Growing up at Peth-heid

From the age of 9 until 21, my family home was 66 Main Street, Pathhead, Midlothian, Scotland, except for about two happy years in the same village at 5 Crichton Terrace on the council estate while major renovations were carried out on the property at 66 Main Street. The Main Street was the A68, one of the three major roads to England; a road that linked at Melrose to the ancient Roman road, Dere Street and before that through Lauderdale and over the Soutra to the medieval Royal Way (Via Regis). 

Ford House built 1680

There was a story that Bonnie Prince Charlie had ridden through Pathhead before lodging for the night at Ford House - at the foot of the 'path' that led to Ford. the tiny hamlet associated with the ford over the river Tyne. 

Since 1831 the ford could be bypassed using the Lothian Bridge 

built by Thomas Telford, the prolific designer of roads and bridges who was dubbed The Colossus of Roads.

The rather prosaically named Pathhead village is surrounded by farms, estates, and hamlets with names that resonate with names that evoke the language, history (social and political) of Lowland Scots: 
Whippielaw, Dodridge, Salters Burn, Muttonhole, Haugh Head, Longhaugh, Crichton, Burnside, Tynebank, Turniedykes, Newlandrig, Chesterhill, Byersloan, Cranstoun Riddell, Fordel Dean, Cousland, The Temple, and further to the south, Fala and Soutra Hill. 

The big estates were owned by the nobility and gentry: The Earl of Stair (and his mother, Lady Elphinstone) at Oxenfoord Castle; Major Henry Callander at Preston Hall, his son Major Charles Callander at Preston Mains - the Callanders also owned Crichton estate to which the owners of property in Pathhead paid their feu duties;  and the son of the 'Bully Beef Baron' Thomas Borthwick, Lord Whitburgh at Whitburgh House. 

Many of the farmers were tenant farmers, well respected men - and in many ways the pillars of the community. During my late teenage years, the lairds started to remove these tenant farmers and replace them with managers. I recall the shock of learning that some of the finest of these were no longer to farm 'their' properties - and the sadness when one committed suicide.

In 1882-4, Frances Groome's Ordnance Gazetteer of Scotland describes Pathhead like this:

Pathhead, a village in the northern extremity of Crichton parish, Edinburghshire, on the right side of the river Tyne, in the eastern vicinity of the old decayed village of Ford, 5 miles ESE of Dalkeith, 37/8 N of Tynehead station, and 11 SE of Edinburgh. Standing 500 feet above sea-level on the slpe and crown of an ascent from the Tyne, it takes its name from being at the head of this ascent or path; extends along both sides of the road from Edinburgh to Lauder; and has charmingly picturesque environs, including parts of the Oxenfoord and Vogrie estates, but chiefly consisting of feus from the Crichton property... 

Until sold in 1919, the Vogrie estate was owned by the Dewar family, their name retained in the nearby hamlet of Dewartown. 

While Pathhead was/is not a pretty village it is surrounded by some beautiful farmland and estates with grand houses and landscaped grounds. Nearby is the historic Crichton Castle, at the head of the River Tyne. The castle was built in the late 14th century as a tower house and expanded into a full castle in the 15th century. The building to the right of the castle in the photo was either a chapel, a slaughter house or stables.

Queen Mary of Scots stayed in the castle for a few nights after a cousin's wedding. The artist JMW Turner painted the castle, and the castle also features in Marmion by Sir Walter Scott.

Nearby is the pre-Reformation Crichton Collegiate Church. Originally built in the shape of a cross, the sanctuary (head of the cross) was destroyed by ardent Reformers - see a part remains to the left of the tower. Built in 1449, it has been in continuous use as a place of worship for over 550 years. We used to walk from Pathhead to this church at least once a month. It was a lovely walk, even in winter if the weather was dry. 

I recall the church was always cold. I was fascinated by the beadle, Tommy Farmer, who 'disappeared' behind a curtain screen into a cupboard-like room where he hand-pumped a lever to provide air for the organ before returning to his place in a near-by pew where he slumped and appeared to sleep - but never missed rising in time to prep the organ for the next hymn or psalm. The organist for many years was Miss Inglis, a spiritualist who conducted seances in her cottage at the head of the village (Pathhead) and attempted to teach my sister the piano.