I'm Bruce Fummey, and I want to tell you about the event that has become one of the most renowned and
celebrated in the history of Border Reiving, that time and that people where kings and queens of
Scotland and England meant little, but family name, local allegiances, and ill-gotten gain
meant everything. You crossed the border and you took what you could, before coming home
to the protection of your lands and peoples, but there was always risk of those on the other side
crossing the border in the other direction. Now you've all heard of Rob Roy, but today I want to
tell you about a character at least as notorious, and certainly more colourful; Kinmont Willie.
If you're interested in the people, places and events in Scottish history, then click
the subscribe button at the bottom right hand side of the screen. In the meantime,
let me tell you a story. This is the Clan Armstrong Museum at Gilnockie Tower. It's where
Kinmont Willie's granddad, Johnny Armstrong had based his reiving operations, before James the Fifth had
him hanged in 1530, the year that Willie was born. Now James may have thought that that would have
been an end to reiving, but Johnny's son, Lang Sandy Armstrong, was reputed to be the worst reiver ever.
Of course Johnny's grandson was Kinmont Willie, as notorious a reiver as you'll find.
They said at age 12, Willie was in the saddle at the Battle of Solway Moss, riding against that
Scottish King who'd hung his grandad. Whether his daring escapades started quite that early or not,
there's one thing for sure, he lived a life that was full. He led raids into
England to steal horses, sheep, cows and goats, and let's be honest anything he could get his hands on,
and since we're playing truth or dare, he would have done some bad stuff along the way.
There's a tendency for us to diminish the heinous crimes of our heroes.
He didn't really stand as a Tory councillor, he just voted Liberal Democrat once,
and it was a tactical vote in a three-way marginal, I mean,
what can I say? It's the Borders! Aye, he did some bad stuff right enough,
but he would have justified it in the code of honour that prevailed in his world of Border Reivers. Now
Robin Hood had the Sheriff of Nottingham, Rob Roy had the Duke of Montrose, and Kinmont Willie
had Lord Scrope of Bolton. He was the warden of the marches on the English side of the border. His job
was to keep English land and property safe, and he complained that justice would never be done
because Kinmont Willie was a friend of the warden of the marches on the Scottish side of the border,
and damn you Kinmont Willie! He wasn't happy. Indeed, as Lord Scrope grew older, he grew embittered that
every time a plan was made to capture this border free booter, he'd escape in the nick of time. Grrr
Apparently it never occurred to him, that his deputy being married to Kinmont Willie's daughter
might be a bit of a security risk. When Lord Scrope died, the next Lord Scrope
was determined to do better, but a year later Kinmont Willie and his accomplices, ran
a big daylight raid into Tyndale and drove 3,000 beasts back across the border.
The duplicitous deputy was sent out to catch them, but he only managed to arrest two English Reivers,
and he lost them on the way home. The deputy warden was fired, but Kinmont Willie continued in his job.
The 17th of March, 1596, was a truce day. Now the truce ran all the way through the night till
sunrise the next morning. It was so that reivers could attend hearings. You see reivers may be from
two countries on opposing sides of the border, but from time to time they had issues to settle.
It was a bit like a marriage guidance counsellor saying 'look Rose, why don't you tell Jock
how it makes you feel when he steals your cattle, and Jock will listen with an open mind,
and at the end of it all we might find some common ground, and if not, we hang the prisoner.
What do you say?' This is the Scottish/ English border. It runs up and down the Kershope Burn there, and
then under this bridge and along the Liddel Water heading west. Now the meeting was held in that
field, the other side of those trees and beyond the Kershope Burn and Kinmont Willie was there.
Afterwards Willie headed home on this side of the Liddel Water and a group of Englishmen headed home
on the other side. Willie felt safe. There was water between them and it was a truce day. One
way or another somebody shouts 'Yer da's (dad) a dick'. Somebody retorts, 'Yer maw's (mum) a fud'! Before you know
it dicks and fuds were in the air passing water. The English think, 'nobody's taking the piss out of my
dick', and before you know it, Kinmont Willie's in chains and heading off to Carlisle Castle.
On a truce day! Now the young Lord Scrote knew that he had no right to hold Kinmont Willie.
Did I say Scrote instead of Scrope? He was a ball bag! Did I tell you that they'd taken
Willie on a truce day? Ah, but Willie had rubbed up against the old Scrote the wrong way for years.
He'd also evaded the young Scrope's clutches. He had to be locked up. On the Scottish side of the border,
the key law officer was Walter scot of Buccleuch. He writes to the new Deputy Warden.
No reply. He writes to young Lord Scrope. Nope. He writes to the English Ambassador in Scotland. Not
so much as a Ferrero Rocher! Insult was being added to the injury of false imprisonment.
For the two generations' royal families, north and south of the border had intermarried and
it produced a Scottish King who would inherit the English throne just seven years from now,
and an English queen who paid him an annual subsidy in the meantime.
No help was coming, but reivers had been their own people for centuries.
Canonbie was an Armstrong centre just down the River Esk from Gilnockie Tower, where less than three
miles from the English border, and in the night of the 7th of April, a select group of men met
to make plans. Kinmont's brother-in-law and two of his men, Scott of Buccleuch, and two of his kinsmen, and
that sacked deputy warden of the English marches, along with his brother, some Scots, some English
reivers all. They met to plan a raid on the strongest castle in the north of England,
an all our attack would be folly, and inevitably end in failure. This would be surreptitious, this
would be sneaky, this would be in the dead of night. The plan would take shape a week later,
because this is Langholm Racecourse, and on the 13th of April, 1596, there was a race meeting in Langholm,
that would have brought people from all around, together in one place; racing, cheering, gambling,
celebrating well into the night. It was the perfect cover for Walter Scott of Buccleuch and
his chosen riders, to meet without suspicion, and then at dusk, head out on the Carlisle Road.
Now this is Carlisle Castle. Now the only reason that I can come to places like this,
is because the wonderful people who support this channel, by buying coffee on a one-off basis,
link in the description below, or becoming Patreon members on a monthly basis, click
the white tab up there, and I want to say a huge thanks to all those people that have done either.
You'll see some of the names in the credits at the end. Obviously feel free to join them. Now
intelligence from the English contingent, told our rescue team that Kinmont Willie was held in
a building just inside this western wall of Carlisle Castle. A contingent of spearman was
sent to the Irish Gate up at that corner wall in case the party were discovered, and the guards came
from outside the castle. Meanwhile Buccleuch and his small group approached the postern gate in this
western wall. Now can you see that gate up in the wall there? Now if I told you that I knew for sure
that that was the gate, then I'd be lying, but that was definitely the gate. One of the men
used a chisel and a crowbar, to remove the stone piece from the wall, next to the lock in the gate,
and they were in. There was little resistance. Laziness, cowardice, bribery, or all three, meant
a lack of response from the guards. Within minutes they'd found Kinmont Willie, put him on a pony, and
they were heading at speed back north, towards the River Eden, the River Esk, and Scotland.
What these men saw as an issue of honour, sparked a diplomatic incident. Elizabeth of England, demanded
that Scott of Buccleuch be sent to London to be dealt with. James the Sixth refused to send his countryman,
but James was in a sticky situation. Not only did he hope to succeed Elizabeth, but for the last 10
years he'd been receiving an annual payment from her, and of course money from London
never comes without strings attached. One way or another, Buccleuch saved James's embarrassment by
going voluntarily, and after questioning, impressed Elizabeth so much, that she said 'With ten thousand
such men, our brother in Scotland might shake the firmest throne of Europe'. In a way, I suppose he
did. People in the US often ask me to talk about what they call Scotch Irish, and what we call
Ulster Scots. You see, a few years after he took the English throne, plantation building, Lowland
Scots were sent by James to the north of Ireland, including border reivers. Far better to have them in
those debatable lands, than in these. Generations passed, and some of them travelled the Atlantic,
to become the hardy people who threw themselves into the border troubles with indigenous people,
and of course, in the 1770s, they helped shake the firmest throne in Europe. As for the Armstrongs,
long after the Stuart Kings were gone, it was one of their name
who became the first man to set foot on the lunar surface, to bring back booty from the moon! Now that
was taking reiving to a whole new level. For another tale about the English borderlands, click the link
coming up on screen now. In the meantime, tha mi an dochas gum bith lath math leibh. Tiorridh an drasda.