Chapter XXVI Merrie Carlisle
The city of Carlisle stands in the midst of a beautiful and fertile district with pleasant but not too steep hills around. In the old days an easy water-supply was a first essential, and at Carlisle three rivers meet, the Caldew and the Petterill running here into the broad stream of the Eden. These three rivers almost enclose the ground upon which the city is built, so that it is most probable that there was an ancient British settlement upon so advantageous a site, before the Roman invasion. Our earliest record, however, goes back no further than Roman days, and it is certain there was then a Roman city here called Luguvallium (the trench of the legion). Even to-day, when new gas-pipes are being laid in the ground, it is by no means rare to dig up Roman relics. The long Roman name became gradually corrupted into “Luel,” or “Liel,” and the Britons added their word “Caer,” which means a city, hence “Caer-luel”—an earlier form of the modern Carlisle. The Roman city stood, as might be expected, by the great Roman wall, guarding the spot where the wall crossed the river Eden. And visitors may see to-day that the centre of Carlisle consists of a market-place with two main streets leading therefrom, the usual plan in cities of Roman origin.
Carlisle was destined to have a stormy history. Draw a line from the Solway eastward, straight through Carlisle, and it will be seen that here the mainland of Britain is about at its narrowest, hardly so much as seventy miles wide, as the crow flies. Note, too, that the wild hills of the Pennines and the Cheviots fill in most of this narrow district, and that the mainland of Scotland strikes sharply off to the west. It is plain from these facts that Carlisle commands the main road between Scotland and England, and they provide the reason why at the present day seven different railways, most of them important ones, run their trains into Carlisle station. The very same reason was responsible for the fact that in the good old times no English town was more often burnt down by enemies than “Merrie Carlisle.”
Even in Roman days, during the reign of Nero, Carlisle was burnt down at least once by the wild Picts, who were brave enough to venture against the well-armed troops of Rome. After the Romans left Britain this town was one of the strongholds of King Arthur; to be sure, nothing very definite is known about this romantic king, but the old ballads tell us that he was victorious over Gauls, Dacians, Spaniards, and Romans. This sounds very unlikely to those who do not realise that when Rome called home her best men for her own defence she may have left behind many rough soldiers, of various nations, to guard the wall. Although we know nothing about King Arthur save what is vague and legendary, we do know that the Roman legions were recruited from all the provinces of the empire. Cumberland had many connexions with King Arthur; within twenty miles of Carlisle, near Penrith, is a big round hill called “King Arthur’s Table”; while nearer still, on the Penrith and Carlisle road, is shown the spot where stood Tearne-Wadling Lake and Castle, where King Arthur was bewitched and taken prisoner by the “foul, discourteous knight,” only to be released provided one of his men would consent to marry the hideous lady with hair like serpents! When at last Sir Gawaine married this hag for his King’s sake, she, of course, changed at once into a beautiful young woman! This does not sound very convincing, it is true, but in the old days many tales just as unlikely were told of famous men. At any rate the ballad begins with the lilting line:—
“King Arthur lives in merrie Carleile,”
and all that concerns us at the moment is that perhaps he really did live there, and did do some very real fighting along the debateable line of the wall.
We next learn of Carlisle that King Egfrid of Northumbria rebuilt the city about the year 675, wherefore we can only suppose that it had suffered its somewhat usual fate, perhaps at the hands of that savage Saxon warrior called The Burner. But in any case, Carlisle never belonged to the Northumbrians for any considerable space of time, but was the capital of the Celtic or Welsh kingdom of Cumbria, from which the present name of Cumberland is derived.
In 875 the Danes had a turn at pillaging and harrying Carlisle, which was again in sorry plight. Both Cumbria and Northumbria were faring very badly in the struggle between the various kingdoms which then divided up Britain, and for a while it looked as if the energetic kings of the Scots would annex both these northern dominions. But the coming of the strong-handed Normans altered all this; and by far the most noteworthy event in the history of Carlisle was the fact that during 1092 and 1093 William Rufus seized Cumberland, and for the first time added it definitely to England.
Recognising at once the strength and value of Carlisle, Rufus caused a strong Norman castle to be built where the old Roman fort used to stand. To-day, despite the many rough adventures which have befallen this northern city, there yet remain portions of William Rufus’s castle, side by side with fragments of the old Roman walls. Many of the modern buildings put up in King George’s day are crumbling, but the old Norman and Roman remains are firm as a rock!
The castle was strengthened by King Henry I., but this did not prevent its seizure in 1135 by King David of Scotland, who added to it in turn. The Scots held the keep till 1157, when it was retaken by Henry II., but a few years later, in 1173, William the Lion, King of Scotland, besieged it, and for the next fifty years it changed hands several times, according to the fortunes of war. It is significant that a main street in the northern part of Carlisle is called “Scotch Street,” while another in the southern part is called “English Street!”
Edward I. held a parliament here after defeating Wallace at Falkirk; and it was from Carlisle that this English King conducted his later operations against Scotland. It is a pathetic picture, that of this stern warrior in his old age, on his last march, trying to carry out his pet scheme of uniting the entire island under one rule. He was so ill that he had to be carried in a litter as far as Carlisle. Finding himself again so near the border, he felt the old fire glow within him, and sprang upon his horse—but at Burgh-on-Sands, on the shore of the Solway, whence he could view the goal of his ambition, the brave King died.
During the next thirty years Carlisle was frequently attacked by the Scots, but they were usually defeated. In 1337, however, they partly, and in 1345 almost entirely burnt it down. Again in 1380 they burnt part of what had been rebuilt! Had there been fire insurance in these wild days, the premiums in Carlisle would have been heavy!
After the Wars of the Roses, the city seemed to settle down somewhat, and was chiefly known on the Border as the place where Scottish freebooters were hanged if caught. In one of the Border villages there is a famous churchyard where of old only the graves of women and children were to be seen. The explanation was given to a passing traveller by an old woman, who said that the men were all buried “in merrie Carlisle,” meaning, that is, that they had all been hanged there!
In 1537 there was a rising in England known as the “Pilgrimage of Grace,” in opposition to the savage policy of Henry’s minister, Thomas Cromwell, and no less than eighty thousand insurgents are said to have attacked Carlisle; but after much fighting the rebels were defeated and seventy-four of their leaders were executed on the city walls.
When Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in Carlisle in 1568 it was vainly besieged by a force that sought to rescue her; but less than thirty years afterwards, in 1596, by a bold stroke of daring, Lord Scott of Buccleuch succeeded in surprising the castle and in liberating the well-known freebooter, “Kinmont Willie.”
When King James united England and Scotland, the troubles of Carlisle might have been thought to be over. But in the civil war between King and Parliament it was again a storm centre, and was held alternately by each of the parties.
The last warlike operations against this much-besieged city were undertaken in 1745, when it was first taken by Prince Charlie, who made a triumphal entry without any serious fighting, and afterwards retaken almost as easily by the cruel Duke of Cumberland, whose entry into the place was followed, as usual, by a series of executions.
Among those who suffered was Sir A. Primrose, a gallant ancestor of the present Lord Rosebery. The victims were executed, with the cruelties of the old law against treason, on the celebrated Gallows Hill, at Harraby, and were buried in nameless graves in the Kirkyard of St Cuthbert’s. Passing down the Botchergate (the London Road), past the site of the old Roman cemetery, the wayfarer may see Gallows Hill rise where a deep cut has been made to avoid a steep rise in the road. It was just outside the boundary of old Carlisle, and executions were witnessed from the walls, by men and women alike. Climb the hill—it is worth while. The little river Petteril sparkles at our feet; the view, fresh and green, stretches away nobly to the Pennines and the Border Hills. Keep a warm thought in your heart for all the gallant fellows who met death bravely in this place.
No history of Carlisle could omit to mention the Cathedral. English cathedrals are shaped like a cross lying on the ground; the long stem of the cross is the nave of the cathedral; the two arms are the transepts; and the upper end that continues the main stem is the choir. Where choir, nave and transepts meet, the tower rises. But unlike every other English cathedral, that of Carlisle has height and width, but is too short in length, two-thirds of the nave having been hurled down by the Scots!
Every cathedral has its history written in its stones, for those who know how to read it. That of Carlisle shows a stormy history, stormier than any other. It is not a peaceful building carried out very much in one style and undisturbed. It is a building full of signs of disturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in their plans by war and frequently had their building seriously damaged by their enemies. It is a mixture of styles, a mass of re-buildings and afterthoughts, but for that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the much-harassed city. With all its signs of storm and stress it has much beauty, and possesses the finest window in all England, one of the finest in the world. Just outside the Cathedral is a noble stretch of the old West Wall of the city, which gives a vivid idea of its strength in the old days.
The bishops of Carlisle live at Rose Castle, five miles south of the Cathedral. This has been their residence for over six hundred years. No doubt they thought it advisable not to live in the “merrie city”!
In this castle King Edward I. stayed. It was once partly burnt by Bruce, and again partly by the Puritans, but this is a comparatively clean record for such a district! In 1745 Captain Macdonald and his Scots came down to besiege it, but hearing that the bishop’s baby daughter was about to be christened, the gallant captain would not let warfare spoil so peaceful a ceremony, and not only withdrew his men, but also left a white cockade behind him as a sign that the place was not to be molested. In all this he showed that true courtesy that always marks the real Highland gentleman.
Standing to-day in this bustling, breezy, pleasant little city, it is not easy to realise the wild scenes it has witnessed. The charming rivers that hem it in show no traces of the bloodshed of the past. Yet here have contended painted Pict and war-trained Roman; here the most skilful leaders of the Celts, Saxons, and Danes have led their brave and sturdy men to battle; here Norman knight has fought with hardy Scot, and fierce Border factions have wrangled and sought speedy justice; Puritan has fought Cavalier, and Jacobite has faced Hanoverian; kings, generals, and warriors of many centuries have found a fitting meeting-place before or behind the walls of Carlisle.
An open, airy, quaint city. There is not very much that is old in it, for the old was not allowed to stand long enough! But on the top of its principal hill the tall truncated Cathedral presents a picturesque figure, and if we stand there or by the castle the eye commands fine, ancient walls and very delightful distances. It is a place of lingering memories, and if these are chiefly of strife and bloodshed we do not forget that to the Border folk the city was “Merrie Carlisle.”