In 18th century Scotland, in the town of Airdrie, lived a woman called Maggie Ramsay. Maggie was believed to be a witch, even to be in league with the devil, for she spent much of her time walking by the Auld North Burn (Old North Stream). Here was where she gathered the herbs and flowers for use in her potions. She spoke as she walked, some said to herself, others said to demons.
The banks of the burn were gloomy at the best of times and, when Maggie perambulated there, most folk left her to herself. She was known to walk the place at night but nobody was brave enough to follow her to see what she did. In fact, nobody cared to enquire too closely into Maggie’s comings and goings.
Maggie’s family were wealthy and, as a young girl, she fell in love with a farm worker employed by her father. Finding out about the affair, her father fired the young man and forced him to leave the area. Demented with love, Maggie searched the length and breadth of Scotland for her sweetheart but never found him. Eventually giving up all hope, she settled near the Auld North Burn where she eked out a living as a wise woman or spey wife.
Such characters had been commonplace in Scotland since earliest times and were accepted as useful members of the community. They acted as agony aunts, giving advice and guidance to the confused and worried. They also prepared herbal medicines which, if they weren’t effective, were usually harmless. Few of them purported to use magic but some came under suspicion of being witches.
Most spey wives had a lucrative sideline in fortune telling and Maggie was no different in this respect. She built up quite a large clientele and women (and some men) came from as far away as Glasgow to hear Maggie tell their fortune.
One day, when Maggie was about 30, a stranger came through the town. He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. A tall, dark man with a ring in his right ear, he walked to the front of Maggie’s little house and stood there silently. Maggie came to her door and looked at the stranger. With a scream of fright she fainted on the spot. The stranger, satisfied with the effect of his presence, turned and walked silently away.
Some said that the stranger was Maggie’s lost love, others that he was a darker soul altogether. Whoever he was, Maggie wasn’t telling. But she changed from that day on and became unfriendly to the townsfolk. She no longer gave freely of her skills but demanded payment that none dared refuse to give.
It was then that her long, lonely walks with an invisible companion began. She walked beside the stream in all weathers, stopping only to rest in the hollow of a huge rock in the middle of the burn and comb her long hair which was said to reach her feet when let down. The rock became known as Maggie’s Chair and no one else dared sit in it.
For many years she lived alone, speaking only when necessary and being shunned by others – unless, of course, they needed her skills. She became famous for her bad temper and clients stopped coming from Glasgow.
Maggie moved through middle life into old age as a lonely and unhappy woman. New medicines were replacing her old remedies and folk laughed at her fortune telling. They still wouldn’t walk alone with her or follow her on her expeditions into the wild Scottish night and nobody was brave enough to look her in the face. After all, maybe there were such things as witches…
The banks of the burn where Maggie walked were known at the time as Fiddlenaked Park. Legend had it that all of Scotland’s witches met there on at least one night every year. Some flew in on broomsticks, some flew in on pigs and others rode in on men turned into horses for the occasion.
If the mood was on her, Maggie would sit in her chair in the middle of the burn and make predictions for the benefit of the local folk. She famously predicted the two tier bridges of Coatbridge, saying that a man would fly, above a man who rode, above a man who walked, above a man who sailed.
Once unique in the world, the bridges of the neighbouring town of Coatbridge are a road bridge over a canal with a railway bridge over the road bridge. If you walked over the road bridge while a barge sailed underneath you and a train passed overhead with, above that, an aeroplane, you could be forgiven for shivering at the memory of Maggie’s prediction.
Maggie vanished in the early 1800’s. She left as quickly as she came and told no one of her departure. Some say the dark stranger called for her. Before she left she placed her curse on the Auld North Burn. Anyone who misused it, she proclaimed, would have no luck in this world. She would also pay them a visit on a dark and lonely night…
Maggie’s Chair was destroyed in 1832. A man called Forsyth drilled a hole in the seat and filled the hole with gunpowder. The resulting explosion, it’s said, could be heard in Edinburgh. Forsyth used the rubble for mending roads but his business failed and he died alone of the drink.
In 1865, an Airdrie teacher reprimanded her class for believing in the legend of Maggie and swore to walk alone by the river bank at night, throwing horse dung in the water. She was found the next morning, hanging from a willow tree growing at the spot where Maggie’s Chair once stood.
Children from Airdrie and Coatbridge often tried to tease their teachers into repeating the episode but, so far, there have been no takers.
The following poem was written by William Mac Hutcheson or Mcutcheon, of Airdrie in 1868:
The Aul’ North Burn
Tae sing that spot o’ youthfu’ joys
Nane has a better richt
I’ve row’d upon its flow’ry braes
Frae day’s first blink till nichtThat was yae spot we laddies left
When it grew gloaming grey
We heard Maggie whurrin’ ‘mang the whins
An’ bushes on the braeBut monie a moonlicht game we played
Nane feared for Maggie’s spell
At tig, upon the smooth green grass
Beside the Aul’ Wee WellBut time wi’ magic wand has swept
Across this fairy scene
And these loved spots hae passed awa
As they had never beenStill monie a heart far, far awa
Can tell ilk nook an’ turn
In fancy aftimes join the sports
By Airdrie Aul’ North Burn
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