#norham

The battled towers, the donjon keep..."

Norham! I stumbled across this imposing pile a few years ago while exploring the Tweed. It struck me as a very practical castle; not somewhere you would fight a tournament, but somewhere you would fight. In the first stanza we're told of captives weeping in the dungeon, which sets the tone: despite the lazy breeze and the sagging flag, the slow sunset and idly humming watchman, this is a frontier outpost under constant threat of invasion. Marmion's bugle-blast breaks the peace and plunges us towards the action of the poem.

Scott liked his visual setpieces. Norham Castle is one, painted by Turner below. Lord Marmion is another. We don't need to know all this about his charger, his charger's rein, or indeed his charger's mane, but Scott likes to illustrate. Why not? If you don't have the internet - if you don't have another book to follow - then you want vivid images to savour for as long as possible. You might not have a picture of a medieval lord on hand, so Scott gives you one through text.

My pet theory is that this is what makes Marmion difficult. You're not just reading a poem; you're looking at a moving picture.

Pause and paint the canvas on your mind, then continue on, the world a little brighter...

Source details and larger version.

The information sign on the village green had me reaching for my phone.  Could Norham really have ever been "the most dangerous place in England"?  A quick fact check established that this was a credible claim.

Norham lies in the far north-eastern corner of England, within striking distance (by cannon, bow or slingshot) of Scotland across the River Tweed.

Through the Middle Ages and right up until the 17th century, the two countries kept invading each other.  The sign mentioned only the attacks by Scots (they seized Norham four times between 1136 and 1513 and had many more attempts, including two by Robert the Bruce in 1318 and 1319).  But that's fair enough: it's for the Scots to complain about English mischief north of the border.

The point is, for centuries Norham was not the place to be if you wanted a quiet life. The area was administered by the bishops of Durham, who were given near-royal powers in exchange for policing the lawless border.

It was a tough job. The castles they erected at Norham had to be rebuilt whenever the Scots razed them.  The current one, dating from the 15th century, was adapted to withstand artillery fire.

By the early 1700s, however, England and Scotland were tired of assaulting each other and decided to marry instead.  It was a union of convenience, not love.  The Scots were desperate for cash (they had been rather careless with their money, defying national stereotypes) and the English bought them out to focus on continental battles.

Now redundant as a defence, Norham Castle was still picturesque in the extreme.  Turner painted it 15 times, in increasingly stylised form.  The final version (below) dates from 1845, when the artist was 70.

After his death, it was dismissed as a clumsy sketch.  "Clearly the master had lost his touch," one National Gallery curator said.  "Maybe he was going blind," another said charitably.  The impressionists, though, recognised "Norham Castle, Sunrise" as the masterpiece it is.

The mid-19th century saw another instance of belated realisation.  The British government woke up to the fact that it no longer needed anyone to guard the border and stripped the Durham bishops of their remaining political powers.

Norham has not been dangerous for a long time.  It's a great place for the motorist to stop for a break.  The butcher's shop on the green makes sandwiches on demand.  After a delightfully simple lunch we crossed the bridge into Scotland.