The Hanging of Harry Polwart
by S. R. Crockett
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: A servant reports on a public hanging in the Galloway town of Kircudbright in the eighteenth century.
_____________________________________________________________________
This is the report of Davie Veitch, commissioner extraordinary from the house of Rathan, who was charged to attend the execution of one Harry Polwart, convicted of murder in the first degree, and to return the same night with a full account of the last words and testimony of the aforesaid.
“It was a brave day, and a pour o' folk a' the road to Kirkcudbrie. I declare it was like a holy fair, only instead o' Testaments and Psalm-buiks in white napkins, ilka body carried flasks and wee bottles o' brandy made flat for the pocket—very serviceable and commodious. I had some.
“Weel, we gat to Kirkcudbrie in coorse o' time, and I declare the street were fair black wi' fowk. There were booths and tents and drinkin' wickers, a' wattled wi' sauch wands as if it had been a Stanykirk sacramental occasion, or maybes Borgue Fast Day. And the singin' and dancin' in the square, afore the puir laddie that was to be hangit cam' oot, was fair sickenin' to behold.
“Sae awa' I gaed roond the big bulk o' Maclellan's Wark, and there at the back, awa' frae the feck o' the crowds I gets my e’en on a score or twa o' muckle swank fellows, and though the mornin' was braw and fine, wi' a kindly sun and nae wind, every man o' them was wrappit up in his plaid cloak, as if it had been blawin' snaw in the month o' December.
“So I keeped as near them as I could, and faith! when I gat a glimpse of their faces, I kenned mair nor half o' them. Sae I left the lads wi' the plaids at the back o' the gaol, for I didna like their looks, and comes roond again, elbow-in' my way through the tents and booths. And then there gaed up a great cry frae the folk, for the marshal men began to drive them this way and that. The tents and sweetie-stands were cowpit and whammelt here and there, as if there had been a sudden and maist violent hurricane had descended out o' the lift o’ heeven. Weel, hurricane or no hurricane, at ony rate the booths were knockit heels ower heid in a minute, and a' the aipples an' brandy-balls disappeared in the tuilzie. I gat some!
“Then oot frae the barracks where the sodjers had been musterin' (it was just a wheen hooses they turned the puir folk oot o') we hear the soond o' the trump and kettledrum. Fegs! they gied me pin-and-needles doon my back, to think o' the puir blind wretch in there that wad be hearin' them, too. And then a muckle sheet that they had coverin' a kind o' black platform afore the Castle fell to the grund wi' a whush! And there, in front o' oor e'en was the awesome gallows, and the hangman, Saunders Lennox, and anither lad, frae I kenna where, standin' waitin'. And as I am a leevin' man, though when the folk first saw the black ‘wuddy' and the ‘drap', they gied a kind o' soond like ‘A-A-A-Ah!'—in ten minutes they were busy at the drinkin' again, and some o' the ill-set burgh loons were playin ‘tig’ between the blacky grewsome legs oh! Faith, and I do not wonder, for there on the platform itsel’ stood Saunders, the hangman, crackin’ jokes to his mate and testin' the slip-knot o’ the hempen rape wi’ his teeth! Heard ye ever the like o' that, Sunday or Saturday?
“Then, wi’ a brisk rataplan, rataplan, and a muckle jingle o' braw-glancin' swords and a shakin’ o’ bridle-bits, the dragooners marched into the square, dividin’ here and formin’ there, drivin’ the folk afore them like sae mony sheep.
“And the wonder o' it was that they appeared to care nae mair than if they had been on the side o' Ben Gairn, wi' no a soul near them forbye the whaups and the black-faced sheep! Oh, it maun be a graund thing to be a dra-gooner.
“But there was nae mair daffin’ amang the crowd, nae knockin’ doon o’ auld wives' stalls, but a queer dinnelin’ kind o’ silence as the sodjers arrayed themselves in a muckle square afore the scaffold. And the strange thing was that they turned the heids o' their horses to the platform and the beasts' hurdles to the crowd. And whenever the folk began to be ower pressing, yin o' the sergeant loons wad say a word, and syne half a dizen of the muckle black chargers wad begin to back in amang the folk and mak' play wi' their heels. Levellers, indeed! My certes! gin ever it comes to a fecht wi' the Levellers, the dragooners has only to turn their horses and chairge hinderlands on, and—weel, Davie Veitch will no be there! Na, na! Davie will be ‘ower the hills an’ far away’ as the auld sang says.
“But this wasna for lang. A' the folk began to look at a window i' the side o’ the keep. The frame, if ever it had yin, was gane, and noo it lookit juist like a door, and was hung wi' black on ilka side. Then for a lang minute a' was quiet as pussy, and the queer dinnelin' in my inside gat aye the queerer. I didna appear to myself to hae a single article in my wame aneath my heart, and that gaed thump-thump, heavy and slow, as if it wad burst my verra ribs.
“And fegs, as the sweat brak’ cauld on me, I wasna sae sure that after a' it micht na be Davie Veitch that was gaun to be hangit that day.
“And a’ the while there was a muckle drum somewhere that had been duntin' muffled-like and steady—no yin o' thae wee skirr-r-rin' yins, but a muckle slow, solate, Day-o'-Judgment kind o' drum that it made me fair meeserable to hear. And a’ in a minute it stoppit, and there—there at the black window was a minister comin’ through wi' an open buik in his hand. He was dressed in his gown and bands, like an Episcopian, and ahint, wi' a sodjer richt and left o' him, his hands pinioned to his sides, but for a' that straight as the fir-tree in the clints o' Screel, cam forth the man they were there to hang—Hairry Polwart.
“Ay, and though the folk had cursed him afore, ye ken, and caaed him ‘bluidy murderer' and ither siclike ill names, as soon as they saw him, and his sichtless e'en as white as bane, there grew up a kind o' peety for him, too. For the folk began to mind that, after a', it was nocht but a couple of gangers that had been made awa' wi'!
“‘And Guid kens,’ said the man at my elbow, 'there's nae lack o' them that I ken o' in this country-side, that they should make siccan a to-do aboot a odd couple!'
“Sae instead o' cryin' to the hangman to ‘gie him a short drap and a lang kick’, as is the custom, there fell sic a silence amang the folk that we could hear the minister busy at his prayin’, though the words that he spak’ we couldna hear.
“Then cam’ the sheriff, and dooms grand he lookit wi’ the sword o’ justice carried in state afore him; and he had something to read frae a paper, I ken na what. But last o’ a’ he askit Hairry Polwart if he had onything to say before he was Maunchit into eternity. That was what he caaed being hangit, but I jaloose it was a' the same thing.
“Howsomever, the gypsy was a fine-pluckt lad, and answered sae that everybody could hear that he had nocht to say, and that if they were ready, he was.
“Then the folk gied a bit cheer that died oot maist afore it could be caaed a cheer. But the sodjers looked sideways at yin anither, and says here and there atween the ranks, ‘We are hanging a man this day!'
“And though I had been watchin’ the scaffold wi' a’ my e'en, yet I hadna missed to tak' a glance by whiles at the wee cloud o' lads wi' the plaidies that keepit sae close thegither. I could see them workin' in and workin' in till they were close to the horses' heels o' the dragooners. And syne, when I lookit closer, plague on it I if they hadna in the midst o' them twa men grippit. I couldna think what their purpose micht be, but I wasna keepit lang in suspense. For the sheriff ended his speechification and stood back. Then Saunders Lennox began to bustle and mak' himsel' great, stampin' on the platform o' the scaffold, tuggin' at the rope, and arrangin' it carefu'-like roond the puir lad's neck like a ‘gravat’—syne aff wi' it again, as if he couldna get the fashion o' it to his mind.
“‘Stand a wee this way, ma man’, we heard him say, ‘an' ye will swing some easier’. And faith—there got up a ‘Booh!' amang the crowd at this, and a voice cried oot: ‘Be quick, Saunders, or we'll gie ye a bit swing yoursel', and never chairge hangman's dues for it neither!'
“Then a' at yince, when every e'e was on the platform and waitin' for the faain' o' the drap there cam’ a sudden disturbance at the far side o' the square. The dragooners' horses were pushed aside like sae many collie dogs, and the score o' plaided lads rushed into the clear plot o' grund afore the scaffold. The sodjers drew their swords and plunged after them, but afore a blade had time to faa some yin amang them cried oot: ‘Up wi’ them, lads!'
“And there on the scaffold, maist touchin’ Hairry Polwart, him wi’ the death-bonnet drawn ower his sichtless e'en and the hangman's cord round his neck, stood the twa deid excisemen. Supervisor Craig and Robin Trevor, that he had been condemned for murderin'!
“Oh, it was graundly dune, and sic a yell gaed up as never was heard aboot the auld waa's o' Maclellan's Wark. ‘Craig!’ they cried, and syne, ‘Trevor!' ‘To the wuddy wi' them!' ‘What business had they cheatin' us like this, and us come to see a hangin'!'
“For, ye see, bein' excisemen, everybody within ten mile kenned them by headmark—if it were only to keep oot o' their gate, and lee to them when they cam' speerin' questions. And, faith o' my body, the Kirkcudbrie folk was fair wild to be cheatit, and were for hangin' the gangers there and then, Craig and Trevor baith. Ay, and they micht hae dune it, too, had the sodjers no been there!
“But the sheriff gaed up and talkit to the excisemen, and a wee, ill-lukin', hurkled body, like a dwarf or brownie, hirpled up after him, for a' the world like a puddock crossin' the road afore rain.
“But the plaided lads had ta'en themsel's aff withoot ever a Guid-day or a Fare-ye-weel! There wasna yin o' them to be seen. And aye the folk raged and cried oot, some yae thing and some anither. And some were for gangin' on wi' the hangin' o' Hairry Polwart on general grunds, as it were—because he was a gypsy, and if he hadna killed thae twa he had dootless slain plenty o' ithers—or at least stealed sheep whilk in the e'e of the law is the same thing.
“Some, again, were keen for hangin' up the excisemen and some the sheriff. Yin or twa even thocht that the minister was at the bottom o' the hale affair, so as to hae something to preach aboot for the next sax months—him being dooms fond o' ‘improvin’ the occasion, as it is caaed. And sae a score or twa, but maistly Dissenters, cried for the minister to be thrown doon to them in his goon and bands. But, indeed, for the maist pairt the fowk didna ken what they wantit, save and except that they had comed there to see somebody hangit, and hangit somebody behoved to be! Sae they were catchin' a messan yellow dog that belanged to naebody, but was a kenned and notable thief, to swing the puir beast in Saunders Lennoxes rope, when presently comes the sheriff to the front, and the bearer o’ the sword o' justice cries for silence. Then the sheriff speaks again, and he says how that was a maist happy and unlooked-for termination to a solemn occasion, and how it appeared that these two gentlemen of his Majesty's excise had, by order of a certain noted outlaw named Hector Faa— Here, there were loud yells of execration. ‘Hang Hector! Hang the yella dowg!' and mony siclike speeches.
“Then the sheriff continued. ‘These gentlemen have by order, as I say, of this noted outlaw, been secreted and sequestered (in the common tongue, hidden away), though treated with no indignity, till delivered by the good offices of Mr. Thomas Ankers, vintner and change-house keeper at Tarkirra!'
“‘Weel dune. Grisly Tam,’ cried a voice at this from the crowd. ‘Hang him—he’s ower ugly to leeve!' cried others.
“‘So,’ continued the sheriff, ‘though I cannot anticipate judicial procedure, there is no manner of doubt that the prisoner Polwart has been wrongly condemned, and that he will, in the ordinary course of justice, shortly be set at liberty. Furthermore, it is the duty of all good burgesses and lieges forthwith to disperse to their homes, and the captain of the soldiers has our commands to see that this is done in the King's name.’
“And that is a' that I ken about the hangin' that was nae hangin', and aboot the comin' to life of twa men that were never deid!
“Except that the yella dowg bit me in the leg when I was tryin' to rescue it frae a violent death! But the puir thing meaned nae ill. Ye see it belanged to Mick McGormick, the sweep, and maybes had na been accustomed to kindness, as yin micht say!”
This story is an excerpt from The Dark o' the Moon, first published in 1902 and republished in 2014 as Volume 8 of The Galloway Collection. The Collection is available in both ebook and paperback format from Ayton Publishing.
To find out more about S. R. Crockett and his writing, please visit The Galloway Raiders website.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A servant reports on a public hanging in the Galloway town of Kircudbright in the eighteenth century.
_____________________________________________________________________
This is the report of Davie Veitch, commissioner extraordinary from the house of Rathan, who was charged to attend the execution of one Harry Polwart, convicted of murder in the first degree, and to return the same night with a full account of the last words and testimony of the aforesaid.
“It was a brave day, and a pour o' folk a' the road to Kirkcudbrie. I declare it was like a holy fair, only instead o' Testaments and Psalm-buiks in white napkins, ilka body carried flasks and wee bottles o' brandy made flat for the pocket—very serviceable and commodious. I had some.
“Weel, we gat to Kirkcudbrie in coorse o' time, and I declare the street were fair black wi' fowk. There were booths and tents and drinkin' wickers, a' wattled wi' sauch wands as if it had been a Stanykirk sacramental occasion, or maybes Borgue Fast Day. And the singin' and dancin' in the square, afore the puir laddie that was to be hangit cam' oot, was fair sickenin' to behold.
“Sae awa' I gaed roond the big bulk o' Maclellan's Wark, and there at the back, awa' frae the feck o' the crowds I gets my e’en on a score or twa o' muckle swank fellows, and though the mornin' was braw and fine, wi' a kindly sun and nae wind, every man o' them was wrappit up in his plaid cloak, as if it had been blawin' snaw in the month o' December.
“So I keeped as near them as I could, and faith! when I gat a glimpse of their faces, I kenned mair nor half o' them. Sae I left the lads wi' the plaids at the back o' the gaol, for I didna like their looks, and comes roond again, elbow-in' my way through the tents and booths. And then there gaed up a great cry frae the folk, for the marshal men began to drive them this way and that. The tents and sweetie-stands were cowpit and whammelt here and there, as if there had been a sudden and maist violent hurricane had descended out o' the lift o’ heeven. Weel, hurricane or no hurricane, at ony rate the booths were knockit heels ower heid in a minute, and a' the aipples an' brandy-balls disappeared in the tuilzie. I gat some!
“Then oot frae the barracks where the sodjers had been musterin' (it was just a wheen hooses they turned the puir folk oot o') we hear the soond o' the trump and kettledrum. Fegs! they gied me pin-and-needles doon my back, to think o' the puir blind wretch in there that wad be hearin' them, too. And then a muckle sheet that they had coverin' a kind o' black platform afore the Castle fell to the grund wi' a whush! And there, in front o' oor e'en was the awesome gallows, and the hangman, Saunders Lennox, and anither lad, frae I kenna where, standin' waitin'. And as I am a leevin' man, though when the folk first saw the black ‘wuddy' and the ‘drap', they gied a kind o' soond like ‘A-A-A-Ah!'—in ten minutes they were busy at the drinkin' again, and some o' the ill-set burgh loons were playin ‘tig’ between the blacky grewsome legs oh! Faith, and I do not wonder, for there on the platform itsel’ stood Saunders, the hangman, crackin’ jokes to his mate and testin' the slip-knot o’ the hempen rape wi’ his teeth! Heard ye ever the like o' that, Sunday or Saturday?
“Then, wi’ a brisk rataplan, rataplan, and a muckle jingle o' braw-glancin' swords and a shakin’ o’ bridle-bits, the dragooners marched into the square, dividin’ here and formin’ there, drivin’ the folk afore them like sae mony sheep.
“And the wonder o' it was that they appeared to care nae mair than if they had been on the side o' Ben Gairn, wi' no a soul near them forbye the whaups and the black-faced sheep! Oh, it maun be a graund thing to be a dra-gooner.
“But there was nae mair daffin’ amang the crowd, nae knockin’ doon o’ auld wives' stalls, but a queer dinnelin’ kind o’ silence as the sodjers arrayed themselves in a muckle square afore the scaffold. And the strange thing was that they turned the heids o' their horses to the platform and the beasts' hurdles to the crowd. And whenever the folk began to be ower pressing, yin o' the sergeant loons wad say a word, and syne half a dizen of the muckle black chargers wad begin to back in amang the folk and mak' play wi' their heels. Levellers, indeed! My certes! gin ever it comes to a fecht wi' the Levellers, the dragooners has only to turn their horses and chairge hinderlands on, and—weel, Davie Veitch will no be there! Na, na! Davie will be ‘ower the hills an’ far away’ as the auld sang says.
“But this wasna for lang. A' the folk began to look at a window i' the side o’ the keep. The frame, if ever it had yin, was gane, and noo it lookit juist like a door, and was hung wi' black on ilka side. Then for a lang minute a' was quiet as pussy, and the queer dinnelin' in my inside gat aye the queerer. I didna appear to myself to hae a single article in my wame aneath my heart, and that gaed thump-thump, heavy and slow, as if it wad burst my verra ribs.
“And fegs, as the sweat brak’ cauld on me, I wasna sae sure that after a' it micht na be Davie Veitch that was gaun to be hangit that day.
“And a’ the while there was a muckle drum somewhere that had been duntin' muffled-like and steady—no yin o' thae wee skirr-r-rin' yins, but a muckle slow, solate, Day-o'-Judgment kind o' drum that it made me fair meeserable to hear. And a’ in a minute it stoppit, and there—there at the black window was a minister comin’ through wi' an open buik in his hand. He was dressed in his gown and bands, like an Episcopian, and ahint, wi' a sodjer richt and left o' him, his hands pinioned to his sides, but for a' that straight as the fir-tree in the clints o' Screel, cam forth the man they were there to hang—Hairry Polwart.
“Ay, and though the folk had cursed him afore, ye ken, and caaed him ‘bluidy murderer' and ither siclike ill names, as soon as they saw him, and his sichtless e'en as white as bane, there grew up a kind o' peety for him, too. For the folk began to mind that, after a', it was nocht but a couple of gangers that had been made awa' wi'!
“‘And Guid kens,’ said the man at my elbow, 'there's nae lack o' them that I ken o' in this country-side, that they should make siccan a to-do aboot a odd couple!'
“Sae instead o' cryin' to the hangman to ‘gie him a short drap and a lang kick’, as is the custom, there fell sic a silence amang the folk that we could hear the minister busy at his prayin’, though the words that he spak’ we couldna hear.
“Then cam’ the sheriff, and dooms grand he lookit wi’ the sword o’ justice carried in state afore him; and he had something to read frae a paper, I ken na what. But last o’ a’ he askit Hairry Polwart if he had onything to say before he was Maunchit into eternity. That was what he caaed being hangit, but I jaloose it was a' the same thing.
“Howsomever, the gypsy was a fine-pluckt lad, and answered sae that everybody could hear that he had nocht to say, and that if they were ready, he was.
“Then the folk gied a bit cheer that died oot maist afore it could be caaed a cheer. But the sodjers looked sideways at yin anither, and says here and there atween the ranks, ‘We are hanging a man this day!'
“And though I had been watchin’ the scaffold wi' a’ my e'en, yet I hadna missed to tak' a glance by whiles at the wee cloud o' lads wi' the plaidies that keepit sae close thegither. I could see them workin' in and workin' in till they were close to the horses' heels o' the dragooners. And syne, when I lookit closer, plague on it I if they hadna in the midst o' them twa men grippit. I couldna think what their purpose micht be, but I wasna keepit lang in suspense. For the sheriff ended his speechification and stood back. Then Saunders Lennox began to bustle and mak' himsel' great, stampin' on the platform o' the scaffold, tuggin' at the rope, and arrangin' it carefu'-like roond the puir lad's neck like a ‘gravat’—syne aff wi' it again, as if he couldna get the fashion o' it to his mind.
“‘Stand a wee this way, ma man’, we heard him say, ‘an' ye will swing some easier’. And faith—there got up a ‘Booh!' amang the crowd at this, and a voice cried oot: ‘Be quick, Saunders, or we'll gie ye a bit swing yoursel', and never chairge hangman's dues for it neither!'
“Then a' at yince, when every e'e was on the platform and waitin' for the faain' o' the drap there cam’ a sudden disturbance at the far side o' the square. The dragooners' horses were pushed aside like sae many collie dogs, and the score o' plaided lads rushed into the clear plot o' grund afore the scaffold. The sodjers drew their swords and plunged after them, but afore a blade had time to faa some yin amang them cried oot: ‘Up wi’ them, lads!'
“And there on the scaffold, maist touchin’ Hairry Polwart, him wi’ the death-bonnet drawn ower his sichtless e'en and the hangman's cord round his neck, stood the twa deid excisemen. Supervisor Craig and Robin Trevor, that he had been condemned for murderin'!
“Oh, it was graundly dune, and sic a yell gaed up as never was heard aboot the auld waa's o' Maclellan's Wark. ‘Craig!’ they cried, and syne, ‘Trevor!' ‘To the wuddy wi' them!' ‘What business had they cheatin' us like this, and us come to see a hangin'!'
“For, ye see, bein' excisemen, everybody within ten mile kenned them by headmark—if it were only to keep oot o' their gate, and lee to them when they cam' speerin' questions. And, faith o' my body, the Kirkcudbrie folk was fair wild to be cheatit, and were for hangin' the gangers there and then, Craig and Trevor baith. Ay, and they micht hae dune it, too, had the sodjers no been there!
“But the sheriff gaed up and talkit to the excisemen, and a wee, ill-lukin', hurkled body, like a dwarf or brownie, hirpled up after him, for a' the world like a puddock crossin' the road afore rain.
“But the plaided lads had ta'en themsel's aff withoot ever a Guid-day or a Fare-ye-weel! There wasna yin o' them to be seen. And aye the folk raged and cried oot, some yae thing and some anither. And some were for gangin' on wi' the hangin' o' Hairry Polwart on general grunds, as it were—because he was a gypsy, and if he hadna killed thae twa he had dootless slain plenty o' ithers—or at least stealed sheep whilk in the e'e of the law is the same thing.
“Some, again, were keen for hangin' up the excisemen and some the sheriff. Yin or twa even thocht that the minister was at the bottom o' the hale affair, so as to hae something to preach aboot for the next sax months—him being dooms fond o' ‘improvin’ the occasion, as it is caaed. And sae a score or twa, but maistly Dissenters, cried for the minister to be thrown doon to them in his goon and bands. But, indeed, for the maist pairt the fowk didna ken what they wantit, save and except that they had comed there to see somebody hangit, and hangit somebody behoved to be! Sae they were catchin' a messan yellow dog that belanged to naebody, but was a kenned and notable thief, to swing the puir beast in Saunders Lennoxes rope, when presently comes the sheriff to the front, and the bearer o’ the sword o' justice cries for silence. Then the sheriff speaks again, and he says how that was a maist happy and unlooked-for termination to a solemn occasion, and how it appeared that these two gentlemen of his Majesty's excise had, by order of a certain noted outlaw named Hector Faa— Here, there were loud yells of execration. ‘Hang Hector! Hang the yella dowg!' and mony siclike speeches.
“Then the sheriff continued. ‘These gentlemen have by order, as I say, of this noted outlaw, been secreted and sequestered (in the common tongue, hidden away), though treated with no indignity, till delivered by the good offices of Mr. Thomas Ankers, vintner and change-house keeper at Tarkirra!'
“‘Weel dune. Grisly Tam,’ cried a voice at this from the crowd. ‘Hang him—he’s ower ugly to leeve!' cried others.
“‘So,’ continued the sheriff, ‘though I cannot anticipate judicial procedure, there is no manner of doubt that the prisoner Polwart has been wrongly condemned, and that he will, in the ordinary course of justice, shortly be set at liberty. Furthermore, it is the duty of all good burgesses and lieges forthwith to disperse to their homes, and the captain of the soldiers has our commands to see that this is done in the King's name.’
“And that is a' that I ken about the hangin' that was nae hangin', and aboot the comin' to life of twa men that were never deid!
“Except that the yella dowg bit me in the leg when I was tryin' to rescue it frae a violent death! But the puir thing meaned nae ill. Ye see it belanged to Mick McGormick, the sweep, and maybes had na been accustomed to kindness, as yin micht say!”
This story is an excerpt from The Dark o' the Moon, first published in 1902 and republished in 2014 as Volume 8 of The Galloway Collection. The Collection is available in both ebook and paperback format from Ayton Publishing.
To find out more about S. R. Crockett and his writing, please visit The Galloway Raiders website.
About the Author
S. R. Crockett was born in Balmaghie, Galloway, in 1859 and died in France on April 16th, 1914. During his life, he had over 60 novels published (many of them serialised) and hundreds of short stories/sketches appeared in the popular magazines. He was one of Scotland’s bestselling and best known authors in his day, but now is barely known of. To commemorate the 100th anniversary of his death, The Galloway Raiders has been set up and a major collection of 32 of his Galloway-based fictional works has been republished by Ayton Publishing Limited.
To find out more about S. R. Crockett, you can join The Galloway Raiders for FREE at www.gallowayraiders.co.uk
To find out more about S. R. Crockett, you can join The Galloway Raiders for FREE at www.gallowayraiders.co.uk