The Anarchy – When Clitheroe was ruled by Scotland!

You are always guaranteed a good read when you buy Northern Life. From cover to cover, it is packed with excellent articles, enthralling stories, and nostalgia-inducing poems. A past edition contained the A to Z of Clitheroe article. The first letter, A for Anarchy, awakened a nascent memory of a conversation I had some 50 years ago in Berwick upon Tweed.

I was returning home after working in Aberdeen when my car juddered to a halt just as I crossed the border.

“I think the problem must be the electrics,” said the AA man after several unsuccessful attempts to get me started. “I will tow you to a garage to check it out.” To wile away the hours while it was being worked on, I decided to explore the town, my last port of call being a museum in a former military barracks. I barely began browsing the exhibits when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder followed by a polite “Excuse me, sir.” I turned and found myself facing a middle-aged lady. She introduced herself as the curator, and after warmly welcoming me to the museum, she asked me to sign the visitor’s book, adding, “We are very proud of our museum. We get visitors from all over the globe. It is lovely to see where they come from. Last week, we had someone from Bannockburn. I was about to say that Bannockburn is not all that far away when, with a chuckle, she said, “That is Bannockburn in New Zealand, of course!” After seeing that I lived in Clitheroe, her eyes lit up.

“‘Clitheroe! Ruled by Scotland,’ I spluttered.”

After seeing that I lived in Clitheroe, her eyes lit up. “Good heavens,” she said, “what a coincidence Mr Lauder. Do you realise that our towns have a shared history?” “How do you mean a shared history?” I replied, looking somewhat perplexed. This time a mischievous smile played on her lips. “Down the centuries we have both been ruled by Scotland; 13 times in Berwick’s case. England finally wrested back control of the town in 1482, and the fortifications you will have seen as you came into the museum were built to show they meant to keep it. “Clitheroe! Ruled by Scotland,” I spluttered. “Berwick, I can understand with you being close to the border, but we are almost two hundred miles south.” At this point, she invited me into her office and, over coffee and the most delicious homemade shortbread biscuits I have ever tasted, patiently explained that between the years 1135 and 1153, England was wracked by a civil war.

On the death of Henry the First, his daughter Matilda and his nephew Stephen battled for the throne. Stephen eventually emerged as the winner. Locals called this period the nineteen-year winter. Historians called it the Anarchy.

Seeing the country in such disarray in 1141, David the First of Scotland decided it was the ideal time to extend his rule into England. Many bloody battles were fought, but eventually, David got the upper hand and held dominion over Cumbria, Northumberland, most of Yorkshire, and the North West of England down to the river Ribble and the Pennines.

“So, why are we not still part of Scotland?” I queried. “That,” replied my host, “is due to David’s son and heir, Henry, dying.” “For the life in me, I cannot see why that should make a difference. After all, his father was still on the throne, wasn’t he?” I said, “I’m intrigued. Please tell me more.” Realising she had a willing listener, she warmed to her subject. Henry died in 1152. Unfortunately, David died a year later, and because of the loss of his son, he was succeeded by his 12-year-old grandson Malcolm, who would be Malcolm the Fourth.”

“Many bloody battles were fought, but eventually, David got the upper hand.”

“Ah, I see now. It was Malcolm who gave back the territory his grandfather had craftily taken during the Anarchy,” I said. “Well, not quite. Several years later, Henry was responsible for Scotland relinquishing its rule over England.” “But I thought you said Henry had died?” “I did, but this was another Henry. Henry the Second of England.” “Now my head is spinning. Didn’t you say earlier that Stephen was the king?” “He was, but in 1153, Matilda’s son Henry looked over the water from his home in France and decided to invade England.”

After the initial panic, there were only skirmishes rather than pitched battles, and even these became spasmodic when Henry’s troops found he had run out of money to pay them. Unable to return to Normandy, he appealed to his mother for money, but neither she nor his uncle were prepared to help him because they had not approved of the expedition in the first place.

The two sides finally met at Wallingford, but the church stepped in and brokered a truce to stop the country from being dragged into another civil war. Stephen met Henry in Winchester, and it was agreed that Stephen would be allowed to rule the country until his death, after which Henry, not Stephen’s son William, would succeed him. Henry didn’t have long to wait because Stephen died the following year on the 25th of October. After securing the throne, Henry became extremely averse to having part of his country under Scottish rule and forced young Malcolm to give up his English dominions in return for confirming his rights to the Scottish Earldom of Huntingdon.

As I drove home later that day, I could not help but muse about how different my life would have been had it not been for this series of events. I am glad it worked out as it did, though. It is not that I have anything against Scotland; on the contrary, I have both holidayed and worked there several times over the years; it is just that somehow, I can’t see myself wearing a kilt, and I certainly could not play the bagpipes!

NorthernLife March/April/May 23