Penicuik Witch Trials
In 1629 and again in 1661/2, several women from Penicuik were accused and persecuted under Scotland’s witchcraft laws.
This project honours them as we work toward a lasting community memorial.
🔊 Listen to the introduction
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In Penicuik, long ago, eleven women were accused of witchcraft.
Very little remains of their stories — only fragments, brief records, and their names.
This page was created using modern technology and creative interpretation to honour them.
The words you hear are imagined, and the voices you hear have been spoken by volunteers.
They are not a factual re-creation of historic testimony.
Please do not quote these narratives as reliable historical sources.
Instead, they are an act of remembrance — a way to give sound to those whose voices were taken.
Through research, imagination, and community participation, we hope to illuminate the silence that history left behind.
These stories are not history — they are remembrance.
A space to reflect on the injustices suffered, and the fear that shaped their fate.
We invite you to listen with compassion.
Christian Thomesoun
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Ah am Christian Thomson… Ah lived in Penicuik, lang ago — in 1629.
They said Ah was strange.
Too quiet.
Too wee.
A lass who didnae fit.
And so… that was enough
They blamed me.
And fear grew louder than truth.
Ah was taken… questioned… broken.
They said the fire would purify ma soul.
Ah never confessed…but they burned me all the same.
Ah speak tae ye now —no tae beg for pity, but tae ask memory.
Mind me a woman who meant nae harm. Mind all o’ us — the women who perished in
smoke and silence.
Let oor names be spoken aloud.
Let oor stories be told wi’ gentleness.
So nae soul is ever feared for bein’ different… for bein’ puir…for bein’ a woman.
Ah am Christian. Ah was here.
And now — because o’ you —Ah am heard.
Isabel Dryburgh
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Ah am Isobel Dryburgh…
Burned on the seventeenth o’ September, 1629.
Folk kent me,
They whispered.
As though sorrow lingered in ma shadow.
Ah prayed for them,
But silence was my answer.
They said I sought spirits.
I sought only comfort.
At the stake
Ah raised ma chin,
Though fear trembled through ma bones.
Let it be kent:
my only witchcraft was grief,
and in that,
Ah was never alone.
Margaret Smaill
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Ah am Margaret Smaill.
Taken and burned in 1629.
They turned their eyes tae me.
They asked for confession
But my truth was plain:
I harmed nae soul.
I spoke the creed as the fire was set.
And went bravely
Wi’ the other two.
Mind me kindly.
Janet Bishop
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Ah am Janet Bishop.
Mother
Wife
Woman o’ Penicuik.
They burned me in December o’ 1629.
A woman who speaks
is a witch.
To those lookin’ for a reason.
I walked into the fire,
with a prayer on my lips
Hopin’
Truth might follow the smoke.
If my voice rings still
Let it tell ye this:
Fear makes witches of women who dare stand straight.
Jenet Pennycuik
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Ah am Jenet Pennycuik.
They looked for a name,
tae carry the blame.
Mine was close at hand.
Words grew wings and flew faster than truth.
The frost bit hard the week they burned me.
Mind me,
Not for the fire,
but for the work o’ my hands
And the love I bore
Margaret Cuthbertson
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Ah am Margaret Cuthbertson,
They burned me on the eighteenth day o’ December, 1629,
With Janet and Jenet beside me.
Their names lived longer;
mine lingered like smoke. What was my crime?
There is nae record.
Perhaps a whisper,
A neighbour’s fear, a minister’s word.
Perhaps nothing at all.
I stood in the same place,
felt the same heather and coal,
heard the same psalms,
twisted into judgment.
Remember me, for the page forgot me.
Let ma name be spoken among the women who died in silence.
Christian Simson
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Ah am Christian Simson, o’ the year 1662.
I carried a few tokens for luck,
Men questioned, demanded, threatened.
They wrote my “confession” ere my tears were dry.
If I said the words,
it was fear’s own tongue,
not mine.
I bargained only wi’ God,
every night,
for the living.
If ye mind me,
know that sorrow needs a name.
Too oft it is a woman’s.
Anne Pursell
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Ah am Anne Pursell,
They called me witch.
His word held more weight than mine.
I fled tae kin,believin’ the storm would pass.
But parish folk forget naething.
Each night I woke, thinkin’ the knock had come.
Whether I stood trial or slipped away,
fear made a ghost o’ me long before death.
Mind me, for silence swallowed my name.
Christian Purdie
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Ah am Christian Purdie.
They said they saw us circle a fire at midnight,
napkins in our hands.
It was Yule,
and we warmed cloths.
That was the whole o’ it.
Still, the man spoke against us,
so we asked the pricker.
Needles tae the skin proved us women, not witches.
They cleared us,
and punished him for lies.
Yet I shook as I walked home,
for truth
is a quiet friend,
and fear speaks loud.
Agnes Elphinston
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Ah am Agnes Elphinston,
caught in another’s tale.
He swore we danced wi’ napkins round a fire.
We said we warmed cloths
We asked the pricker;
his pins proved us women,
not witches.
Still, I washed my hands, but couldnae rid the smell o’ tallow and fear.
Mind me,
for quiet courage,
and the truth I held
Mareon Twidie
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Ah am Marion Tweedie —or Twidie, as they writ.
The man said we circled fire and his horse died after.
The pricker came;
no mark was found.
We were cleared.
Yet when I walked the Loan,
doors shut.
Vindication isna welcome news to fear.
Still, I hold my head high.
If ye speak my name,
let it be said that truth did win —
though slowly.
The information board
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🔊 Listen to the closing message
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Thank you for listening.
For centuries, these women remained silent in the record.
Today, through imagination and the voices of our volunteers,
their stories have finally been heard again.
This project is not about retelling history word for word —
it is a creative interpretation, shaped by fragments of fact and human empathy.
Its purpose is to honour these women, and to spark conversation about how fear, prejudice, and suspicion can take root anywhere.
Though the witch trials belong to the past, their pattern can still be seen today —
in bullying, exclusion, discrimination, and the targeting of those who seem “different.”
By remembering these women, we also reflect on our present,
and on our responsibility to speak for those whose voices are ignored.
May this remembrance help ensure that such silence is never repeated.
