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Issue 9 - Edinburgh's deep, dark secrets

History & Heritage

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Scotland Magazine Issue 9

Scotland Magazine Issue 9
July 2003

 

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Edinburgh's deep, dark secrets

DIANE MACLEAN TOOK A SPINE-TINGLING TRIP DOWN INTO EDINBURGH'S UNDERBELLY AND ITS ‘MOST HAUNTED PLACE': MARY KING'S CLOSE

Edinburgh's deep, dark secrets (Issue 9)
Midway down Edinburgh’s Royal Mile stands the proud building housing the City Chambers. Built in the 1750s, it was a testament to the city’s burgeoning wealth, yet this building, magnificent in itself, sits on top of buildings even more intriguing. Edinburgh’s deepest, darkest secret, rumoured to be the most haunted place in the city, is Mary King’s Close, and it has lain beneath the City Chambers for over 400 years.

This close would originally have been a narrow walkway with houses reaching up on either side. It runs off at right angles to the Royal Mile at an incline. Over the centuries, starting with the building of the City Chambers, the whole close has been gradually covered. You would never guess that under the streets of Edinburgh lies a perfectly preserved close.

Now, after more than a year of historical and archæological research, Mary King’s Close has been opened up as a new tourist attraction. The close and the full story of its occupants is ready to see the light of day once more.

I took the trip on a glorious spring morning, swapping sunshine for underground cold. My guide was the servant-girl Agnes Chambers. Dressed in period costume, she took us down bare stone stairs in dim torch light, until daylight and the clatter of traffic disappeared.

When we reached the bottom, we saw the close. Dark and menacing, it vibrated with the past. Barely stopping, we were swept into the partially reconstructed house where Mary King lived in 1629. She owned and ran a shop on the High Street selling material, and dotted round the living room are spools of thread and yards of fabric. On the mantelpiece are gold quaichs and silver bottles, testimony to the wealth and influence that she enjoyed.

Moving through the close, Agnes lead us to the Laigh House or low house, where some of the city’s poorest lived. Sixteenth-century Edinburgh was not a place to be if you were poor. Here, in one extremely low-ceilinged room, a large family lived and slept. Lacking natural light, the room would have been lit by tallow candles, or lamps that burned fish-oil. With no plumbing or sanitation, all their waste went into two buckets. The smell must have been appalling, and the contents were thrown out into the close, dribbling down the steep incline towards the Nor Loch.

Here, the festering mess of the city squelched and bubbled, stinking and poisonous. Being poor and living on the ground floor, you had to take great care, for you were not the only ones to throw your waste to the pavement. From up above, servants from the wealthier apartments would hurl steaming buckets of muck out onto the streets below. If you were lucky, you were forewarned with a cry of ‘Gardez-lou’, if not, then the pungent contents of the buckets landed on your head. Small wonder then, that death walked the streets.

Moving into another home, we came across a tragic scene. This was the house of the Craig family. John Craig had been employed as a gravedigger in the local cemetery until July 1645 when the plague had arrived in Edinburgh. You can see him in the corner, wrapped in a shroud, whilst his wife and children huddle in delirium on the bed. Crouched over a small boy is the doctor, wearing a truly terrifying mask.
The mask, shaped like an eagle’s beak, was filled with herbs, which were thought to fend off the plague. The speed at which Edinburgh got through its doctors suggests it didn’t work! There have long been rumours that Mary King’s Close was bricked up during the outbreak of plague and everybody inside left to die. Dr Lorna Ewan, a historian who works for project masterminds the Continuum Group, has revealed new evidence to the contrary.

“The word used on documents of the time relating to plague victims is that they were enclosit. From that, some people understood that they were bricked up. We don’t think that’s actually what happened. They were quarantined in their own homes, but daily supplies of bread, beer and firewood were taken to them, and then the families were moved to quarantine areas outside the city walls.”

But whilst the gruesome idea of people being bricked into the Close has now disappeared, the rumours of hauntings refuse to die down. In another house, in the adjacent Pearson’s Close, there is a makeshift shrine, a chest overflowing with toys and dolls. This is Annie’s room. A number of years ago, a Japanese psychic visiting the room felt a presence. Terrified, she turned round to see a little girl with matted hair and dressed in rags tugging at her skirt. The girl said her name was Annie, and that she’d been left there when her family died of the plague. She was crying because she couldn’t find her doll. The psychic rushed out and bought a toy, which she left on a chest, hoping it would provide comfort to Annie. Since then, many visitors have brought dolls and teddies for the little ghost.

If that story isn’t enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, then you can settle down and listen to an audio re-enactment of the night of terror that the family of Thomas Coltheart spent in the next close. One wet and windy night, a whole series of visitations troubled the family, who cowered in terror as ghosts of people, animals and severed limbs rushed through their home.

Further down the close, the ghost of the Black Lady is said to walk, and, if you are still feeling brave, then visit the room where in 1535 Alison Rough murdered her son-in-law. Those with a strong stomach can ponder on her feelings as she was drowned in the Nor Loch for her crime.

After scaring us witless, Agnes took us back to the recreated close itself, where we huddled in small groups well away from the shadows. No one talked much as they walked past the house of Andrew Chesney. He lived here alone in the abandoned close until he left in 1901. From there it’s a short walk up the steep slope and back up the stairs and into the 21st century.

Walking out into the fresh air, it is worth peeking into one of the inhabited uncovered closes, like Fleshmarket Close, that still shoot off the Royal Mile. I don’t know whether I believe in ghosts or not, but I was left with the feeling that the dust I brushed off my coat wasn’t the only thing from the 16th century that I’d brought back. Looking around at the coffee shops and bustle, I gave thanks for a life of sanitation, lighting, plumbing and comfort.

And, in passing, remembered the short, gloomy lives of the people who lived here a long, long time ago.