a special Scottish market place outside the fortifications in 1587 (after all, it depended on Scottish food) and prohibited Scots from lodging in the town “or to walk up and down”, was less successful with its unwanted immigrants than Carlisle. “Scotch merchants” were avoiding tolls there in 1596, but as the largest city on the Borders, inured to guarding the worst stretch of the frontier, it seems to have been more tolerant of those from north of the line. Most of its guilds had regulations discriminating against Scots, and the city itself forbade “unchartered” Scots to live there, or to walk the streets after curfew without an English companion. However, it also distinguished between “outmen” (those having business in the city but living outside) and “foroners” (complete strangers), so the Scots were not alone in being specially classified.3
Enforcing the discriminatory rules in the cities, and resisting the mass immigration which Hunsdon deplored in the Middle March, depended on being able to tell who was Scottish and who English. This was not always easy. Names were not a reliable indication, since many Border families were represented on both sides of the line, and adopted nationality accordingly. Although the Armstrongs were predominantly Scots, there were plenty of English Armstrongs who had lived in Cumberland from time immemorial, and who felt no kinship whatever for their Liddesdale namesakes. The muster roll of Askerton in England in 1580–81 contains fourteen Armstrongs out of a total of forty-nine names. The Grahams have already been mentioned as the classic example of a divided family; the Nixons and Crosers, important names of Liddesdale, were also as much English as Scottish; the Forsters, Halls, Bells, Littles and many others were to be found on both sides (see Chapter VII).
This was not just a case of small groups having left the parent clan and drifted across the Border; it may have been quite the reverse. Many of the leading Scottish families were in fact English in origin—the Maxwells, Armstrongs, Carlisles, and possibly the Johnstones, among others.
One can pity the innocent “non-Borderer” Wardens, or the unfortunate Frenchman who once held the Scottish East March, when confronted with this kind of mixture. An Armstrong might be an Englishman of unimpeachable standing—but he might well have Scottish relatives, and anyway before he could be safely pigeon-holed it would be necessary to find out if he was at feud with anyone, or to whom he was paying blackmail, or what professional alliances he might have. In the absence of computers, an “outsider” Warden could only call on God.
Birthplace and antecedents, when they could be established, provided a guide to a man’s nationality, but were not infallible. A heated dispute broke out between James VI of Scotland and young Scrope over one Robert Graham, whom the king claimed as “a Scottisman, borne, bapteist, mariit and bruiking (holding) land in Scotland”—powerful qualifications. Possibly so, said Scrope, but he could prove otherwise; for one thing, he had Graham’s admission that he was English. This, of course, was usually the decisive argument in doubtful cases: a man had to be accepted as what he said he was. Enterprising Borderers made the most of this; in 1550 Sandye Armstrong, ostensibly English and living in the Debateable Land, drove Lord Dacre to involved correspondence with London by threatening to become Scottish if the English Warden did not give him proper protection from his enemies.
These nationality cases baffled officialdom, who had no means of settling them. When Sir John Maxwell, Warden of the Scottish West March, laid before the Scottish Privy Council in 1564 a proposal that he should “admit George and Arthur Graham as Scottismen”, the council played a master-stroke. “Efter the mater wes resonit, and all motives and perswasionis were considerit”, Maxwell was told to use his own discretion.
In practice, there probably was one good test that could be applied to a Borderer whose nationality was in dispute, and whose antecedents were unknown: his accent. Even today, dialect has a habit of stopping dead at the Border line; to the native there is all the difference in the world between the harsh, resonant growl of the Cumbrian, the extraordinary guttural Northumbrian voice which makes “r” a drawn-out clearing of the throat, and the up-and-down cadences of the Scottish side. I suspect that on the Eastern Border a dialect expert would find that the accents have come closer together than they have in the West, where the social and cultural barrier between Scotland and England is today as solid as a wall, but in general the difference is strong and unmistakable. Too strong, at any rate, for any local person to confuse a Scots voice with an English one.
Yet there is a widely-held theory that in the sixteenth century there was a common Border accent, and that it was hard to tell Scotch from English. Possibly this belief has arisen because the vocabularies of the two sides are and were very close; the North-country Englishman says “ken” for “know”, and “ower” for “over”, and “cuddy” for “ass”, just as the Scot does. But the pronunciations are quite different, although this may not be so evident to the outsider’s ear.
The common-accent school cite as evidence the passage from a seventeenth-century London play in which a Northumbrian is mistaken for a Scot. “I was born in Redesdale,” he says, “and come of a wight riding sirname, called the Robsons; gude honest men, and true, saving a little shiftynge for theyr living; God help them, silly poor men.”
A woman answers: “Me thinke thou art a Scot by they tongue,” and the Robson denies it hotly.
This does not demonstrate anything satisfactorily except that a Londoner had difficulty in telling the difference; one is inclined to prefer the contemporary evidence of the letters in which Borderers, with their eccentric spellings, set their accents on paper. Take the Laird Johnstone, a Scot, writing in 1597:
“I resavit your lordschipis lettre this Vodinsday at four efter nowne,” he begins, and later continues “… and siclyk hes resavit ane lettre fra Thomis Senws (Senhouse?) desyring me to be in Cairlell this Vodinsday at iij, the quihilk lettre I gat nocht quhill fywe houris efter none.”
Now there, as clear as a bell across four centuries, is a Border Scot writing as he talks, with a broad Scottish accent. Could anyone believe that Johnstone spoke with the same accent as a Northumbrian like John Forster, who can be heard muttering gruffly as he writes to Walsingham:4
“For we that inhabit Northumberland are not acquaynted with any lerned and rare frazes, but sure I am I have uttered my mynde truly and playnely … where as I am wonderfully charged with aboundance of catell fedinge and bredinge uppon the Borders, as is aledged—I assure your honour I never solde non.”
The Northern English voice is unmistakeable—the last four words alone will clinch the matter for anyone who knows the Border voices.5 Both letters fit precisely into modern Scots and Northumbrian speech, so it seems reasonable to assume that the modern difference in accents is no greater than it was four hundred years ago.
However, even if the outsider Wardens did learn eventually to tell Scot from English by listening to them, they can never have recovered entirely from the shock of discovering just how deep and strong were the links and ties of culture, marriage, outlook, and behaviour between the supposedly opposite sides. Perhaps there are lessons in race relations on the old Border which might be studied with profit by modern sociologists. It was all there—race discrimination, victimisation by law, illegal immigration, and inter-racial marriage—and Border experience seems to suggest that whatever laws may be passed about segregation and integration are fairly irrelevant unless the people closely involved want to go along with them.
1. Eure thought it politic “to draw some of the headsmen from friendship with the Scots” in 1597. He was particularly anxious about the Fenwicks, Erringtons, and Robsons.
2. This may have been a well-founded complaint, in spite of the debasement of English coinage throughout the century. It is worth noting that in 1543 the Scottish Privy Council had forbidden the import of the English groat, because they “ar nocht silver and are false”.