Nothing seems to be known about Mr and Mrs William Platt, the writers of Stories of the Scottish Border. What they produced is an eccentric guidebook and history, seen partly through the ballads of the region. The book recounts the military stratagems, treachery and courage of those who struggled for control of the Border lands and of the whole country, and tells of the triumphs or tragic fate of those who took part on both sides. It also tells us stories of the Border Reivers, raiders who lived by riding out and stealing their neighbours’ livestock. Their lives were governed for several hundred years by a form of rough justice, and they showed an even rougher wit. While their adventures, though cloaked by the writers in romance and chivalry, were often petty and bloodthirsty, the ballads which distill their experience are, at their best, haunting and intensely moving. The Borders and Northumberland have changed little in aspect over the centuries, and I suggest following the book with a map and images of the places described, to give some idea of the wild remoteness and imaginative power of this Border land.
By : William Platt and Mrs. Willlam Platt
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The district called the Border is one of the most interesting in Great Britain. It consists of that part of England that is nearest Scotland, and that part of Scotland that is nearest England, mainly the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland, Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, and Dumfriesshire.
The country is very picturesque and highly romantic. It abounds in great rolling, breezy hills, with swift streamlets or "burns" running down their sides to swell the rushing rivers. No part of our island has more beautiful valleys than those of the Border.
This bold, rough district, well adapted to defence, and situated also just where the island of Great Britain is almost at its narrowest, became, after many a struggle, the boundary between England and Scotland. The character of the country was suited to the rearing of hardy Moorland sheep and cattle; its inhabitants therefore were a tough, open-air race of men, strong, strapping fellows, fearless riders, always ready for an adventure, especially if it meant a fight.
In those days of Border strife there was hardly such a thing as international justice, that is to say, the people of one nation were not very particular as to what they did to people of another nation; therefore these bold, hardy Border men, Englishmen and Scot alike, were fond of creeping across the boundary to steal the cattle of their neighbours. Men devoted to such raids were called "Freebooters" or "Mosstroopers," the name "Moss" being given in the North Country to boggy tracts that lie about the hill-sides.
So it happened that the Border was in a perpetual state of petty warfare, conducted, it is true, with a certain amount of good-will and a rough approach to chivalry, and with the concurrence of the powerful Border nobles of both nations, who often played an important part therein. At times these raids developed into important warlike expeditions, when a fierce noble, or even a king, had some reckless game to play. Hence, among the ballads which give us so vivid an account of Border strife, we find descriptions not only of the minor doings of picturesque sheep-stealers, but also of pitched battles such as Chevy Chase and Homildon Hill.
The union of England and Scotland in 1603 naturally put an end to all the former excuses for raiding, and therefore terminated the true Freebooter period. After this, despite one or two belated attempts, such as Elliot's big raid in 1611, sheep-stealing ceased to be looked upon as an honourable calling, and became mere thieving. The men who would have raided one another's farms in 1602 became friendly neighbours after the Border Commission of 1605. There had been little malice in their former freebooting. Both sides were of one race; and they had the pleasure of finding that their lands went up greatly in value in consequence of the Border peace.
To-day, the Border presents scenes of peaceful cattle-farming. But Romance is still in the air, hangs about the fine, breezy moorlands and beautiful dales, and is seen clearly in the faces of the healthy Border-folk. A holiday at any Border farm would prove a most enjoyable one. There are wonderful Roman remains, for here it was that the Romans built their wall; there are castles of the Border barons; the views are wide and grand; the river-valleys are unmatched for beauty, and delightful wild flowers are plentiful, chief among which are fox-gloves, the giant wild Canterbury Bells, the handsome North Country wild geranium, several interesting kinds of wild orchids, and a variety of others too numerous to mention. Last, but not least, it is often possible in the evenings to see the farmers' sons engaged in friendly wrestling in the meadows, when we can realise that these great manly fellows are of the same vigorous race that kept the Borders lively a few centuries ago.
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