It looked like a decent day for a walk. Overcast, but still and cool, though not cold. The weather forecast had a suggestion of light rain for where I was heading to, however nothing to cause any concern. Raring to go, I headed off down the east coast, along the A1, the A1107 and then down a single track road to a small and muddy car park just outside the farm at Dowlaw. Everything was soaking from the recent storms and heavy rains, and I had been warned that the paths around here might be slippy, so I had a decent pair of walking boots on.
Beside
the car park was a sign for the footpath to Fast Castle, a place I’d been
intending to visit for a while after hearing about how it was perched on a
rocky promontory, and surrounded by some precarious cliffs with only a narrow
bridge leading to it. Sounds like fun to
me.
Off
I went, down a sodden and muddy path through a bit of woodland and over a stile
with a warning sign on it about the unfenced cliff ahead. After a short walk into some fields, I came
to a gate with various warning signs on it and another about the unfenced cliff
ahead. KEEP TO THE PATH it warned
me. Well not to worry, given my severe
dislike of heights I wouldn’t be deviating from the path to peer over any cliff
edges.
A
narrow, stony path then led through a hillside of winter brown heather, with a
view over the North Sea. A sea with huge
swelling waves that rumbled against the nearby cliffs. A sea still angry and swollen by the recent
storms.
As
I walked through the heather, I got a view of a further hillside of green
fields dropping down and down to the steep cliffs where the ruins of the castle
stood. The scattered remains of the
castle looked like the jagged teeth of an ancient, broken jawbone.
The
path, which had become one of sodden red earth, then became narrower and
narrower as it led me down the hill. In
parts it had almost become a small stream from the water flowing off the land
above. I came to some wood framed steps
that then led down to a path that cut perilously close to the cliff edge. Well, I say that, but on a lovely dry
summer’s day, it would probably be fine.
However, on a wet day it didn’t look the safest being narrow, muddy, and
next to a short ledge of wet grass angled at a degree that would make a great
slide to, and over, the cliff edge. In my imagination I could easily visualise
myself slipping and then sliding off into oblivion. Putting my fear, and fevered imagination, to
one side, I cut carefully along the path to an area where the land widened out
again. An area beside some rocks that
were covered in lichens. More lichens
than I think I’ve ever seen before. The
rocks were a mass of grey green lichens looking out towards the sea. After passing by these rocks, the ruins of
the castle came into view, and I walked over to the narrow concrete bridge
leading over to it.
Crossing
the bridge was fun, in a hair raising way.
The rusting iron chains at each side are low and on reaching the steps up
to the promontory there is a slab of rock that cuts through them at an angle,
meaning that I had to go towards the cliff edge, and a sheer drop to certain death,
to get up. By the steps I spotted another
chain hanging down which I used to help me scramble up onto the steps and then
over onto the castle grounds. That was
when the rain started.
I
wandered around the sparse remains of the castle and looked out on the stunning
views over the coast and the sea. I
wondered what it must have been like to look out over a storm raging sea from
the castle when it was in its heyday. Spectacular
and slightly frightening I would imagine.
Below me the sea boomed against the rocks with a violence that could
almost be felt in the ground beneath my feet.
On
making my way down to the far end of the land on which the castle had stood, I
came to a triangular section of wall perched by the cliff edge. The cement between the rocks was wet and
crumbling and I wondered how soon it would be before this too collapsed into
the sea. There was a path by it that led
to the cliffs facing out to the sea. I
thought about cutting down it for a view out, but it was so wet and boggy that
I decided against it. I didn’t really
fancy the idea of ending up in the sea and being washed out into the ocean, to
never be seen again.
As
I cut back along past the fallen piles of rock and crumbling wall remains of
the castle the rain really came in. Not
the light rain that had been forecast, but heavy, heavy rain. The sort of rain that hits so hard it almost
bounces back off the ground. I took
shelter by one of the crumbling walls and tried my best to keep out of the
downpour. As the rain poured on and on,
I wondered about those who had lived and served in this castle all those years
ago. For a small castle on an
inaccessible and inhospitable outcrop of rock, Fast Castle has a rich history.
Fast
Castle is one of these places where very little is known about its beginnings. Evidence was found that the peninsula on
which it sits had been inhabited in the iron age, though the first time the
castle is recorded is in 1333. In the early days of the castle, it was
occupied by an English garrison that used it as a base to harry and pillage the
local villages and towns. This tradition was carried on by various English governors
of the castle, the last of these being Thomas Holden. In 1410 the castle was seized from him in a
surprise attack by Patrick Dunbar, son of the Earl of Dunbar, with ‘a
hundred hardie followers.’
The
castle then had various owners until it was acquired by Patrick Home in 1488. Home appears to have been a bit of a thug and
it is recorded, that given his reputation, Officers of the Crown were in fear
of their lives when trying to serve summonses on him, instead pinning the
notices to church doors. At one time, Patrick
and his brother seized Coldingham Priory, threw the clergy out, and took the lands
as their own. For this Patrick was
excommunicated by the Pope, which was a pretty big deal back then. In 1500, Patrick was given charge of several prisoners
who had been accused of taking part in the murder of Sir Robert Ker, the Warden
of the Middle Marches who was responsible for border security. Patrick held the men in confinement at Fast
Castle, and there they all quickly, and conveniently, died.
In
1503, Patrick and his wife played host for a night to Margaret Tudor at Fast
Castle. Margaret was on her way to
Holyrood to marry James IV. A huge number
of followers came with her, though most of them were housed at Coldingham, the
castle not being big enough to house them all.
When Margaret departed the next
day it was recorded that she was ‘attired in a rich riding dress and mounted on
a beautiful white pony, with footmen on either side…with portcullises
embroidered on their jackets.’ As she
left canons were fired from the castle walls to celebrate her visit and
forthcoming marriage.
On
the death of Patrick, the castle was inherited by his son, Cuthbert. He, however only had the castle for a few
years before being killed in 1513 at the Battle of Flodden, where the Scottish
army was defeated, and King James IV was killed. Chaos then reigned in Scotland for several
years as the Duke of Albany fought various other factions for control. Alexander Home, who had inherited the castle,
had originally been a supporter of the Duke of Albany but turned against him. For this he was taken prisoner and
executed. Albany also had Fast Castle captured
and partially destroyed.
In
1521, the castle was rebuilt, after it, along with the Homes estates, were restored
to George Home. However, the castle
again changed hands when in 1547 it was captured by the English army during the
‘Rough Wooing’. It was then recaptured by
the Scots in 1549 when a group of men gained entry by pretending to be locals
supplying food that had been ordered. On
entering the castle, they took the soldiers stationed there by surprise and seized
control of it. Something that may not
have actually been that difficult as it seems that only around twelve or so
soldiers were stationed there.
In
1567, Fast Castle hosted a meeting between the English ambassador, Sir Nicholas
Throckmorton, and various Scottish nobles.
The agenda of this meeting was to discuss Mary, Queen of Scots, who was
at that time being held prisoner in Lochleven.
The meeting appears to have reached no resolution though Throckmorton
did comment on how uncomfortable his stay at the castle had been, writing that it
was ‘fitter to lodge prisoners than folks at lybertye…’
In
1570, the castle was again captured by the English after Queen Elizabeth
suspected that it was being used to help Catholic rebels from England escape. After being held by the English for several years,
the castle ended up with the Logan family and with probably its most notorious
owner, Robert Logan.
Robert
Logan was a bit of a ne'er-do-well, being described as ‘ambitious, expensive,
avaricious…and unscrupulous.’ He had several
run-ins with those in power due to his involvement with people seen as traitors
to King James VI, and he also appears to have committed several robberies, or
had his servants commit them on his behalf.
Always on the lookout for money, he came to the belief that there may be
buried treasure at Fast Castle. In hope
of finding this he entered into a contract with John Napier, the mathematician
and occultist, in which he tasked Napier to ‘search and seek out, and by all
craft and ingine to find out the same, or make it sure that no such thing has
been there.’ It seems likely that
Napier never carried out the search and no gold or treasure was recovered from
the castle. However, none of this is
what Logan is really remembered for, what made him infamous was his involvement
in the Gowrie Conspiracy.
On
5 August 1600, King James VI was out hunting with his courtiers, when he was
approached by Alexander Ruthven, brother of the Earl of Gowrie, and was invited
to attend at Gowrie House, where he was told a foreigner, who was probably a
spy, had been seized and was in possession of a large amount of money. The King was at first reluctant to go, but
was eventually persuaded that the money could be his to confiscate if he
attended at the house and questioned the supposed spy. So, off the King rode with his large retinue
alongside him, and a few hours later arrived at Gowrie House. There he was wined and dined before being
shown into an attic room where the prisoner was supposedly being held. On entering the room, he was confronted by an
armed man, one of Alexander’s servants. Alexander
then held a knife to the King’s chest and told him that if he tried to escape
or raise the alarm he would be killed. Leaving
the King with the servant, Alexander made his way to the courtyard, where the
King’s retinue were waiting, and told them that the King had just left and expected
them to follow. Alexander returned to
the room where the King was being held and a struggle then broke out during
which the King managed to force open one of the windows and shout for
help. Members of his retinue, who had
not yet left the courtyard, heard his cries, and ran to the room to save
him. During the ruckus that followed,
Alexander was killed. His brother John, the
Earl of Gowrie, then arrived on the scene.
Seeing his brother’s body, he drew his sword and ran at the King’s
followers. They promptly killed him.
So
how, you may ask, was Robert Logan involved?
Well, a few years after his death, Logan’s lawyer, George Sprot confessed
that he had various letters from the Earl of Gowrie to Logan in which they
discussed a plot to kidnap the King. The
plot appears to have been that the Gowrie brothers would seize the King and
take him to a boat on the Tay, the river that ran past Gowrie House. He would then be taken to Fast Castle and
held there, probably so that someone else, maybe the Earl of Gowrie, could then
seize the throne. For his part in this,
Robert Logan was to be given the nearby, and much nicer, castle at Dirleton.
Sprot’s
confession led to the bizarre scene of Logan’s bones being dug up from his
grave and then taken to court for trial.
There he was found guilty of treason and the few properties his family
had remaining were forfeited.
It
is not clear how much of the Conspiracy was real and how much just imagined or
made up. Many believed that the King had
attended at Gowrie House with the express intent of taking revenge on the
Gowrie’s and seizing their lands. After
all, they had made the life of his mother, Mary Queen of Scots, miserable, as not
only had they been her captors at one point, but they had also been complicit
in the murder of her favourite courtier, David Rizzio and also her husband
Darnley. However, there is also the matter
of the letters. These were examined by
various people who had known and had dealings with Logan and the Earl of
Gowrie. They testified that the writing was
theirs. So, was there a conspiracy? Well, kidnap, extortion and power grabs were
pretty common back then, so, there is a good chance this took place. However, we’ll never know for sure.
One
thing that Logan’s infamy led to though, was that he became a bit of a
bogeyman. Tall tales and legends spread
about his evil doing, especially around Leith, as his family home at Lochend
Castle in Restalrig was nearby. It was
said that he had an uncontrollable lust and would have a giant henchman of his seize
any woman he took a fancy to. He would
then take them to his lair at Lochend castle and force himself upon them.
One
day Logan was passing by the house of a wealthy Leith merchant when he spotted
his daughter looking out from one of the windows. She was renowned for her beauty and Logan became
obsessed with her, having his coach drive past her house numerous times a day
to catch a glimpse of her. Deciding that
he must have her, Logan ordered his giant henchman to take her. The giant then broke into the house at night
and seized her from her bedroom. When
the girl was discovered to be missing there was a huge hue and cry, and the
townsfolk demanded that Logan hand the girl back. He denied any knowledge of her disappearance
and swore that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. Logan’s giant henchman was killed by a group
of angry Leith locals shortly after this, and legend has it that he is buried at
Giant’s Brae in Leith Links. A few months later Logan’s reputation was in tatters,
and he had sold most of his lands off, including Fast Castle. It was then that the missing girl was found,
locked in the dungeons of the castle, but otherwise safe and unharmed.
Anyway, getting
back to Fast Castle, it went through several more owners, before being
abandoned and falling into ruin. In 1871
much of it was destroyed in a lightning strike.
Rumours
about there being buried treasure in the castle grounds have persisted down the
years. It is said that there is over £1
million in Spanish gold buried there.
Money that was brought over from Spain to finance a Spanish invasion of
England through Scotland. In the 1970s a
team of treasure hunters were given permission to look for the gold. They found none, but they did find the
centuries old skeleton of a man who appeared to have been murdered, some broken
pieces of pottery, a few bronze items, and a musket ball.
After
a good ten minutes of sheltering from the rain there was a lull and I decided
to make my way back out from the castle ruins.
As I approached the concrete bridge, I left a Skulferatu in a crumbling
piece of wall just in front of it. I
then carefully made my way down the steps and back across the bridge. Then having just made it past the scary bit
of path by the cliff edge, the rain started again. Heavy, heavy rain that soaked me through
within minutes. My vision of what was
around me was almost nil given the ferocity of the rain, so head down I looked only
at my feet as they squelched up the running river that had been the muddy path. Sticking religiously to the path I soon
arrived back at the car, a soggy wet mess.
A soggy, wet mess desperate for a cup of tea. I really should have brought a flask. Well, hopefully I’ll remember to do that next
time.
The
coordinates for the location of the Skulferatu are –
Latitude
55.932447
Longitude
-2.223772
what3words:
lushly.snacks.polka
I
used the following sources for information on Fast Castle –
