By Amanda Moffet
Lachlan Cattanach has been titled as the 'only bad chief of Clan MacLean'. Just outside the south-east corner of Pennygown chapel, near Salen on the Isle of Mull, there are two carved slabs lying on the ground. Apparently, these graves are of this chief and one of his wives. The two were reported to have taken part in witchcraft; burning live cats because their squalling was said to have summoned the devil, and he was obliged to follow their commands.
For this reason Lachlan Cattanach and his wife were not allowed to be buried within the chapel's grounds. However, the church, with it's limitless compassion, allowed them to be buried at crossroads; with the cross design being the next best thing to Holy ground. Perhaps unsurprisingly, as a precaution, all witches were pinned down with a stake to heart to ensure that the community would never again be troubled by their evil. However, all of this is an aside.
Lachlan Cattanach was married to Katherine Campbell, daughter of Archibald Campbell, the 2nd Earl of Argyll. This marriage was a political convenience as it cemented the alliance between the MacLeans and the Campbells, but it was not, however, a success with stories of Katherine trying to poison her husband. As time passed by and she did not provide him with a son and an heir, Lachlan decided to murder her. He came to the conclusion that it would be a lot easier, and a lot less trouble to make his wife's death look like an accident, rather than carry out some conspicuous act around his estate, so he quietly arranged for his wife to be taken to a tidal reef just south of Lismore lighthouse, with the intention of her drowning at high tide.
Luckily for Katherine, before the water covered the rock some passing fishermen saw her and she was returned to land where she made her way to her family home. Meanwhile Lachlan, thinking his wife dead, had sorrowfully reported the "accident" to the Earl, and although lacking a body, he held a mock funeral, where he showed every sign of sorrow. He was shortly found out, and the Campbells soon took their revenge. In 1523 Lachlan was "dirked in bed" while on a visit to Edinburgh by Katherine's brother, Sir John Campbell of Cawdor. The rock on which Lady Katherine was marooned can be seen at low tide from Duart and is known as The Lady's Rock.
The Thompson's Curse
By Amanda Moffet
There's a very old, very little known tale connected with the Thompson Clan. Four brothers and five sisters lived on a beautiful bay in the island of Arran at Machrie. The sisters do not feature in this tale as they all lived very long lives.
The bay at Machrie was famous for it's beauty, and has always been quite a tourist attraction. The family lived on a small farming homestead called 'Auchencar' situated at the north of the bay.
'Auchencar' has been lived in and worked as a farm by the Thompson family since the 1760s. Due to the land being so fertile the area has been farmed since the mid fifteenth century, at one point homing more than 30 farms in this one area.
The word "Auchencar' means 'field of stones', because of the large ancient bolders that littered the site. One if these bolders still stands today, an imposing monolith on the landscape known as 'The Druid's Stone'.
These stones were locally called 'cists' which is an archeological term for a box-shaped burial chamber either made from a stone slab or hollowed out tree trunk. The area was believed to have been an ancient cemetery of some kind from the Pagan days. A time when White robed priests held the authority over the land citing themselves as mystical messengers.
According to records several of these 'cists' were removed during the ploughing of the fields in the late 1890s. The Thompson brothers wanted to make the most of their fertile land. An unusual method was used to remove these stones, they were blown up! Three of the Thompson brothers were involved in the explosions - Donald, John and Alex. The brothers were accompanied by two cousins, who helped clear the land.
An elderley man living in a nearby cottage reputed to have second site angrily predicted that "These Thompsons will never have any luck because they are now cursed!". This of course became known as 'The Thompson's Curse'.
The two cousins emigrated to America, seeking out the riches of the new world. They ended up in Nevada where they found work in a mine. But the curse found them and an explosion down the mine resulted in both men being killed outright. The brother - Alex Thompson went off to sea, but alas a sailing accident caused him to loose both of his hands in 1904, he was only 24.
Locals whisper this tale, not liking to speak it out loud for fear the curse will find them.
Romantic Legends
The last collection of stories gather a few romantic stories from around Scotland, tragic tales of lost or forbidden loves. With so many romantic Scottish settings these last few stories echo the Scottish landscape.
Tragedy Rock - A sad tale from Mull
By Amanda Moffet
This tale is one of the saddest stories on Mull.
At the foot of the 1,000ft cliffs of Gribun stands Clach na Leannan, the Stone of the Courting Couple. The stone is just 50 yards inland from a road where it passes the first farm coming from Salen direction, with a windblown elder tree at the gable. This stretch of road on the south side of Lich na Keal can be extremely terrifying, with the overhanging cliffs on one side and a drop into the sea below. There are many occurrences of rock avalanches after heavy rain or a passing sheep dislodging a stone.
In about the year 1700, in the autumn, a young man named John, a local shepherd was betrothed to Rona, daughter of a local blacksmith. The couple had been fortunate in obtaining a small but cosy cot- house that stood on a piece of flat land at the foot of the cliffs of Gribun. Their new home was situated opposite where the wedding was taking place.
The wedding celebrations went on until dawn in the barn of an old farmhouse. A storm had been threatening all day and broke in the night, a great wind came roaring in from the sea accompanied by torrents if rain. As time went on, the newlyweds slipped out unnoticed and hurried over to their little home. With the noise of the storm, pipes and celebrations, no-one heard the dreadful sound in the night when a great outcrop split, and a huge section rolled down, coming to rest on and completely flattening the cot-house with the young couple inside.
There they lie to this day with just a few flowers springing up against the rock in their memory.
It is told on Mull how people remembered the ends of some if the rafters were still to be seen sticking out from the bolder up to 2 centuries later.
Fair Helen of Kirkconnel
By Tom Moss
On the western edge of the village of Eaglesfield in the Scottish Borders lies the ancient church and churchyard of Kirkconnel. There one can find the remains of a medieval church. It is tiny; probably the remnants of a much larger building have long disappeared: the stone, fine and ready cut, having found a better future than to lie unused when the parish of Kirkconnel was amalgamated with that of Kirkpatrick Fleming in about the year of 1610.
In the 16th century a tragedy of particular poignancy is said to have taken place very near to the churchyard.
On the hill to the east of the churchyard once stood a fine example of the Border Keep or Pele Tower which, in the days of the Border Reiver , dominated the landscape of the lands to north and south of the English Scottish Border. Here stood Bell Tower, alas no longer to be seen as its stone has followed that of the church and its wall to a more prosaic use .
Here lived Helen Irving. By all accounts she was a beautiful girl, much admired by the local lads. There were many suitors for her hand yet she loved but one by the name of Adam Fleming. All who loved her reluctantly accepted that her heart belonged elsewhere - all but one. Robert Bell of Blacket House felt spurned by Helen's rejections, especially as he was favoured by her family. They were hopeful that she would marry within her station: Robert Bell, from a family of prominence, heritage and financial security, fitted their aspirations of a worthy suitor for Helen's hand.
But Helen loved another.
She would meet the man she loved, Adam Fleming, in the twilight on Kirkco
nnel Lea or in the churchyard. Their meetings were brief, infrequent and full of the pledge of undying love. Helen was torn between love of her parents and their desires for her future, and the love she could not restrain for her manly and beautiful Adam. Love supersedes all bounds and though Helen was heart sore at the subterfuge which she employed to meet with her heart's desire, she knew that Adam was the only man she would ever love. Many were the times she headed home after the brief passionate encounters with Adam, dull of pace in her walk to the Bell Tower, sorry that she deceived her parents, yet dreaming of a future where their happiness would reign.
Unbeknown to the two young lovers, they were watched. Robert Bell of Blacket House was insane with jealousy and determined to rid the world of his competitor for Helen's hand.
Accordingly one night he followed the two lovers to their secret assignation and waited, watched, profuse with an insane desire to confront his rival. He was armed with a gun which made his intentions clear. When he saw the young lovers embrace any caution he might have felt was thrown to the wind. He lost any reason and waited for the lovers to part so he could get a clear shot at Fleming. The opportunity eventually presented itself and he fired off the gun at his adversary.
The two lovers, Helen and Adam, instinct and that inherent make-up which warns of danger, were instantly aware of the ferocity of ill-feeling which confronted them. Helen threw herself in front of her lover and took the full volley of shot in her breast. She fell dead on the spot. The shot was meant for Adam.
Adam, riled beyond any reason, knowing that his dear Helen was dead, launched himself down the banks of the Kirtle Water where the murderer Bell was frantically trying to reload his gun. Before he had achieved this Adam was upon him, sword drawn. In his rage he cut Bell to pieces, hacked him to death. There was no sweetness in the insane revenge. All thoughts of Bell immediately dropped from his mind, the sight of his headless body meaningless in his grief, Adam ran back up the slope of the Kirtle's bank, cradled the head of his loved one in his arms, and sobbed until it felt as if his heart would break. He nursed his dead lover throughout the hours of darkness.
With the light there came some reason. Adam knew he would hang for the murder, that he had little alternative but to leave his home before he was apprehended. The deaths of Helen and Bell would not be easy to explain should he stay and confront her parents. They were aware that Helen had feelings for Adam which superseded friendship. They had tried to discourage them, hoping their daughter would marry a man of better means to support her through life. Robert Bell was such a man, or so they thought. It would not take them long to reach the conclusion that Adam was responsible for such a heinous crime. The discovery of the corpse of their daughter and the mutilated body of Bell which had all the hall-marks of a fierce encounter with a man of strength and resolution born out of intense hatred, would immediately point to Adam Fleming, thought of initially as the spurned lover. Adam Fleming fled the spot, left the country and was not heard of again.
Initially accused of a double murder in his absence, the truth finally came out. Friends of Helen vouchsafed for the integrity of Adam, for his love for Helen. They told of the meetings in the churchyard and the jealousy of Bell.
A few years later a servant of the Bell Tower, visiting the churchyard, was shocked to find the prostrate body of a man lying atop Helen's simple grave stone. A quick inspection verified what he had thought as he approached the grave. The man was dead; he recognised the still handsome features of Adam Fleming who had lived at the Bell Tower some years before. He ran as swiftly as his old legs would carry him and informed the aged parents of Helen.
In due course Adam was buried next to Helen, a sign that her parents had forgiven the girl for her love of a man who had never forgotten her; a man who had proved after years on the Continent of Europe he had not forgotten his first and only love.
Afterword.
There is more than one version of the tragedy that led to the death of Fair Helen. In one Robert Bell escaped after he had murdered Helen and was pursued across Europe by Adam Fleming. He eventually caught up with Bell in the streets of Madrid and shot him dead. It was only then that he returned to Kirkconnel, and on seeing the grave of his lover, succumbed to grief at his loss, and died.
Sir Walter Scott, writing at the beginning of the nineteenth century, recorded the Ballad of Fair Helen in his 'Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border'.
It is a poignant reminder that the aggression and confrontation which was rife for centuries along the English Scottish Border did not erase the finer feelings of all who were trapped in its maelstrom of death and butchery.
I wish I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt, (maid)
And died to succour me!
O think na ye my heart was sair (sore)
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair! (spoke no more)
There did she swoon wi' meikle care, (with great care)
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell Lee;
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma' (small)
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair (evermore)
Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says 'Haste and come to me!' –
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my e'en (eyes),
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.
Until last weekend, it has been some years since I last visited Kirkconnel church yard. It is a wonderful place , replete with an ambience of former times, of centuries long past. To the romantic, with a knowledge of the story of Fair Helen, it is a place to stand, think and consider her fate and that of her lover, Adam Fleming, their love, and the rash impetuousness of a spurned lover.
Such feelings are naturally tempered with thoughts that the story, though based on fact, has clearly been embellished down the years. The romantic in me, whilst succumbing to the sadness of the story, still readily accepts that parts of it cannot be true.
Imagine my surprise then when I viewed the story board set in front of the graves that are the supposed resting places of Helen and Adam.
The last sentence runs as follows:-
'The romantic story of the Ballad might be an 18th century invention, and the association of the monuments in the churchyard is questionable'.
Britain is awash with political correctness. Do we really need to take it to the realms of romance, poetry, folk-lore and legend?
Please think about it!
The White Lady of Corstorphine
By Amanda Moffet
The Lords Forrester were a principal family in the Corstorphine area of Edinburgh. Their main home was Corstorphine Castle, a 14th century stronghold which, by the 18th century, was nothing but ruins, and today nothing of the castle remains but a 16th century dovecot.
Sometime during the 17th century, a James Forrester was laird at
Corstorphine Castle. Forrester was a popular man, known for charm and affable nature. However, he was also known for his vices, and loose morals; most notably in regards to women and drink.
One of Forrester's lovers, and who, incidentally turned out to be his last, was Lady Christian Nimmo. Lady Christian was not only married, but was also the Laird's niece, so the affair was kept as discreet as possible.
James Forrester would usually meet his lovers at the dovecot on his grounds, and so, like normal, arranged to meet Lady Christian at their secret location. She arrived promptly, only to find no-one else around. The Lady waited for a bit, knowing full well that her lover would be at some local pub, and so sent a servant to find him.
James finally turned up drunk and in a very irritable and rude state. Inevitably a heated argument started. It is said that Forrester called Lady Christian a "whoor", making her so angry that she quickly pulled her lover's sword out of its sheath and killed him with it.
Lady Christian Nimmo was arrested, tried, and executed in 1679 for the murder of James Forrester.
At the trial the Lady claimed that the death was an accident and that she took the sword as an act of self defence, however this story was not believed and she was beheaded in Edinburgh.
On the day of the execution Lady Christian wore a snow-white hooded gown, and it is said that she is still seen to this day, wearing the same gown, haunting the dovecot in Corstorphine and forced to carry the blood-stained sword for all eternity.
Scottish Myths and Legends Page 17
