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By Claire Plaisted
He stood on the small hill overlooking the village where the massacre had happened. Slowly he pulled his bagpipes towards him, taking a deep breath, he started to play a lament to engage those who’d lost their lives. The haunting melody sang out across the land. The souls of the weary soldiers watched on before ascending into the skies above, grateful for his guidance.
The sounds of the bagpipes made the locals cover their ears and wince at the ungainly sound bellowing out over the centuries.
The lone piper can still be heard today—if you listen carefully.
The Massacre at Sandbach, 3rd September 1651
The battle of Worcester was over, the Scottish had lost, bone weary and in retreat they marched forever forward, moving through towns and villages. A thousand cavalrymen led by General David Leslie, plodding onwards. Town after town getting closer to the border of Scotland all the time, praying for rest and food.
“Where are we to stop?”
“At nightfall,” General Leslie replied.
“The men can’ne take much more.”
“They’ll make it laddie.”
“What’s that noise?”
“A market by the sounds, mayhap we’ll stop here and rest.”
They marched down the main street towards the market rounding the last house to find village folk selling their wares on the common land.
“Looks like we be in luck laddie,” General Leslie smiled, nodding to the folk.
“Bloody English,” he snapped back.
“Aye, though not all are bad.”
Dusty, faces filled with grime, bedraggled clothes covered in blood, they moved forward. Soon they’d wish they hadn’t.
***
IT WAS THE 3RD SEPTEMBER 1651. Sandbach was holding a two-day fair, the whole village celebrating the coming harvest. The sun shone down, warming them, cheering them while others sold their wares. There was singing, dancing, eating, children dodging in and out of the crowds, between legs, a few pickpockets going for gold.
The day started early for the September fair. Each household had been busy baking, sewing, weaving and getting their wares ready to sell. Cows, hens, pigs, rabbits and pheasants all caged or tied to poles, ready for the cooks from the big houses to buy for their masters’ dinner table. It was a beautiful day.
Betsy cooked breakfast over the fire while Henry rounded up their children making sure they were dressed and clean.
“Go eat child,” he laughed, chasing his eldest into the house. His youngest mewled in his cot, he leant over with a smile, making the lad chuckle.
“Betsy, you need to feed him, and he stinks.”
“Aye love, you sit yourself down and feed, I’ll deal with him shortly.”
“Prayers,” said Ed.
“Bow your heads now,” said Henry, a devout protestant.
Prayers done they began to eat. Betsy picked up the baby, putting him to her breast where he suckled hard.
“We need to keep the children quieter or Mother will complain,” said Betsy.
“Not sure I like this lack of fun the Lord Protector wants,” mumbled Henry, his mouth full of food.
“You speak treason. Keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“Aye wife and you keep your manners. I’m head of the house,” he glared.
“Tis time for the market, we need a good spot. We have much to sell.”
“Aye, we have that, you been busy with your needlework,” he smiled once more. “Nowt to pretty I hope?”
“Of course not, just letters I copied from the bible.”
“Let’s look at you all?” The children lined up outside the house. “Jump on the waggon and we’ll be off to the commons.
The chill was moving off the air, the sun warming them. They sang hymns quietly as they moved towards the centre of the town.
Other families were gathering, smiling and happy, setting up their wares on the common land as was permitted by their High Lord. The children ran around together, enjoying the sun and games they were allowed to play.
Ed tumbled into his dad, nearly earning himself a cuff around the ears, ducking he scampered away towards the main road. He peered down the road, seeing dust been kicked up. His sister arrived by his side.
“What you looking at Ed?”
“Dunno looks like men marching this way.”
“We should tell da,” she grabbed his hand, they wove in and out of the adults arriving at their da’s stall.
“Da, men coming, come look see.”
“Busy lass, stop mithering me.”
“They look like soldiers da.”
Henry looked up, yelling for his wife. “Betsy, get your arse over here, I need you to look after...” he looked over his shoulder in the direction his daughter had pointed, his mouth dropping open in shock. He’d seen the Scottish cavalry, their weapons at their sides, their menacing dirty faces worrying him as they drew closer to the fair. They didn’t approve of the Scots. “Get the children and run to the town hall girl, we got trouble, we need to inform the Lord Radclyffe,” he said, picking up his staff.
“What trouble you dreaming up...” she screamed, seeing the mean looking cavalrymen for the first time. Grabbing her children’s wrists, she dragged them away, her eyes full of fear. Yelling to everyone to run for their lives while the men turned, grabbing anything they could use as weapons.
The town of Sandbach were Parliamentarians’ who were on the side of Oliver Cromwell the Lord Protector of England. When Henry realised who these bedraggled men were, he yelled out to the rest of the townsmen to grab arms. The two sides clashed, fighting, maiming, killing, scared of the evil look in the Scottish devils’ eyes. The cavalry whose only thought was to pass through soon realised they were in a bad situation. They continued to move forward, on to the cobbles, closing in on the lord manor. They fought like the devil, killing and maiming those who attacked them. Many fell and captured, weary and sore. Screams arose from horses as the fighting escalated. Townsmen continually scattered, re-grouping, continuing to fight as the slaughter grew. Blood ran thick on the market common and the nearby cobbles as the fight went past the Saxon Crosses. Horses ran, crushing people, rearing up in fright as they were struck by staffs and tools which the townspeople fought back with.
Time passed, until the Scots finally retreated the way they’d come. Over a hundred were taken prisoner, locked inside St Mary’s Saxon church. Many locals and Scots were killed leaving the commons red with blood, not a blade of grass to be seen. Dead horses, and farm animals, bodies of women and children who got in the way, looking up to the skies with sightless eyes. Moans and groans from the injured as they staggered around for help before collapsing from their wounds.
The prisoners of war placed behind the heavy locked wooden doors of the church could not escape their fate though. They would be there for many days waiting to be escorted to prisons and possible death. The bodies of the Scottish intruders were lifted onto waggons, including the wounded. The waggons were driven to the outskirts of Sandbach where pits had been dug, the dead tossed in, the wounded killed, joining them. One Scot wobbled to his feet, he stood staring sightlessly over the countryside, blood pouring down his face. Picking up his bagpipes he drew in a full lung of air, playing one last lament over the dying and the dead before collapsing into a heap, soon breathing his last.
Henry kicked him into the pit, rubbing his ears at the nasty sound of the bagpipes as the man fell on it, squeezing the air out.
“Bloody racket, how they can stand that noise I’ll never know.”
The pit was slowly filled in and never another word was spoken of the massacre which ruined their fair and the common land.
Grass never grew again, it stayed barren only used for the markets and fairs for the following generations.
***
THE BURIAL AREA BECAME known as ‘Pipers Hollow or Scots Hollow.’ It is said many have heard the lone piper play his last lament on his bagpipes as they travel on the motorway which passes ‘Piper Hollow.’ Some are convinced they’ve seen him too.
Since that bloody day, the common land also got a new name. Today it is known as ‘Scots Common,’ though many now call it ‘The Commons.’
