"The Bow," Major Weir's house in Edinburgh, Scotland.
As usual, modern comments are added in red.
Major Weir Reveals All
by Paul B. Thompson
Nebula Editor
[obsolete email address deleted]
They didn't want to believe him. What were the authorities of Edinburgh to do? Here was a man, respected by all, a war hero, devout Christian, role model for the young, standing before them and confessing to the most foul crimes and blasphemies imaginable. Was he mad? Was he telling the truth? The most learned physicians and theologians in the city were summoned to examine Major Thomas Weir, to find out if his awful revelations could possibly be true.
Thomas Weir was born sometime around 1596, in Lanark, Scotland. By 1641 he was a lieutenant in the Scottish Puritan Army, arming radical Protestants who were opposed to the rule of England's Charles I. When the English Civil War broke out in 1642, Weir enlisted in the fringe Covenanter wing of the Parliamentary forces. He served with some distinction, and by 1649 was appointed Major in command of the city guards of Edinburgh -- a military and police post. He retired in 1650 and assumed a civil service job with the city government. As he entered old age, widower Weir lived with his spinster sister Jane in an odd, turreted house in Edinburgh known as "The Bow."
He was much admired by the pious for his eloquent and fervent prayers. It was said of Weir that he was "... so notoriously regarded among the Presbyterian strict sect, that if four met together, be sure Major Weir was one... many resorted to his house to hear him pray." The Major cut a striking figure, too. "His garb was still a cloak, and somewhat dark, and he never went without his staff. He was a tall black man, and ordinarily looked down to the ground; a grim countenance and a big nose."
Many people commented on Weir's staff. It was made of thornwood, with heads carved into it. He was never without it, and usually leaned on it during long prayer sessions.
In the spring of 1670, when Thomas Weir was 76 years old, he suddenly began to confess to horrible crimes. He first reported them to the elders of his church, but the rumors of his claimed crimes soon reached the ears of the city Provost. At first, no one believed him. Senile dementia was well known even in the seventeenth century, and the church elders and city officials quickly decided Major Weir had lost his mind. He insisted on the truth of his confession however, and the Provost was therefore obligated to send doctors to examine him, to determine if major Weir was sane or insane.
What exactly did Major Weir claim to have done? Many of his crimes were sexual. He said he had had incestuous relations with his sister Jane from the time she was ten until she was fifty, and only ceased then because he no longer found her physically attractive. Weir claimed to have had legally incestuous relations with his step-daughter, Margaret Bourdon, and had many illicit affairs with servant girls of his house. Worse, Major Weir admitted to bestiality with mares and cows. It was recalled that in 1651 a woman in Lanark reported seeing him in flagrante delicto with a mare, but she was not believed. The poor woman was publicly whipped for telling lies about such an eminent and pious man!
Major Weir's perversions were just the tip of the iceberg. His motive for all his sexual misdeeds was that he was a witch, in the 17th century sense of the word -- a sorcerer and Devil-worshipper. His close colleague in sorcery was his sister, Jane Weir, who up to this time had been regarded merely as a kindly old spinster.
When confronted with her brother's charges, Jane Weir did an extraordinary thing: she promptly confessed also. Her description of her life of sin had more to do with magic than perversion; for example, she once entertained an emissary of the Fairy Queen. Jane Weir struck a deal with the fairy, who taught her how to spin yarn at a rate four times faster than any human could. When this detail was brought to light, all of Edinburgh recalled how Jane Weir was renowned for her skill at spinning . . . Jane said she sold her soul to the Devil many years before, when she was a schoolteacher in Dalkeith. The Devil appeared to her as a strange little woman. Jane swore, "All my cross and troubles go to the door with me," and the pact was done.
The Weirs' story has many odd touches to it. The fairy emissary was "a very tall woman with a child on her back." The Devil appeared to Jane as small woman, like a midget. In 1648 the Weirs said they were transported from Edinburgh to Musselburgh and back in a "coach" which seemed "all of fire." On other occasion a mysterious stranger arrived at their house and took them for a ride in a "fiery chariot," all the way to Dalkeith. It was Jane who told the authorities that her brother's staff was a magical wand. He leaned on it during prayer, she said, so that the Devil could inspire him to colossal lies and pretense of piety.
The learned doctors examined both Weirs at length and pronounced them sane. The major was in an exalted state of mind, they said, due to his vast relief at confessing his decades of crime. Certified as sane, the Weirs went on trial for their lives on April 9, 1670. The trial didn't last long. The jury unanimously found Jane Weir guilty, but it was a measure of the respect Major Weir still commanded that he was found guilty only by a majority vote. (Also worth noting is the fact that Jane Weir was convicted of witchcraft, while no such charges were laid against the Major. He was condemned for his sexual crimes, not for sorcery).
On April 11, Thomas Weir was brought to the place of execution, a spot between Edinburgh and Leith. He was permitted the mercy of strangulation before his was body was burned. He died, as Sir Walter Scott would later write, "stupidly sullen and impenitent." Jane Weir was burned at the stake the following day at Grass Market. She was distraught on the scaffold, and cried out that she wanted to die with "as much shame as possible." Though over sixty years old, she tore at her clothes, trying to bare her aged body to the onlookers. In a scene that echoes down to the present day, she chided the mob at her execution, telling them (in effect) they were voyeurs who'd come to see an infamous criminal put to death, yet gave no thought to the cautionary example she presented: "I see a great crowd of people come hither today to behold a poor old miserable creature's death, but I trow there will be few among you who are weeping and mourning for the broken Covenant."
The Weirs remained a cause celebre for a hundred years after their deaths. Pamphlets were written about them, blaming their crimes on the harsh dogmas of the extreme Protestant sect to which they belonged. Others lamented their executions, plainly holding them to be aged and unbalanced. Their house, "The Bow," stood for a century and a half, becoming infamous as a haunted house. Neighbors reported lights and noises from the empty house, sounds of dancing, shrieks, and the sound of a spinning wheel . . . a glowing coach would sometimes pull up to the house to take the spirits of Thomas and Jane Weir off to Hell. No one would rent the place. The last known couple who tried, in the early 19th century, left after one night because they awoke to find -- of all things -- a spectral calf peering at them as they lay in bed. "The Bow" was torn down in the 1830s to make way for new construction.
I thought to end the story here, the implications of Major Weir's story being perfectly clear. But just in case the reader is wondering what the hell this has to do with UFOs, consider this: in the past 18 years the field of UFOlogy has been dominated by two lines of inquiry -- alien abduction and the Roswell incident. In both cases, direct evidence is lacking, so both situations are dependent on personal testimony. How reliable is a person's memory of events 20, 40 years past? More to the point, the recent "revelations" of the late Lt. Colonel Philip Corso have been hailed by some as a great breakthrough in the UFO cover-up. Corso was a strange old man, a confidante of ultra-right wingers, Senators, and such. His claims of alien technology being "de-engineered" by American scientists to give us fiber optics, transistors, etc., are just as fanciful as Major Weir's ride in a fiery chariot. Or is it just as true?
Major Weir Reveals All
by Paul B. Thompson
Nebula Editor
[obsolete email address deleted]
They didn't want to believe him. What were the authorities of Edinburgh to do? Here was a man, respected by all, a war hero, devout Christian, role model for the young, standing before them and confessing to the most foul crimes and blasphemies imaginable. Was he mad? Was he telling the truth? The most learned physicians and theologians in the city were summoned to examine Major Thomas Weir, to find out if his awful revelations could possibly be true.
Thomas Weir was born sometime around 1596, in Lanark, Scotland. By 1641 he was a lieutenant in the Scottish Puritan Army, arming radical Protestants who were opposed to the rule of England's Charles I. When the English Civil War broke out in 1642, Weir enlisted in the fringe Covenanter wing of the Parliamentary forces. He served with some distinction, and by 1649 was appointed Major in command of the city guards of Edinburgh -- a military and police post. He retired in 1650 and assumed a civil service job with the city government. As he entered old age, widower Weir lived with his spinster sister Jane in an odd, turreted house in Edinburgh known as "The Bow."
He was much admired by the pious for his eloquent and fervent prayers. It was said of Weir that he was "... so notoriously regarded among the Presbyterian strict sect, that if four met together, be sure Major Weir was one... many resorted to his house to hear him pray." The Major cut a striking figure, too. "His garb was still a cloak, and somewhat dark, and he never went without his staff. He was a tall black man, and ordinarily looked down to the ground; a grim countenance and a big nose."
Many people commented on Weir's staff. It was made of thornwood, with heads carved into it. He was never without it, and usually leaned on it during long prayer sessions.
In the spring of 1670, when Thomas Weir was 76 years old, he suddenly began to confess to horrible crimes. He first reported them to the elders of his church, but the rumors of his claimed crimes soon reached the ears of the city Provost. At first, no one believed him. Senile dementia was well known even in the seventeenth century, and the church elders and city officials quickly decided Major Weir had lost his mind. He insisted on the truth of his confession however, and the Provost was therefore obligated to send doctors to examine him, to determine if major Weir was sane or insane.
What exactly did Major Weir claim to have done? Many of his crimes were sexual. He said he had had incestuous relations with his sister Jane from the time she was ten until she was fifty, and only ceased then because he no longer found her physically attractive. Weir claimed to have had legally incestuous relations with his step-daughter, Margaret Bourdon, and had many illicit affairs with servant girls of his house. Worse, Major Weir admitted to bestiality with mares and cows. It was recalled that in 1651 a woman in Lanark reported seeing him in flagrante delicto with a mare, but she was not believed. The poor woman was publicly whipped for telling lies about such an eminent and pious man!
Major Weir's perversions were just the tip of the iceberg. His motive for all his sexual misdeeds was that he was a witch, in the 17th century sense of the word -- a sorcerer and Devil-worshipper. His close colleague in sorcery was his sister, Jane Weir, who up to this time had been regarded merely as a kindly old spinster.
When confronted with her brother's charges, Jane Weir did an extraordinary thing: she promptly confessed also. Her description of her life of sin had more to do with magic than perversion; for example, she once entertained an emissary of the Fairy Queen. Jane Weir struck a deal with the fairy, who taught her how to spin yarn at a rate four times faster than any human could. When this detail was brought to light, all of Edinburgh recalled how Jane Weir was renowned for her skill at spinning . . . Jane said she sold her soul to the Devil many years before, when she was a schoolteacher in Dalkeith. The Devil appeared to her as a strange little woman. Jane swore, "All my cross and troubles go to the door with me," and the pact was done.
The Weirs' story has many odd touches to it. The fairy emissary was "a very tall woman with a child on her back." The Devil appeared to Jane as small woman, like a midget. In 1648 the Weirs said they were transported from Edinburgh to Musselburgh and back in a "coach" which seemed "all of fire." On other occasion a mysterious stranger arrived at their house and took them for a ride in a "fiery chariot," all the way to Dalkeith. It was Jane who told the authorities that her brother's staff was a magical wand. He leaned on it during prayer, she said, so that the Devil could inspire him to colossal lies and pretense of piety.
The learned doctors examined both Weirs at length and pronounced them sane. The major was in an exalted state of mind, they said, due to his vast relief at confessing his decades of crime. Certified as sane, the Weirs went on trial for their lives on April 9, 1670. The trial didn't last long. The jury unanimously found Jane Weir guilty, but it was a measure of the respect Major Weir still commanded that he was found guilty only by a majority vote. (Also worth noting is the fact that Jane Weir was convicted of witchcraft, while no such charges were laid against the Major. He was condemned for his sexual crimes, not for sorcery).
On April 11, Thomas Weir was brought to the place of execution, a spot between Edinburgh and Leith. He was permitted the mercy of strangulation before his was body was burned. He died, as Sir Walter Scott would later write, "stupidly sullen and impenitent." Jane Weir was burned at the stake the following day at Grass Market. She was distraught on the scaffold, and cried out that she wanted to die with "as much shame as possible." Though over sixty years old, she tore at her clothes, trying to bare her aged body to the onlookers. In a scene that echoes down to the present day, she chided the mob at her execution, telling them (in effect) they were voyeurs who'd come to see an infamous criminal put to death, yet gave no thought to the cautionary example she presented: "I see a great crowd of people come hither today to behold a poor old miserable creature's death, but I trow there will be few among you who are weeping and mourning for the broken Covenant."
The Weirs remained a cause celebre for a hundred years after their deaths. Pamphlets were written about them, blaming their crimes on the harsh dogmas of the extreme Protestant sect to which they belonged. Others lamented their executions, plainly holding them to be aged and unbalanced. Their house, "The Bow," stood for a century and a half, becoming infamous as a haunted house. Neighbors reported lights and noises from the empty house, sounds of dancing, shrieks, and the sound of a spinning wheel . . . a glowing coach would sometimes pull up to the house to take the spirits of Thomas and Jane Weir off to Hell. No one would rent the place. The last known couple who tried, in the early 19th century, left after one night because they awoke to find -- of all things -- a spectral calf peering at them as they lay in bed. "The Bow" was torn down in the 1830s to make way for new construction.
I thought to end the story here, the implications of Major Weir's story being perfectly clear. But just in case the reader is wondering what the hell this has to do with UFOs, consider this: in the past 18 years the field of UFOlogy has been dominated by two lines of inquiry -- alien abduction and the Roswell incident. In both cases, direct evidence is lacking, so both situations are dependent on personal testimony. How reliable is a person's memory of events 20, 40 years past? More to the point, the recent "revelations" of the late Lt. Colonel Philip Corso have been hailed by some as a great breakthrough in the UFO cover-up. Corso was a strange old man, a confidante of ultra-right wingers, Senators, and such. His claims of alien technology being "de-engineered" by American scientists to give us fiber optics, transistors, etc., are just as fanciful as Major Weir's ride in a fiery chariot. Or is it just as true?
[A rhetorical flourish on my part. Corso and his co-author's claims were nonsense, and are rightly forgotten today.]
There's nothing new under the sun. When old age grips a person who in the past has enjoyed power, prestige, or been privy to important secrets, there must be a powerful urge to regain that lost glory, if only for a moment in infamy. Our memories are imperfect things, and direct testimony is the weakest sort of evidence. That's what makes history so porous.
It's often said, "So-and-so must be telling the truth. Why would they lie?" The real answer is, no one knows why anyone may lie, even the person doing it. And the stranger the story, the more we should question it, lest we send our Major Weirs to the stake on no more evidence than their own fevered dreams.
© Copyright 1997 ParaScope, Inc.
There's nothing new under the sun. When old age grips a person who in the past has enjoyed power, prestige, or been privy to important secrets, there must be a powerful urge to regain that lost glory, if only for a moment in infamy. Our memories are imperfect things, and direct testimony is the weakest sort of evidence. That's what makes history so porous.
It's often said, "So-and-so must be telling the truth. Why would they lie?" The real answer is, no one knows why anyone may lie, even the person doing it. And the stranger the story, the more we should question it, lest we send our Major Weirs to the stake on no more evidence than their own fevered dreams.
© Copyright 1997 ParaScope, Inc.
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