Muirton of Ardblair: Images reveal the private life of one of Scotland’s lost villages

The village thrived for generations as a small township of mostly flax spinners and tenant farmers, surrounded by fields of bright blue flowers from the flax crops and where life carried on without running water or electricity until the 1950s.

But as a more modern world emerged, its population slowly died away. Homes emptied and “The Muirton” as it was known by locals, crumbled away.

Eventually its handsome huddle of charming ivy-clad thatched roof cottages were either demolished or picked apart leaving almost nothing of what was said to have been a ‘happy old village, redolent of the odour of cattle and the smoke of burning fir-faggots’.

The little community of around 20 homes might well have been completely forgotten – not even granted Brigadoon’s annual fictional appearance – if it had not been for the magical hold it once had over the artists and photographers who recognised its charm.

With paintbrushes and photographic equipment in tow, they beat a path to the place artist Ewan Geddes, one of Blairgowrie Boys group of artists, said provided “artistically all his soul longed for”.

The contents of an album of photographs that capture the reality of village life in the dying days of the 19th century, together with artworks and items that reflect the villagers’ simple lives, have now been gathered for an exhibition at Perth Museum and Art Gallery.

NQ (Image: NQ)

Among the fascinating photographs are scenes of Victorian children, dressed in knickerbockers and flat caps, playing in front of a whitewashed cottage.

Other images show the tough reality of rural life in the late 19th century, with the cold stone walls and floors, blackened skillets hanging alongside the fireplace, rickety windows and women wrapped in heavy layers and floor length skirts as they tended to hens or pumped water from the well.

Paul Adair, the museum’s collections officer, said the photographs show the village at a unique point, having lost its flax spinning and linen weaving traditions to a rapidly industrialised modern world, and with war in Europe around the corner.

Already, the colourful flax fields had given way to more lucrative crops and the skills of the home-based weavers, whose linen was spun during the long winter months to pay for the rent, were vanishing.

“This cottage industry gradually died out as the water powered mills of Blairgowrie and Coupar Angus became dominant,” he said.

“The census of 1861 records 11 handloom weavers in The Muirton, but by 1871 there were none.

“By the end of the 19th century, the village was being described as looking like it belonged to a bygone age, a sort of ‘Brigadoon’ that was attractive for artists to gather because it was picturesque and quaint.

“But there was a contrast between what you see in the pictures and the reality of what was probably a very hard way of life.

“Despite this, The Muirton continued as a community well into the 20th century. The occupants maintained small strips of land where flax, potatoes, turnips, grass, barley, and oats were grown.  “But people had started to move out to places like Blairgowrie, where there was other work available.”

NQ (Image: NQ)

Muirton of Ardblair’s last remaining resident, Jenk – or Jane – Gow, died in 1972. The site where the village once stood is now mostly pasture, but fascinating detail of its final decades has been shared for the exhibition by her great nephew, Gordon Greig.

Now 78, he can remember making the long journey with his mother from their home in Clackmannanshire to The Muirton to visit his great aunt first in her small two-room but and ben, and later in a thatched cottage called The Clachan, where her parents raised their eight children.

He said: “My memory of the place is that it was so different from everywhere else, with no running water, no electricity. My great aunt was a phenomenal baker who produced stuff like you never tasted before on an open range with a wee oven at the side.

“If the fire wasn’t on, you could stick your head in and look straight up the chimney. When it rained, the water fell straight down and would spit on the fire. It was like stepping back 100 years to another age.”

He has shared fine detail of the village with the museum, including names of families who lived in the cottages and snippets of their lives, even down to how they collected rainwater in barrels because water extracted from the nearby well was too “hard” for washing clothes.

The bound photograph album, dated 1893, was bought by the museum in an online auction. By chance, Mr Greig also has a copy of the book, which contains 21 images including haunting scenes of villagers at work and rest.

Although the village disappeared several decades ago, Mr Greig said he still visits the site.

Muirton of Ardblair (Image: NQ)

He added: “I can still see it in my mind’s eye as it used to be.

I can still see the people and still hear their voices. It was quite a community - everyone knew everyone else and it was a very friendly place.

“I loved going there and it’s unfortunate that it has been lost – it would have made a wonderful tourist attraction.”

l A Lost Community: Muirton Of Ardblair, runs until December 23.