A real-life disaster in Kirkliston, 6th
September, 1823
The story so far . . .
Patie Stuart, a 78-year-old worker on Humbie Farm along with three of his colleagues had been clearing debris from a blocked water well. Unconvinced that the well walls were in a sound condition, Patie had descended into its depths for a closer inspection. However, as he was about to return to the surface there was a massive collapse of the walls sending a cascade of masonry and earth tumbling down upon poor old Patie and burying him alive. Over 4 hours had passed since Patie’s involuntary interment and despite frantic efforts to reach the old man, his colleagues had still not gained sight of him down the shaft. Only his faint voice revealed he was still alive, but obviously injured. So far, there was no sign of the village doctor whom one of the farm workers had been dispatched to summon and the situation was looking increasingly desperate for Patie with every passing minute . . .
Back in the village, Jamie the farm hand who had been sent to find the doctor was soaked in sweat after running himself ragged. He’d gone firstly to the doctor’s house in the High Street only to find him out on a call to an outlying farm. The doctor’s wife was uncertain which farm, but thought it might be the new one at Wheatlands to the east of the village. After sprinting over a mile and a half to the property his desperation heightened on discovering the doctor had already left minutes earlier without giving any indication where he was headed next. Jamie was in quandary -what should he do? Perhaps the doctor had returned home and he’d missed him on the way? There was nothing else for it - he’d have to run all the way back to the doctor’s home in the village and see if he had returned. Twenty minutes later, Jamie arrived gasping for breath at the surgery only to discover there was still no sign of the doctor! How could he resolve his dilemma? Should he give up and return to the Humbie well? Should he wait at the doctor’s house? - but Patie might be dead before the doctor returned! Or should he just keep searching the village in the hope he might stumble across the doctor out and about? Just then, the answer to his prayers arrived in the shape of the Kirk minister, Rev Charles Ritchie who was paying a social call to the surgery. Jamie breathlessly poured out his story and pleaded for advice on what to do next.
“Th' doctor cuid be anywhere wi`in a mile or sae, young Jimmy. Tae joab aimlessly aroond th' parish wull dae nae guid at a'. Whit we need is a signal that he wull ken as an alarm. Whin than villain Bonaparte wis threatening us honest Christians 'twas arranged that th' kirk bell wid sound in th' event o' invasion. Let us huv a go that coorse o' action – we hae nought tae lose by it 'n' an intelligent gentleman lik' th' doctor wull surely return tae investigate.”
Jamie had long hankered after a shot at ringing the church bell and within 5 minutes he was clanging away for all his worth under the watchful eye of the minister who quietly observed that the manic and disjointed peeling would summon the devil himself, God help us!
Back at Humbie Farm, wee Tam and his workmate continued to pick gingerly at the remaining debris covering Patie Stuart. Judging by the ever-increasing volume of oaths and curses emanating from below, it was obvious that they were very close to reaching Patie at last and would soon need the ministrations of the doctor, assuming that he would ever appear.
“Whaur th' de'il is that laddie 'n' th' doctor?” muttered wee Tam under his breath. “They’d better nae be supping ale in Castle Hoose or I’ll swing fur thaim baith!”
In fact, the doctor was doing nothing of the sort. After setting the broken leg of one of the Wheatlands farmhands, his horse had thrown a shoe on his way back to the village necessitating a visit to one of the local farriers at the smithy in Main Street. As the finishing touches were being applied to the shoe, the farrier and the doctor were both startled by the sudden clanging of the church bell barely a hundred yards away.
“Don’t tell me Bonaparte’s ghost haes escaped fae Saint Helena!” joked the farrier. “It mist be a guid swimmer, ah reckon - unless it hitched a hurl aff yin th' Four Horsemen o' th' Apocalypse!”
“Don’t ye joss sae readily mah man - that bell signals some sort o' emergency! 'Ere, haun me th' reins 'n' i’ll settle mah accoont wance I’ve discovered what’s afoot.”
Without further ado, the doctor sped out of the smithy yard and whipped his mount into a canter towards the Kirk.
By now, it was 4 o’clock in the afternoon and five agonising hours since Patie’s entombment. How could an old man of 78 survive such a lengthy ordeal?
[To be continued . . . ]
-ooo-
You have already learned of the well pump located within the Newliston Arms in Part 2 of this little saga. However, there were many, many more scattered about the village. As promised, here is an extract from an 1855 map showing the locations of various pumps and wells. The text is very obscure in places, but I have highlighted a couple of reference points to guide the reader. I’ve also featured on the map below and in a Google Earth street view, a property in Main Street where a pump once stood. It is opposite the ‘Carpe Diem’ coffee shop and dates back to the time of the 1855 map.
Next time . . . the FINAL instalment of ‘Ding Dong Bell – Patie’s in the Well!’ At last, learn the fate of our intrepid, entombed protagonist!
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
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