It was long ago that
I was born 'last century' on 29th April 1896 at Knockdon, a sheep
farm in the Parish of Straiton. That was deep in the South Ayrshire
Hills .. at the end of the road .. 2 miles up a branch road from
Tairlaw Bridge. A road which followed the Water of Girvan, beyond
the Tairlaw Linn and wound one link after another through the
valley and meanders past Glenouchie on the shoulder of the hill
.. and the old stones of the Clark house on the left and Glentraig,
another old dwelling on the right. Beyond the old wooden bridge
and higher up the hill from the 'Ancient Cairn' on Tairlaw Hill.
Traces of cultivation show on the hillside near it .. and a few
trees .. and further to the right, coming over the shoulder of
that hill are traces of a drove road. Often in my childhood I
saw droves of sheep coming over that track and spending the night
on our Laigh Hill. Perhaps on their way to Dalmellington and
on to Ayr markets. It was a picturesque road with slopes to Water
of Girvan Links and the meadows.
Knockdon was a typical hill farmhouse with a few additions. It was HOME to my brother and I and how we loved it and the little burn that babbled so close to our home. It was an endless source of our delight, rising in the Black and Widow's Lochs on Beoch Farm and passing through the Laigh Hill and passing through the deep glen right to our house. we knew every inch of that glen and gloried in it. history has it that a smuggler's cave was in the glen, but long ago had caved in without a trace. There was a romantic pinnacle between two rutuletes and the climb to the top of that rugged height gave a wonderful view of the concourse of two burns. The one on the right was a steep waterfall with little water but a lot of little plants and maidenhair ferns. How many long gone people like me must have sat on that height and gloried in it. further down the glen there was a deep pool, at a bend in the glen, with a huge round spreckled granite stone almost blocking the burn. all fascinating, but peopled with long gone ghosts. who were they? there was no path, but the course of the burn was scattered with big stones and one progressed by leaping from one to another. At the top of the glen were hazel trees and often in childhood we gathered their nuts. lower down the burn the steep sides were covered with tall trees. Trees were scarce in that part of the valley and only about a mile upstream on the Water of Girvan, trees petered out at a place where trembling poplars grew. The only one rowan tree in that desolation grew on the Doon Hill. my father in later years carried young seedling trees from near and far and grew a little 'planting' which sheltered the house. My father gloried in his garden and experimented in shoots or sowing nips of all sorts. Flax from Ireland, of which we had a small bright blue bed. Fruit trees, except gooseberries; and black, red and white currents and raspberries, did not repay his experiments, except a plum tree. A huge bed of all varieties of rhubarb flourished and my father always cosetted some roots by covering and feeding well to give us our first taste of spring on his birthday, the 7th March. Few tins in these days, but an endless supply of fresh fruit and vegetables. it was a very big garden but he dug it well and had a very special early red kidney potato, we all loved. There was abundance of milk and endless milk puddings, we all loved with fresh fruits. Porridge and real cream for breakfast, home cured bacon and abundance of eggs. An occasional blackfaced sheep supplied us with the most delicious mutton. Blackfaced wethers were sold off Waterhead and many bought by the Lairds around Ayr and kept in their parks to supply their cooks, and Waterhead Wether mutton was a speciality in the Smithfield Market, London. There were abundance of hares and some rabbits. Game was preserved for the shooting tenant but some blackcocks, grouse, snipes etc reached our table. My mother was an excellent cook, and well I remember the excellent cockerels we enjoyed stuffed with a special breadcrumb and parsley recipe of hers, no dried up tasteless chicken and all free range! We did not know what that meant. She was an excellent 'hen wife' and we had the brownest eggs and her settings of eggs were always so prolific. To have had no farm life experience, the daughter of an M.D. and lived in a country town, near transport to Glasgow etc., it is unbelievable that she should have settled to such an isolated life. There were no shops round the corner, no butchers, a general merchant's van called once a week, when we got about one dozen loaves to see us over till next call. There was always a basket of oatcakes hanging from the kitchen ceiling and several home cured hams. A bagful of flour and oatmeal filled the divisions of the "Gernal" and a crock of salt. Every other day she did some baking of plain and syrup scones on a huge old girdle. Her pancakes were out of this world, made with syrup and an egg, and a piece of new scone split with syrup was our delight. There always was some home made cake, usually a ginger bread with huge blue raisins, the like of which I have never tasted since these childhood days, when, after we were supposed to be sleeping, the cry went up we were hungry.
Margaret Agnes Ballantine Knox (nee Murdoch)
