by Britain’s High Street is supposed to be a death throes, drowned under the weight of out-of-town supermarket monoliths. But no one has told Selkirk. This Scottish Borders pothole is growing as others fall, its main square alive with community-led businesses, independent shops and even a traditional cobbler – more artisanal than Aldi.
The signs approaching Selkirk are not good. The glorious Border hills are rudely interrupted by a brace of hulking hypermarkets at Galashiels. They guard the roundabout that leads to Selkirk, but I keep my loyalty cards in my pocket, drawn to a historic town bathed in stories about William Wallace’s proclamation as Guardian of Scotland and Sir Walter Scott, once “Sheriff of Selkirkshire”.
The 1980s heralded tough times for the Scottish Borders as Thatcherite economics had little sympathy for the collapsing textile industry. As the famous Tweed mills closed, towns declined and slipped off the tourist map. Again no one seems to have read the Selkirk script.
Sarah MacDonald from local tourism initiative Scotland Starts Here explains: “Far from dying, Selkirk is thriving and has really come together to resist all the privations of the Covid lockdown. Selkirk has always had a fiercely independent and strong community spirit and that is to the fore.”
I seek that spirit in the grounds of The Haining, an 18th-century country house and estate that helps create a protective green belt around Selkirk. Andrew Nimmo-Smith was clearly impressed with the community of Selkirk when he bequeathed the house and 160 acre estate to them in 2009. The former head of Reform UK Scotland Michelle Ballantyne is leading its rebirth: “We want it to restoration as a resource for the community and an event space that brings money back in.”
Before I enter the lifeblood Market square, I make two pilgrimages to the grounds. A man for the tree and full of colorful rags, representing the many tragic suicides, tragedies that indicate what struggles this corner of Scotland still has to face. Around the lake is Scott’s Bench, a memorial to the leading creative person of the pioneering Selkirk band Frightened Rabbit, Scott Hutchison. Despite his own battles against depression, the bench cites his aim to make positive “tiny changes”. That could be Selkirk’s civic motto.
Another positive slogan (“Home. Trade. Tradition”) greets me in the General Store on Market Square. The “shop” moniker is deceptive. With no underpriced and overpriced Tesco representatives, this great operation puts the community first.
CEO Sue Briggs greets me in overalls. “We sell recycled items and gifts and use the proceeds to subsidize repairs for the community. We try to fix anything. We also employ local people and have started a new community library where you can rent everything from furs to hedge trimmers for free.”
I only make it a few meters before Ewa Przemyska, who later joined the Selkirk community, sweeps me into the Tibbie community. Selkirk Distillers already had a shop in the square, but have just opened this zeitgeist gin bar. I tucked into a charcuterie plate, which goes really well with their Bannock Gin, named after the delicious, traditional Selkirk Bannock fruit cake that infuses the gin and is still baked next door at Camerons.
In Selkirk tradition and today are constantly and seamlessly intertwined. I pop into newbie Three Hills Coffee just for a sublime brew, but they’re intent on signing me up for a full barista course that “gives locals the skills to make great coffee at home”.
The past lives only a few doors away. Literally. Colin Turnbull is an old-world souter, a Scotsman for a cobbler. Selkirk was once known as the “Home of the Sudder” and keeps this glorious tradition alive. “We can repair any shoe, and people send them here from as far away as Australia,” he says. Cadbury’s Willy Wonka is owned by Clarks.
It’s hard to get to Market Square without being lured into an independent bookshop or a quaint cafe. I have re-routed at The Burnside Gallery. The Scots-Spanish couple who own it aren’t content with running a small, top-notch art gallery: they also run workshops and events and support a network of local artists and schools.
I end the day with another warm welcome in a town that is fast starting to feel like Camberwick Green with better Wi-Fi and coffee. The Five Turrets, a contemporary self-catering escape inside a Scottish baronial mansion, is from Gethin Chamberlain, a former foreign correspondent.
Gethin also runs Go Wild Scotland, and the next morning we are up at dawn in search of red squirrels, traipsing through the dense remnants of the once ancient Ettrick forest in southern Scotland. “The wildlife here is almost as impressive as the Highlands. We also find a lot of pine cats, as well as several species of deer and otter,” he enthused. “Birds of prey are flourishing again thanks to the South of Scotland Golden Eagle Project you can visit the Philiphaugh Estate.”
I spend my last night in serious style up the Ettrick Water at Aikwood Tower. Selkirk’s rich history once again shines through in this 500-year-old fortress, a powerful revival of the Borders that defied the might of both Scotland and England. Now, there is a table tennis table, a roaring fire and an Aga blessed kitchen, where the owner Vicki Steel has kept me alive with local goodies. More Selkirk Bannock anyone?
Vicki suggests I take a stroll up to the pretty village of Ettrickbridge, where her husband Rory saved the Cross Keys Inn from closure last year and has already won an award. Otters and deer accompany me along the sun-dappled river; I expect half to be painted in water color.
Rory greets me with a pint of local Tempest ale and Borders hag ‘n’ landing chips. “I couldn’t let the pub stay closed because it means so much to the community,” he explains. That word again – community. You don’t hear that on many British high streets these days. I’m glad no one bothered to tell Selkirk that it’s meant to be lumbering under the weight of supermarket hegemony.
