Boxton Nigley

The village of Boxton Nigley sits nestled under the lea of Summoner’s Ridge sheltered from the winds that come clamouring and shouting down from the North.  One has to watch out for those winds and the strange beings that ride upon the stormy clouds. 

There be many aery wights in the heavens and upon the earth dwelling among the rocks and rills and secret places in the gloaming forest glens. Some of these wights are benign, some not, some lesser wights are far removed below us, some are greater wights that cause men fear, but none of these wights are so fearful as we ourselves.

Centuries before, many centuries before, Duncan MacFardle migrated down from the West Marche; truth be told, he fled, he and all his family of thieving cattle thieves.  It was an injustice to be forced to flee merely for stealing cattle.  After all what else could he and all his neighbours do to support their squalling families?

Duncan and his wife Rosie found this sheltered vale with its little river and it was for them not only a place of refuge from the wind, but a place of refuge from the Campbells.  In those days many needed a refuge from the Campbells.  The Campbells can prove to be difficult houseguests, ask Alastair MacIain, the chief of the MacDonalds of Glencoe.  He was late in taking his oath of allegiance to the Protestant William and Mary.  The Campbells came for a wee visit and stayed a week or two and then the order came, “Kill the MacDonalds” and the Campbells rose up and slew their hosts.  Everlasting shame rest upon the memory of Robert Campbell of Glenlyon!

Over the next few years most of the members of Clan MacFardle slowly followed Duncan to Boxton Nigley bringing with them many of their neighbour’s cattle and not a few of their horses as well.  If you ask any of the Bells of Blackethouse about the MacFardles, they’re apt to reply, “The MacFardles?  Well, at least they’re not the Campbells.

The problem with fleeing is that you invariably bring yourself with you.  That was something that Duncan MacFardle hadn’t understood.  The Campbells were not the real problem; after all not all the Campbells were guests at Glencoe and even when they’re fierce, sometimes it’s for good reason. 

The MacFardles were not a bouquet of wild pansies either.  They were more like brambles without the flowers or the fruit, and at times they were as nasty a lot as you could wish for, not that you would.   That can cause a lot of distress among the neighbours and in itself is the major un-admitted cause for the MacFardle migration to Boxton Nigley.

Be that as it may, there are many these days in full flight from their spiritual homes seeking refuge in a new Boxton Nigley, not realizing what it means to be in the lea of Summoner’s Ridge.  There upon the Ridge in the darkest of starless nights walks the spectre of the Summoner; he calls you to judgment and there is no bribe big enough to satisfy his lust for you.  Judgement always comes.  Whether you flee from the East Marche or the West Marche you inevitably take yourself with you, and eventually your new Boxton Nigley will become as contaminated as the old Boxton Nigley from which you fled. 

No matter where you go the Campbells will follow.  The Campbells are coming, The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho! The Campbells are comin’, Oho! Oho! The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Boxton Nigley.  Not only have that, but even worse; when you flee you taken yourself and all your wild pansies with you.  All of our sectarian groups fleeing from their impure churches to found a new Holy Boxton Nigley would do well to remember this.

Somewhere behind this was the Jacobite war.  The MacFardles were nominally Catholic.  What that meant was that they supported the House of Stuart in their attempts to regain the throne which had been seized by the dirty Protestants and eventually handed over to those German Protestants, the House of Hanover, so it was a religious war, if you believe that. 

Duncan MacFardle voiced his religious convictions succinctly, “Scotland for the Scots.  The rest of you keep out.”  In a way this was rather odd as Boxton Nigley was south of the River Tweed and it was a long night’s ride back to West Marche; that is to say, Boxton Nigley is a very Scottish  place, a small island of Scottishness in the north of England.  There is nothing quite like a small enclave of Scottish expatriates seeking to intensify their general Scottishness as a hedge against the world around them.

Every living soul in Boxton Nigley was a MacFardle, so there was no use saying “Angus MacFardle;” there were several Angus MacFardles; Angus the Blacksmith, Angus the Butcher, and Angus the Poet who was a useless sort of dreamer.  There was Ronald the Husbandman, Ronald the Mailman, and Ronald the Cooper who made the barrels for Ronald the Brewer.  There was Mince Pie Annie, and Annie the Seamstress; there was Flowers Felicity, and Vicarage Felicity.  

In the middle of it all were Elder Duncan, and Gravedigger Duncan, and Duncan the Non-Juror.  He was an Anglican priest and therefore sort of a Protestant and sort of a Catholic, but quite alright because as a Non-Juror he had refused to take the oath to William and Mary.  Stout fellow!  Even if he was a Protestant!   All of them were MacFardles, every one of them all settled down to live happily forever after except for one small but very real reality; they brought themselves with them and sooner or later their troubles were to start all over again.