“WHAT’S the name of that castle?”

“It’s not a castle, it’s a water tower.”

“It’s made of water?”

“No, but it used to have water inside it.”

“Water inside it?”

My seven-year-old son Lewis seemed intrigued and I detected a hint of disbelief at the idea of a tower built to hold water.

We were venturing along Bickerton’s Walk towards the ruins of the 13th century Carmelite Friary, which is hidden in the woods near Aberlady. The water tower stands in the fields just beyond and demanded our attention.

It’s not an ancient structure, being around 200 years old. But even still, it’s an impressive and unexpected sight.

I remember, many years ago, when I first saw it, I also wondered what it was. My first thought had been a folly, which is an eye-catching ornamental building, usually in the grounds of a stately home, but with no practical purpose.

The tower is close to Luffness House and connected to it, but it is no folly. It had the very practical purpose of storing and supplying water. It’s in a ruined state now, just a shell of its former self, but still an imposing sight.

My son wanted to explore it, so we peeled off from the path to have a closer look, while his older sisters preferred to stay in the woods doing TikToks under the trees.

As my son stared up at the tower, he asked questions: how could it hold water, why does it look like that, wouldn’t the water spill out of the windows, did it catch water from the sky, was it like a swimming pool?

I did my best to answer. What followed was a discussion on the preciousness of water, how it’s needed for plants, animals and people. It seems such a simple thing, yet without it, life as we know it would not be possible.

We have forgotten the challenges to access and store water because we are lucky to live in a time and place where we just turn our tap and, hey presto, out comes the giver of life. For our ancestors, and many people elsewhere in the world today, ensuring a regular supply of water can be a daily, physically exhausting and time-consuming task.

We take it for granted until something goes wrong, such as a loss of water pressure resulting in our taps running dry. That’s why the water was stored in the upper part in this tower, of course, not just to store it but to create water pressure, so that the precious liquid was available 'on tap' when it was needed.

We carefully ventured inside. An old winding wheel greeted us, possibly part of a hand pump used by estate workers to bring the water from the well below to top up the water tank above, but I wasn’t sure. We peered upwards and could see the remains of a wooden frame, which possibly held the tank in place. There were also the remains of a ladder and I pointed out the recess in the stonework which I reckoned held the pipe.

I could sense history here: the stories of the workers who built and maintained this place, keeping the water flowing. Did they have time to sit atop the tower and admire the view, I wondered.

An interesting article on the tower is written by Dora Roden on the Awesome Aberlady website. She points out that Historic Environment Scotland suggests it may have been designed by an architect called Thomas Brown, who was working at Luffness in the 1820s, designing the kitchens. He had a significant reputation, having commissions from other noble estates, and specialised in farm buildings.

The tower looked more decorative than now. It was crowned with an arcaded parapet, which made it look like a tower from Italy. The parapet has sadly now gone, although a postcard picture of it can be seen on the Awesome Aberlady website, with cows lazily enjoying the shade of the nearby trees.

We noticed the remains of water troughs at the base of the walls, with the fountain holes very evident. So the cows must have enjoyed the water. But the main reason for the tower would have been the desire for running water at Luffness House, and also its gardens. Dora points out that there was a “splendid” double walled fruit garden at Luffness and speculates that it was the need to regularly water the gardens that prompted the construction of the tower, for the gardens themselves tell their own interesting story involving figs and apricots.

My wife Kate was calling on us and so it was time to rejoin the rest of our family.

“I like that tower,” my son said as we wandered back under the shade of the trees. “Can we make one for our garden?” he asked.

And so we did, using sticks, a plastic bottle and a spare tube from the fish tank. It didn’t have an Italianate arcade or a pump, but it made water pressure, and now my son understands how a water tower works.