The influence of sunshine--Glasgow
Road and its scenery--An Adventure--Specimens of Kilmaurs cutlery--The
reservoir--From it to Rowallan Castle--The situation and appearance of the
Castle described-The interior of the building--The garden--A fox
story--Traditions.
"I say, wife! bring my
heavy boots and walking-stick, the morning is delightful, it is a pity to
remain indoors upon such a day as this is likely to be. I will take a turn
in the country, so you may expect me home in the afternoon." Twirling my
staff and bidding the children "at-at." I sallied forth in quest of
adventure and curiosities. Passing along the street I could not help
noticing the effect that a sunshiny morning has upon men and things in
general. The thatched cottages which are so primitive and dingy-looking
during inclement weather appeared snug and somewhat picturesque in the
sunshine. Mirthful sounds of youthful voices were borne upon the breeze,
and fell upon my ear like sweet music, as the little men and women who
will take our places in society jostled each other on the pavement, and
looked as if the sunshine had caused them to forget their crochets and
crosses for a space. In fact, the very dogs seemed to trot along more
cheerfully and bark their congratulations to each other as if they really
enjoyed themselves. Passing through the Cross --that centre for business,
and loungers of all grades--I ascended Portland Street, passed under the
railway bridge, and straight ahead. Arriving at Beansburn Toll, I looked
down upon the Foundry Holm and upon the Forge and other buildings which
stand black and unsightly in the valley below. To the right, on the top of
a steep bank clothed with wood, is the handsome family residence of the
late Bailie Craig. The place is called Dean Hill. It is finely situated
and commands an extensive view of the town and country. Passing some neat
villas on my left, I strayed onward admiring the scenery, which prevents
an agreeably diversified landscape of gentle rising grounds, sloping
fields, numerous enclosures, and clumps of planting, until I came to part
of the road where the top of Dean Castle, roofless, time-shattered, and
ruinous looms from the hollow, and reminded me of the following lines of
Turnbull:--
"See where the Dean her ruin’d
fabric rears!
A mournful scene her naked wall appears;
The clasping ivy shades her tottering towers,
Where night-owls form their melancholy bowers.
Prone from the top, huge ruined fragments fall;
The howling wind sounds dreary in the hall;
Nor more the voice of mirth is heard to sound,
But melancholy silence reigns around."
Passing Wardneuk, a small
farm-steading on the left, a fine view of Assloss House and romantic
surroundings is obtainable. It stands on the top of some thickly-wooded
rising ground, at the foot of which, in a hollow a short distance from the
road, glow the Borland Water, limpid and unpolluted, with trees laving
their branches in its liquid, and trout sporting in its channel. A sharp
walk soon brought me in sight of the Reservoir and South Craig, a neat
farm-house that stands off the road to the left. Having heard that the
occupants of North Craig--which lies at the back of South Craig--are in
the possession of some cutlery of the Kilmaurs manufacture, I determined
to visit the farm, and if possible get a sight of the relics. For this
purpose I turned into a bye-road on the left, but not proceeded far when I
found myself confronted by a powerful sheep-dog, which seemed inclined to
dispute the passage, for it growled and showed its teeth, then barked
furiously, as if it meant mischief. Fearing that the animal might mistake
my leg for a morrow bone, I grasped my stick firmly and dealt it a whack
across the nose that left a striking impression on its memory, for it
dashed through the hedge and tore over a field at the top of its speed,
howling forth an apology in a most unearthly manner, and leaving me master
of the situation. The coast being clear I proceeded on my way, and without
further adventure arrived at North Craig. This farm is at present occupied
by the widow and son of the late Daniel Thomson. Here I met with a cordial
reception. They expressed the pleasure that my visit afforded, and seemed
glad to see strangers, and happy to submit to the curious the small
specimens of Kilmaurs cutlery they are possessed of. Having seated myself
in the spacious kitchen, which was scrupulously clean, Mrs. Thomson
produced from a leather case the relics. They proved to be a small
silver-mounted knife and fork of very plain make, but having the
appearance of considerable antiquity. The knife is worn in the blade and
stamped near the handle with the letters A and B, which is affirmed to
stand for Alexander Bigger, the maker. The fork is two-pronged and has
much the appearance of a miniature hay-fork, the make and finish being
most primitive. These specimens of ancient cutlery belonged to the
great-grandmother of the late Mr. Thomson, by whom they were greatly
prized; but I am sure not more so than they are by the present owner, who
values them highly, not for their intrinsic value, but as relics that link
the present with past generations of the family. I have no doubt of the
authenticity of the specimens. In proof of it I may mention that a
Kilmarnock gentleman who is well known for his antiquarian knowledge was
so anxious to possess them that he tempted the proprietor with a round
sum; but it was respectfully declined. Bidding North Craig goodbye I
entered the property of the Kilmarnock Water Company to view the reservoir
and filtering basins. Mr. Reid, the superintendent, received me kindly,
conducted me over the works, and explained the process through which the
water passes before it is rendered fit for domestic purposes. After a
little conversation, I ascended a wooden stair and reached the top of an
embankment which surrounds what appears to be a lake of considerable
extent. The position is commanding, and from it an extensive view of the
surrounding country is obtainable. This sheet of water is the reservoir
from which the inhabitants of Kilmarnock drew their supply after it passes
through the filters. It stands about 250 feet above the level of the town,
and covers over twenty imperial acres of land. When full it holds 900,000
square yards of water, which is equal to 65,000,000 gallons. Its
tributaries are burns, which for the most part take their rise to Fenwick
Moor, every precaution being taken to exclude moss water and other
impurities. The Kilmarnock Water Company was formed in 1850. To it the
inhabitants of the town are indebted, for at a small cost they are
supplied with water of uniform purity, which not only serves for domestic
purposes, but purges cesspools, sewers, etc., of disease-engendering
ingredients, and in a great measure assists to preserve the health
of the towns-people. Thanking the worthy superintendent for his kindness,
I bade him goodbye, and leisurely strolled along the bank of the Reservoir
until I came to a stile road. Following its course I passed Tannahill, a
neat farm-steading and soon arrived in the road which runs between
Kilmaurs and Fenwick.
Turning to the right, a
short walk along the dusty highway brought me to the gate of the avenue
leading to Rowallan Castle, the shattered stronghold of the Mures, an
ancient Scottish family, the last male representative of whom died in
1700. Passing through the gateway, a pleasant walk brought me to the
edge of a dark wood. Here, upon turning to the right, a delightfully
picturesque scene burst upon my vision. Giant trees stretched their arms
over the path, and flowers of various hues bloomed in wild luxuriance
along the wayside. In the wood the feathered throng poured forth a "from
nature up to nature’s God," and say--
Fair nature’s face before thee
lies,
Her coverlet the rainbow dyes,
Whilst up to thy delighted eyes
Her varied beauties start.
There’s summer in each sight and sound,
There’s God and glory all around!
Then let no wintry feelings wound
The gladness of thy heart."
Walking leisurely along the
rustic avenue, enjoying its beauties, I ultimately came to the end of the
wood, and looked down upon Rowallan Castle. The scene was delightful, and
amply compensated my walk from the town. Rowallan is not, strictly
speaking a castle; it has more the appearance of an ancient manor-house,
and doubtless is a good specimen of the fortified feudal residences in the
olden time, The building, viewed from the roadway, looks hoary and
venerable, and wears a moldering, deserted appearance. It is situated in a
hollow, and is environed with trees, many of which have braved the blast
for centuries, and still wave their branches as majestically as they did
in days of yore, when knights and ladies gay walked beneath their shadows.
Near to the venerable building flows the Carmel, a mossy stream. It is
spanned by a bridge, and takes a fine curve as it flows past the old
place, after dancing through dusky glens and over rugged rocks. Crossing
the stream, I aimlessly strayed through the grounds, and noted each
gnarled tree and object of interest. While thus engaged I was accosted by
the gamekeeper--a burly Englishman --who, finding me a stranger, conversed
freely, and told me all he knew regarding the venerable pile and its
surroundings. He also proffered to introduce me to the people who have
charge of the castle, so that I might view the interior as well as the
exterior of the edifice. Accepting his invitation, I met with a kindly
reception from Mrs Dale, who along with her husband occupies a room in the
building, and whose untiring industry and cleanly habits gives to the
place a charm, and robs it of that dreary, sad appearance so peculiar to
deserted half-ruinous buildings. Rowallan Castle has the appearance of
having been built at different periods. The oldest and most dilapidated
portion seems to have been erected upon the top of a rock, or crag, and
probably has been surrounded at some period by a lake. The marshy nature
of the ground near its base goes a considerable way to support this
supposition. The ground chambers of this portion only remain, and are in a
very ruinous and crumbling condition, portions of their roofs having
fallen in. Historians assign it as the birth-place of Elizabeth Muir, the
beloved wife of Robert II., king of Scotland. The more modern building
faces the south, and is divided from the older by a loopholed wall some
forty feet long. In it there is an ornamented gateway, above which the
date 1666 is still legible. The front of the building has a very imposing
appearance, and bears many sculptured devices. To the principal
door--which is of oak, and studded with iron--there is a flight of broad
stone steps. Over this entrance the family arms, surmounted by the Royal
Arms of Scotland, are cut in stone. In execution the sculpture is somewhat
rude, but even at this day it looks well, although chipped and disfigured.
Above these devices is the crest of the family-- a Moor’s head--which,
doubtless, is allusive to a war-like exploit performed by some member
during the crusades against the Saracens. Above all, and at the top of the
building, there is a small tablet with the following inscription:--"Jon.
MVR M. CVGM.SPVSIS. 1562." To the right and left of the tablet, the
armorial bearings of John Mure, or Rowallan, and his lady, Marion
Cunningham, are quartered. From this it may be inferred that this portion
of the building was erected by them at the above date. There are many
other sculptured adornments, dates, and devices, but the above are most
note-worthy, and are sufficient to induce the antiquary, and the lover of
the picturesque, to visit this really interesting castle. Passing up the
stairs, and through, the doorway referred to, the visitor finds himself in
a small courtyard and surrounded by architecture, the style of which
ranges from the fifteenth to the end of the seventeenth century. Near the
centre of the court grows a somber yew tree, which accords in a manner
with the ruinous and deserted appearance of the building. The first
indication that the place is partly inhabited is a neatly whitened step in
front of a finely carved oaken door. This is the entrance to the apartment
occupied by the keeper, and, in fact, to the interior of the castle. There
are a few relics of past greatness preserved. In the old dining-room there
is an elaborately-carved sideboard and an old arm chair which bears the
date of 1617. These are of oak, and very interesting. In a small room,
called "Lord Loudoun’s sleeping apartment," there is a beautifully carved
wardrobe in oak. The room door and paneling are of the same material, and
chastely ornamental. The next room of interest is at the top of the
building, and is called "the auld kirk." Here are shown several fragments
of kirk stools, which are for the most part moth-eaten and rotten. In this
apartment the distinguished William Guthrie of Fenwick is said to have
occasionally preached, and the pious Sir William Mure to have met with his
tenantry to worship the God of their fathers. In almost every room
throughout the building every available portion of space on the walls is
covered by names and addresses. Though hundreds have been wiped off, yet
visitors resort to all manner of schemes to make their mark. Some have
burst into poetry, and recorded their visit upon the walls in verse. I
attempted to transcribe a rhyme written in a neat hand, but the lines
limped so badly that I left them to the alleviating dishclout of Mrs.
Dale. Among the signature, initials, and addresses penciled upon the
walls, I noticed the names of several Kilmarnock celebrities; but the most
conspicuous was that of a popular clergyman, whose name and place of
worship were recorded in large letters. At the back of the castle there is
an old garden, but it does not contain anything of historical interest.
There are some fine old trees about it, and altogether it is worthy of the
visitor’s attention. I may mention in passing that at that time where was
a zoological curiosity in it. Foxes abound in the district, and two of
these animals had taken up their abode in the old place. One of them had
made it lair under a bush, while the other--contrary to the habits of the
animal --had taken up its quarters in the branches of a fine old tree, and
looked down from its hiding upon all passing below. The fox is proverbial
for its cunning, but there was something in the conduct of these two that
almost amounted to reason. Mrs. Dale, like all thrifty housewives in the
country, kept a goodly number of hens, but it was curious that she never
missed one, although they frequented the garden, and fed within a few
yards of where the foxes were secreted. These animals seemed to
discriminate between her property and that of other people, and to
understand that if they molested the poultry they would require to shift.
If food were scarce, however, I am afraid that they would not observe this
distinction. Upon one occasion the occupant of the tree while out on it
rambles, crossed the path of a pack of hounds, and started for home with
the whole at its heels, greatly to the delight of the huntsmen. Being
hotly pursued, it with difficulty reached the castle, bounded over the
garden wall, and, to the astonishment of the dogs, disappeared. The
huntsmen came up, and were equally puzzled, and would have gone in search
of another of Reynard’s kindred, had not a keeper climbed up the tree and
dislodged the occupant. Leaping into the middle of the pack, the fox got
off unscathed, and ran in the direction of Fenwick. Its adventures by the
way are unrecorded; but to the surprise of every one, it was back to its
old quarters the next day, peering down from the among the branches as if
nothing particular had happened. In spite of props and screws, the walls
of Rowallan Castle are fast going to ruin. Time, the inexorable tyrant, is
playing sad havoc with the building, and it imperceptibly but surely
crumbling it to pieces. As in the case of other buildings in the same
condition, tradition has twined itself around that of Rowallan, and many
tales, probable and improbable, are related in connection with it. The
great enemy of mankind is said to have visited the place upon several
occasions and done his utmost to destroy it and its occupants. It has long
been noted as the haunt of ghosts, witches, and things uncanny; but these
chimeras of the brain have fled before the fearless spirit of
investigation now abroad, and the ploughboy can pass the venerable pile at
night, without
"Whistling up Lord Lennox’ march
To keep his courage cheery."
I will now relate two or
three of the popular traditions of Rowallan Castle, which I trust will be
sufficient to gratify the reader’s curiosity and his love for folk-lore.
The tradition of how Rowallan derived its name is very prettily told by
the Rev. George Paxton, a Sucession Church minister of Kilmaurs. He was
pastor in the ancient village from 1789 to 1807, and the author of a
volume entitled "The Villager, and other poems." In some verses to the
Carmel he refers to the tradition in the following beautiful language:--
"A Scottish chief in days of old,
As hoary-headed sires have told,
Was tossed upon the main;
Small was the skiff, the tempest blew,
The trembling chieftain urged the crew
The distant shore to gain.
‘Row! Allan, row!’ the baron
cried,
‘High on the foaming surges ride,
And bear me safe to shore;
A rich domain on Carmel side,
O’er hill and dale extending wide,
Is thine for evermore.’
The quivering oar bold Allan
stretched,
The solid land the baron reached,
And Allan won the prize;
Adorned with ropes of twisted stone,
Long on thy banks Rowallan shone,
And still the storm defies."
I have heard the tradition
related differently, but I think the above is its most pleasing and poetic
form. The next tradition to which I draw attention refers to no less a
personage than his satanic majesty. A minor poet of Stewarton has thrown
it into verse, and indeed the subject, though a little sumptuous, looks
best in that for.
"’Tis said, one
wintry night of yore,
Were met a happy throng
Within Rowallan’s festive hall,
Where all was mirth and song;
When , crashing through the nestling trees,
Auld Nick came in a blue-shot bleeze,
By witch-wife conjured, to affright
For grave abuse of cutting spite.
But little ken’d that sinner warm
That in the castle lay a charm
Which Auld Nick’s magic could dispel,
And send him baffled hame. Ah! well,
Will he go in? he takes the road.
‘Avaunt thou, in the name of God!’
The parson cried, and then brought down
His Bible whack on Auld Nick’s crown.
As when the hunter’s well-aimed dart
Strikes through the savage tiger’s heart,
Sudden he leaped, and gave a roar
That rent the stair and burst the door,
Then, like a rocket through the night,
In flame of fire passed out of sight."
If the reader has any doubt
of the above he had better go to the castle and examine the stair leading
to the principal door. He will find it rent. The crack is best seen in wet
weather. Tradition says that the stair was split by the hoof of the devil
under similar circumstances to those embodied in the above metrical
relation. If the tradition be true, then "the old boy" has a powerful pair
of legs. Near to the castle, on the top of a steep bank clothed with wood,
overlooking a chasm through which the Carmel gurgles, is a stately tree
with spreading branches and wealth of foliage. It is known by the name of
"the marriage tree," and the bank on which it grows is called "Janet Kirn."
Beneath this monarch of the wood (tradition says) Dame Jean Mure, of
Rowallan, was married by a curate to William Fairlie of Bruntsfield, an
estate near Edinburgh, somewhere about the year 1700. The lady being sole
heiress to the castle and estate of Rowallan, had many suitors for her
hand and fortune. Amongst them was her future husband, Fairlie. Some
obstacle now unknown stood in the way of their union, and she eloped with
him. Tradition adds further that the lady left the castle by a window in
the courtyard, which is still pointed out, and met her lover, who had a
clergyman in readiness to perform the marriage ceremony. The spot where
the marriage is said to have taken place is not more than a stone’s throw
from the road leading to the house of the gamekeeper. It is romantically
picturesque, but is forbidden to visitors. I will notice one more
tradition and pass on. The visitors to Rowallan will notice two bridges in
front of the castle. One spans the Carmel and the other what is known as
the Mill Lade. This lade or burn is a branch off the Fenwick Water. Long
ago it used to turn the wheel of Rowallan Mill, but the mill is now in
ruins, and the wheel no longer performs splashing music on the bank of the
mossy stream. I have heard the following tradition related in connection
with it:--Once on a time the cutler and tinkers of Kilmaurs, finding the
Carmel insufficient to supply their wants, petitioned the King to grant a
greater supply of water. The King (it does not matter which) replied that
he would grant as much from the Fenwick river as would flow through the
leg of a boot. This they gratefully accepted, and formed artificial stream
between it and the Carmel. The lade is said to be that stream; it flows
through a beautiful track of country, and in some parts retains traces of
artificial construction. |