Part 19 (1/2)
The Pickeronian can no longer call himself remote in the sense of communication with the rest of the world, for the North-Eastern Railway takes him to York in little more than an hour, and from that great station he can choose his route to London and other centres by the Great Northern, the Great Central, or by the Midland Railway, and he can return from King's Cross to Pickering in about five hours. But this ease of communication seems to have made less impression upon the manners and customs of the town and neighbourhood than might have been imagined. It may perhaps show itself in the more rapid importation from London of a popular street tune or in the fas.h.i.+ons of dress among the women-kind, but there are still great differences in the ways of living of the country folk and in the relations of squire and peasant.
Superst.i.tions still linger among the moorland folk, and the custom of placing a plate of salt upon the breast of one who is dying is still continued here and there in a covert fas.h.i.+on. Clocks are still stopped, fires raked out, and looking-gla.s.ses turned to the wall at the moment of death, but such acts of deference to the world of fancy are naturally only seen by those who have intimate experience of the cottage life of these parts, and the casual visitor sees no traces of them.
The town at one time had a newspaper of its own. It was known as the _Pickering Mercury_, and was started in the summer of 1857; but it perhaps found Scarborough compet.i.tion too much for it, for now it is almost forgotten, and an evening paper produced in the big watering-place is shouted round the streets of the town every night.
The changes that the present century may witness will possibly work greater transformations than any that have gone before, and not many years hence this book will no doubt be described as belonging to the rough and ready, almost primitive times of the early part of the twentieth century.
The historian of a hundred years hence will sigh for the complete picture of daily life at Pickering at the present day, which we could so easily give, while he at that very moment may be failing to record the scenes of his own time that are to him so wofully commonplace.
CHAPTER XIII
_Concerning the Villages and Scenery of the Forest and Vale of Pickering_
”Wide horizons beckoning, far beyond the hill, Little lazy villages, sleeping in the vale, Greatness overhead The flock's contented tread An' trample o' the morning wind adown the open trail.”
H.H. Bashford.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Market Cross at Thornton-le-Dale.
The stocks are quite modern, replacing the old ones which were thrown away when the new ones were made.
The scenery of this part of Yorks.h.i.+re is composed of two strikingly opposite types, that of perfectly wild, uncultivated moorlands broken here and there by wooded dales, and the rich level pasture lands that occupy the once marshy district of the Vale. The villages, some phases of whose history we have traced, are with a few exceptions scattered along the northern margin of the Vale. Lastingham, Rosedale Abbey, Levisham, Lockton, and Newton are villages of the moor. Edstone, Habton, Normanby, Kirby Misperton, and Great Barugh are villages of the Vale; but all the rest occupy an intermediate position on the slopes of the hills. In general appearance, many of the hamlets are rather similar, the grey stone walls and red tiles offering less opportunity for individual taste than the building materials of the southern counties. Despite this difficulty, however, each village has a distinct character of its own, and in the cases of Thornton-le-Dale and Brompton, the natural surroundings of hill, sparkling stream, and tall ma.s.ses of trees make those two villages unique.
A remarkable effect can sometimes be seen by those who are abroad in the early morning from the hills overlooking the wide valley; one is at times able to see across the upper surface of a perfectly level mist through which the isolated hills rising from the low ground appear as islets in a lake, and it requires no effort of the imagination to conjure up the aspect of the valley when the waters of the Derwent were held up by ice in the remote centuries of the Ice Age. Sometimes in the evening, too, a pleasing impression may be obtained when the church bells of the villages are ringing for evening service. At the top of Wrelton Cliff, the sound of several peals of bells in the neighbouring villages floats upwards across the broad pastures, and it seems almost as though the whole plain beneath one's feet were joining in the evening song. Along the deep ravine of Newton Dale, in all weathers, some of the most varied and richly coloured pictures may be seen. If one climbs the rough paths that lead up from the woods and meadows by the railway, the most remarkable aspects of the precipitous sides are obtained. In a book published in 1836,[1] at the time of the opening of the railway between Whitby and Pickering, a series of very delicate steel engravings of the wild scenery of Newton Dale were given. One of them shows the gorge under the deep gloom of a storm but relieved with the contrast of a rainbow springing from one side of the rocky walls. This effect may perhaps seem highly exaggerated, but on one occasion when I was exploring part of the Dale, between Levisham and Fen Bogs, I was astonished to see a brilliant rainbow backed by dense ma.s.ses of indigo clouds and occupying precisely the position of the one shown in the old engraving. In such weather as this, when sudden rays of sunlight fall upon the steep slopes of bracken and heather and on the precipitous rocks above, the blazing colours seem almost unreal and the scenery suggests Scotland more than any other part of England. From the edges of the canon, purple heather and ling stretch away on either side to the most distant horizons, and one can walk for miles in almost any direction without encountering a human being and rarely a house of any description.
The few cottages that now stand in lonely isolation in different parts of the moors have only made their appearance since the Enclosures Act, so that before that time these moors must have been one of the most extensive stretches of uninhabited country in England. From the Saltersgate Inn, some of the most remarkable views that the moorlands present are all collected together in a comparatively small s.p.a.ce. One looks towards the west across a remarkably deep ravine with precipitous sides that leads out of Newton Dale towards the old coach road upon which the lonely hostelry stands. At the foot of the steep rocks, a stream trickles into a basin and then falls downwards in a small cascade, finding its way into the Pickering Beck that flows along the bottom of Newton Dale. From the inn also, the great ravine we have been describing appears as an enormous trench cut through the heathery plateau, and we are led to wonder how it was that no legends as to its origin have survived until the present time.
The Roman road, which is supposed to have been built by Wade and his wife when they were engaged on the construction of Mulgrave and Pickering Castles, seems uninspiring beside the majestic proportions of Newton Dale.
To the south of the Saltersgate Inn lies the remarkable circular hollow among the hills known as the Hole of Horc.u.m, and the bold bluff known as Saltersgate Brow rises like an enormous rampart from the smooth brown or purple heather. To the west lies the peculiarly isolated hill known as Blakey Topping, and, a little to the south, are the Bride Stones, those imposing ma.s.ses of natural rock that project themselves above the moor.
The Saltersgate Inn has lost the importance it once possessed as the stopping-place for the coaches between Whitby and Pickering, but is still the only place of refreshment for many miles across the moors, and its very isolation still gives it an importance for those who seek sport or exercise on these breezy wastes.
[Footnote 1: Henry Belcher, ”The Scenery of the Whitby and Pickering Railway,” facing p. 51.]
Levisham and Lockton, the twin villages that stand upon the very edge of the heather, are separated by a tremendous valley, and although from above they may seem so close as to be almost continuous, in reality they are as remote from one another as though they were separated by five or six miles. To reach Levisham from Lockton means a break-neck descent of a very dangerous character and a climb up from the mill and lonely church at the bottom of the valley that makes one marvel how the village ever came to be perched in a position of such inaccessibility. The older inhabitants of Levisham tell you that in their young days the village was more populous, and their statements are supported by the pathetic evidence of more than one cottage lying in ruins with the interior occupied by a jungle of nettles. The Vicarage is the only new building that breaks the mellowed grey tones of the wide, gra.s.s-bordered street.
[Ill.u.s.tration: LOCKTON VILLAGE. The ash tree that grows on the church tower can be seen in the drawing.]
Lockton is a larger and better preserved village. The little church with its grey tower is noticeable on account of the vigorous ash-tree that grows from the parapet. It has been there for many years, and I am told that the roots have penetrated for a very great distance among the stones, and may even be drawing their sustenance from the ground. In order to prevent the undue growth of the tree, it is periodically cut down to one branch, but even with this wholesale lopping the tree has forced many of the stones from their original positions.
The interior of the church is a melancholy spectacle of churchwarden methods, but probably Lockton will before many years receive that careful restoration that has taken place at Ellerburne and Sinnington. The font is one of those unadorned, circular basins which generally date from the thirteenth century. One of the village inns is known as ”The Durham Ox,”
and bears a sign adorned with a huge beast whose pensive but intelligent eye looks down upon all pa.s.sers-by. The village stocks that used to stand outside the churchyard wall on the east side, near the present schoolhouse, are remembered by the older inhabitants. They were taken away about forty years ago. The few thatched cottages that remain in the village are unfortunately being allowed to fall into disrepair, but this is the case in most of the villages.
Newton, or, as its full name should be given, Newton-upon-Rawcliff, stands on the verge of Newton Dale. Its small modern church has no interest for the antiquary, but the broad roadway between the houses and the whitewashed cottages thrown up against the strip of gra.s.s on either side is picturesque enough.
Northwards from Newton lies the minute moorland hamlet of Stape, its houses and its inn, ”The Hare and Hounds,” being perched indiscriminately on the heather. Some miles beyond lies Goathland, that formerly belonged to the parish of Pickering. The present church was built in 1895, but it is here that the fine pre-Reformation chalice that originally belonged to Pickering is still in use. The village has a large green overlooked here and there by pretty cottages, and the proximity of the richly coloured moorland scenery that lies spread out in every direction makes the place particularly fascinating. The railway in the valley has brought a few new houses to the village, but there seems little chance of any great accretions of this nature, although the existence of the railway station is a permanent menace to the rural character of the place.
Middleton, the hamlet immediately to the west of Pickering, lies along the main road to Helmsley. Its interesting old church is surrounded by trees, and might almost be pa.s.sed unnoticed. The post-office is in one of the oldest cottages. Its ma.s.sive oak forks must have endured for many centuries, and the framework of the doorway leading into the garden behind must be of almost equal antiquity.
Between the years 1764 and 1766, John Wesley, on his northern circuit, visited this una.s.suming little village and preached in the pulpit of the parish church. A circular sun-dial bearing the motto ”We stay not,” and the date 1782, appears above the porch, and the church is entered by a fine old door of the Perpendicular period. A paddock on the west side of the graveyard is known as the nun's field, but I have no knowledge of any monastic inst.i.tution having existed at Middleton. Aislaby, the next village to the west, is so close that one seems hardly to have left Middleton before one reaches the first cottage of the next hamlet. There is no church here, and the only conspicuous object as one pa.s.ses westwards is the Hall, a large stone house standing close to the road on the south side. Wrelton is only half a mile from Aislaby. It stands at the cross-roads where the turning to Lastingham and Rosedale Abbey leaves the Helmsley Road. The cottages are not particularly ancient, and there are no striking features to impress themselves on the memory of the pa.s.ser-by. At Sinnington, however, we reach a village of marked individuality. The broad green is ornamented with a bridge that spans the wide stony course of the river Seven; but more noticeable than this is the very tall maypole that stands on the green and appears in the distance as a tapering mast that has been sloped out of perpendicular by the most prevailing winds. It was around an earlier maypole that stood in the place of the existing one that the scene between the ”Broad Brims” and the merry-making villagers that has already been mentioned took place nearly two centuries ago. The present maypole was erected on May 29th 1882, replacing one which had come into existence on the same day twenty years before. The recently restored church of Sinnington stands slightly above the green, backed by the trees on the rising ground to the north of the village. The new roof of red tiles would almost lead one to imagine that the building was a modern one, and one would scarcely imagine that it dates chiefly from the twelfth century. A custom which is still remembered by some of the older villagers was the roasting of a sheep by the small bridge on the green on November 23rd in Martinmas week. The children used to go round a few days before, collecting money for the purchase of the sheep. Although these quaint customs are no longer continued at Sinnington the green has retained its picturesqueness, and towards evening, when the western sky is reflected in the rippling waters of the Seven, the scene is a particularly pleasing one.