CAMBRIDGESHIRE

If we were to go back to the summer of 1698 and walk the beautiful rolling hills of Galloway in South West Scotland we may have stumbled across a scene quite hideous to our modern eyes. Only ten years had passed since the brutal ‘Killing Times’ wreaked havoc among the simple God-fearing lives of these rural people, and now a new brutality was rife – the witch hunts. This year, however, was to see the last witch in this area to be burned for her ‘crimes’ and that witch was Elspeth McEwen. The lonesome lady lived in a house, Bogha, on the farm at Cubbox. She was not just some simpleton peasant either. It is said by her contemporaries that she was possessed of a ‘superior education’. I have not found what it was that started off the campaign against her but it seems that she became a local target to blame for all that went wrong. When eggs were hard to come by and the hens were not laying it is said that she could coax them into producing tremendous quantities for market. Perhaps she just had a way with chickens, as some can tame wild animals, but whatever benefit this had at one time it held darker power aswell. For when the hens did not do so well in the future, it was of course attributed to Elspeth’s will. It was now her fault when the area was deprived of eggs. The birds were not the only livestock she affected. If cattle fell ill or didn’t milk well this must surely be her doing as well. Not only did she cast spells on her neighbours cattle, she stole from them too! For she had in her home a peg dowelled into the kipplefoot – or part of the roof beam – which drew milk from the cows on demand! The complaints became more frequent and to more influential people, until eventually a complaint was made to the sessions. The Beadle in attendance to the minister at the time was sent to fetch her and given the ministers own horse to bring her back on. Being of an honest and innocent nature, she consented to go with him when he showed up at the cottage. It is here that history and folklore blur, as some tales place the sequence of events in different order, although the stories are much the same. 

 

When Elspeth and her guide reached the rising hill behind the manse at Balmaclellen the mare became tormented and in its fear started to sweat blood. Since then the place has carried the name ‘Bluidy Brae’ but even in trying to research the history of the manse have found difficulty in defining this tale anymore.

 

Unfortunately for dear Elspeth, this was yet more ‘proof’ and was recounted to the session. After an examination, which included elements of torture, she was sent to be imprisoned at the Kirkcudbright Tolbooth. Today Kirkcudbright is an artists town and likewise the tolbooth is now an arts centre and gallery. In the 17th Century however, it was a vile place to be incarcerated and it is some testament to Elspeth’s character that she survived it for two years. She had begged her gaolers to end her life and thus her suffering, but in the end the only way out was confession. Once she had uttered those words if was only a matter of time before her sentence was passed. She was to be strangled and burned. Though she would not know it, she would also find her place in history as the last woman to endure this fate – in Southern Scotland at least.

 

 

In casual comparison, while she felt the rope around her neck and breathed in the smoke that would be one of her last sensations on this earth, her executioner – William Kirk – was drinking a pint of ale, given to him while he ‘worked’ – along with his monetary fee, some food and a new outfit. Such was the end of the ‘witch’ McEwen. I do not know where her Spirit resides now, but I hope she has returned to Cubbox to a time she was at peace. For my part I am glad to say I have never seen her up on the brae in my nights at the old manse.

 

 

By Cubbox, close by River Ken

Stood Bogra years ago,

And there within a witches den

Lived harmless Elspeth, old and slow

 

She was suspected of witchcraft,

The poor old bag of rattling bones,

The devil-fearing locals laughed,

Then armed themselves with sticks and stones.

 

The case against her was most tragic,

She had a ‘witching’ tool no less,

And with this tool she mustered magic;

Folks hounded her: Confess! Confess!

 

Poor old Elspeth, wicked witch

Stopped Cubbox hens from laying,

Folks saw her squating in a ditch

Unto Satan praying.

 

She stole the milk from Cubbox cows

With her nine inch dowel;

No-one asked the why’s and how’s

Of why she dug with rusty trowel.

 

Beadle M’Lambroch, pious fool

Set forth to do God’s will,

Arrested Elspth, Satan’s tool,

And sent her up the hill.

 

The half-starved nag that carried her

To stand before the Session

Sweated blood and lost its hair

Which added to the tension.

 

So it’s up the Bloody Brae we go

From Bogra, past Knocklae

To stand condemned in biting snow,

‘Dear Brothers, let us pray!’

 

The witches hovel had to go,

Bogra’s walls were rotten,

They roasted Elspeth, hot and slow

But she is not forgotten

 

(Poem courtesy of my grandfather Peter Jeevar)