A Town at War with Itself

Lawlessness and Skirmishes in Tudor Berwick

In the mid-16th century, Berwick-upon-Tweed was not just a border town—it was a powder keg. Fortified with stone, packed with English troops, and perched on the edge of Scotland, it should have been a model of military order. Instead, Berwick in the Tudor era was plagued by chaos, corruption, and violence—often from within.

By the 1550s, the town had seen wave after wave of reconstruction, a garrison numbering in the thousands, and a rotating cast of military governors, each trying—and largely failing—to bring order to the unruly population. Skirmishes with the Scots were expected. What shocked the Crown were the fights breaking out between the English themselves.

The soldiers were often poorly paid, poorly fed, and barely restrained. With little to occupy them during times of relative peace, many turned their aggression inward—toward fellow townsmen, rival units, and even commanding officers.

One of the most startling examples of this civil unrest came in 1554, when a bitter land dispute exploded into open conflict, drawing in garrison troops, town officials, and members of the English nobility.

The Castle at Ford: A Skirmish Over Stone

The spark was a contested claim to Ford Castle, just a few miles from Berwick. The estate had passed through inheritance, but two parties now laid claim: George Heron of Chipchase, claiming the property by right of entail, and Thomas Carr, who asserted ownership through his wife Elizabeth, heir to the previous lord.

On March 28th, the Carrs were in possession. But that didn’t last long.

John Dyxon, a constable from Berwick, led a team of fourteen garrison soldiers to seize the castle on behalf of Heron. The Carrs were thrown out—five men and three women forcibly removed.

Days later, the confrontation escalated. A larger party, including Ralph Grey of Chillingham, Robert Barrow (Mayor of Berwick), and Giles Heron (Treasurer of Berwick) marched on the castle to secure it.

Waiting for them was Robert Carr, recently ousted and now armed. A skirmish broke out at the gates. The Mayor of Berwick was killed, the Treasurer was wounded, and the town was thrown into shock.

The response from the Crown was swift—and panicked. A report sent to London described it as “the most perilous seed of malicious dissension and hatred to be sowen in this countrey as is presently inplanting.” It was not merely a local affair; this was seen as a national security risk. Berwick, England’s most important northern stronghold, was turning on itself.

A Town of Fists, Fire, and Theft

This incident wasn’t an outlier. It was a symptom. Berwick was rotting from within, and the signs were everywhere.

In 1549, wounded English soldiers returning from the fighting at Haddington were left to die in the streets, shut out of their homes by their own people. There was no food, no shelter, no relief. The town had descended into such callousness that officials called it “against all justice.”

That same year, John Knox, newly freed from the French galleys, was sent to Berwick to preach and reform the town. His sermons had a temporary calming effect—reducing soldier brawls and restoring a sense of order. But it didn’t last. The garrison returned to its worst habits.

By 1559, officials were pleading with the Queen for help. Sir Francis Leek, the deputy governor, wrote:

“The preacher is almost weary. He cannot bring Mr. Somerset nor Mr. Read to hear a sermon… There are more than enough of them murderers and thieves.”

The soldiers were robbing locals, fighting each other, and ignoring any moral or legal authority. Meanwhile, their commanders grew fat on corruption. Captains stole from their men. Treasurers hoarded pay. Even the Queen's letters referenced the "abominable robbery of her garrison of Berwick.”

War on the Roads and in the Fields

Outside the walls, the situation was just as tense. Skirmishes with the Scots continued—often unprovoked. Villages like Auchencrow and Eyemouth were raided and burned. In one night, 500 English footmen and cavalry raided multiple settlements, seizing livestock and setting fire to mills and houses. But retaliation came quickly. On another night, the Scots torched a village within cannon-shot of Berwick itself.

Tensions were so high that any small movement could spark violence. Even haymakers on Halidon Hill, innocently cutting grass, came under attack from French troops in the area. A four-hour battle followed, with Sir James Crofts leading reinforcements up the hill to drive back the attackers.

Back in town, the mood remained toxic. Captains feuded over rations and housing. One official grumbled that some officers had 300 men while others had fifty, and that the small commands couldn’t afford “silk clothes and fine shoes.”

Even the watchmen on the walls were in disarray. Parts of the old medieval defenses were being torn down and replaced with modern fortifications, leaving entire sections of Berwick vulnerable. In these gaps, soldiers brawled, drank, and deserted their posts.

A Powder Keg on the Border

By the time Elizabeth I took the throne in late 1558, the garrison at Berwick had become an embarrassment and a liability. Orders came to rebuild the town’s defenses, crack down on lawlessness, and restore order. Sir James Crofts and Lord Norfolk were tasked with the cleanup. Massive spending began on fortifications—over £34,000 in just seven months—to protect against the enemy outside, even as they struggled to tame the enemy within.

Berwick in the Tudor era wasn’t just a military outpost—it was a frontier town locked in a permanent state of internal and external warfare. Skirmishes didn’t wait for official wars. Law didn’t wait for trials. And peace, when it came, was usually too late.

Adapted From: ​Scott, J. (1888). Berwick-upon-Tweed: The History of the Town and Guild. London: Elliot Stock