Ding Dong Bell, Patie's in the Well! Part 1

A real-life disaster in Kirkliston, 6^th September, 1823

“Ah dinnae care whit ye think,” said Patie Stuart. “Ah'ament convinced th' sides ur aff tae haud noo we've raked that midden o' keech.”

“Auch! Ye dunderheided auld gowk! That well's bin thare sin Jock Tamson's bairns were breached – it'll be braw.”

“'N' a've bin aroond even langer than that,” said Patie, ignoring the lack of respect accorded by wee Tam, his junior at a mere 65 years of age. “A'm fur taking a closer keek.” 

“Auch – hae it yer ain wey ye auld fusspot.” 

Patie, wee Tam and a couple of other hands from Humbie Farm had been working since the cock crowed to clear one of the farm wells that had been out of action for several months. Now that the harvest was more or less safely gathered in, a few hours could be spared clearing the mud and other debris that was choking the well pump and preventing it from drawing water from the depths. The well was one of the many scattered throughout the Parish of Kirkliston and its failure had caused more than a minor inconvenience for those farm workers and their families living nearby, with the women having to carry heavy pails from the next nearest well, several hundred yards away. 

“'Ere, gimme a haun ower th' lip 'n' hulp me scramble doon if ye'v hee haw better tae dae.” 

“If ye mist then,” grumbled wee Tam. “Bit juist tak' care auld yin 'n' dinnae break yer scraggy neck!” 

“Dinna fash yersel' ye gallus gowk! A've dane this afore mony times 'n' ah ken weel whit a'm daein'!” 

With much banter and mutual insults, the other men carefully supported Patie as he began to ease his body down into the depths, bracing his back against the sides while holding on to the pump pipe for extra grip. 

“Kin ye see yer pal Auld Nick doon thare?” cried one of the workers. “Mynd ye dinnae sit oan th' tips o' his pitchfork!” 

“Aye!” shouted another. “'N' keep edgy fur th' fiery furnace!” 

As he descended further into the murky depths, the men at the surface grew quiet when Patie disappeared from view and failed to respond to their jibes. None of them had the courage to attempt what Patie was doing and in truth, were beginning to feel a little sheepish at letting such an elderly man take the initiative. 

At 78 years of age and straining to stop himself plunging to the well bottom, Patie was too out of puff to tell his workmates what he thought of their suggestions, having to concentrate hard to prevent his head and knuckles from scraping against the well walls. He’d been right though. The brickwork was in a sorry state, especially near the well head. Decades of damp and decay had softened the brick mortar and several of the bricks were already missing, probably lying at the bottom, 23 musty feet below. Still, the gaps in the wall provided useful footholds for Patie to rest upon from time to time. With the light beginning to fade the deeper he went, Patie decided he’d seen enough and shouted for wee Tam and his mates that he was coming back up. Whether it was Patie’s heavy boots digging into the brickwork or the removal of the rubbish being the cause we will never know, but at that moment a fearful crashing of masonry bouncing against the well walls heralded a catastrophic collapse of the structure. Cries of alarm from the surface only confirmed what Patie already knew; he was in mortal danger and his worst nightmare of being buried alive was happening as the debris closed over him. At the surface, wee Tam and his mates could only look on with impotent horror, fearing the worst for Patie as the shower of rubble and earth tumbled down, burying him in the depths below! 

[To be continued …] 

-ooo-

It’s unlikely that many of us have ever had cause to use a well for our water, being well provided (no pun intended!) with a reliable mains supply. Perhaps our mental image of a well is something like the one illustrated here on the left. With a cover to lessen the risk of debris falling down the shaft and a basic mechanism for raising and lowering a bucket, this is what we might think of as a typical village well. It’s a popular rural image and often imitated by keen gardeners who have installed faux water wells as an attractive feature.

However, in 19th century Kirkliston, a well was more likely to have been topped with a pump - like the one shown below - to make the drawing of water a less onerous task. Whilst there were numerous manufacturers of water pumps, most of them were of the same basic design; a mechanism that was attached to a pipe which was sunk into the ground until the water table was reached. By pumping the mechanism’s lever up and down, water would be drawn up from the depths and gush forth from the pump spout. Although there is no outward sign of a well shaft in the photograph, there is one there nevertheless. (Incidentally, this pump is situated not a million miles away in Blackness.) Numerous water pumps are still peppered across Scotland and the rest of the UK, some with most unusual and exotic designs. For those readers who wish to explore further, there is a wonderful web site to be found at http://www.villagepumps.org.uk which is undoubtedly the last word on the subject. I’m indebted to the kind cooperation of its creator Richard Williams for allowing me to use various photographs for this article and for his help and advice on the subject.

Are there still any wells or pumps in Kirkliston? Was there a well or pump near your home? Did Patie survive his ordeal? Look out for the next instalment on our blogspot!

A P George
Kirkliston Heritage Society 

SOURCES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
British Library
David Gray, Licensee, Newliston Arms
Google Earth
National Library of Scotland
Richard Williams, http://www.villagepumps.org.uk
Wikipedia