Skip to content
Join our Newsletter

Breaching Hadrian’s Wall

The challenge of travelling from the Highlands of Scotland to the outposts of Roman England

It’s only about 200 miles from the Isle of Skye on the northwest coast of Scotland to Carlisle in northern England – a mere half-day drive by Canadian standards. But allowing for Scottish distractions two days turned out to be barely enough time. Aside from the physical beauty of the landscape, heather-green glens accented by stark rocky crags, bright yellow splashes of gorse and fields of bluebells, the countryside abounds with relics of its long, turbulent history. The remains of fortified towers still cling to the rocky headlands of Lochs facing the stormy North Atlantic and side roads, leading to mysterious ruins from another era, invite exploration.

Before leaving Canada we had arranged to meet our UK friends, Alan and Pat, for dinner in a particular Carlisle pub, so there was some pressure to keep moving. But there are things that just can't be missed and Eilean Donan Castle is one of them. We were barely off the Isle of Skye when we stopped to take a photo, and then another photo. By the time we had finished admiring and touring the castle it was well past noon and time for a pub-lunch in the nearby town of Dornie. "We'll make it up tomorrow," I told myself.

Perched on a tiny islet at the entrance to Loch Duich, Eilean Donan Castle is linked to the mainland by an elegant stone-arched bridge. If it were possible to capture the essence of Scotland in one image it would be a picture of this castle against a backdrop of rocky hills rising above the clear waters of the Loch. Featured in the movie Highlander , the stark stone walls of the two main towers are connected by an elaborate system of defensive parapets. Inside the high arched doorway a labyrinth of halls and stairways lead to observation slots that were once manned by Jacobite warriors.

In 1719 a force of 300 Spanish soldiers occupied the castle in an attempt to help the Jacobite Highlanders capture the British crown for the deposed James Stuart, the Old Pretender. In the ensuing battle the castle was pounded into rubble by cannon fire from British frigates. The defenders surrendered, the rebellion fizzled out, and the skeleton of the wrecked castle sat empty for almost 200 years. Rebuilding began in 1912 but it was not until 1932 that the bricks were finally back in place and the faithfully restored castle was again open for inspection. Today it contains a magnificent collection of 18th century artifacts, including a sword used at the Battle of Culloden, that fateful turning point in Scottish history.

Determined not to get sidetracked again we made it as far south as Oban where our curiosity was piqued by a strange circular structure resembling the Roman Colosseum perched high up on a ridge above the harbour. We found a parking spot on North Pier and, before hiking up to the ridge, spent an hour poking around the docks and waterfront streets. In the summer Oban is the jumping-off point for tourists heading to the islands of Mull, Coll, and the outer Hebrides. But during our visit in May the town was quiet and, except for Betty and me, and possibly the disgruntled ghosts of the McCaig family, the bizarre stone structure on the ridge was deserted.

McCaigs Folly, as it has been dubbed, was commissioned in 1890 by local banker and philanthropist John Stuart McCaig. The intent was to provide work for unemployed stone masons and ultimately to create for himself and his family a monument replete with a central tower and bronze statues of deserving McCaigs. Unfortunately John died and the philanthropic funding dried up before the tower was built and before the statues were cast. But for generations of photographers the archways in the empty perimeter wall frame stunning views across the Firth of Lorn to the Isle of Mull.

By the time we got back to our car we were cold and it was time for dinner. The seafood at the Shellfish Bar on Railway Pier was too good to pass up. Besides it was getting colder and starting to drizzle. We found a B&B and settled in for the night. "We can make it up tomorrow," I told myself.

In the morning, the drizzle had turned to cold rain and, as we headed south for Carlisle, I cursed myself for procrastinating. By the time we got to Ayr the drops spattering the windshield were cored with ice that built up on the wipers. Somewhere in northern England our friends, Alan and Pat, were also headed for Carlisle but there it was already snowing. Weeks earlier we had planned to meet in Carlisle, find a B&B, and spend several days hiking together in the Lake District. But in the words of Robbie Burns, "The best laid schemes ...... Gang aft a-gley."

That evening, in the cozy warmth of a Carlisle pub, we ordered a Guinness with our dinner, gave thanks for our safe arrival, and swapped tales of our respective drives. Outside it was still snowing.

"Welcome to jolly old England," said Alan as we began working on plan B. Hiking in the Lake District without snowshoes was definitely not an option. The road across the Pennines to Edinburgh and Newcastle was blocked and a general travel advisory encouraged us to just stay put and have another Guinness.

The first thing Betty and I did was turn in our car and move in with Alan and Pat. As a native Brit Alan had developed the inverse reflexes that come with a lifetime of driving on the wrong side of the road. He had also mastered the art of going into a roundabout and exiting in the desired direction of travel – a manoeuvre that I frequently managed to botch. It was great to sit back, let him drive, and not worry about ending up in the wrong place.

With access to the high country blocked we turned our attention to rambling about the lowlands where the remains of 1,800 year-old ruins date back to the glory days of the Roman Empire. Carlisle is located near the western end of Hadrian’s Wall and over the next few days, as the freak snowfall melted back, we followed its crumbling remains eastward and upward.

During the Roman occupation of England, from AD43 to AD410 the legionnaires along the frontier were constantly harassed by Pics and other wild and unruly Highland types. Finally in AD122 Emperor Publius Hadrian despaired of ever conquering or assimilating the northern barbarians and decided to draw "a line in the sand." The line consisted of a wall, eight feet thick, 16 feet high, and 80 Roman miles (119 km) long. Hadrian’s Wall, the greatest engineering feat ever undertaken by the Empire, stretches across the country from Newcastle on the North Sea to Bowness-on-Solway near Carlisle on the Atlantic Coast.

Milecastles, numbered from zero in the east to 80 near Carlisle, were built precisely one mile apart along the entire wall and each milecastle housed a small garrison of soldiers. South of the wall the vast Roman Empire extended unchallenged across Europe and into Africa. North of the wall the Highland "barbarians" remained defiant, unconquered, and a constant headache for the Romans.

Near Milecastle 40 Alan pulled into a small parking lot and we set out on a hike along the crest of Hadrian’s defensive barrier. No longer 16 feet high, the wall has been a handy source of building blocks, scavenged for everything from farm outbuildings to sheep paddocks. But the path along the diminished wall follows the crests of ridges that still provide great views of the rural English countryside.

Three miles into our hike we arrived at the major Roman Garrison of Housesteads. Except for foundations little remains of the barracks and forts that once housed 800 Roman soldiers. For almost 300 years the wall and its defenders provided a degree of stability that encouraged the growth of adjacent civilian communities and farms. The garrisons themselves gradually became more British than Roman and when their Empire began to crumble, when paycheques from Rome failed to reach the northern frontiers, some soldiers left; others took up farming. By AD410 the Roman occupation of Britain had fizzled out but the borderlands between Scotland and England, continued to be a bitterly contested battlefield for another thousand years.

Today the remains of Hadrian’s Wall lie entirely within the boundaries of modern England but symbolically at least its crumbling ruins define the "line in the sand" between Scotland and England. For me this is where our tour of Scotland ended and our exploration of England began.