William Wallace was one of the greatest patriots in the history of Scotland and as little is known of his life, except for the short period which saw his rebellion, victory, defeat and execution, his legend has an untouchable quality about it that in spirit at least captures the true atmosphere of his struggle. He was, it seems, the second son of a petty landowner whose fields lay not far distant from the present town of Paisley, almost in the middle of Scotland's lowland belt. He was described by one chronicler as a 'former chief of brigands' but as we bitterly know from our own times the terrorists and criminals of yesterday are often such only in the nomenclature of their enemies. He may have been of Strathclyde British stock and if this is so he carried a more ancient residential lineage than the Scots whose eponymous land he fought and died for.

We know for sure that in 1297 he killed the Sheriff of Lanark. Legend says this was in revenge for the slaying of his wife. Whether it was so is of little consequence except to romantics, for in committing such an act Wallace pushed himself and his followers into open rebellion. It was a rebellion already in progress and was not started by by Wallace. In the south-west of Scotland a group of feudal lords had already assembled in arms and in the north the redoubtable Andrew de Moray drew upon himself a gathering of Gaels that would clear the north of the henchmen and garrisons of the English king. That king was Edward the First, Plantagenet king of England and much of France. He was the most implacable foe Scotland has ever faced and was aptly named the Hammer of the Scots. He was represented in Scotland by Sir John de Warrene, Earl of Surrey who had as his chief tax-collector Hugh Cressingham. Cressingham very easily quashed the rebellion of the south-western lords who were interested only in their titles and lands. He spared both their lives and their lands. North of the River Tay, however, the English position was perilous as stronghold after stronghold fell to the armies of Wallace and Moray. The two men met at Perth in the summer of 1297, joined their armies together and prepared to meet the approaching army of the Earl of Surrey.

At Stirling the neck of Scotland between the rivers Forth and Clyde is narrow enough to be a chokepoint and anyone wishing to dominate the country must hold that chokepoint. It was there, in September 1297, that the clash came. Wallace's men were mostly of low social status and most of their weapons were hand made. Few had even a simple steel scullcap to protect them and none had armour. They had been well drilled though and wielding 12ft pikes fought in the oval shaped spear-ring called the schilltron. None of Scotland's great lords stood with Wallace that day. The Scots were drawn up on the slopes of the Abbey Craig, a steep hill on which the Wallace Monument now stands. Below them the River Forth wandered across the plain and curved into a large u-bend not a few hundreds of yards from the base of the hill. The river was crossed by a narrow bridge, only wide enough to permit the crossing of two horsemen abreast.

When Surrey and Cressingham arrived at the bridge they made a critical mistake. They had been advised that there was a ford some way upstream where a hundred horsemen could cross the river in line abreast, but they disdained to heed this advice. Perhaps they felt the Scots were little more than a rabble and would be unable to resist the armored knights and men-at-arms advancing on them. Some said the stingy Cressingham wished to waste no more of his king's money in needlessly prolonging the war. Whatever the reason, the decision to cross the bridge condemned the English to their fate. Wallace had told his men to stand firm until they heard the sound of his horn and then to charge with all their might.

It was Cressingham who led the the English vanguard across the bridge. When they reached the other side of the river the English knights found the ground there to be soft almost marshy and they had great trouble in deploying their great warhorses into any semblance of a line. With only half the army across the bridge and greatly frustrated by the softness of the ground, Cressingham heard the sound of a horn braying from the slopes above him and down from the Abbey Craig the Scots spearmen rushed forward. The English were trapped in the bend of the river, unable to properly form up and with no hope of aid from their compatriots on the other side of the river. It was all over in an hour. Pushed back by the spears, the English horses were stabbed or hamstrung and their riders' throats were cut when they fell from their mounts. Surrey looked on in impotent fury as his army was torn to pieces. Cressingham fought fiercely on until he too was dragged from his horse and slain. Perhaps, as the song suggests, it was Moray who cut him down; we do not know. What we do know is that Andrew de Moray was severely wounded in the battle and died of these wounds little over a month later. It was a grievious blow to the Scots and when ten months later Edward himself came north to put down the rebellion personally, Moray would be sorely missed at the Battle of Falkirk.

On the third day of the seventh month in the year of our Lord 1298, Edward himself crossed the River Tweed, that slow flowing river that divides Scotland and England on the eastern and middle marches. He was an angry man and the 12,500 foot and 2,000 horse that he brought with him were the tools with which he would express his rage. He burned castles and strongpoints as he came north and Wallace must have known that this was a very different proposition from the army he had bested at Stirling Bridge. For all its power though the English army was hungry. Its supply arrangements had broken down and disease stalked the camp. As Edward considered withdrawal to Edinburgh, two traitorous Scots lords brought him word that Wallace's army could be found by Falkirk, a short march away. That night Edward fell from his horse and broke two ribs. He hid the fact from his men and rode out with them the next morning.

As the sun came up on the morning of July 22nd, the English found before them the Scots gathered into four schilltrons on a gentle slope, their flanks protected by but a few horse and archers. Wallace made no impassioned speech to his men but said simply, "I have brought you to the ring, dance if you can." He was no fool and it seems likely he knew that with no natural feature, no river or bridge to give him an advantage his men were doomed. Some of the Bishop of Durham's young knights, hot for martial fame, charged prematurely and were easily held by the Scottish spears. Then Edward ordered his archers forward and soon the sky was alive with thousands of iron-tipped shafts falling on the Scottish spearmen. Their ranks were quickly thinned and then shattered as lanes of dead and dying destroyed the integrity of the schilltrons. When the English horse charged again, they were not this time repulsed. Wallace fled, his army was slaughtered and the English, it is said, lost more horses than men.

Sixteen years would pass before the Scots gained revenge, but when it came it would be the sweetest moment in their history. It happened at a place called Bannockburn.