and
monument are much decayed. At no distant date the dust of the once lords
of the manor will mingle with that of their meanest hind in the lap of
mother earth. Nature heeds not the "storied urn" or the obsequies of the
wealthy. She makes no distinction between the loutish clown in his
nameless grass-covered grave and the earl in his vault. They sleep equally
sound, and possibly when the dead wakes at
"The trumpet’s
ring,
The thrust of a poor man’s arm will go
Thro’ the heart of the proudest king."
With such thoughts as these
crowding on my mind I left the aisle and began to stray through the
ancient burying ground. One portion lately added has quite a modern
appearance, lairs being laid off and new tombstones erected. But as I love
to stray "in the winding ways of hoar antiquity," I turned my attention to
the grassy hillocks, beneath which
"The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,"
and discovered that the
oldest stone is the memory of a William Coningham, and dated 1634; also,
many others curiously carved, which form antiquarian objects of interest.
Among the mementoes of departed worth met with while wandering through the
tangled grass, space only permit me to mention two, and a nameless grave
in the south corner. The first of these is a monumental tablet
commemorative of the wife and family of the Rev. George Paxton. This is
the inscription:--"To the memory of Mrs. Eliz. Armstrong, who died 25th
August, 1799, in the 37th year of her age. This stone is
erected by her affectionate husband, the Rev. George Paxton. Also, to the
memory of their beloved children, Martha Paxton, who died 16th
Dec., 1792, aged 4 months; and William Paxton, who died 8th
Oct., 1799, aged 3 years.
‘Insatiate archer! could not one
suffice?
Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain.’"
George Paxton was minister
of the Sucession Church of Kilmaurs from 1789 to 1807. He then removed to
Edinburgh, and rose to be Professor of Divinity to the General Associate
Synod. He was the author of the "Villagers and other poems," and was known
as a scholar and masterly prose writer.
The next is the memory of
the Rev. Alexander Miller. He was the author of the Kilmaurs article in
the old Statistical Account,
and was the "Wee Miller" to whom Burns
refers in his "Holy Fair."
"Wee Miller neist the guard
relives,
And orthodoxy raibles,
Through in his heart he weel believes
And thinks it auld wife’s fables.
But faith! the birkie wants a manse,
So cannily he hums them,
Although his carnal wit and sense,
Like hafflins ways o’ercomes him
At times that day."
The inscription is as
follows:--"Erected by Jas. Boswell Miller in affectionate remembrance of
his father, the Rev. Alex. Miller, minister of this parish, who died 25th
December, 1804, deeply regretted by all who could appreciate his worth as
an intelligent diving, dutiful son, watchful father, and a faithful
friend.
I will now refer to the
obscure grave in the south corner. There the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Baker
repose in the unbroken slumber of death. They committed suicide by
drowning themselves in the Irvine, near Wet Bridge, on the 24th,
October 1844. The circumstance at the time was spoken of as "the double
suicide," and being so romantic and unprecedented it caused a great
sensation throughout the country. When found the bodies were tied together
with handkerchiefs, and in such a manner that it was evident each had
assisted the other in effecting their object, and that they had lain down
in the water, for it was only some three feet deep. The remains of the
faithful pair were conveyed to Kilmaurs, and placed in the Parish Church
to await identification. The circumstances noised abroad, and thousands
clocked to view the corpses, but no one identified them.
From the apparel in which
the bodies were attired it was evident that the deceased had moved in
superior society. This set the inventive imagination of many at work, and
all kinds of stores and suppositions were circulated, but the facts of the
case when known amounted to this:--"The ill-fated pair came to Kilmarnock
about a week before the sad event and put up at the Commercial Hotel. One
evening they called for their bill, and when the gentleman paid it he
remarked in an off-hand manner that they were going for a walk. They left
but never returned, and the next heard of them was that they had committed
suicide. It was supposed they came from England, and that unfortunate
business speculations and a dread of poverty had caused the committal of
the rash act. They now rest from their troubled unknown, and I may say
almost forgotten. Near to the churchyard, and in a garden at the back of
it, stand some slight remains of an old monastic building which was
supposed to be in conjunction with the church at one period. Sir Hugh de
Morvile is said to have resided in it while engaged building a portion of
the Kilwinning Abbey in the twelfth century, and it is affirmed that it
was occupied so late as 1630. It is now in ruinous condition, and occupied
by swine, who seem to have a greater taste for clean straw and good will
than antiquities.
Leaving the churchyard and
all its melancholy associations, I walked towards the village, and having
crossed a little bridge spanning the Carmel, stopped before an old
building on the left, which is said to have been a manse at one period. It
is antique in appearance, and presently occupied by families in poor
circumstances. Above one of its windows in rude character is
"WALK IN THE LIGHT."
Tradition states that the
man who built this house did so with stones which he purloined during the
night from a neighbouring quarry, and that being discovered he consented
to the above inscription being graven above his window rather than be
prosecuted for theft.
From the old manse to the
Council House the main artery of the village is most primitive in
appearance, the houses being for the most part thatched, low-roofed
tenements, but notwithstanding this they have a cosy, bien look about
them, which is greatly enhanced by the kail-yards and flower-pots which is
greatly enhanced by the kail-yards and flower-pots at their back doors.
Although Kilmaurs does not
contain a stone to the memory of one man who laid down his life for the
Covenant, yet it possessed of relics of that period. These consist of a
drum and flag which are said to have passed through the battles of
Drumclog and Bothwell, and to have been carried by a detachment of the
villagers who marched to the roll of the first and fought round the second
on the memorable fields.
The drum
is in the possession of Mr. David Smith, and
is in every way similar to the one in the possession of the Howies of
Lochgoin, an account of which the reader will find in page 129.
The flag
is in the possession of Mr. Robert Haper.
Unfortunately it is in tatters, and in an attempt to preserve it, it has
been in a great measure destroyed. The following inscription is still
legible:--"Drumbloc, 1679; Bothwell, 1679. Kilmaurs for the Presbyterian
interest of Christ, Reformation in Church and State, agreeable to the Word
of God and our Sworn Covenants."
Upon reaching the Cross I
stepped into an inn to partake of refreshments before starting on my
homeward journey. Having done so, and indulged in a chat with the cheerful
landlord, I took my leave, and staff in hand turned into the road leading
to Crosshouse. Passing the station of the new line of railway which has
brought Kilmaurs into something like direct communication with the outer
world, and which doubtless will yet be the means of introducing a larger
measure of trade and commercial enterprise into its sluggish system, I
pushed onward and soon left the old village behind. Straying along the
hedge-bordered highway, amusing myself from time to time by knocking the
tops off thistles with swinging blows of my stick, I stopped
occasionally to survey the landscape and fields of yellow grain all ripe
for the sickle that waved in the cool afternoon breeze. The sickle? well
that is hardly correct in this era of wonder-working machinery, for the
reaping machine is now universally used, and in fact I heard its click,
clicking sound, and saw it at work in several fields where rakers and
binders were busy "stooking" the golden-eared treasure as it fell before
the advancing juggernaut. I did not meet with anything calling for special
notice in this road until I arrived at the handsome bridge which spans the
old line of railway. I lingered on it for some time and watched the trains
glide along like things of life, and their engines vomiting forth clouds
of smoke and steam which floated away in flakey, fleecy clouds and melted
into nothingless. From the west parapet I looked down upon Crosshouse
station and over a wide expanse of country through which the railway runs
into dim perspective.
To the south of the railway
is the estate of Plann, and on some rising ground near the bridge the
extensive fire-clay works of John McKnight & Son. The estate is the
property of the senior partner, who has been very successful in his mining
operations. Some years ago, while sinking a pit in the vicinity of
the mansion-house, a seam of ironstone of a very high quality was
discovered somewhat accidentally, and contrary to the expectation of the
most eminent geologists. When the discovery was mad known many who are
deeply interested and engaged in geological studies came and carried away
specimens of the ore, with a skeptical feeling that would scarce admit the
fact that ironstone is in the locality. The coal is of a first-class kind,
while the fire-clay contains properties which enable it to withstand
intense heat, and it is pronounced to compare favourably with the most
celebrated clays of a fire-resisting nature by the eminent R. Carter
Moffat and the well-known Robert A. Tatlock, F.R.C.E., F.C.S.
From the bridge a short
walk brought me to Knockentiber, a row of old houses at present occupied
by miners. Near to it stands the ruins of Busbie Castle, once the
residence of a family named Mowat, who alienated their lands somewhere
about 1630. Being somewhat curious, I went to inspect the pile, and found
it situated in a garden a short distance from Crosshouse road. It seems to
have been a fortified feudal mansion of three storeys. Round the
architraves there is a sculptured cable which winds fantastically round
the walls. The wreck is in a most ricketty and seemingly unsafe
condition--so much so, indeed, that I would not be surprised to hear of it
being blown down during a storm. Little is known regarding it. It is
supposed to have been built by a David Mowat, who received a grant of the
lands from Robert III. somewhere around 1390. His descendants seemingly
never attained distinction. If we are to believe the indefatigable Wodrow,
the last of the Mowats who dwelt in the castle was not an over scrupulous
observer of the Sabbath, for he profaned the hold day by having great
gathering at his house, and by playing at football and other games. "Mr.
Welsh took the liberty to write several prudent and civil letters to the
gentleman, desiring him to suppress the profanation of the Lord’s day at
his house. The gentleman not loving to be received a Puritan, alighted
all, and would not amend. In a little time after, Mr. Welsh, riding that
way, came to his gate, and called for the gentleman, who, coming out,
invited Mr. Welsh in, which he declined, and told him was come to him with
a heavy message from God, which was, that because he had slighted the
advice given him for the Lord, and would not restrain the profanation of
the Sabbath in his lands and beside his house, therefore, the Lord would
cast him out of his house and lands and none of his posterity should ever
enjoy them. This was visibly fulfilled; and though the gentleman was in
very good circumstances at the time, yet from that day forth all things
went cross, and he fell into one difficulty after another until he was
compelled to sell his estate; and when he was giving the purchaser
possession of it, hw said with tears before his wife and children, ‘Now,
Mr. Welsh is a true prophet.’" This is Wodrow’s account of the vacuation
of the castle and land, and no doubt he penned it in good faith, and
believed every word of it. Paterson say, that "in 1661, Hugh, Earl of
Eglinton, was served heir to his predecessor in the lands of Busbie,
Knockentiber, and Robertown. It had been in their possession, however,
some years previously. Among the Eglinton papers there is a receipt for
the rents of Robertown and Busbie for crop 1638, amounting to one thousand
four scoir seventeen punids, threttein shillings, four pennies. The Mowats
of Busbie," he adds, "are now wholly extinct, and the name in Ayrshire is
rare." From inspecting the castle I returned to Knockentiber, and took the
nearest road home, which is an old and hilly one. Descending a pretty
steep brae I arrived at the Carmel, crossed a neat bridge, and sped
onward. On my left, near the bank of the stream, I observed, on some
rising ground, a circular mound which wakened my curiosity to such an
extent that I determined to visit it, and for that purpose introduced
myself to the tenant of the farm of Greenhill. The mound is situated at
the back of the farm-house, on the top of a steep bank, and there is
nothing about it externally to excite interest. At first I conjectured the
eminence to be a justice mound, but upon enquiry this proved fallacious,
for there is good authority for supposing that it is an ancient barrow or
tumulus, beneath which the dead of some forgotten conflict lie buried.
Some years ago several stone coffins were discovered in a field on the
farm of Waterpark in the parish of Kilmaurs. The newspaper account of the
discovery, from which I quote, goes on to say:--"These graves have been
found within the circuit of one of three large barrows or tumuli, situated
on either bank of the Carmel water; the tumulus to which they pertain
being, as already stated, upon Waterpark Farm, and others being situated
upon Greenhill farm--the most remarkable of three, indeed, being close to
Greenhill farmhouse. The surface being now pared from the Waterpark Cairn,
it present the usual aggregation of stones piled over the forgotten
dead of ancient times." After chatting sometime with the occupants of the
farm, I resumed my homeward journey, and sped on my way, up hill and down
dale, until I came within sight of the town, and as I stood on the high
ground looking down into the valley where it nestles, the following lines
of M’Queen of Barkip came to mind:--
"There stands the town--populous
and dense,
The monstrous, moving, and promiscuous mass
Of all that’s evil and of all that’s good.
There vice and virtue, ignorance and pride,
Learning, humility, justice, and gross fraud,
Stern avarice and sympathy benign
Dwell with each other ‘neath one common roof;
And there, too, wealth and deepest misery
Rush side by side, like two twin sister streams.
Meet, mix and mingle, and yet, strange to tell,
Break not each other’s surface, but remain
Like oil and water pour’d in the same glass,
Distinctly separate as they ne’er had met."
Passing Bonnyton Square, I
soon gained Portland Street, and mingled with the jostling throng. |